#mugs made of stainless steel

[floraunderground]

on life lately

citations: apple quick - @/floraunderground Meditations in Emergency - Cameron Awkward-Rich imagine how it is to touch the stove - @/b00bologist on tumblr Morning Glory - The Damn Choir "i swear im fun and chill" - @/havingfunonIne on twitter A Timeline of Humanity - @/nateconnolley

[m31akame]

Never related more then rn

mild summer, mild winter

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

P.S. I Love You.

Summary: You suddenly receive letters that re open the wounds of grief. But they turn out for the better.

Warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, FLASHBACK

The call you hadn’t expected to receive came through your cell phone one hot, summer day in Charlotte. It changed the trajectory of your life from then on. A horrifying scream pierced the air, causing your mother to drop her coffee mug while sitting out in the yard, the ceramic glass shattering against cobblestone. When she’d found you in the kitchen, you were in the fetal position, body trembling as you wailed. She rushed to your aid, down on her knees with frantic eyes and a continuous chant of ‘what happened’ spilling from her lips.

“TERRY! HE’S GONE!”

The words didn’t seem real. When the tears came, hot and endless, you ached from the pain entering your world without the decency to knock first. Your mother’s words couldn’t be heard over your despair.

You cried as if your brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of your every pore. From your mouth came a cry so raw that even the eyes of your mother’s were suddenly wet with tears. You grabbed onto your mother, your violent shaking almost causing her to to fall flat and from your eyes came a thicker flow of tears the more you begin to understand.

Not Terry. It didn’t make sense for him to die. He was strong, the pinnacle of a man who in your eyes was unstoppable. No. This was a nightmare. You had to wake up from the nightmare. On that kitchen floor you questioned God. Your mother’s cries didn’t help calm you down. The whole world had vanished for you, now there was only pain enough to break you, pain enough to change you beyond recognition.

“No, no, no, no—”

Mike and Terry were killed in Shelby Springs, Louisiana. You refused to hear the details. Terry had a thing for saving his cousin from whatever he’d get himself involved in. You developed resentment against Mike and how he called on Terry to come to the rescue because he knew that he wouldn’t say no. Something in your gut told you that this time, he really shouldn’t leave.

Dried tears made your face feel tight and your eyes were blurry. Your chest burned and a nauseating sensation settled into your belly. You had your head in your mother’s lap on the sofa as the sun set. Across from you were your aunties and cousins, all silent and attempting to comfort you with soothing rubs and kisses to your forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N…”

“Everything will be okay…”

“I can’t believe this…”

“I wish this never happened to you.”

You’d forgotten what it felt like to speak.

Going back to your shared apartment would only reopen the fresh wounds.

His pictures.

His smell.

His clothes.

His side of the bed.

What’s worse is his parents wanted you to join them in traveling to Shelby Springs to bring his body back home. You were his fiancé. As terrified as you were, you knew it was the right thing to do. Your mother joined you on the journey and her support gave you the strength to walk into that morgue and see him. It was cold and eerie. The silence unnerving. As you enter with his parents, your eyes fall to a stainless steel table with a body covered in a sheet.

Your knees buckle and you stop suddenly, too weak and afraid to carry on. Everything was happening so fast. You’d gotten the call about Terry two days ago, and now you were here barely standing in a room for corpses. Your mother had her arms wrapped around you as you take slow steps towards the table. Heart hammering in your chest, you watch as the sheet lowered to reveal his face.

You’d lost the ability to stand.

He’d suffered. Haunting images of his battered face and chest littered with bullet holes frightened and angered you. Nothing can prepare you for something like this. He didn’t look like himself. Death changed him in ways you weren’t prepared to see.

Pale. Bruised. Lifeless. Still.

It was something you couldn’t even force yourself to see even during his funeral. And neither could his parents. After what felt like hours, you all were on your way back home with Terry, making arrangements for him to be cremated. After all, it was Terry’s wish. Intrusive thoughts flooded your mind the days leading to his memorial service.

Clearly, he suffered, but what was his last words? What was the last thing on his mind? Did he think of you? What had he eaten that morning?

The morning of his memorial service a few days later, you sat within your bedroom, burying your nose in his clothes and sniffing his cologne. You wanted his belongings, but it was evidence back in Shelby Springs. They were building a case on the corupt police there and if found guilty, a multi–million dollar paycheck would be given. For Mike and Terry. The teardrop diamond engagement ring on your finger twinkled in the sun as you sat surrounded by family and friends.

Behind your black shades, your puffy eyes stared at a photo of Michael and Terry. All smiles and laughter. Terry’s deep voice and adorable smile flooded your mind and it shook you to the core. His big arms circling your waist made you wrap your arms around yourself to mimick that feeling. The smell of his beard whenever you’d nuzzle your face against his neck.

His urn sat on a podium and when you’d gotten up to deliver a speech, you touched it. You’d pressed your lips against it. Taking a deep breath, you opened a folded piece of notebook paper to read from, but soon, you found that you couldn’t speak without your voice quivering. The distant sound of sniffles and encouragement was static noise.

Fuck this.

Your fingers began ripping the paper into shreds. Fuck a proper speech. Your person was stripped of life at the tender age of thirty two. He was a good man.

You part your lips to speak, “Terry Richmond is the love of my life…and I don’t know how I’m gonna live without him. This all feels like I’m being punished. How could god take someone like him away from me?”

You spoke those words truthfully. Yes, you were questioning God. Why him? Why Terry? Why not the ones who did this to him? Why not ANYONE who’s ever wronged him? Why did his cousin call him to help? Why did Terry go instead of staying with you?

Fuck the many stages of grief. You were filled with rage and sadness so powerful. There was no way you’d come to accept this. While others moved on, you would have a constant reminder that your soulmate was stripped from your life. A part of you wanted to join him. Wherever he was.

That’s how you felt for a long while, but as time progressed, because that’s what happens with life, Terry’s absence didn’t hurt as much. Of course, during special occasions it would trigger the grief, but you’d taken the time to speak to a therapist and talk about how his death affected you. That was a year ago.

Everything is recycled, or so that is what you see with your eyes. The atoms of one thing become those of another. The energy from one place becomes energy in another. So while you have no idea where he is, or what God asked him to become next, you’re looking forward to being with him again and you feel his love so strongly in the ether. So, call it reincarnation or recycling, you’re okay with whatever. Terry’s still somewhere, and that's what matters to you.

——

“Morning!”

You walked with a pep in your step towards your mailbox after your Pilates class. Something you’d always wanted to do but never had the courage to before. It’s expensive, but you loved it. Opening the mailbox, you don’t have much but credit card bills and junk mail. As you grab your mail, you notice a thick, distressed, stationary envelope fall to the floor within the lobby of your apartment building.

Your eyes follow the envelope facing downward. You crouch down to pick it up, the pain in your legs from Pilates causing you to groan. Once you were up, you lock your mailbox and head towards your elevators. On the ride up, you think about what you’d like to prepare for dinner. Maybe steak would be nice since you hadn’t eaten it in a while.

The doors slide open and you were out of the elevator and approaching your door. As you pushed it open, you were welcomed by your orange and white cat. The new decor courtesy of your cousin who is an interior designer gave an impression of something straight out of a catalog.

A promotion.

New Apartment.

New Car.

You were starting over. It felt good to do that. You still lived in Charlotte, but letting go of the things that triggered your grief was the best way for you to move forward.

You’d kicked off your running shoes and sat the mail down on the living room table to go through. As you flipped through, the envelope caught your eye. Fancy penmanship covered the front and as your eyes scanned, your body became rigid. Your heart sank to your stomach.

From: Terry

To: My Beautiful Fiance’

You blink twice to see if this was real and what you were actually reading.

How is this possible?

As you sat on your sofa, your eyes began to flood with tears. Was someone pulling a sick joke or did Terry actually write you a letter? So many questions and a lot of confusion. You could feel your tears trickling down your cheeks and over your lips the more you stared at the envelope.

So much for getting better. The fear you felt at that moment alone in your apartment is what stopped you from opening the letter. You place it down on the coffee table and wrap your arms around you. Your cat nudged you against your leg and as you look down, her yellow eyes stared back with a softness that helped to calm you.

Terry had gifted you this cat for your birthday a year ago.

Shortly before he’d left for Shelby Springs.

She nudged you again and you felt it was her way of telling you to open the envelope. With one shaky hand, you grab the envelope from the coffee table and use your almond-shaped finger nail to open it. Inside is a folded piece of paper. You retrieve it and open it slowly, heart racing. Black ink and cursive.

Hey, baby.

Surprise. I know this probably feels a little bit morbid... But I just hate the idea that I'm not gonna be there to see you freak out over turning 30. I mean, it kills me not to be there. Heh-heh. That's funny. Okay. No, it's not. You're gonna be so impressed. I have a plan, baby. Can you believe it? I've written you letters. Letters that will be coming to you all sorts of ways. I waited till your birthday. I figured you weren't stepping out of the house for a while. Letter number one will be arriving tomorrow. Now, you gotta do what I say, okay? Don't try to figure out how the letters are coming. It's too brilliant and it'll ruin my plan. Just go along with me on this. Because the thing is, I just can't say goodbye yet. So for starters. I want you to get dolled up, and just go out and celebrate tonight. Go out with your girls. I hereby free you from a party with your family, especially your mom. I’m Sorry, I couldn’t be there, baby. I’m a need you to get a little crazy. So have a slice of cake, put on my favorite dress and get out of the apartment. Y/N, make a plan. For me, okay? And know that wherever I am, I'm missing you. Happy birthday.

P.S

I love you.

You wept silently, your tears blotching the paper. You shut your eyes tight and allow yourself to cry with a bounce of your shoulders and an aching feeling of sorrow. As you read the letter, you could hear his deep vibrato. You pictured him sitting somewhere on a hammock writing to you. Surrounded by the wild and reminded of how it was his peace. 

Bringing the paper to your nose, you smell the parchment and try your best to catch his scent. It only smelled of paper with its lignin aroma. Sniffling, you wipe away snot and tears before placing the paper on the coffee table, carefully folding it. Your birthday was indeed tomorrow and you had only planned to have dinner with your mom at her place. Just the two of you.

Your friends had suggested going out for drinks, but the thought of partying and being surrounded by so many people overstimulated you in the worst way. You couldn’t bring yourself to go out and enjoy life and what it has to offer when your forever person is six feet under. Trying your best to shake those thoughts from your mind, you meditate. Calming your breath and releasing the tension from your muscles. This was something you’d never stop doing.

Opening your eyes, you blink to adjust to the blurry view. Too emotional, you finally stand from the sofa because you were unable to read the letter again. After taking a long shower, you start on dinner with a vinyl record playing. While flipping your steak, the sensation of strong hands trapping your waist caused a shiver to slither down your spine. You drop the spatula and touch where you’d felt it, body seizing up in fear. Sharp breaths escaped your mouth.

Your mind was most definitely playing tricks on you. Terry loved to creep up behind you while you were cooking to touch on you and kiss you neck. He’d whisper in your ear because he knew that his voice drove you crazy no matter ther octave. That ghostly sensation triggered nostalgic memories of what it felt to be wrapped up within the embrace of Terry Richmond.

“SHIT—”

You rush to the stove to check on your steak. The hot grease popped your arm painfully, causing you to groan. You finish your steak and plate it with your broccolini and mashed potatoes. Some wine sounded great. You open your drink cabinet and soon realize how high up the wine is. On your tip toes, you reach up, struggling to grab a bottle of red wine. Fingertips touching the cork, you strain, one knee on the counter now.

“Nah…whatchu doing, baby?”

Terry plucked the bottle from the top shelf with ease because of his towering height compared to yours. You give him a dirty look, snatching the wine from his hand. Terry gave you a lazy smirk with low eyes. He looked oh so delectable in his white T-shirt and bootcut jeans.

“That’s how you do me when I come to the rescue, munchkin?”

“I could have gotten it, T,” you roll your eyes.

“When I’m around you know I get everything in the high places, Y/N. Fix your face,” Terry pecks your forehead, “C’mon so we can eat this good steak. I’m tryna see you model that new lingerie.”

Terry backed away with a bite of his bottom lip and a wink. Instantly, your frustration melted away and you couldn’t fight the urge to smile…

Blinking, you bring your attention back to the present. Of course, you have a step stool in the pantry. You retrieve it and place it on the floor. Stepping up, you succeed in grabbing a bottle of red wine. You scan the label before sitting it on the kitchen counter to pour yourself a heaping glass. Sitting on the bar stool, you eat your food and try your best to forget that sudden recollection.

It was so hard to forget. Everything about him was so hard to put away forever. Goosebumps on your skin, vivid memories of how he’d undressed you, talked you through it, admired you, professed how much he’d loved you. Over and over. You take a sip of your wine, fingers trembling around the stem.

That letter triggered everything.

——

The morning of your birthday was uneventful. You woke up later than you’d expected, phone buzzing on its wireless charger with texts wishing you happy birthday. Wiping the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your belly, snatching up your phone. Friends and family flooded your inbox and created social media posts.

You’re thirty.

You’d think it would feel so odd saying that. Honestly, it didn’t feel any different. Sitting up in bed now, you reply to everyone before climbing out of bed. After your usual morning routine, you make yourself a quick breakfast before heading to your mom’s house. You planned to cook dinner with her and catch up.

The drive over took about forty minutes. You spotted your mother grabbing mail from the mailbox in her robe and slippers. She waved to you happily while standing on the porch. You pull behind her SUV and put the car in park. Stepping out, you give your mother a big, toothy grin before rushing over to embrace her.

“My baby! Happy Birthday!”

You squeeze her tightly, the smell of her scented lotion comforting you.

“I’m glad you’re here. I still have some hot breakfast on the stove.”

“Mama, I ate already.” You reply with a smile.

“You may get hungry again, come on.”

You enter your childhood home to the smell of grits, biscuits, bacon, and eggs. Suddenly, your stomach starts rumbling. Maybe you’ll have a small plate.

“I just had to run out and check the mail—”

You paused your curiosity at the cake your mother baked you when a gasp could be heard. You turn and spot your mother with a hand over her mouth and eyes wide.

“Mama, what is it?”

“Wha–there’s a letter here–from Terry—”

You rush over, taking it from your mother’s hands. She tried to snatch it back but you had your back turned.

“Y/N��”

Hey, Mama.

It’s Terry. Make sure my baby has a good time. Make sure you do everything you wanna do, whenever you wanna do it. And make sure my baby does things. I want you to take her to all the places she’d wanted to go. And be sure to give her a big kiss for me. She’s my special girl.

Love you.

“What does it say?”

Your mother lingered behind you with caution. You read the words a final time before turning, holding out the paper for her. She gripped the edge carefully and it slipped from your grasp. You could feel your knees getting weak, so you flop down into a dining chair. Your mother read the words allowed, her voice trembling.

“I wonder who sent this?” Sniffling, your mother turned the paper over, “it’s been a year.”

“I got a letter in the mail yesterday.” You revealed.

Your mother took a seat across from you. She placed the letter on the table, pressing out the folded line to make it straighter.

“It’s his handwriting for sure,” Your mother stroked the penmanship, “This is so eerie…”

“He’d planned this. Maybe he had a feeling that his days were numbered when he’d left for Louisiana…”

You stand, pacing back and forth. Your mother folded her hands against the table as she watched you.

“Even so, why would he leave? Why would he leave if he had a feeling—”

“Maybe he didn’t.” Your mother said.

“No, the way he worded these letters…it’s as if he’s speaking like he knew he was going to die—”

Your mother put up a hand, “Okay, that’s enough—”

“It’s never going to be enough! It’s never going to be the same!”

You feel your eyes welling up with tears. You release a shuddering breath and try your best to calm your nerves.

“It’s your special day, baby. Please don’t get yourself worked up. Terry wouldn’t want that.”

It didn’t matter what he’d want anyway. He’s gone.

“I need a second.”

You turn on your heels, making your way towards your old bedroom. Inside, you shut the door and settle into your old bed. Kicking off your shoes, you gather the sheets over your body and hide yourself from view. Tears rolled over your nose as you stare at the floral patterns stitched into your comforter.

Your mother is right, this is supposed to be your special day. You’re supposed to be happy and celebrating. Not crying and sad. Not that it wasn’t okay to be sad, but Terry wrote two letters expressing how he’d wanted you to enjoy turning thirty and make the most of it.

Uncovering yourself, you slip from the bed and walk over to your dresser. Opening the top, right drawer, you retrieve a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Your emergency stash…

“Come on..”

You opened your bedroom door, darkness awaiting you ahead. Distant chatter and laughter from your relatives became muffled when your boyfriend, Terry slipped in behind you before shutting the door. You stumble your way towards the lamp on your end table, flicking it on and igniting the room with a low ambiance. Terry stood with his back pressed against the door, a wrinkled white dress shirt on with black slacks. You had on a navy blue summer dress.

Everyone gathered at your mom’s place after a funeral service for your great aunt May. You didn’t like the woman much. She’d always been hard on you and favored your cousins. Terry walked around your room, eyeing old photographs from your high school days. The sound of your drawer opening caught his attention and he made his way over toward you. With a finger pressed to your lips, you pull out a bottle of tequila that you’d snagged from your parents liquor cabinet.

You were of age to drink, but after being around your family, you needed to sneak a little something. Terry chuckled and shook his head before accepting a shot glass that you’d gotten from a trip to Canun. You pour some in each one before clinking glasses, some of the tequila spilling over the rim and causing both of you to laugh.

You knock back the drink and while your face scrunched at the taste, Terry simple smiled at you.

“Burns, doesn’t it?” He whispered.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I don’t really like this one.”

“Don’t let me find out you can’t handle alcohol.”

“Shut up.”

Terry approached you. Your smile wavered, eyes blinking up at him slowly. The smell of his cologne lingered in your nose. He eyed you down before taking the bottle from your hand.

“I think we should get outta here before your mama comes looking for us,” Terry said.

“Afraid to be alone with me in my room, TJ?” You tease.

Terry chuckled, bringing his face closer to yours.

“I’m afraid of what I might do to you if I stay in here any longer. We both know how loud you can get…”

Standing in your room with that shot glass from Cancun in your hand, you recall that night. You hadn’t washed the glass afterwards, just put it away. You fill it and toast to being thirty before drinking it down in one motion. You were reminded of how bad it tasted but it was worth it.

You put it away before fixing yourself back up to join your mother. She was in the kitchen prepping for dinner when you walked out. She’d heard your footsteps and paused cleaning the collards to look at you.

“I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” You apologized.

Your mother gave you a small smile, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re better.”

You walk into her arms and she wrapped them around you.

“It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry.”

“I know,” you shut your eyes, “We had so many plans for my birthday.”

“I know,” your mother held your face as she looked at you, “And you can keep that memory and enjoy yourself. Surround yourself with the people that love you. Go out and have a good time tonight. Shake some tail and get drunk!”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

You can almost feel the hangover in the morning.

——

“HE DON’T WANNA BE SAVED DON’T SAVE HIM! THAT IS NOT MY NIGGA DON’T CLAIM HIM!”

You rap to the lyrics, the trap beat driving you to shake ass and get low. Birthday sash over your body like a pageant girl and birthday crown on your head, you make the most of your thirtieth birthday at the lounge with your girls as they hype you up.

“GO Y/N! GO Y/N! GO Y/N!”

You felt sexy in your red dress with a plunging neckline that hugged your curves. Strappy stilettos dawned your pretty feet and you’d done a full makeup look. You felt good and looked good, turning heads and drawing attention. Another shot made its way into your hand and you drank it down as your girls cheered you on.

“Woah woah, birthday girl!” Your girlfriend, Candace had to help you because you would have face planted the table covered in drinks, “Take a seat, Princess!”

“I’m too hype to sit! This music is fire!” You drunkenly shout.

“And too pretty and valuable to end up in the ER!” Another friend by the name of Marsha yelled over the music.

You wave them off but sit anyway. A bottle of water was thrust into your hands and you accept it, drinking down half.

It felt good to get out and have a good time. Two years is a long time. Being surrounded by loyal friends warmed your heart. The drunkenness was going to make you cry but you refused to ruin your makeup. They’d been there to protect and support you through it all. You look at each one of them, a big smile on your face.

“What is it?!” A friend named Nancy asked.

“I JUST LOVE YOU GUYSSSSSS!!!!”

You open your arms with a pout of your lip and they all get up to hug you.

“I needed this!” You dab your eyes with a napkin, careful not to ruin your eye makeup, “After everything with Terry, I didn’t know what it felt like to have fun and let loose.”

“IM GLAD YOU DECIDED TO STEP OUT! TERRY WOULDV’E WANTED THAT!”

Curious, you lean into Marsha to speak to her closely.

“Did you ever…receive a letter from Terry?”

Marsha’s eyes grew wide. Your other girls came in close to see what was going on.

“You did, didn’t you?” You asked.

“…I—yes. We all did. We…we didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want trigger anything—”

“Please don’t be upset!” Nancy begged, “We didn’t want to make you sad.”

Candace sat in silence staring at you.

“I’m not upset! It’s okay!”

“You sure?” Candace questioned, grabbing your hands.

“Totally! What did it say?”

They each shared a look.

“It sad something along the lines of making sure we look after you and that he wants you to make the most of your birthday and life and have fun and not worry about him. He said that he loved us and appreciated us for always being there for you.” Marsha revealed.

Candace and Nancy nodded their heads in agreement.

“Wow,” you give your friends a drunken smile, “He wrote you guys too. I miss him so much…”

Marsha strokes your back while Nancy fanned your face to cool you down. You release a meditating breath before laughing.

“Terry always had a trick up his sleeve! How he managed to pull this all off is amazing to me!”

When they realized you weren’t sad, they joined in on the laughter.

“He was always a man on a mission! You remember how he got you, right?” Candace said.

“Had that man showing up to your job with flowers! Took you on fifty first dates like your favorite movie!” Nancy recalled.

“He knew what he wanted and he didn’t hesitate! That’s a man right there! God created only one Terry Richmond for a reason! That shit can’t be replicated!”

“I know that’s right!” Marsha shouted.

“Let’s toast to Terry and his forever love for our girl!”

With new shots, you all raise a glass and look towards the ceiling before tapping it against the table and drinking it down.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. You were dropped off to your apartment and tucked in. Your alarm went off, waking you up with a raging headache and a dry mouth. Your makeup stained your pillow and the smell of bacon wafted your nose. You sit up abruptly, looking around with crusty eyes.

“TERRY?!”

Your loud voice alerted whoever was in your apartment and several footsteps could be heard outside your door. Marsha, Candace, and Nancy came in wearing t-shirts and panties with spatulas in their hands.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Candace asked with a worried look.

“I…”

You look around, swallowing spit with difficulty.

“What’s wrong?” Candace placed a hand on your knee.

“I must of been having a nightmare.”

You scratch your head and plaster on a smile.

“I’m okay. I smell bacon!”

Candace stood up to let you out of bed. You skip towards your bathroom to brush your teeth.

“We’ll be out in the kitchen, Y/N!”

“Okay!”

The door shut behind them and you stare at your reflection, the running water filling your ears. You were used to waking up to the smell of bacon whenever Terry cooked you breakfast. You brush your teeth and clean your face, putting your hair up into a bun before exiting your room.

As you make your way into the living room, your eyes light up when you notice a large bouquet of red roses dusted with glitter. Your friends enter the living room, filling you in on the surprise being left at your door. You admire and smell the roses before retrieving a card that was attached to the vase.

Taking a seat, you open it, staring down at a pretty birthday card. Opening the card, two plane tickets fall out and there are written words on the inside.

Dear Y/N,

You know I had to get you red roses! Remember how we always talked about visiting Jamaica? Well, here’s two tickets. I have family there and I want you to stay with them and make the most of a good time. Take your mother with you. I know that would make you happy. When you get there, you’ll be able to visit all my favorite places. Happy Birthday my special angel.

P.S,

I Love You.

You were so drawn into the card that you hadn’t realized your friends were reading too. They wiped away tears and admired your pretty roses. You smiled, the tickets in your lap. They each hug you tight, causing you to cry. For once, they were tears of joy. You couldn’t wait to surprise your mother with the ticket. She’d always wanted to go to Jamaica.

——

Soft white sand beneath your toes.

Turquoise water stretching out for miles.

Palm trees swaying from the warm breeze.

Red, green, and yellow dress wrapped around your body snugly.

Your faux locs brushed across your back, the hair charms tickling your skin. You turn to pick up your coconut, bringing the straw to your lips and sucking down the delicious water.

The smell of ackee and saltfish wafted your nose. The spices traveling from the open patio doors that led into the compound. Bob Marley serenaded you as you sway in your spot.

Terry had cousins in Montego Bay that welcomed your mother and you with open arms. An entire compound surrounded by the beach. They cooked tasty Caribbean dishes everyday and you got a good tan whenever you could. There were jeeps on the compound and your mother and you would drive out to town to shop and do tourist activities.

Being surrounded by Terry’s relatives brought out a comfort you hadn’t felt in a while. You’d see his parents from time to time, spoke with them everyday, but his mother brought out a sadness in you that you tried to avoid. In Jamaica, you were filled with laughter. They showed you photos of Terry in his youth. Big ears, goofy smile, deep tan, and a surfboard in his hands.

You had a letter waiting for you.

This is where I sat thinking about you after the very first time we met. You didn't look real to me at first. I never saw so many colors on one girl before... But you looked like you belonged out there, all right. You and all your colors. Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? ("I'm lost.") Oh, you didn't look lost, not to me. At first, the no-talking thing didn't last. Before long, I couldn't get you to shut up. But you were so cute, trying to impress me with all your grand plans. I had no idea what you were talking about... I didn't have a clue, actually. I loved you right then and there. Life had changed as I knew it. And now it's changed again, love. See, I don't worry about you remembering me... It's that girl on the road you keep forgetting. "My business is to create. It doesn't even matter what you do." You told me that, remember?

P.S.

So go home. Go find it. Find that thing that makes you like nobody else. You’re unique.

“Y/N! You hungry?”

You turn, shielding your eyes from the sun rays. Your mother stood on the patio with a drink in her hand. Your stomach rumbled as you pushed yourself up from the sand, brushing the grains from your dress. You jog over, trying to avoid your feet from reacting to the hot sand. Slipping on your sandals, you climb and take a seat on a patio chair. The table was covered with all the foods you’d grown to love on your trip. You help yourself to a few pieces of plantain first.

Around your neck is one of Terry’s necklaces from his child hood. A handcrafted, wooden, beaded necklace with the colors of the Jamaican flag. Your mother sat next to you and made your plate for you. Terry’s great aunt, uncle, and cousins joined you. This was your last day in Jamaica and tonight there would be a farewell ceremony.

“Dig in!” Terry’s Aunt Chandice said. She had carob skin that glistened like onyx stone in the sun with thick locs that almost touched her ankles. His uncle Sean reminded you of Terry with his green eyes and striking features. He too had long locs that he wore in a bun.

His cousins were older than you but only by a few years. Two boys and a girl. Chris, Tarone, and Raeni.

You learned that the two boys and Terry used to compete in surf competitions. Raeni was into music and dance. During your trip she’d taught you how to move your hips and she even dragged you to a club or two where you let loose with her friends.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Aunt Chandice asked while they cleared the table.

“Of course!”

You loved it there. You didn’t want to leave.

After lunch, you took a long nap and afterwards you went for a swim. The hours ticked on and soon it was ceremony time. All of you dressed in all white as you stood on the beach, torches lit beneath the sunset. You brought out a small tightly sealed canister filled with some of Terry’s ashes. Handing it over to Uncle Sean, you stand back and watch them have their own traditional memorial ceremony to honor Terry.

Fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks while Aunt Chandice, Raeni, and your mom comforted you. Uncle Sean soon asked you to step forward with the others, each of you taking turns to pour his ashes into the sea. A piece of Terry sprinkled in places that he’d loved. You danced and laughed, twirling around and picturing Terry’s soul watching you from the clouds with a proud smile.

After many cups of rum, you retreat to your room, falling in bed and staring out at the moon. Sleep overcame you and as you drifted off, you dreamed of being in a boat, slowly floating under the moon. Strong arms circled you and the smell of sea spray tickled your nose. You open your eyes and look up, a pair of eyes that reminded you of the Caribbean Sea staring back at you.

“Terry Richmond.” You whisper.

“Y/N.” 

He’s shirtless with white linen pants on.

“What do you love most about Jamaica?”

“It’s a part of you…it’s a home away from home.”

Terry hummed, stroking your arm.

“Are you happy?”

Terry peered down at you. He sat up on his elbow, hovering above you, the moonlight creating a glow that surrounded him. You reach up to stroke his sculpted cheek.

“I am. More now that I know you’re okay.”

“It’s not easy,” Your eyes shine with tears, “I’m going to miss you forever.”

“I know, it’s okay,” Terry gave you a reassuring smile, “I’ll always miss you.”

Terry closed the distance between you two and his soft lips that tasted of mangoes and saltwater molded into yours perfectly. You stroke his broad back with your fingertips, electricity sparking your heart. The kiss went from patient to fervent, Terry’s hands in your hair, stroking the pattering of your butterfly locs. His tongue flicked yours and he sucked on your lips hungrily.

“Baby, baby,” Terry spoke against your lips, forehead against yours, “I have to go…I love you.”

“No…don’t leave me…”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him more. Terry grunted into your mouth. You stroke his tanned skin, squeezing his muscles and molding your hands against his body to feel as much of him as you could before it was too late.

It was already too late. But this felt so real.

It felt as if you were grabbing air.

“Terry…no…please.”

“I love you, Y/N…”

Shooting up from the bed, you feel around, trying to grab a hold of something. Anything. You look around, the reality of where you were settling over you like a weighted blanket. You clutch your chest, sweaty skin beneath your palm. With your other hand, you touch your lips. Shutting your eyes, you see the last images of Terry before they faded away.

It was him. It had to be him.

He visited you in your dreams. He’s happy. He’s in heaven. You smile as tears roll down your cheeks.

Acceptance.

——

Dear Y/N,

I don't know how much time I’ll have left with you in this world. I don't mean literally, I mean you're out buying ice cream and you'll be home soon. But I have a feeling this is the last letter, because there is only one thing left to tell you. It isn't to go down memory lane or make you buy a lamp, you can take care of yourself without any help from me. It's to tell you how much you move me, how you changed me. You made me a man, by loving me Y/N. And for that, I am eternally grateful... Literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my fiancé. I'm a man with no regrets. How lucky am I. You made my life, baby. But I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends.

P.S.

I will always love you.

All of his letters.

You sat on your living room floor with a glass of wine on his birthday. This letter you hadn’t opened months prior, wanting to save it for his special day. He would have been thrity–three. You stare at a framed photo of Terry in his MCMAP attire surrounded by recruits with a big smile and a sweaty face. You’d cut your hair and got a couple tattoos honoring him. One of which was on your butt. That made you giggle. Maybe you would fall in love again someday. Maybe not.

There’s only one Terry Richmond.

Grabbing a pen, you open a notebook and start writing your own letter. It was more so for closure. When you think of Terry now, you smile and reminisce on what it felt like to be with him. You cherish the memories and created new ones.

Dear Terry,

you said you wanted me to fall in love again... And maybe one day I will, but there are all kinds of love out there. This is my one and only life... And it's a great and terrible and short and endless thing... And none of us come out of it alive. I don't have a plan except that it's time my mom laughed again. She's never seen the world. She's never seen The Botanical Garden, so I'm taking her there to where we started. Maybe now she'll understand. I don't know how you did it, but you brought me back from the dead. I'll write to you again soon.

P.S.

Guess what.

The End

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter r @dashhoney25

[fanaticsnail]

Your Flirty Chef

(Image Source)

Masterlist Here.

Word Count: 4,267

Synopsis: Sanji has been working hard lately, your flirty chef no longer as present as you’d like him to be. You both have some unspoken flirtation between you, hopefully something to shatter by molding him beneath the touch of your hands. 

Themes: Sanji x reader, mutual pining, idiots in love, flirtation, cooking, kissing, touching, massage, moaning, Sanji is a whimpering mess, suggestive themes, Baratie.

Notes: This was a gift created for the lovely @vespidphoenix who adores my 'Bar Shift' series. We're back home at Baratie! I hope you enjoy!

Tag List: @sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry

The light danced from the open bay windows across the circular polished floorboards, the wax allowing for a wonderful grip beneath your black, closed toe work-shoes. The handles of the porcelain tray began to heat beneath your palms and fingertips, the foamed milk and cream jiggling with each careful footstep you placed on the ground. 

You noticed first the depiction of the business of the kitchen staff through the circular windows attached to the doors, the smoke and flames rising to char the dish within the pans. You caught the eyeroll of your favorite blonde coworker as he shook his head, refusing to take direction from your boss and head chef of Baratie. 

“Alright boys, coffee time. Take a break!” you called after making your way through the swinging double doors to the kitchen. Immediately, pre-service was paused as a pile of hardened ex-pirates enthusiastically made their way to the pass. 

Echoes of praise rang from the kitchen upon your utterances, all occurring simultaneously as grabbing hands eagerly pried the dishes within your tray as you placed it down.

“Truly a lifesaver, Doll,” Carne praised, claiming his piccolo-latte from the tray and raising it to his lips in one quick swig.

“Oh, my sweetheart. Thank you, Love,” Patty shot you a winning smile, raising his extra strong flat-white from the tray and scuttling back over to his patisserie station. 

“Something there for me, Honey?” Zeff asked, the click and scrape of his pegleg and boot heel knocking against the floor prompted you to gather his long-black coffee and hand it off to him personally with a small bow.

“Of course, Chef,” you smiled at him, handing it over and turning back to the tray to witness the depletion of the amassment of coffees you’d prepared; only two now remaining. Sanji was in the middle of temperature controlling whisked egg whites and scorching sugar, unable to halt his whipping to claim his regular hit of caffeine from you.

“Just leave it on the table, Dove. I’ll be over in a second, okay?” Sanji’s brows were furrowed in concentration, the stainless steel bowl held firmly in his left hand and cradled against his chest. Soft peaks of white, fluffy meringue began to form within the bowl, his right hand continuing to beat in absolute concentration in a rotational way. 

“You want to take it outside when you're done, Ji? Have smoko?” you asked him, removing the two mugs and placing it on the tray. Sanji scoffed back a small chuckle, flicking his hair away from his eyes as he continued whisking. 

“Please, and thank you. I’ll be out in about a minute thirty? Just gotta start on the macaroons, then I’m on my quarter,” He broke his concentration on the bowl below him, flicking his cool-gray eyes over to you and watching as you began wiping down the tray, and claiming the emptied cups within to return to the bar. 

As you left the kitchen, Sanji continued to watch your departure through his peripherals while meeting optimum temperature for the egg whites. He paddled the mixture with a silicone spatula into a plastic piping bag and rotated the end to hold the pressure in place, leaving it neatly to the side of his workstation to complete forming the macaroons after his break.

“On your quarter, Little Eggplant?” Zeff asked, brow raising as he took a sip from his strong coffee. Eyeing his apprentice suspiciously, he looked him over as Sanji removed his apron and neckerchief to relax on his break. 

“Oui, chef,” he smirked, hanging his apron on his designated hook and halting once more at the door, “that alright with you, old man?” 

“Fine by me, boy. Just-,” Zeff had an almost sly twinkle in his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, “-Just be kind to our bartender, alright?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always kind,” Sanji retorted, taken aback with his lip curling into a small snarl. A small echo of teetered laughter and snickers reverberated within the walls of the kitchen amongst the clanging of pots and pans. 

“You know what I mean, lad,” Zeff grunted, placing his empty coffee cup on the sink beside Carne who had begun washing the crockery, “Off you pop. When you get back, we’re doing Before Service. Start gettin’ it ready, lads! Family Meal in a quarter.”

“Oui Chef!” Echoed in the kitchen, each chef springing to their station to begin getting the elements of their dishes together to present to each other before the rush of the dining service. 

Sanji huffed a small sigh, exiting the kitchen and walking over to the fishmouth of the bar where you were waiting for him. Sanji had a small circle of thoughts swirling within his mind, echoing and reverberating the words Zeff had commanded of him. ‘Be kind’? What does ‘be kind’ even mean? Was he not kind? Had he not been kind to you in your interactions prior? 

There was never a doubt in Sanji’s mind that he adored you. His affections were showcased in how he regularly sought you out on advice when conflicting with your boss and his mentor, Zeff. You were the one he came to when he had a rush of inspiration in the kitchen, spoon feeding you samples of his amazing cuisine for your constructive criticism or your unwithheld praise. 

Just a simple hum and a nod of your head in response to his food had his heart swelling, but when you closed your eyes and a moan was siphoned from your breath had his pupils darkening, and thoughts of lustful interactions with you plagued him. He would lie awake at night thinking about how your lips wrapped around the spoon he presented you, your eyelashes fluttering shut and a small gasp fled from your lips as you reopened them in glee. 

And that is when it hit him. As he watched the sun dance on your skin, your fingertips casually dancing along the ropes beneath the hard surface of the bar; he realized what Zeff meant by his suggestion. 

Sanji was in love with you. 

He was so desperately in love with you, he would do anything to see you smile, to hear your laugh, or to collect one of those hummed moans you’d save only for him when sampling his dishes. He was mad for you, so much so that he charged right through the feeling itself and bypassed all of the warning signs screaming at him to not fall in love with his coworker. 

He halted his steps, the spell shattering within him as he came to terms with the feeling swelling within his chest. Sanji was a perpetual flirt, and you would reciprocate his advances in a way that had you both giggling and teetering like idiots. Your natural rapport with one another, the way you bounced off each other on the pass when you worked floor shift, or when you’d fetch him coffees and trial new designs within the foam just for him. The way he would present a meal he had created for Family Meal for everyone, but alter yours in a way that showed how much he truly adored you with its careful assembly. 

Sanji was in love with you. 

Looking over your shoulder, your body remaining presented to the water and the docks, you noticed Sanji staggering in the shadows of the fishmouth bar with his footsteps halting. You furrowed your brows, turning completely around and arching your back against the railing of the external bar surrounding the perimeter of the side-bar. 

“That you, Ji? Here for your quarter and a smoke?” you asked him, a warm smile pulling at your mouth to welcome him into the area. You thought you heard Sanji cough, a choked sound within the shadows indicating his presence. Your furrow began to descend into a frown while cocking your head to the side, “Coffee’s getting cold, Sweetheart. Come over here and keep me company.” 

You were unsure how more obvious you could be regarding your affections for the blonde suis-chef of Baratie. You were a flirt by nature, a job you were hired and paid to complete to build a successful interaction with your clientele. But Sanji. Sanji you got to flirt with for free. 

Flirting with Sanji was a competitive sport, and one you championed as the captain of the team and the cheer squad. 

It started with a game of chicken; food related innuendos and outrageously crass flirtations offered to fluster one another for entertainment, while completing a particularly grueling shift. It had you both laughing and in high spirits regardless of how little the guests respected you or physically fought with one another during the shift. You adored spending time together, building rapport and learning from one another through your flirtatious nature.

Your favorite pastime was watching Sanji work. The way he rolled his sleeves up slowly to pin by his elbows, the way his forearms stretched and flexed as he julienned vegetables, the concentrated expression of his eyes as he tweezed a piece of gold leaf atop a caramel fudge, with a careful scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on the rim.

And then it hit you. The arrow of the winged cupid struck your heart with the pierce of iron as he offered you the first spoonful of a dish he had prepared, and meticulously cared for, specifically for you. Apprehensively wrapping your lips around the spoon and flicking your tongue over the curved edge, you couldn’t help but to moan at both the flavor presented to you, and the expression of complete devotion and the eagerness to please you written all over his face. 

You were in love with Sanji.

You couldn’t help the way you felt for him, always aiming to task him with something simple: “Ji, be a sweetheart and hand me that steel jug, please?” to something a little more complex: “Sanji, would you cook that dish for me for Family Meal? The one with the brie and the rillette de canard? I adore that one.” He was a puppy, following your direction and orders with glee, and you were absolutely smitten with him. 

Sanji danced his body into the light of the bar, sheepishly not meeting your gaze as he fished out his tobacco pouch from within his trouser pocket. He opened the bag, noticing a small quake in his fingers at the knowledge that now plagued him. What was he meant to do now? Act like he didn’t worship the ground you walked on? 

“Sweetheart, why don’t you give that to me and you take a sip of your coffee? I’ll roll you one,” you asked him, reaching your hand over and claiming his right wrist beneath your hand, “You must be tired after all that hand-whisking. You just sit back and enjoy your quarter. I’m on my halfa, and you deserve more time off your feet before we get absolutely railed by the service shift.”

At the term ‘absolutely railed’, Sanji’s mind was racing beyond its capacity. He couldn’t find an appropriate word in his mind to relay onto you in return, simply nodding in confirmation as he handed over his tobacco pouch before standing beside you and watching the ocean dance against the hull of the floating restaurant. 

As the sun hit his golden hair, dancing along the glow of his tired and overworked features, you couldn’t help but look at him in awe. The way his eyes closed with his smile as he took the first look at the design you had created for him with the foam, before pressing it to his lips and sipping at it. 

You were in love with Sanji.

Setting to work on rolling the cigarette with the wafer thin paper and setting the filter within the side, you placed some of the brown, dried leaves into the fold and rolled it. From the corner of your eye, you watched Sanji’s eyes float down to your lips as you darted your tongue out to dampen the paper. You could’ve sworn you heard a catch in his breath, and a small strangled groan halted within his throat; but surely you were mistaken. 

You presented him with the cigarette, placing the filter end within his lips for him and wordlessly asking if you could ignite the tip with your lighter. Sanji’s eyes watched you carefully, nodding his head to give you confirmation to flick your flint and ignite the flame for him. Your eyes softened, cradling the flame as you elevated it to his lips and doused the end with its light to burn through the paper tip at the end. 

“You work too hard, Ji,” you commented, a flick of the corner of your lip in a small smirk captivated his gaze further, “It’s made you silent. C’mon now,” you placed the lighter back within your pant pocket, “Where’s that flirty chef I love so much?” Sanji smiled, inhaling the nicotine-riddled smoke as he extended his lungs to capacity.

“I dunno, Dove,” He began on his exhale, eyes closed and head lulling as he savored the feeling, “Your flirty chef might need some convincing to come out and play. I have been pushing myself a bit more today, and I’m beginning to feel it in my bones.” You half-smiled at him, watching as he removed the cigarette and threw back the remainder of his coffee in his mouth and swigging it with one fell gulp.

“Oh, you poor dear,” you pouted, raising your hand up and pressing it gently on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, “What can I do to bring him back?” Sanji groaned at the feeling of contact on his aching muscles, unsure of what came over him to elicit such a wanton sound. Your eyes widened, watching as his face began to contort as he hung his head low, relishing in the contact. 

“Let me take some of the weight off?” you suggested, bringing up your other hand to cup his shoulders, maneuvering your body behind him and firmly rotating your thumbs against the meat of his shoulders, “Maybe then my flirty chef will come out to play.” More of those beautiful groans escaped his lips as he succumbed to the ministrations of your fingers, molding and bending his hardened flesh within your hands. 

Sanji’s sweet cries of bliss were addictive, more addictive to you than any meal he had presented to you in the months you had worked closely together. The way he cried out in bliss as you found a particularly tender point in the center of his shoulder blade had you gasp out breathily in response. He was a slave to your touch, leaning in as a stray cat would to an affectionate caress. 

His cigarette fell from his lips to litter the ground by his shoes, the light extinguishing upon impact and rolling beneath the deck chairs surrounding you. He curved and arched his back into your touch, moaning and crying out as quietly as he could muster, with his mouth agape and a small amount of saliva collecting at the corners of his rapidly drying lips. Sanji’s body was responding a little too well to the simple touch of your hands on his shoulders and back. 

“Y-You’re so good-... mmff-... at this. W-Where did you-... oh-h merde-... where did you learn it?” He asked, lulling his head back and inadvertently rested the back of his head against your shoulder while holding onto the railing firmly in his grasp. You giggled, moving your hands beneath his shoulders and coaxing him from the railing to one of the lounging chairs, secluded in the shade of the sails of the wide umbrellas. Although this area was a public space, the lounges were private enough to shield Sanji as he rapidly fell apart in your arms from prying eyes. 

“I just know how hard the muscles work to produce the food you do, Ji,” you shrugged, sitting down on the lounge chair and ushering him to sit between your legs with his back to you. Initially, Sanji desired to sit up, his back convexing in a perfect arch to experience more of your touch. But his body had other plans beneath your skilled hands. 

He immediately found a more relaxed version of his former position: his head lulling back into your right shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut, your hands now finding rest against his biceps and rotating them beneath your firm grip to work out the kinks. 

Sanji had no idea what had come over him. The sounds falling from his lips were desperate, his body pleading and crying for more of your touch as he fell apart from the simple strokes of your hands now trailing up to his chest. You couldn’t get enough, your hands responding faster than your mind could tell it not to in order to find places on his body to have the sweeter sounds of your name rolling off his tongue between gasps and groans.

“Y-You’re-... fuck Dove-... Th-This is really good,” his breathy gasp complimented you, ending with the small pull of a whine within his throat. You tried your hardest to stop the rising heat from flooding to your cheeks at his voice, opting to giggle to relieve some of the tension surfacing. 

“You’ve got maybe three minutes before you have to go back, Sanji,” you said, patting him politely on the chest to indicate you were done assaulting him with your affectionate caress. At the small pat, he groaned, chasing the weight of your palm atop his chest by arching his back and pleading with you to continue. 

“Just a bit more?” he whined, opening his eyes and lulling his head further into your shoulder to gaze up at you with wide eyes, “Your flirty chef will come back if you do it just a little bit longer, I’m certain.” He smiled with his lips in a tight line, eyes twinkling in hope up at you. You scrunched your nose up at him, your own eyes reflecting his playful twinkle back at him.

“Maybe after the rush?” You suggested with a shrug of your shoulders and another curt tap of his chest. He groaned, slouching down and melting into your torso with the drag of his head. You laughed at him as he continued slinking lower and finally settled his head against your thigh, feet brushing against the ground over the side of the lengthy deck chair you were sharing. 

“But that’s so far away,” he groaned, a raspy growl rumbling against his tone. He clapped his hand over his eyes, squeezing his palm and fingertips in the pinch of his eyes before having it fall away from his face and down to his side with a small gasp. 

“Makes the waiting all the sweeter,” you cooed down at him. At this, he immediately rose to a sitting position, turning within your lap and gazing at you. His irises were blown, the small tint of pink dusting his cheeks and his lips were slightly parted. There were a thousand unspoken words dancing behind his eyes. The mystery surrounding such a look had you hooked and leaning in to see if a closer proximity would grant you further insight. 

At the small lean of your body from the back of the deck chair, Sanji reached his palm up and cupped your cheek, his fingers lacing in your hair, as he guided your lips to be claimed beneath his. A small squeak exited your lips in shock at the gentleness of his touch, eyes wide and watching him as his brows furrowed. A small hum of his lips against yours informed you that he was as shocked about this as you were, but not shocked enough to end the kiss just yet.

He pried your lips apart with his own, tilting his head to nudge you with his chin. You hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him against yourself and reciprocated with enthusiasm; your tongue darting out to meet his own. He chuckled against your lips once he felt you relax into it, flicking his tongue against yours with a groan of appreciation. You nudged him away from you, breaking the meeting of his lips on yours and unhooked your arm from his neck.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you commented, raising your arms up and fixing his ruffled hair. His eyes widened, brows peaking at the center as his lips parted. Focusing on redressing him and straightening up his uniform had your gaze pulled from his, unable to read the absolute heartbreak written all over his face. 

Nodding in appreciation at the straightening of his chefs jacket, you finally drew your smiling eyes up to meet his; immediately having your grin fall from your face once meeting with the sorrowful expression painted atop his features. 

“Ji, are you okay? What’s wrong?” you asked, cupping his cheek and darting your gaze between his two gray orbs. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this?” he whispered quietly, tilting his head down and gazing up at you through his eyelashes. Your eyes widened, smiling lips now falling open with a small shake of your head. 

Scrunching your nose, you leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips which ended with as much haste as it began. You giggled as you felt him chase his lips forward to halt your retraction, but ultimately got away from his approach. 

“I meant, you’ve only got about a minute left of your quarter,” you restated, confirming your words while elevating your hand to his chin. You brushed your thumb over his lower lip, dancing over his kiss-swollen lip with your digit. “We shouldn’t be doing this while we have so little time available for us to do so.” 

“O-Oh,” Sanji stuttered, the blush once again rising to dance over the apples of his cheeks, tips of his ears and button of his nose. You had never seen such a pretty color gracing his features, your heart swooning at the chef as he attempted to stifle his rising blush. 

“Has my flirty chef come back yet?” You asked him with a sly smile, retracting your hand from his face only to be caught within his own. 

“Your flirty chef,” he whispered, eyes holding firm to your own as he elevated your knuckles below his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your skin, “Is going to be flirting with you for the rest of this shift,” he pressed another kiss against the back of your hand, slightly further up than the last, “And hopefully all through Before Service, Family Meal, and Knock Offs,” he uttered between a flurry of pecks and grazes of his lips further up your arm. 

Now it was your turn for the hues of warmth to swell beneath your cheeks, ears and nose at his words; becoming flustered further by the animal poised behind his eyes, threatening to ravish you with the intensity depicted beneath. He chuckled as he began showering your cheek with a further flutter of his lips grazing your skin. He halted just before meeting your lips with his, choosing to tease you with a small brush of his own. 

“I’m going to cook you something,” he whispered, his breath dancing against your lips, “And you’re going to make those pretty sounds you do so well, hm?” He nodded, pouting his lips and widening his eyes with that innocent yet mischievous twinkle you have come to enjoy him wearing. You couldn’t help but nod in response, mesmerized by the enchantment held within his eyes.

“And then,” he ushered you against the beck of the chair, pressing his torso against yours and continuing to hold his lips an eyelash’s width away from your own, “I’m going show you how flirty your flirty chef can really be.” As you attempted to chase his lips to plant another kiss against his own, he quickly stood to his feet at the call of his name.

“Sanji!” Patty called, “Your macarons are portioned and ready for the oven. Take care of ‘em, would you?” Your breath caught in your throat, Sanji’s blush dissipating at the interruption and his face paling.

“Alright, I’ll be there Patty! Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he shouted in return, frustration written over his expression. 

“C’mon kid, we all know the only knickers you’re keen on seeing are the bartender’s!” He shouted in return, turning and stomping down the hallway towards the kitchen, “Get to it, Chef Zeff’s waiting.” Your eyes widened at the thought, your smirk withholding a small scream of bashful laughter from parting from your lips as your face drew a further flaming heat to it. 

Sanji waited a brief moment, inhaling a deep breath through his nose before removing his finger from your lips, tracing it down your chin and tilting your face to meet his eyes. His gaze was doing its best to disguise the horror of having the secret he thought he’d been withholding from surfacing. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he quickly stuttered, turning and immediately walking back to the kitchen with haste, the steam almost tangibly falling pouring from his ears as he stampeded away. You were too shocked to laugh, but a small giggle fell regardless. 

You could not wait until the rush of service was completed to get to experience the flirtatious fluster of the blond chef after shift hours. Perhaps to even continue what began against the deck chairs in a more quiet and intimate setting.

[benkeibear]

『 Vampire bf Choso pt. 2 』

☼ synopsis: What happpens when you find out that the man you called your boyfriend is in fact a vampire?

☼ character: Choso Kamo

☼ reader: female | AFAB

☼ wc: 391

☼ cw: drinking blood, suggestive towards the end

☼ notes: so what happens next? Will you let him have you wholly?

Vampire!Choso who was so certain he could keep his “little” secret from you for the rest of your life, who was certain you'd never taste the faint taste of iron on his tongue when you kissed or never wondered what he was drinking in that stainless steel mug.

Vampire!Choso who was relieved when you never asked questions and just let him do his own thing.

Vampire!Choso who more than once had to hold himself back from devouring you whole. He didn't even dare to "accidentally" bite your lip while kissing to get the smallest taste of you.

Vampire!Choso who was so in love with you that he would do his best to make all your dreams come true. He's never felt such a strong connection to anyone in all his years - let alone to a human.

Vampire!Choso who was terrified of losing you because of that. The thought of you looking at him with fear or the fact that you grew old and would one day cease to exist haunted his mind every minute of the day.

Vampire!Choso who didn't hear you coming home while he was mindlessly slurping from a blood bag, knowing you'd come home soon so he had to quench this undying thirst... but you arrived early and caught him.

Vampire!Choso who scrambled to wipe blood that was flowing down his chin away, cursing for always causing such a mess when he's drinking.

Vampire!Choso who looked at you with fear but to you he looked more like a wolf in sheep's clothing - yet there was no fear evident in your face, your heartbeat didn't even skip a single beat let alone got faster which surprised him.

Vampire!Choso who wanted to run away to keep you safe from himself but he was confused when you simply took the almost empty bag from his always cold hands.

Vampire!Choso who had to hold his breath when you offered your neck to him so casually, claiming that you've known for a while, but wanted him to tell you whenever he's ready.

Vampire!Choso who almost gave into his desires, sharp fangs grazing your skin, yet never piercing it, always close but never quite. He wouldn't allow himself such a delight, wouldn't taint you with his rotten being.

Vampire!Choso who almost whimpered when you begged him to just bite you already, not trusting himself entirely that he could stop before seriously hurting you but he didn't want to disappoint you either.

Vampire!Choso who kissed the juncture of your shoulder and neck, whispering apologies against your soft skin before his fangs pierced your skin and rich, red blood started to leak from the two small spots.

Vampire!Choso whose body felt divine upon tasting you, small electric shocks traveling down his spine that made his head spin and his pants grow tighter.

Vampire!Choso who could barely get enough of you, yet he tore himself away from you, his pupils blown wide when you looked at him, eyes slowly fluttering open.

Vampire!Choso who felt high from the trust you held in him, yet he held the power to decide if you'd live or die in his hands - not that he ever planned on abusing this power or to seriously hurt you... but perhaps you'll allow him to drink from you again and then some more than just a little taste.

Vampire!Choso who picked up on your fast heartbeat and the arousal forming between your thighs.

Vampire!Choso who couldn't wait to devour you whole in another sense now that he knew that his true being turned you on this much…

Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Two strangers, not strangers

Only lacking the knowing

So willing, feeling

Infinite growing

While we're here, the whole world is turning

We should be, one, fulfilling the yearning

You can see inside me, will you come inside me

Do you wanna ride, inside my love"

Trina Broussard— "Inside my Love"

A.N.: Content Warning. Smut ahead. Grown folks only. 18+.

Celeste's left hand jerked out wildly to flip on the light switch inside her home. The cottage lit up with a bright pink glow from her vintage stained-glass Tiffany lamps. Her legs were still wrapped around Terry's hips. She climbed down his tree-trunk body and stepped aside, letting him swagger past the threshold of her home. A black baby grand piano that belonged to a deceased aunt had bags of feathers, beads, unfinished patches, and sequins strewn all across it, making the front of the place look messy and disheveled.

"I'll just move these into the other room where they belong," she said.

Terry looked past her into the living room. A smirk crinkled his lips. Celeste looked over her shoulder.

"Oh my, God. I'm so sorry that you see that…give me a second…"

She hurried past him to pick up the ten-inch dildo left in the middle of the floor with the camera set up.

"I know this looks weird…shit…shit…" she sputtered, frantically pulling up the dildo that released with a loud suction pop from the wooden floor. She gathered up the bottle of lube, pillows and dumped them into her sewing room.

Terry took a seat on the recliner end of her purple leather sectional that took up most of the space in the living room right after the baby grand. He watched her pick up the pillows and a sheet, tossing them into her bedroom. She walked back out with her hands on top of her head, embarrassed beyond measure.

"That looked bad…I know."

"Well, you're single now. Looks like you planned a fun night for yourself," he said.

The playfulness of his voice relaxed her, and she pointed toward her kitchen.

"I'll make us those hot drinks," she said, grabbing his bag of leftover food and scampering off.

"Take your time," he called out.

Celeste put his food in the fridge and pulled out a container of half and half. She rested her hands on the kitchen sink and closed her eyes. The shame! She browbeat her own self for not straightening out the living room before she left. Of course, she hadn't planned on inviting him over. Time to save face.

She poured water into a stainless steel percolator and opened a tin of chicory coffee from Café Du Monde, then poured a measured scoop into the coffee filter. After it started bubbling, she grabbed two coffee mugs from her cupboard and prepared their drinks with half and half and a couple of sugar cubes.

"Get it together…pretend the dildo never happened," she whispered to herself before carrying the mugs out into the living room.

She set their coffee down on two coasters and sat demurely next to him. Her locs flowed over her shoulders, giving her a regal appearance.

"Your home is very eclectic…feels cozy too," he said, surveying her taste in vibrant, colorful decorations.

She filled her walls with Mardi Gras feathers and personal beadwork that she mounted on frames, along with pictures of mid-century carnival second lines and jazz funerals. There were whimsical art nouveau pieces from specialty shops around town she purchased of stain-glassed butterflies and Black fairies. French doors that led to the small courtyard out back stayed hidden behind saffron double-laced drapes that her grandmother made for her.

She jumped up and dimmed the setting on the lamp lights. Her purse sat on top of the baby grand. She checked the front door lock to make sure it was secure.

"Your phone kept buzzing in your purse," he said.

He'd lifted his coffee mug and puckered his lips to blow the hot steam away from the drink. Celeste rummaged through her purse and pulled out her cell. Mercy and Nae Nae had both responded to the group text she sent out. She ran her fingertip across the keypad, letting them know he was in her home having coffee. Three green chat bubbles danced on the screen as Mercy typed back something.

YOU BROUGHT THAT MAN HOME WITH YOU?!

Celeste glanced at Terry who sipped his drink and surveyed the surroundings like it was a museum installation. Her artsy style always impressed visitors, especially with the limited space a cottage afforded her. She typed a quick message back.

I'LL LET Y'ALL KNOW HOW THINGS GO IN CASE I NEED THE CAVALRY!

Celeste carried her silenced phone back to the couch and placed it on a side table. She joined Terry and savored the coffee after a pleasant outing.

"This is very good. A nice way to end the evening with you," he said.

She fretted in her seat, wondering how to salvage the poor impression she made on him. He reached over and stroked her arm.

"Are you still thinking about the sex toy on the floor?"

Celeste's head slumped forward, and he laughed again, the rich baritone filling up her home and taking the tension out of her shoulders. Those emerald eyes worked their magic again like they did in the restaurant, driving her to spill out her life in intimate ways she'd never do with anyone else on a first date.

"I can explain—"

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

She tucked a thick loc behind one ear and left his side for a second and retrieved the plantation pictures from her refrigerator.

Handing them to Terry, she sat next to him again.

"One day I want to buy a home like these. I've been saving money and working two jobs for the last two years. On top of my sewing and hustling extra money, I ventured into online fetish content. I have pretty feet, so…I created a website on a BDSM platform to sell explicit pictures and videos. I filmed my first video tonight…right before you called me out for dinner."

"Okay…is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you need a director?"

Celeste cackled and threw a hand over her mouth, and Terry grinned, looking at her legs. He lifted her left foot and tugged at her modest heel.

"I want to see these pretty feet men are paying to see," he teased.

She brushed at his hand, but he already pulled the heel off. He gently massaged her toes through the thigh-high, sheer black stockings and his touch shot ticklish sparks up her leg.

"You stand on your feet all day…working hard to achieve your dream. I'd never judge you for doing something that helps you do that. I think it's sexy. You do have attractive feet, by the way…"

He stared at her foot as he kept kneading out the day through his fingers and she leaned back in the sectional to give him more room to work. She even kicked off the other shoe, and he worked on that tired foot, too.

"You deserve the world, Celeste Profitt," he said.

He kissed each toe of her left foot and inched his soft lips to her ankle and further along her leg until he stopped above the kneecap, just at the junction where the stocking and her uncovered skin met.

"Is this okay?" he asked, waiting for permission to continue.

"Yesss," she hissed, bewitched by those eyes that transformed into something dangerous…predatory.

Was this how the devil tricked Eve inside the Garden of Eden? Not by ripe red apples or promises of wisdom, but jade jewels for eyes that blazed with seduction. His lids nearly closed to mere slits, and the blood in her veins chilled at how viper-like he looked arched across her leg.

The cautious voice of Celeste's cousin rattled in her ear with his warning from the night on Bourbon Street.

"Uh uh…no ma'am. Leave that one alone."

Dangerous.

Sinful.

Unholy.

Her eyes blurred. She looked at Terry as if she'd plunged under water and the liquid distorted her vision. His canine teeth seemed sharper than she remembered them being. He slid his tongue across them and she blinked, thinking the pink lighting in her home played tricks on her.

"Terry…"

He slithered his lips onto her lower inner thigh and pushed her dress up to her hips, revealing her thong underwear. Licking her thigh, the moisture from his tongue soaked through the stocking. Celeste stayed still, afraid to break the spell he had over her.

"May I keep going?" he asked.

"Please," she said, with a quiver in her voice.

He gave the crotch of her thong a delicate kiss with his plush lips, moving higher until the tip of his tongue twirled around her clit. The friction from the thong combined with the pressure of his tongue on her sensitive jewel arched her back high. She palmed his head with both hands, hoping to tether herself. Her vulva swelled with juicy arousal and her inner labia puffed with engorgement. He hooked a finger and slid her thong aside.

"Here is the real meal," he hummed, pushing his mouth into her vulva.

His tongue traced invisible sigils of circular shapes and Celeste watched her pussy slicken his mouth until it glistened with her wetness. He slathered her labia with saliva and dragged his wide, hot tongue along her inner thigh. She yelped when she felt a nip from his teeth on her flesh and then a sharp numbness flooded that area, removing the sting of pain.

He licked her vulva again before feasting on her clit, sucking it with a dexterous mouth that never stopped tasting, teasing, and licking every inch of her pussy.

"You taste so good…the blood…your pussy…so good…" he hummed into her flesh.

Her skin aflame, Celeste let all the exquisite sensations flow through her body. She needed this. Needed this man. Needed his mouth. His tongue. His rough teeth…

Another quick stinging sensation pricked her thigh again, and Terry took his time sucking on that spot and fingering her clit. He plucked at the responsive bud.

"Terry!" she cried out, unable to endure the pleasure of his mouth on her thigh and his fingers playing a symphony on her clit at the same time.

The palm of his huge hand pushed her back down and held her in place.

"Do. Not. Move."

The stern tone forced her into submission. She wanted to obey. Badly. His tongue and lips became savage instruments on her pussy. He pushed her legs back, and she held them for him while he ripped her thong into shreds yanking them off. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling as she noticed the feeling of intoxication taking over her body. It was like being high on exceptional weed or rolling on high-grade ecstasy. Their shadows mingled above her, performing their own sexual dance separate from them.

Terry rose above her, and she could clearly see the heavy erection bulging through his pants. She whimpered at the sight. His shit was big. Gold help her. He lowered his face and kissed her, the taste of her pussy and chicory coffee delicious in her own mouth. She licked her wetness from his lips and he held still to enjoy her tongue's affectionate ministrations.

He maneuvered himself comfortably in the recliner and tugged on her dress.

"Take this off for me," he said. "I want to feel you against me."

Celeste stood and pulled her dress over her head. It tangled in her hair and she fussed with the long locs until she became free, standing before him in her bra and stockings.

"It should be illegal for you to be this sexy," he said, his eyes lifting up and down her shapely physique like an elevator.

He zeroed in on her vulva and licked his lips again.

Celeste unhooked her bra from the back and let it slip down to the floor. Her breasts looked tantalizing in the pink lighting. Terry palmed their fullness and pushed them together. He gently pinched both nipples until they stood like dark cinnamon hard candies. Delectable and sugary sweet.

He engulfed the left nipple and sucked on it, causing it to grow stiffer and more sensitive. She moaned and tilted her head back. The pleasure of his licking and sucking increased her lust for him. She stroked the waves in his hair and he pushed his face between her breasts. Her fullness pleased him because he groaned and spoke her name into her chest, the warm air from his mouth arousing her to a fever pitch. Her pussy throbbed, and he continued sucking and fondling until her legs quaked. She thought she would faint in his arms.

"Beautiful breasts, heavy the way I like them…should I cum on them now, or later?" he asked.

"Later," she said with a breathy moan, wanting to keep him there longer to stretch out her pleasure.

He turned her around and stood. Pushing her locs aside, he kissed the back of her neck and trailed a methodical line down her spine with his tongue, waking up every nerve ending on her back. She whimpered and allowed herself to stay focused on every part of her body that he catered to, like he was priming her for something extraordinary.

He sat on the sectional again and kissed each of her ass cheeks. Afterward, he struck each one with a fully open palm.

"The recoil is crazy," he said.

She turned to face him and lowered her lips for another languid kiss, pleased that every part of her body excited him. Her locs shrouded him in a curtain of thick coiling ropes, reminding her of Medusa trapping an unsuspecting victim who stumbled into her lair. His tranquil eyes stopped her from making contact with his lips. They stared at her in wonder, and she recognized a kindred spirit within them. Yes, there in the center of his pupils, reflected back to her, was a yearning for something more in the world. A longing for another soul to banish the loneliness with true companionship. He was the only legacy of his family, a widower with just an elderly grandmother to care for. Her eyes welled up, and he brushed away her tears with his thumb.

"Why are you crying, beautiful Celeste?"

"I want what you want."

He wrenched his eyes away.

"And what do you think I want?" he asked.

"Someone for yourself. Just like me. When was the last time you had anyone in your life…for a relationship?"

His eyes snapped shut, and he tilted his neck.

"Long enough that I don't care to remember."

"But you want that, right? A chance to have someone of your own again?"

An inner struggle flashed behind those emerald eyes.

"Maybe this was a mistake. I should leave before this goes any further," he said.

"Please…don't leave. I like you and I want you here with me."

He stroked her cheek and pushed his fingers into her locs, tangling them until his hand became lost in the thick forest of hair.

"I like you too…you sweet, sexy…vulnerable woman."

"Vulnerable?"

She rose, and he didn't let go of her hair.

"Your heart is so open…so wide open…and pure. People sense that, and you attract them like a beacon of light in a shadowy world. You can't even see what a safe harbor you are for others. It's why you have so many friends and why so many people gravitate to you…want to be near you."

"Except for people I want to be with," she said, thinking of all the boyfriends she pinned her hopes on over the last five years.

"The one made for you just hasn't arrived yet. You must be patient. Steadfast."

"Maybe you're the one for me."

He pressed the side of his face against her breasts and rested there. She rubbed his hair and hummed a soft, made-up tune until he stood abruptly.

"Terry…don't…don't go," she pleaded.

Her tone kept him from stepping further from her grasp. She threw her arms around his waist and refused to let him go. He circled his arms around her shoulders and they stayed in that position for a long time, listening to each other breathe. Her heart beat out an anxious rhythm and she couldn't stop trembling, fearful he would still walk out on her. He gave her peace. Pleasure. A hope for something better.

"I want you to stay."

Those words must've been the magic key to get him functioning again. Lowering his lips, he kissed her, and his arms instinctively relaxed around her, as if they were always meant to be there.

She pulled away and held both his hands, leading him to her bedroom. Feeling confident in her choice for the night, she lit the large gold votive candles on both of her low, bed-side tables to create a romantic ambiance. She thanked Jesus that she made her bed up after breakfast that morning. The room was in less disarray than the living room. Without trepidation, she unbuttoned his dress shirt and gasped when she revealed the gift that was his chest. The chiseled abdominal V lines looked unreal and she glanced at his eyes to show him how much she appreciated the effort he made to keep his body tight.

Terry slowly pulled off his shirted and kicked off his shoes while Celeste unfastened his leather belt. The thin gold buckle had an intricate square design, and as she unzipped his slacks, he grabbed the back of her neck and smashed his lips against hers, sealing the deal in her bedroom. His tongue snaked into her mouth with such force that she gasped for breath, putting a pause on further actions until she could touch his clothing without her fingers shaking.

A corner of her mind buzzed with a subtle warning, but the rest of her brain worked on autopilot. She might never see this man again, but she was going to enjoy him for as long as he was in her presence. He slipped his pants and underwear down, wiggling his legs free. She helped slide his black dress socks off and willingly dropped to her knees as he gripped his dick and stroked it.

In the candlelight, the girth and length went beyond what she imagined, and the color was also a darker shade with the engorgement of blood. His balls hung like fat, round fruit with a thick, dark brown seam down the middle. His erection had a slightly upward curve and the wide head showed a slit already dripping with pre-cum. Her clit twitched at the sight and she moaned when her pussy throbbed deep within her walls. She touched her vulva and the glossy natural lubrication there caused Terry's nostrils to flair. He sniffed the air and his eyes latched onto hers.

"You want me?" he asked.

"I do."

"Show me."

Celeste gripped the weight of his dick in her hand. Hot, thick, and ready, the veins crossing the sides pulsed and the entire thing felt alive. He thrust the head inside her eager mouth, stuffing it so full of hard dick that she choked on it, gagging until she pulled it out to adjust her ability to handle all of it. He grasped a few of her locs by the root and held her head steady, pushing his erection down her throat again. The gawking sounds she created with his face fucking seemed so shameless in her bedroom. Saliva dripped down her chin and dropped onto her breasts and he pinched one of her nipples to keep her focused on deep-throating him.

She pushed a hand against his stomach to control the depth, and that didn't stop him from fucking her mouth into submission. This is what she wanted. She held her hands against his rock-hard thighs and worked her neck to the best of her abilities. He threw his head back to bark out her name in a heated rush of sound and fury. She took that tiny respite to lick her tongue across the veins on his dick and lifted it so she could tend to his balls. Licking down the seam, she opened her mouth wide to suck on each sack, paying close attention to how sensitive he was between his legs. He accepted her skillful licks on the underside of his dick as she worked her way back to the bulbous tip. She let it sit on her lips and stared up at him.

He reached for her waist before he released any cum, his breath full of heavy pants and moans barely articulating her name clearly. Terry lifted her up, and she locked her legs around his hips again. He crawled onto the bed, carrying her with his dick wedged between her slick folds that spread against his length.

Their shadows mirrored their movement as he dropped her onto the firm mattress, covered in a fluffy orange and pink blanket. Celeste kept her hands draped around his neck. Their lips joined, and they shared slow, deep kisses that had her mouth watering like a river and her pussy constantly throbbing, yearning to be stretched and filled. He reached down to her clit and fingered her slowly. While kissing, her mind spun into a funnel of euphoria. Every stroke on her clit from his thick fingers forced delirious pants from her into his craven mouth.

"Would you like to cum on my fingers, Celeste?" he purred in her ear, dipping his tongue in and out. He licked the shell of her ear and moaned her name like a sacred mantra.

Words failed her as she murmured indecipherable sounds. Two of his fingers dipped lower and plunged into a molten pussy that squelched with his tender, shallow thrusts.

"Tight pussy…" he moaned.

In the candlelight of her bedroom, his eyes shined with an eroticism she didn't know could exist. Every breath she took stayed in synch with his, as if he were orchestrating a love-conquering like some forbidden dark lothario sneaking into a young maiden's boudoir. Her upper half rose from the bed as he fingered her pussy with such care that she couldn't see straight anymore.

"That's a good girl…I love how you squeeze around my fingers like that. Deeper? Is that what you want, my love? Oh, yes…you know how to take it deep…"

He removed his fingers to taste her wetness, and a weak mewling sound fell from her lips. It turned into pitiful whimpering as he returned those thick digits to the center of her being, digging deeper and deeper. Whipping her head back and forth, Celeste couldn't contain the surge of pleasure that coursed under the dermis of her skin and not just the top layer. Whatever he was doing crept into a deeper part of her carnal need. He tapped into something primal.

"Cum for me, Celeste. I want to see you break apart on my fingers. Can you do that for me? Look how beautiful you look jumping on this bed…just for me."

Hunched over her writhing frame, he kept his gorgeous face three inches away from hers and the lustful scrutiny in his eyes burst a damn within her. She broke down and begged for an orgasm.

"Make me cum, Terry! Ohmigod…I can't take any more—"

"Yes, you can. You're a big girl…you can take whatever…I…give…you."

His index and middle finger tapped against her walls, and his thumb rubbed hard circles into her clit. Celeste's eyes rolled back and her body jerked on the bed. Her pussy spasmed all around his fingers.

"Terry!" she wailed.

He pushed his lips against her mouth and swallowed the shouting she couldn't contain. A full body shudder took over, and he talked her through that too, his baritone becoming a lullaby of praise.

"That's my good girl. You lasted longer than you thought you could. Look how proud I am of you. See how hard my dick is? See it? All for you. Your beautiful body still shakes and clenches my fingers. You're wonderful, truly wonderful baby…"

He kissed her from the top of her head and all across her breasts. His moist lips gave butterfly kisses down to her belly button and beyond. Celeste didn't think her body would ever stop shaking. He lingered on her pussy, giving her a loving aftercare with his tongue and mouth. His patient touches brought her down from the explosive orgasm, and she drifted into a comfortable, dreamy state of bliss.

"My beautiful queen," he murmured into her thighs.

Bathed in sweat, Celeste glimpsed the flickering of her shadow on the ceiling from the candlelight. She blinked sweat from her eyes.

Why did it look like her shadow was the only one up there?

She rose onto her elbows, trying to understand what kind of optical illusion she was witnessing, but Terry hooked her attention away from the lone shadow and cuddled with her on the bed.

"I loved watching your face as you came," he said.

Feeling shy and unable to think of anything to say, she rubbed on his bicep and looked at the star and crescent tattoo.

"Are you Muslim?" she said, tracing her index finger under the crescent.

"No."

"But this is a Muslim tattoo."

"It's not. This is actually an old symbol for the sun and the moon. It represents the balance of power that comes from those heavenly bodies."

"Masculine and feminine energy."

"Not exactly, but that is a cool interpretation."

"It's shaped like New Orleans…this crescent is the mighty Mississippi River…the sharp bend in the water that curves around my city like a smile that says bon matin when the sun comes up and…what is that?"

She pointed to the glint of pale iridescent ink that wasn't visible with the naked eye until another form of light struck it above the eight-pointed star. Here, it was the candles on the nightstands. The tattoo turned into a fully closed circle with the star in the center.

"I had a clever tattoo artist experimenting with new ink," he said.

"As above, so below," she said, touching the top part of the circle. "Or…night and day."

She kissed the star on his bicep and studied the features of his face.

"Can you stay with me all night, Terry?"

"I will stay for as long as you want."

She smiled and lifted herself so that she could look directly into his eyes.

"I want to make love with you. I want to feel you inside of me so deep that I cry," she said, her lips trembling with emotion.

He brushed back the hair from her shoulder and rubbed on her hip.

"I will give you everything you want. Ask and you shall receive," he said.

His lips didn't move, but she heard his voice in her head clearly. Succinctly.

"Give me what I want," she said, lying back on the bed.

Terry wasted no time hooking her legs over his arms and settling between her thighs.

"I love how the brown gives way to the delicate pink," he said.

The tip of his dick pressed against her labia, parting them, revealing the inner flesh the color of pink cotton candy surrounded by the chocolaty brown of her vulva. Celeste glanced over at her nightstand drawer, knowing there were condoms inside. In her heightened state, prophylactics were the last thing she cared about. She didn't even ask Terry if he carried any. It didn't matter. Her body floated on a current of biological urges that she couldn't control. The quiet part of her mind latched on to the brown plastic baby on top of the nightstand that she nearly swallowed eating the King Cake two nights ago. Protect your womb. She ignored the warning.

"Look at me, Celeste," he said.

She turned her head and luxuriated in the feel of him holding her. This she would remember as the before time with him, the small window of opportunity to escape that she squandered because of the overpowering persona Terry presented to her. She caved into her libido.

Unprotected heart.

Unprotected sex.

Unprotected soul.

"Say yes," he said above her, those sensual eyes piercing her psyche.

"Yes—"

The world slowed to a crawl.

Terry pushed into her depths and she accepted all of his thickness as a blessing. She clawed at his back and watched the lone shadow dance across her ceiling as tears pricked her eyes and coursed down her cheeks.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened…and I will give you rest," she murmured to her shadow above, not knowing why that passage in the bible slipped from her mouth.

With each stroke Terry gave her, the shape of his dick tugged on her clit, causing Celeste to cry out to God, emphasizing the ecstasy she experienced. Their union shattered any perception she had of what lovemaking could be.

His mouth stayed buried in neck, sucking on it and speaking life into the delirious flesh that submitted to his will. Her bed squeaked and bounced with the headboard smacking the wall so hard she thought for sure they would crash out onto the street.

He leaned back to watch his dick plunge in and out, the ramrod brown parting her labia that fit around him like a second skin for his erection. Her pussy turned into a magician, making that dick disappear and re-appear shinier than her mama's polished silver. The hard heat of it kept her panting and clinging to his arms. Every part of her body, from a single follicle on her scalp to the callous on the bottom of her right foot, felt the rapturous gratification. Full body orgasms washed across her in steady waves until it reached a feverish pitch. Terry sensed the coming explosion and flipped her over onto her stomach. He straddled her thighs, hunkered down, and pounded her pussy. The loud smacks of their bodies colliding added to the intense carnality. He held her neck down, but she could still look back at him with glossy brown eyes that pleaded for him to never stop.

"Fuck me!" she yelled.

Terry's brows furrowed while putting his back into it, and perspiration dripped from his forehead, landing on her back. She could feel it rolling down to the crack of her ass and mingling with her own sweat. Awareness of all sensations grew tenfold. Even his grunts created vibrations she could feel across her skin.

"Celeste!" he roared, bucking harder against her ass, stretching her pussy wide open.

The sound of her name fell onto the back of her neck and burrowed into the raging skin like the tactile sensations of a finger stroking it. Their fucking was outrageous. She reveled in it. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and he kissed her, keeping his stroke game going.

"You feel so good…all around my dick…make me feel you more, baby…I'll give you what you need any time you want it. Hear me? Shit! Right there, right there, right there…lemme hit that spot deeper right there…so fucking tight on this dick!"

She twisted on her side slightly so that he could still see the side of her ass, as well as her breasts. He volleyed those wondrous eyes on her ass and face, not wanting to miss any action on either one. He grabbed a fistful of locs and used them like reins to slow his gyrating thrusts. Agonizingly slow, Terry rolled his hips and varied his hard pumps from deep to shallow, driving her to the edge.

Eyes locked, he spoke five devastating words.

"Can I cum inside you?"

His body moved with sinuous elegance, rocking into her with a heat on the verge of losing control. She clenched her walls around him and he groaned, his lips forming a startled "O" shape. His head fell back, and Celeste watched sensual pleasure twitch every muscle in his cheeks and forehead. He had the face of an angel, and she seared that image of him in her brain forever.

"Lemme cum inside you…please…lemme cum…."

"I want you to cum."

"Tell me…"

"I want you to cum inside me."

"Say it again."

His eyes trapped her. She would do anything he said. Follow him anywhere. Give him anything.

"Cum inside your pussy," she begged.

"All this is mine?"

He tugged on her locs harder.

"Yours…all yours…"

He pushed her left leg over until she was back in missionary. Twining both legs around his hips, she gasped at the friction of her clit brushing against his wiry pubic hairs that were soaked by her wetness. He was so deep inside of her that her stomach moved with each thrust.

"You belong to me now. Do you understand this?"

In the hazy glow of their lovemaking, Celeste nodded. He palmed her breast and fondled it.

"All of this belongs to me. No harm shall come to you as long as you belong to me…"

His words sounded more like an incantation than love talk. She squeezed her pussy to show she had love magic, too.

"Damn, Celeste, I'm 'bout to bust…I can't hold back…"

"Cum for me…please…take this pussy…oh…shit!"

She let go.

Her climax started behind her eyes, watching him seize up and cum, his semen spilling into her, hot and fast, coating her walls, filling her to the brim. Her pussy throbbed, milking his dick, and they both watched the lower part of his erection pulse as it pushed out an elixir that would doom her future.

"Fucckkk!" he shrieked, falling forward and covering her with his big, heavy body.

She held him tight, delighting in every after-climax shiver and shake his body made because of her. Her own body quivered with aftershocks, too.

"You are incredible. I was not expecting all that," he said, falling away from her, panting and rubbing sweat on his chest.

She snuggled against his side and he pulled her in close, both needing to feel their warmth and sweat co-mingling. Unfortunately, her bladder called for attention and she crept away to pee.

Inside her bathroom, she giggled at her reflection in the mirror. Her nipples were still hard and her pussy kept twitching, missing the feel of his dick stuffing it full. This was going to be a problem. Sex that good could become dangerously addictive.

Her face took on a somber expression, thinking about not using a condom. She quickly opened her sink cabinet and pulled out a small box of Plan B. She ripped the box open, popped the pill in her mouth, and used sink water to wash it down. A trip to the clinic would be in order to check for STDs. She was too grown at twenty-seven to be moving ass backwards with her sexual health.

How many times had she told younger cousins to use protection at all times?

Hypocrite.

Celeste grabbed a clean wash cloth from the wall shelf above the toilet and gave herself a quick PTA cleaning. She padded back to her bedroom and lost her breath looking at the fine man lying on his side under the covers waiting for her.

"Hey beautiful," he said, lifting the blanket for her to join him.

Celeste wasted no time climbing in beside her favorite lover.

He spooned around her backside and she noticed something peculiar before she blew out the candles. There were two shadows back on the ceiling again. Hers. And his.

Chapter 7 HERE.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

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[pedrospatch]

Is there anything that Ellie might have seen that made her suspicious of Peach and Joel hooking up? Maybe Joel returning home SUPER early one morning with a giant smile on his face?

Hi my love, thank you for sending this in! I got the best idea while wolfing down my dinner. I did tweak it just a tad 🤍

Warnings/Tags: Ellie being a lil shit, hickeys, and Joel doesn’t get to have his morning coffee.

Word Count: 445

Joel walked into the kitchen. “Mornin’ kiddo.”

“It’s about fucking time,” Ellie rolled her eyes. She stood in front of the gas powered stove doing her best to keep her eggs from sticking to the frying pan with a spatula. “I thought I was going to have to go find a fucking prince to kiss your ass awake, dude. Don’t you have to head out for patrol in like five minutes?”

“More like ten. I still got a little time.” He stifled a yawn and walked over to get his pot of coffee going. “You cookin’? Since when the hell do you cook?”

She scoffed. “Since you’ve been sleeping in late every morning for the past two and a half weeks,” she remarked, shaking her head. “If I wait around for you to wake up and make me breakfast, I’ll fucking starve.”

“Quit bein’ so dramatic.” Joel glanced into the frying pan. “There’s a shit ton of shell in there, kiddo.”

“What can I say, I like a little extra crunch,” Ellie deadpanned. She turned to him, watching as he opened the cabinets to grab a mug. Just like every morning for the past two and a half weeks, he was smiling from ear to ear. “What the hell are you so damn happy about, Joel?”

“Can’t I just be in a good mood?”

“No, because then that would mean hell’s frozen over.” As he turned around to lean against the kitchen counter, her eyes widened in shock. “Whoa! What the fuck is that thing on your neck?”

“Huh?” Joel’s smile faded as he reached up and touched the spot she was staring at. “What the hell are you talkin’ ‘bout?” Whirling around, he picked up the stainless steel toaster on the counter and glanced at his reflection. His eyebrows shot up in surprise to see a bruise the size of a silver dollar on his neck, right above his collarbone. 

Shit. 

You’d left him with a love bite.

Ellie’s mouth fell open. “Is that a—?”

He was quick to shut her down. “No.”

“It sure as hell looks like one, Joel.”

Joel set the toaster down, shaking his head. “Well it ain’t,” he said. “Somethin’ must have bit me.” He winced, realized he’d open the door nice and wide for the little shithead.

“Something or someone?” Ellie smirked. 

“Ellie,” he warned her.

“Could it be the same someone who’s had you walking around every morning with a big stupid fucking on smile on your face?” she continued to tease him.

“That’s it, I’m fuckin’ outta here.” Joel spun around on the heel of his boot and stalked out of the kitchen—without his morning coffee.

[rottenpumpkin13]

what would it be like if the firsts lived together?

They did live together. Once. Right after Angeal and Genesis made First Class, SOLDIER grew in numbers, and the living quarters were still under planning and construction. They shared a spacious three bed, three bathroom apartment later reserved for Thirds to share. Angeal still dubs it "the worst 14 months of his life"

• Genesis had his own cereal, but thought theft tasted better, so he used to steal Sephiroth's cereal and the two would have a physical altercation over rainbow loops.

• Angeal thought Genesis was a neat freak until he met Sephiroth, who made a color-coded spreadsheet to track the frequency of dusting different areas of the house. Sephiroth liked to passive-aggresively wipe down counters after someone had been in the kitchen, and took pictures of Angeal and Genesis as they were actively making messes to hold them accountable later. Apparently Sephiroth still has a scrapbook of photos to this day, which he labeled "Why I live alone."

• Angeal was the type to leave out a dirty mug Genesis used and never washed for days on end, refusing to let Sephiroth wash it, all to prove a point. Sephiroth would cave and wash the dirty mug when she wasn't looking. Genesis knew this, which is why he would continue to use the mug and leave it out. The same mug remained in the sink for all 14 months they lived together.

• Sephiroth is an insomniac and liked to fix himself meals at 3AM, which would give Genesis a green light to practice the fucking flute, also at 3AM. Angeal had never experienced true rage until he heard a half-assed flute version of O Fortuna while Sephiroth was actively beating a stake with a meat hammer.

• Angeal would refuse to cook for them as a protest if he found half-eaten food in the garbage.

• Angeal was also no saint, and his alarm used to be a loud guitar riff meant to get him motivated and out of bed in the morning. The first time Sephiroth was startled awake by loud rock music at 5AM, he thought it was Genesis. So he threw open Genesis' door and attacked him.

• Sephiroth had the tendency to leave all the lights on, even in rooms he wasn't in. This drove Genesis and Angeal insane, and they berated him so much for it that Sephiroth started to walk around the apartment with a jumbo flashlight. He would flash it directly in their faces when talking to them because he's petty.

• Angeal had a tendency to bring over any strange item or piece of furniture he found at yard sales or on the side of the road. Angeal couldn't understand how Sephiroth thought the giant, stained beanbag chair shaped like an eye he got at a yard sale for 3 gil was junk. He also couldn't comprehend why Genesis didn't want the antique vanity Angeal got for free at the flea market because the owner thought it was haunted.

• Everyone had different scent preferences and refused to compromise. This is why the apartment smelled like Banora White Apple candles, Ocean Mist, and Tropical Berry simultaneously. It smelled like ass.

• Sephiroth enjoys his peace, but couldn't meditate when Angeal was screaming at the baseball game on TV while Genesis was using a karaoke machine to recite Loveless. His Root Chakra is still damaged to this day.

• Sephiroth had to find out the hard way what a tie on a closed door meant, and that not all screams mean someone is in danger.

• Genesis had a phase where he would bring over random people from his nights out. The amount of breakfasts Sephiroth had with half-dressed women and men singlehandedly developed his conversational skills.

• Angeal used to have this mentality of "I'm the responsible one, which means I can take things without asking." He took Sephiroth's hair brush without asking once and forgot to put it back. Sephiroth retaliated by bending Angeal's favorite stainless steel pan. Genesis had to separate them, an exhilarating experience he never wants to go through again because the pan and the hairbrush were used as weapons.

• Genesis couldn't understand why Sephiroth and Angeal didn't want his "artistic french films" playing while they were in the room. Angeal's argument was "If I wanted to see balls while I'm cooking dinner, I would make this lasagna in the locker room at SOLDIER."

[rebelwrites]

One: Good Days And Bad

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till The Wheels Fall Off Masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

A/N: And here it is the first part of of probably one of my favourite series I’ve written ❤️

Warnings: strong themes of memory issues throughout

Staring across the bar, a heavy sigh escaped my lips as I tossed the damp rag into the stainless steel sink. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, no matter how hard I tried. In one of the booths sat the one person who meant the absolute world to me, the one person who never gave up on me when others had. The one person who was always in my corner fighting for me when I had lost all my strength. The one person who knew how to turn a shit day into something memorable. The one person I would do anything for, including giving my life if it came to that.

There were good days and bad, unfortunately today was one of the bad ones. We had to take each one as it came, but either way we made sure someone was always with him, that he was never left alone, especially on days like today.

Not that anyone could do anything about it– nothing would bring him back to the present. Once he slipped into his own world it was like his soul was being taken over. The vacant look on his face became permanent making him look older than he was. And unfortunately, there were only a handful of people who knew how to deal with these trances.

Between running the bar, the cafe, and tag teaming his care with Jax and Chibs, I didn’t have time to breathe let alone spend any time on myself. I always found myself checking the vacancy pages for any of the Formula One teams and every so often the position of social media manager or assistant came up. I knew Pops would have wanted me to apply but I could never bring myself to press the apply button.

No matter how bad the situation got I would always put my family first.

Finally I dropped my gaze to my phone, tapping the button on the side, causing the screen to light up. A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips at the cheesy grin of my niece staring back at me. The sight of her wearing my Ferrari hoodie always made me chuckle, the damn thing buried her but she didn’t care, all she wanted was she had her Auntie’s hoodie on.

Shaking the memory away, I rolled my eyes realizing that once again the boys were late. I should have known they would be, time keeping wasn’t their strong point. Locking my phone, I slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans before pouring a fresh mug of coffee, making my way around the bar. Within a few short strides I found myself at his corner booth.

“Here you go, Pops,” I hummed, placing the mug on the table in front of him. “Chibs will be here soon okay.”

“When’s the race on?” he grunted, pointing at the tv that was positioned over the bar. “Isn’t it Monza this week?”

Reaching out I took his hand in mine, somedays all I wanted to do was cry when he was like this but, by now, I had become a pro at hiding my emotions around everyone, especially him.

“Pops, it’s summer break, remember?” I whispered. “There aren't any races until the end of August.”

“No, no, no, no,” he exclaimed, snatching his hand away from mine. His gaze was on me but it felt like he was staring right through me. “You have it all wrong.” His voice was clipped in anger, but I knew it came from a place of fear and frustration rather than real animosity. It was easier for him to believe that we were wrong than to accept what was happening.

Taking a deep breath, I mentally counted to ten in my head remembering that this wasn’t his fault, this was just a bad day. I knew it was better to just agree with him rather than try to argue, but it didn’t always stop me from trying to get him that nudge back into the present. I needed to think on my feet, pulling my phone out of my pocket pretending to check on the race schedule when I was actually on Instagram, liking one of Charles Leclerc’s recent posts.

“Okay Pops, I’ve just checked and the race is going to start soon.” I whispered, leaning forward pressing a kiss against his cheek. Pushing myself from the booth I swiped the remote from the bar. I didn’t need to ask which year of Monza he was talking about.

It was always 2019, at this point I could recite the commentary word for word from how many times this had happened. Luckily for me, it was a race I was happy to watch over and over again being a Ferrari and Charles Leclerc fan.

It didn’t take long to get everything set up, so I could make a start on the list of stuff that needed to be ordered. Although it was the end of July and peak time for our summer rush, due to the recent bad weather we had been having, the town was quiet. People didn’t want to venture out to a small town in the middle of nowhere when the storm hit, normally it was around the start of September which was perfect because the summer tourists had ventured back home but this year it was like the world was against us, as the storms graced us with their presence at the start of July meaning our regular summer visitors decided to stay away.

I had a love-hate relationship with storm season. There was something calming about watching the sky light up as the rain thrashed down. Many times I would grab a blanket and a fresh mug of coffee, setting up camp on the sofa located on our porch, with the canopy providing the much needed shelter from the heavy rain. But recently, I began to hate the change in weather, realizing they had become one of the triggers for Pops. We couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for his mental decline, but we assumed it had something to do when he was in Vietnam.

Summer tourists always kept me running, but now with Pops, it was even more hectic. Jax tried his best, but once he became a single father, his priorities shifted, his mini-me becoming the center of his world. I know it weighed on him, not being able to help as much, but I refused to let him feel guilty for being a good father, so instead of complaining, I worked harder, slept less, and caffeinated more.

Glancing from the TV, I spotted Jax and Chibs strolling into the bar. The first thing I noticed was Jax wasn’t wearing his kutte, it was quite rare he didn’t have the leather hanging from his shoulders but he always made a point of keeping the days we spent together just about us, not about the club or the business. Chibs on the other hand never took it off, I swore he slept in the damn thing.

the moment I raised my brow at them their smirks fell from their faces, instantly being replaced by a guilty look. “What time do you call this, aye?” I hummed, folding my arms across my chest.

“Sorry lass, we got held up at the garage.” Chibs nodded, flashing me an apologetic smile, rushing across the room joining me from behind the bar. “How’s JT been this morning?” he asked, quickly changing the subject, not wanting to receive a bollocking.

“Vacant, but not as bad as last night.” I sighed, resting my head against Chibs’ shoulder, letting the smell of leather and tobacco wash over me. “He keeps thinking it’s race week so the next month is going to be tough.”

“We will just keep putting old races on,” Chibs hummed, pressing a kiss against the top of my head. We quickly found that putting races on was the best way to calm him down when he was getting worked up, something about watching the cars making laps around the track helped him gather his thoughts.

“Yeah, all the ones where Leclerc loses or DNFs.” Jax teased, causing me to flip him the bird. “Anyway, you good to go?”

“The bikes ready?”

“On the flat bed so get your ass moving, because lord knows you need a break more than any of us.” Jax smiled softly, I could see the guilt shining bright in his icy blue eyes. “You know how much we appreciate everything you do for this family.”

To the world, Jackson Teller was an arrogant asshole, the President of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle club here in Charming, who had no heart and showed no mercy. Although, there was some truth in what people saw, to me he was my older brother, best friend, and confidant all rolled into one. I knew he felt guilty about not being able to look after Pops as much but I never held that against him. I knew that his daughter, Elenor, was his top priority. She had the face of an angel but we all suspected she was the devil in disguise. There was no hiding who her father was - she was a Teller through and through.

His words caused a lump to form in the back of my throat, replacing the one I had finally swallowed down about Pops having a bad day. “Nope, ain't happening, not today,” I said sternly, jumping over the bar, pressing my palm against his chest. “We aren’t going down that path today, okay? You know I’d do anything for this family. You guys saved me so it’s only fair I return the favor,” I whispered the last part, feeling his large hand wrap around mine. “Now come on, there is a bike and a muddy track that is calling our names.”

Pushing myself away from him I made my way around the room, once I had reached Pops I leant down pressing a kiss against his cheek. For a moment he broke his gaze from the TV flashing me a soft smile before squeezing my hand.

“You let me know who wins okay?” I hummed, as he turned back to watching the race. Of course, I knew who won the race but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was how excited he would be to talk about it with me when I got back. “Love you Pops.”

Feeling Jax wrap his arm around my shoulders told me it was time to go. Flashing him a soft smile I let him guide me out of the bar and to the truck.

The moment I saw our dirt bikes secured on the flat bed I couldn’t help but smile. This was something we planned once a month, no matter what was going on in our life, we always made time for this.

Not only was it a way to make sure we spent time together outside of the bar, but it was also an escape from reality. There was something about tearing around the dirt track, getting covered head to toe in mud that really cleansed the soul.

Taking a deep breath I wrapped my fingers around the door handle, rolling my eyes when I realized Jax still hadn’t fixed the damn thing. I swore this truck was one strong wind of becoming a pile of metal in the corner of the yard at the garage.

It had been in the family for years, all the paint was peeling, the arches were rusted out, the roof leaked when it rained and there was always a plank of wood strapped to the bed of the truck ready to load the bikes.

“We own a garage and you haven’t sorted this yet!” I scolded with a playful smirk on my face as I yanked the door open. I knew why this truck hadn’t been restored, every dent and scratch held memories for both of us. My fondest memory was the dent the shape of Jax’s head from when we had one of our rare fights and I slammed him into the truck.

“I will get round to it,” he chuckled, running around the front of the truck. “Now get your ass in, we haven’t got all day.”

Rolling my eyes at my brother, I pulled myself into the truck, slamming the door behind me. Without asking I reached over and grabbed the crumpled pack of smokes from the dashboard.

“That's it, just steal my smokes,” Jax laughed, raising his brow as he slammed the truck into reverse.

“Want one?” I hummed, holding the cigarette between my teeth.

“What, of my own smokes? Of course, I want one, dipshit.” He huffed, snatching the pack from my lap.

A silence washed over the two of us as Jax sped through the streets of our hometown, filling our lungs with nicotine. Even with my rare time off, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to Pops. No matter what I was doing I always found myself worrying about him, even though I knew he was in good hands.

“Stop it,” Jax said softly.

“You know I hate when you do that,” I huffed, resting my head against the window. “But I can’t help it. I worry.”

“I know,” he sighed, running his fingers through his messy hair. “I worry as well but you know he’d hate it if we put our life on hold because of him.”

He was right, but it was exactly what I was doing. When we found out he was suffering with his memory, I abandoned my dreams to do what I could to help the man that I called my father, the man that raised me as his when both my parents decided that drugs were more important to them than their own flesh and blood. So, instead of pursuing my dream of working on the formula one circuit, I took over the bar and cafe without batting an eye.

Before I could manage a reply, I felt myself being tossed around in the seat. If it wasn’t for the seat belt I would have probably been through the window.

“Now we are talking.” I grinned, slapping my palms against my thighs as I focused on the muddy track that laid before us. “The only good thing about weeks of rain.”

Jax didn’t need telling twice as he practically threw himself out of the truck and, from the sounds of it, was already working on the ratchet straps that secured the bikes. Following suit I joined him as he jumped onto the bed of the truck.

We had plenty of practice getting the bikes down so it didn’t take us long before we were pulling on our protective gear. Once I was straddling the bike I instantly felt at home, the grin on my face was wide as I wrapped my fingers around the throttle.

“You know having the number 16 on your bike doesn’t make it any faster.” Jax teased, passing me my helmet. “You aren’t Charles Leclerc.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I scoffed, pulling the lid on my head, flipping the visor up before speaking again. “Just because my bike is better than yours.”

“Squirt, we have the same bike.”

“Yet I’m still faster than you,” I said smugly. “Now, are we riding or chit chatting?” I hummed, slamming my visor down leaving Jax in a spray of mud.

“I’m gonna kill you for that.” His pissed off tone echoed through my helmet through the ear pieces we had installed.

“You have to catch me first, asshole,” I giggled, opening up the throttle, racing up to the tree line.

@withmyteeth @chibsytelford @stillbreathin @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @celestialams @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @angywritesstuff @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @buendiabebeta @ferrarifwendvale @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @queenslife @panicforspec @inesramoss30 @justme2042 @liv67 @derpinathebrave @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @raaaaabzzz @mehrmonga @sbgal @fangirl-lb @pitconfirmbutton @oslokij @tall-tanned-tattoo @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @babypink224221

[godesssiri]

10 Thrifting Tips – Part ? I lost count just check my thrifting tag

1) Make friends with the staff. If you go into a particular thrift store frequently it’s well worth it to get friendly with the staff. Ask them about their day, chat with them about what you’re buying, infodump if you’ve found something exciting and unusual. When the staff get to know you and know what you buy they’ll start pointing out things in the store that have come in since the last time you were there, that fit your interests. They may even start putting things aside for you. Recently I walked into my favorite thrift store and had 2 separate staff members say ‘Oh I’ve got something for you’. Plus having the staff greet you by name and having little inside jokes with them just makes the whole experience more fun.

2) Brita jugs turn up at the thrift store frequently. If tap water in your area is safe but has A Taste, keep an eye out at the thrift store.

3) Coffee making equipment. Capsule coffee makers, the wire racks that hold the capsules, French presses, these all get donated frequently. The occasional espresso machine comes in – and goes out very quickly. Now and then you’ll find pour-over coffee equipment. If you like your bean juice you can get the equipment you need to make fancy bean juice at the thrift store.

4) Handmade pottery mugs. Story time: About 6 or 7 years ago I went into a thrift store and someone had obviously just cleaned out their mug cupboard and donated a pile of handmade pottery. I bought 4 because I thought they were cool, very tactile, nice to hold. This AWOKE something in me. Humans have used handmade pottery for thousands of years and there’s something about holding a handmade mug that sparks a genetic memory of warmth and comfort. Pottery also has much better thermal properties than mass produced ceramic, hot stays hot longer and vice versa with cold. Build up a little collection of handmade pottery mugs from the thrift store, each one has its own personality and it brings joy using them.

5) In the same vein: teaspoons. Build up a collection of fun teaspoons and take joy from using different ones depending on your mood. I have one with an owl on the end and another with a rose, a brass one with a wiggly handle in the shape of a snake, one that has the branding of an airline that now only uses wooden stirrers - probably because people kept pocketing the stainless-steel teaspoons (I always wanted to steal one as a child but never had the nerve). Whenever I need a teaspoon it’s always a little endorphin boost to open the drawer and select the perfect one for today.

6) If you need something to do a specific job, be patient, you will find the perfect thing eventually. I switched to solid shampoo and my old soap dish wasn’t big enough to hold my shampoo bar and my regular soap, so I waited and watched and found the perfect little glass tray that was exactly the right size and fits perfectly on the shelf in my shower. I could have bought a brand new made-for-that-purpose multi soap holder, but it wouldn’t have been as cool looking and when I’m done with it, it wouldn’t necessarily get another life.

7) Gift supplies. Thrift stores often have a selection of unused gift wrap, bags, bows, cards. It’s worth it to sift through what they’ve got and buy any you think you might use – even if you don’t have an immediate use for it. That stuff can get expensive so if you can create a small stash then, when you need it, you won’t have to shell out $$.

8) Look for things that can be made over – or thrift flipped as the DIY content creators like to say. There’s so much satisfaction from looking at something that was plain ugly when you bought it and you’ve turned it into something pretty. It doesn’t need to be a major transformation that requires 5 different power-tools and 100 bucks worth of supplies. It can be as simple as a lick of paint, but every time you look at you will feel good about it.

9) Sometimes it’s worth buying something that’s just really cool and figuring out a use for it later. I bought the coolest little silver plated mustard pot; it has 3 legs and at the top of each leg is a lion head. Do I eat mustard much? No. Did I know what the heck I would use it for? No. I get bad indigestion and keep antacids on hand, I hate how once you tear open the roll, they tend to spill everywhere so I like to put them in something. Guess what holds exactly one roll of antacids? If something is just freaking awesome but you don’t know what you’d use it for, you will find a use (and it will be so much cooler than anything else you might have bought for that purpose).

10) Use the fancy stuff. Don’t ever look at something in a thrift store and think: that’s too fancy, I’ll never use it. If it’s not bought and used it ends up in landfill. Save it from the landfill and use it. Today I bought the most OTT fancy silver pepper shaker to sit next to my stove and hold ground pepper for cooking with, one of my housemates never puts the damn pepper back in the cupboard when he’s finished with it, so now we have this ostentatious silver shaker next to the stove top. One of my dogs can be relied upon to get half of his food on the floor before he hoovers it up, I could have got a plastic mat to feed him on but I had a spare thrifted marble cutting/serving board (I have a problem, I own 3, I have so much trouble resisting them), and another plus - he can’t destroy it like he would a plastic mat. I keep my toothbrush in a crystal bud vase. I decant my micellar water into a bottle shaped like a seahorse. I eat off pretty vintage pink glass plates. Using the fancy stuff from thrift stores both helps you romanticize your own life and it gives these items another life. Do be sensible though, some items made before the early 1970s including glassware and dinnerware contain lead in the decoration so do your due diligence and be safe.

[floraunderground]

constantly ill over making things for others..like yes i made you tea because i love you. i am offering you this poem because i want you to be warm

[vitospaghetta]

How do you imagine Leon's place to look like and where do you think he lives? Some flat?

Also alaooo what do you think he does in his free time?

You have no idea how much thought I've put into this over the years.

Let me preface this with the fact that I'm specifically talking about original continuity Leon post-RE6 here, where he's a seasoned adult and has been in his career field for a while.

Leon more-than-likely lives in D.C. (he could also live in VA or MD but he strikes me as the kinda guy who would rather eat glass than commute, especially with D.C. traffic being absolute bullshit) in an apartment somewhere in the city.

As a federal agent, he makes a salary, which is something that is determined by things like the amount responsibility you have within the agency, your credentials/experience, your skillset, etc. Given his role and responsibilities within the D.S.O., he's easily a top earner. The top earners within the FBI make $153,000 annually, but it looks like top earners within the CIA can make more — like with all things, every agency is different. The D.S.O. obviously isn't a real agency, but as one that is held above all others (as far as authority within the criminal justice system is concerned), Leon probably receives a pretty cushy salary. Around $200,000 annually, easy. Income tax would fuck him over, but he'd still walk away with a reasonable amount per month to afford a $4,000+ per month apartment or to buy one and pay off a mortgage.

He can easily afford a one or two bedroom apartment in the city is what I'm saying. And I mean a nice apartment. We're talking granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, washer and dryer in-unit, floor-to-ceiling windows, in a modern building in a nice area of the city. An area that consists entirely of nice apartment buildings like the one he lives in. There's actually an area just outside of NYC that reminds me of the kinda area I can see him living in. I was there to take the ferry over into the city for a memorial/organ donation event I was attending last year.

The pics don't exactly encapsulate the full vibe, and these apartments probably go for millions due to the proximity to the city and being right off the Hudson, but it's quiet, safe, and filled with sporty people. Lots of folks walking dogs, jogging after work hours, and a sense of community amongst people that seemingly have their shit together.

He strikes me as the type to have a two bedroom apartment just for an office that he's hardly ever in. He'd want to live in a building that has a gym as an amenity because it's easier than hoofing it to a gym elsewhere, and a garage for him to put his car and the crotch rocket he's currently mourning courtesy of Maria.

As for the apartment's interior, I feel like it would completely lack personality or cluttered charm. There's a level of almost sterility to it, in that it's devoid of knick-knacks, personal photos, and encompasses a strong aesthetic of maturity. Everything in it is nice. There's tasteful artwork on the walls, and it's furnished with well-made and sometimes expensive furniture and appliances, because, as a childless adult, if Leon's going to spend money on only himself, he's going to spend it well. You get what you pay for, after all. There are obviously some traces of Leon's personality strewn about — skin care products in the bathroom, boots and leather jackets by the door, some books, laundry crumpled at the foot of his bed and piled by the washer/dryer, maybe a single sarcastic coffee mug somewhere in the cabinet — but there's no novelty.

Due to his constant bouncing around, he isn't home enough to put too much effort into it, and he hasn't had the luxury of certainty or normalcy in so long that all he wants out of his home is for it to look nice and be a comfortable place to sleep. He appreciates coming home to a place that is his, but it doesn't need to be a display of everything he's ever enjoyed. Even when he is home, he strikes me as the type to start going stir crazy when he sits for too long. The most amount of time he probably ever spent at home was when he was self-isolating and hitting the bottle really hard. There's also the generational element of Gen-X'ers being extremely lowkey about shit.

As far as what Leon does in his free time, I feel like he enjoys doing things that are out of the house due to the aforementioned inability to stay alone with his thoughts for too long. The man is constantly trying to distract himself to place distance between himself and his trauma, so where he might have been able to sit and watch a movie alone before, he struggles to now.

Leon's very extroverted, likable, and adaptable, so he probably enjoys being around other people, even if he's not actively talking to them. Though he appreciates silence as well, when he's kicking things around in his head and is trying to find some semblance of peace and a means to calm the noise. He might get a coffee at a shop right by his apartment where he's a regular and everyone knows him by name, or go for a run, or go shopping. Maybe he tries to make plans with those he cares about to go out for dinner, like he did with Claire in Infinite Darkness. Maybe he tries to catch a good sunset over the Potomac River. He goes to the gym, he rides his motorcycle around the city or takes a scenic route on the outskirts just for the hell of it, he meets up with a fellow agent and they do shots at his favorite bar.

I don't think he has hobbies, as in crafting or gaming or being too involved in any specific interests, but everything he does is fueled by his love of people, his appreciation for what good he has in his life, and his need for escape.

[cchickki]

Surprise! ❤️

another request from the lovely @chrissymodi-frost, sorry it took so long again! this one is short, but i'm thinking about writing a little sequel to it!

summary: Today isn't going your way at all. Miguel attempts to make your day better by bringing you your favorite food, but instead of being a surprise treat for you it makes you sick instead. Your turbulent mood swings and nausea can only mean one thing…

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 1.5k

rating: E / general audiences, no specific warnings (other than descriptions of nausea/vomiting), surprise pregnancy trope, domestic fluff, etc.

also available to read on ao3!

Part ii: (x)

The light shining through the curtains of your bedroom stirred you awake. With a groan, you shove the pillow over your eyes, suddenly and irrationally irritated by the sun’s very existence. You tossed and turned, doing your best to avoid the sun’s annoying light. You weren’t able to lull yourself back to sleep no matter how hard you tried. You kicked the covers off of your body, sitting up and tossing your pillow to the side. 

Waking up on the wrong side of the bed was an understatement, you were absolutely on edge today.

You stomped out of the room, making your way in blind-irritence to the kitchen. Your eyes hadn’t even fully adjusted yet, leaving you to stumble around you and Miguel’s shared apartment. You craved caffeine, hoping that making yourself a cup of coffee would offer you some sort of relief. As you made your way to the kitchen, your eyes snagged on a post-it note left on the fridge by Miguel. 

Cielo,

Went out for a bit to run some errands, let me know if you need anything.

I’ll be back soon,

Miguel

“Hmph,” you grunted, bypassing the note and opening the fridge to grope around for the creamer. 

Sometimes you really hated it when Miguel didn’t wake you up to run errands with him. Maybe you wanted to go with him, knowing the errands would lead to a trip to one of your favorite stores, and just maybe you would be able to stop into a coffee shop and order something. But nooo instead you were stuck making your own coffee at home, that no matter what you put into it never tasted as good as when a barista makes it.

The coffee machine took its time, hissing as it heated up the water and poured into the coffee pot. You rubbed your eyes, willing for the damn machine to go faster. You checked the time from the clock on the stove.

11:24am… You think to yourself as you read the time. 

It was your day off, you definitely could’ve used some more sleep since you didn’t get to bed until nearly six in the morning. You knew your mood was off, wondering if sleep would’ve aided in waking up feeling less piqued since the moment you opened your eyes. But with your moodiness running through your mind and working your nerves, you brushed the ‘what ifs’ aside, and poured yourself a cup of coffee, adding what you wanted to it. 

You anticipated that first sip, waiting to savor the warmth that would spread throughout your body. Instead you are met with the overwhelming taste of bitterness, and you nearly burn your tongue because of how hot the coffee is. You quickly place your mug down on the kitchen counter, scrunching up your face as your taste buds beg for mercy. Of course the coffee would taste bad today, of all days the universe wanted to keep testing your patience in the first fifteen minutes of rolling out of bed.

“Oh- that’s foul…” you wheezed, dumping the coffee out into the sink. 

You dropped your mug into the sink, a little harsher than you meant to. The mug clanged against the stainless steel, for a moment you wondered if you broke it. You inspected the mug, lifting it gingerly in your hands, being sure the ceramic wasn’t cracked. It seemed fully intact. Well, at least you were spared that particular frustration.

You plop yourself down on the couch and begin to channel surf. Informercials, soap operas, and talk shows, and trashy reality tv is inescapable no matter how many channels you flip through. You settle on a specific gossip/talk show program, where the host talks about other celebrities and tends to get a very messy reaction from their audience. It’s not really what you’re in the mood for, but it’s amusing. 

Miguel unlocks the apartment door and enters, greeting you as he closes the door behind him. He has plastic bags in his hands, the scent of hot spiced food filled the apartment. You tend to find the smell appetizing, but for some reason it makes your stomach churn in queasiness. He places the food on the counter, expecting you to pad over and immediately start going through what he’s brought home, but you remain on the couch.

“Hey, I brought you home something.” Miguel calls from the kitchen, studying your frame as you keep your eyes forcefully glued to the television. “It’s your favorite.” He adds with emphasis, now going through the kitchen cabinets to grab some plates and blows.

You sigh, swallowing down your nausea. You make your way to the kitchen, giving your lover a wry smile. To be honest your moodiness is still at an all time high, still stung that Miguel left you to run errands. He circles the kitchen table, planting a kiss on your forehead and you feel yourself melt into it instantly. He had a way of bringing peace and relaxing you, no matter how volatile you were feeling. 

“You okay?” He questioned, cocking an eyebrow as he took in your disheveled appearance and slightly waned expression. 

“Why didn’t you invite me along?” You mutter, staring up at him. 

He smiled down at you, reaching out and stroking your cheek with his thumb. You soften again, the muscles in your face relaxing.

“You seemed like you needed the sleep, cielo.” He replied.

You crossed your arms, displaying your physical frustration, but it was mostly feigned at this point. You jut out your lip in a pout, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Well, I still wanted to come…” 

Miguel puts his hands up in playful defense.

“Okay, next time I’ll be sure to wake you from your peaceful slumber and drag you along.” 

You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm, but couldn’t help but crack a smile. He always had a way of disarming you. You finally decided to go through the plastic bags full of take out boxes on the kitchen table. You picked one up, noting how hot the bottom of the Styrofoam box was (your poor fingers). You place it on the kitchen table, and open it up. You’re greeted with your favorite meal and a huge waft of steam erupts from the box, making your eyes squint. Spicy curry chicken with basmati rice, something that you’re almost always in the mood for and usually makes your mouth water. For some reason the sight of it doesn’t appear as appetizing to you, and the smell is absolutely assaulting your senses.

“I know it’s kind of early for spicy food, but these past few days you seemed like you needed the boost.” Miguel interjected, vaguely watching you stare down at the food as he empties the rest of the bags.

The pit of your stomach churns uncomfortably, you can feel the sickeningly horrible anticipation of bile raising in your throat. You slap your hand over your mouth, unable to contain the nausea any longer. You dash to the bathroom, Miguel calls after you, confused as he follows you. You throw up into the toilet.

“Whoa, are you okay?!” Miguel exclaims, rushing over to you so he can pull your hair back from your face. 

You groan in response. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, standing up wobbly as Miguel helps you. You hobble over to the bathroom sink, rinsing your mouth out as he rubs your back, waiting for an answer.

“Was there something wrong with the food?” He asks, concerned.

You shake your head, trying to catch your breath and slow down your labored breathing. 

Between the whip-lash and drastic differences of your mood swings and strange appetite this past week, a sinking and sudden epiphany comes to you. Your cravings have also been somewhat off lately. Just yesterday you asked Miguel to make you a bowl of SpaghettiOs with a side of cut dill pickles. He didn’t question you outwardly, but you could see the quiet judgment as he watched you consume the meal with such vigor it was like you hadn’t eaten in days. 

You stare up at Miguel, clearly worried as he peers down at you, still waiting on you to speak. 

“I think… I think I’m pregnant…” you finally manage to say.

Miguel’s eyes widen, his gaze averting from yours as his eyes dart around the bathroom. He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks glowing scarlet as the realization of your words processes. He looked like he got the wind knocked out of him.

“I don’t think it’s that shocking, Miggy.” You deadpan, trying to make light of the situation. You give him a lopsided smile, unsure how to properly react.

Your answer grounds him, bringing him back to reality. He closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you into a tight hug. He holds you, stroking your back, a breathless chuckle exiting his lips. The sound of his laughter calms you, making the anxiousness you felt a minute before ease. He pulls you away, grasping your shoulders as he stares down at you, a wide smile stretching across his face. You return his smile, unable to deny how his giddiness is contagious. 

“We’re going to be parents…” he states, his voice trailing off.

You laugh, “I need to take a pregnancy test first to confirm it.”

“Well, let’s go get you one.”

[noraflwower4you]

Top 10 Gift Ideas for Coffee Lovers

Coffee lovers are easy to shop for — they live and breathe coffee! But finding the perfect gift that’s both thoughtful and unique can be tricky. Whether it’s a birthday, holiday, or just because, here are ten gift ideas sure to delight any coffee enthusiast.

1. 20 oz Skinny Tumblers for Coffee On-the-Go

Every coffee lover needs a reliable tumbler to keep their brew hot (or cold) for hours. A customizable skinny tumbler is perfect for showcasing their personality, whether they love minimalist designs, floral patterns, or motivational quotes. These tumblers are not just practical but also stylish, making them an ideal gift for daily commuters or gym-goers.

2. Specialty Coffee Subscription

Treat your coffee lover to a monthly subscription of freshly roasted beans from around the world. Services like Blue Bottle, Trade Coffee, or Atlas Coffee Club deliver premium coffee tailored to their taste preferences. It’s the gift that keeps giving with every cup!

3. Pour-Over Coffee Maker

For those who love the ritual of brewing coffee, a pour-over coffee maker like the Hario V60 or Chemex is a perfect choice. Pair it with high-quality filters and freshly ground coffee to complete the gift.

4. Personalized Coffee Mugs

While tumblers are great for travel, nothing beats a cozy mug for sipping coffee at home. Consider gifting a customized ceramic mug featuring their name, a funny quote, or a design that reflects their hobbies or style.

5. Electric Milk Frother

Help them elevate their coffee game with a handheld or automatic milk frother. Perfect for creating lattes, cappuccinos, or even hot chocolate, this tool transforms a regular cup of coffee into a café-worthy experience.

6. Coffee-Themed Wall Art

Brighten their space with coffee-themed décor. Look for prints or signs with phrases like “But First, Coffee” or artistic illustrations of coffee brewing methods. Etsy is a treasure trove for unique, handcrafted designs.

7. Reusable Coffee Filters

For the eco-conscious coffee lover, a pack of reusable coffee filters is a practical and sustainable gift. Options made of stainless steel or organic cotton are long-lasting and environmentally friendly.

8. Coffee Grinder

Freshly ground beans make all the difference! An adjustable coffee grinder, whether manual or electric, allows them to enjoy their coffee at its freshest. Pair it with a bag of whole-bean coffee for an added touch.

9. Gourmet Coffee Syrups

Give them the gift of flavor with a set of gourmet coffee syrups. Popular options include vanilla, caramel, hazelnut, and seasonal favorites like pumpkin spice. Add a recipe card for fun DIY coffee creations.

10. Coffee Lover’s Gift Basket

Can’t decide? Create a gift basket filled with coffee essentials:

A custom skinny tumbler.

Premium coffee beans or grounds.

A cute coffee scoop.

Mini packets of syrups or creamers.

Chocolate-covered espresso beans or biscotti.

Wrap it all up in a stylish basket for a wow-worthy presentation.

Conclusion

From practical tools to unique custom items, these gift ideas are sure to make any coffee lover’s day brighter. Whether you opt for a personalized skinny tumbler or a subscription to their favorite beans, your thoughtful gift will keep them fueled and happy.

Looking for the perfect tumbler to start your gift shopping? Check out our exclusive collection of 20 oz skinny tumblers designed with coffee lovers in mind!

[trivialbob]

Few people load a dishwasher as well as I do.

I get it full (so efficient!), but not so much that plates crowd each other and fight for that that cleansing water. Cups and glasses never overturn and end the cycle full of water and a little crud in the bottom. My coffee mugs with an ever-so-sleight concave bottom get angled into the wire rack so they don't retain even a few drops of water when the job is done.

Last night Sheila made Butter Chicken. It's my favorite dish that she cooks. The recipe requires two Instant Pot pots. One is for rice, the other for the chicken and sauce.

I'm getting hungry for some Butter Chicken just writing this.

When she was done I went in to clean up. It was like the Bat Signal appeared. Except instead of a winged mammal on the clouds it's just a boring block of stainless steel. Doesn't matter, I know I'm needed.

Items in the narrow top rack for utensils got lined up like a tray of medical instruments waiting for a life-saving operation. Contrary to popular belief, it is possible to efficiently load the dishwasher AND have it look neat and organized.

The middle rack was neat and orderly, like soldiers in a parade. I do tend to keep similar items next to each other because I like that look (but I'm not OCD).

Then there was the bottom rack and those two Instant Pot pots. I could not get the second one to fit in a way that it wouldn't interfere with the spinning arm above.

Sheila watched quietly as I struggled. I wanted to send her out of the kitchen so I could concentrate. Finally she said, "Try this." She moved one thing, twisted something else, and tapped that second pot gently. It dropped into place nicely.

That was humbling. I still got to have some Butter Chicken.

[stressedlawsecretary]

Happy Birthday To Me!

07.07.24 - I have made it around the sun another year! Above is my outfit; today's challenge was "an outfit outside of your comfort zone" and I 1) don't wear this color much, 2) don't wear pants very often anymore, and 3) I. Hate. Skinny jeans.

I looked damn good though!

Below are the presents I received:

1) Barbie Iconic satin pillowcase (Barbie x Kitsch) & Hello Kitty claw clip

2) Hello Kitty claw clip & two satin Hello Kitty pillowcases (Hello Kitty x Kitsch)

3) Four perfumes from Demeter: Bulgarian Rose cologne spray, & 3 roll ons (Thunderstorm, Paperback, and Butterfly Flowers)

4) Pkg set of 5 collagen sheet face masks and two Freeman cream masks (hyaluronic acid and hydrating watermelon)

5) Hello Kitty ramen and a stainless steel travel mug with voids like mine

6) Bright pink & white varsity fleece with heart detail, long-sleeve slinky lavender dress, & rose claw clip

7) Rose claw clip, long-sleeve slinky lavender dress, and pale pink cardigan with pearl flower details