#para: sex on the beach

[interlagosgrl]

🎃 kinktober - day seventeen: degradação com matías recalt.

— aviso: degradação duhh, menção à sangue, violência física, penetração vaginal, sexo desprotegido.

— word count: 2,6k.

— nota: estamos mais na metade do mês!! e o desafio segue de pé (orgulho de mim mesma, pra ser honesta).

as geladas gotículas de suor que desciam pela sua nuca causavam uma sensação gostosa em comparação à temperatura escaldante da boate. você evitava abrir os olhos, gostava de curtir o efeito do álcool de olhos fechados para que batesse mais forte. as mãos na sua cintura eram das suas amigas, encostando os seus corpos nos seus, dançando a música techno como ela devia ser dançada: loucamente.

"preciso de beber mais!" uma delas gritou para outra e, você que estava no meio, não deixou de ouvir.

"eu também." você abriu os olhos. já estava bêbada para um caralho, mas precisava de mais. até que esquecesse que o cachorro do seu chefe tinha a tratado como uma qualquer naquele dia. depois de te humilhar na frente de todos em uma reunião com uma empresa parceira, ele tinha tido a pachorra de te tirar das negociações por você ser muito "sensível".

sua amiga a puxou para o grande bar que exibia luzes quentes no canto do cômodo. você ajeitou o vestidinho azul que usava, os descendo até o meio da coxa. você provavelmente já tinha pagado um pouco da bochecha da bunda, mas e daí? ninguém parecia estar interessado o suficiente.

"um sex on the beach." sua amiga pediu.

"dois." você gritou para o barman.

"três." sua outra acompanhante se debruçou sobre o balcão, tentando cantar o atendente bonitinho.

estava prestes à xingar a sua amiga por ter atrasado a produção dos drinks quando seus olhos bêbados encontraram ele. estava o cabelo cortado em um mullet bagunçado, usava uma blusa de botões preta e tinha um sorriso travesso nos lábios que te fez arrepiar. e o pior: ele estava olhando de volta. ergueu o copo de cerveja que bebia e te deu uma piscadela.

você piscou embasbacada com a audácia do filha da puta. era Matías. seu ex-namorado que havia terminado com você por mensagem de texto há alguns meses atrás. você tinha sofrido como uma cachorra porque ele fazia o melhor oral de toda sua vida e sempre te fazia gozar, coisa que quase nenhum homem conseguia. e claro, ele era engraçadinho e carinhoso do jeito que você gostava.

sempre te levava para dançar e beber com os amigos dele, para jantar em lugares exóticos e vocês tinham uma intimidade natural e muito bonita. você não tinha problemas quando se tratava de Matí, porque ele sempre estava de bom humor. e de repente, um dia, tinha acordado estranho quando você o chamou para o café. depois de dizer que almoçaria com alguns amigos, nunca mais voltou. a mensagem tinha vindo só de madrugada, colocando um fim no relacionamento.

quando você se deu conta de que estava devaneando e seus olhos se focaram novamente, ele havia ido embora. você xingou baixinho e bebeu todo o líquido do seu copo de uma só vez. você iria dar a noite por encerrada para ir para casa vomitar e chorar pelo encontro repentino seu ex quando uma mão pousou na sua cintura.

"vai ficar olhando e não vai pagar nem uma bebida?" era Matí, com as mãos na sua cintura. ainda tinha usava o mesmo perfume misturado com o cheiro do cigarro. a cerveja complementava o cheirinho de perdição. você o olhou sobre os ombros como se ele fosse uma mosca pousada na sua pele.

"é que não dá pra mandar bebida por mensagem. não é por lá que você se comunica?" você comentou, um sorrisinho de falsa educação delineando seus lábios.

"ai não, nena. não me diga que não superou essa coisa boba." ele fez um beicinho, tocando sua mão para levá-la até os lábios dele. você estremeceu ao sentir os lábios gelados e molhados nas costas da sua mão. "eu era muito novo e muito bobo."

"todos os homens são." você arrancou sua mão dele, voltando a olhar para o bar que tinha se tornado de muito interesse. conseguia ler até mesmo o rótulo das garrafas de bebida para ignorá-lo.

"eu não sou muito cavalheiro." ele confessou, chamando o bartender (o que não estava beijando sua amiga) e pedindo duas doses de tequila. "mas, por você eu finjo ser porque você está muito gostosa nesse vestidinho que eu te dei."

você sentiu o ódio te consumir. nem tinha se dado conta de que usava o vestido tubinho que Matías tinha te dado como presente de aniversário (o único que vocês tinham passado juntos). tinha se tornado uma peça frequente do seu guarda-roupa. ele sempre adorava quando você usava e a noite sempre terminava em sexo. e ele nunca tirava o vestido do seu corpo.

"você é sempre descarado assim?" ele arrumou um espacinho do seu lado. agora vocês dois estavam um de frente para o outro, se encarando. Recalt tinha um sorriso cafajeste nos lábios e você tinha um biquinho de raiva. "não tem medo de levar um tapa?"

"não. eu tenho tesão em apanhar de mulher bonita." ele deu um dos shot para você, bebendo o dele de uma vez. você o mimetizou e sentiu a cabeça tontear. Matías sorriu. "está mais bonita do que antes."

"e você está mais baixo e mais insuportável." você bebeu o restinho do seu drink doce para não vomitar o líquido forte que tinha acabado de rasgar a sua garganta. por um segundo, você até achou que seria cômico se você vomitasse em Matías.

"mas 'tô mais pirocudo." ele pegou sua mão mais uma vez. desta vez, ele tinha um plano: te levar até a pista de dança até que você se esquecesse que o odiava. sua amiga te olhou com uma cara de reprovação, embora que não fosse intervir. você era grandinha, já sabia cuidar de si. "vai dançar comigo, não é, nena? sempre fomos bons nisso."

sua mente brilhou com a melhor ideia de que você já teve na vida. iria fazer com Matí o mesmo que ele havia feito com você: provocá-lo antes de deixá-lo na mão. um sorrisinho de divertimento surgiu nos seus lábios e você viu o argentino se animar.

"claro, Matí. vou dançar com você pelos velhos tempos." você o puxou para pertinho. você colou o seu quadril ao dele, os braços ao redor do pescoço do argentino. as mãos dele acharam a sua cintura com facilidade, apertando-a do jeitinho que você gostava. você rebolou, deu um sorrisinho para ele, um beijinho na bochecha e então se virou de costas. e aí que o show começava. roçar sua bunda contra ele tinha virado questão de honra e em poucos minutos você dançava como uma profissional. descendo, subindo, indo para frente e para trás. as mãos do Recalt corriam por todo o seu corpo e você até deixou que ele desse uns tapinhas na sua bunda de propósito. "sabe, eu queria muito fumar um cigarro. pega um copo d'água pra mim?"

a carinha de animado desabou. ele queria continuar dançando, você sabia. a ereção que ele tinha na calça o entregava. talvez fosse o jeitinho dele achar que te levaria para cama e você tinha estragado tudo. mas, como Matí podia negar você pedindo como uma princesinha? ainda mais quando você tinha o perdoado e provavelmente iria para casa com ele.

"te encontro na área dos fumantes." você sorriu depois que ele concordou silenciosamente, deixando um outro beijinho na bochecha dele.

você não queria fumar, mas tinha que fazer jus. então bateu no ombro de um dos fumantes da área externa pedindo por um cigarro e um isqueiro. você só não contava que ele ia ser um gostoso. se apresentou como Símon, colocou o cigarro na sua boca e o acendeu enquanto te olhava.

"estás sola?" ele pergunta quando você dá o seu cigarro para ele para que ele também fume.

"depende das suas intenções." você brincou. não estava nos seus planos fazer aquilo com Matías, mas Símon era um homem tão bonito que você teve que repensar. e enquanto você fazia o seu charminho, te puxou pela cintura e te deu um beijo que te fez delirar. as mãos seguraram sua cintura com força, a língua deslizava sobre a sua com talento. você quase se esqueceu de Matías, se ele não tivesse puxado sua cintura para que você se separasse do homem.

"vai ficar beijando outro na minha frente como uma vagabunda, é?" ele sussurrou no seu ouvido, te puxando para longe de Símon que fingiu que nada tinha acontecido para não arrumar briga.

"que foi? a gente não namora." você pegou o copo de água na mão dele, dando um grande gole. você viu os olhos de Matías brilharem de raiva, um sorriso incrédulo estampando a sua face de moleque.

"entendi. 'tá tentando me punir pelo o que eu fiz né, nena?" ele cruzou os braços, te olhando de cima à baixo. seu vestido tinha subido de novo e ele podia ver a calcinha branca que você usava. o corpo ardia num misto de ciúmes e desejo. ele tinha se arrependido de ter terminado desde que a viu naquele maldito bar. "veni acá."

Matí segurou um dos seus pulsos com força. te arrastou por toda a pista de dança sem nenhuma gentileza. você trombou com algumas pessoas que te olharam feio e quando você estava para reclamar que ele estava a machucando, ele abriu uma porta escondida e te jogou pra dentro. somente quando ele acendeu a luz do ambiente, você viu que estava num banheiro para deficientes.

"você me machucou, seu viado." você olhou para o próprio pulso avermelhado antes de dar uma bolsada nele. ele te empurrou de volta, fazendo seu corpo bêbado balançar. um tapa estralado atingiu a face do argentino e o banheiro caiu em silêncio. antes que você pudesse se desculpar, Matías te jogou contra a parede e te beijou com muita força. a pressão dos lábios dele nos seus era quase insuportável.

sua bolsa caiu no chão e ele prendeu os seus braços rente ao seu corpo. o beijo era desesperado, hostil e te fazia estremecer cada vez que ele investia no ato. dava para sentir o ódio. ele não tinha gostado nada de ver outro homem com aquilo que já tinha sido dele. suas mãos encontrara o peitoral de Recalt, o empurrando para trás com toda sua força.

"você me larga e agora quer ter ciúmes?" a pergunta saiu em um tom ressentido, mas Matí ainda forçava o corpo dele contra o seu e mordia seu pescoço como se quisesse arrancar um pedaço.

"cala a porra da boca e me dá essa buceta. você sabe que quer desde que me viu." ele te puxou para cima da pia com uma força que você desconhecia que ele tinha. suas pernas foram abertas e com facilidade, Matí arrancou sua calcinha branca e guardou no seu bolso. você não sabia o que queria. se queria dar para ele ou chutá-lo no meio das pernas.

decidiu que ficaria com a primeira opção quando ele puxou o seu vestido tomara que caia para expor os seus seios e abocanhar um deles, mordendo o seu mamilo com força para te punir pelo seu comportamento anterior. suas costas arquearam e você grunhiu alto, não se preocupando com o barulho uma vez que a música ensurdecedora da balada não parecia acabar nunca. as pernas rodearam o corpo ex-namorado, o puxando para mais perto, roçando a intimidade descoberta sobre o pau rijo escondido pelo tecido jeans da calça.

"você sabe que foi por isso que a gente terminou, né?" ele afastou os lábios dos seus seios, as mãos focadas em desabotoar a calça e descer o zíper, arrancando o pau para fora da cueca. você ignorou o discurso alheio, dando uma espiadinha no membro que amava tanto. estava exatamente como você lembrava: grossinho, rosado e babado. "porque você é uma vagabunda que não consegue ficar em um relacionamento. sempre quer fazer uma gracinha por atenção."

"parece que você 'tá me usando de desculpa pra falar de si mesmo." você voltou a encarar os olhos repletos de veneno de Matías, sorrindo enquanto o fazia.

"piranha." ele riu, pois sabia que era verdade. voltou a te puxar para perto, se encaixando na sua entrada. a boca estava colada na sua quando ele deslizou para dentro e os gemidos de ambos se tornaram um só.

seu corpo se arrepiou ao abrigar Matías dentro de si novamente. você sentia saudades dele, apesar de tudo. e a melhor parte do breve relacionamento de vocês tinha sido o sexo. o sexo sujo, bagunçado e excitante. as palavras grosseiras sussurradas ao pé do ouvido, o ritmo eletrizante, os tapas e as mordidas. tudo com ele era intenso e você sentia falta dessa intensidade.

"sua buceta ainda é uma delícia." ele segurou os cabelos da sua nuca enquanto a outra mão permaneceu na sua coxa, puxando você para mais perto à cada investida. o membro dele atingia uma grande profundidade devido a sua posição. "você sempre foi uma cachorra apertadinha."

"cala a boca, Matías." você o repreendeu. queria focar apenas no seu próprio prazer, mas o tom de voz irritante a fazia perder as estribeiras à cada segundo. pensou em batê-lo novamente para que ele ficasse quieto mais uma vez.

um tapa estralado foi depositado na sua bochecha. a pele esquentou e o seu olhou fechou involuntariamente com a agressão, o ouvido zumbindo graças à força que ele tinha imprimido no tapa. você não disse nada, apenas retribuiu o tapa que lhe fora dado com toda força que tinha. mais uma vez, Matías te beijou depois do contato. durante o beijo, você mordeu com força o lábio inferior do argentino, sentindo o gosto de sangue no seu paladar.

"você é doida, porra?" Recalt empurrou o seu tronco, levando a mão aos lábios. tinha ficado lindo com a mancha de sangue escorrendo pelo queixo, mas você achou melhor não comentar. a feição que ele estampava não era das melhores. "vagabunda maluca."

o argentino te empurrou contra o espelho, voltando a te foder sem piedade. dessa vez, não fez piadinhas nem continuou a conversação desenfreada. se enterrou em você com força e com velocidade, arrancando gemidos cada vez mais altos e necessitados. suas pernas o traziam para mais perto, mas ele ainda a empurrava contra o espelho. queria você bem longe dele para que evitasse acidentes.

suas pernas tremiam, o peito subia e descia e o ventre era invadido pela sensação única que Matías lhe causava, o prazer singular que só ele sabia lhe dar. você fechou os olhos, aproveitando da sensação de ser realmente fodida em tempos, um sorriso bobo em meio aos gemidos que você deixava escapar.

Matías, focado somente em si, não demorou muito para gozar. depois do tapa e da mordida, tinha ficado com ainda mais tesão. era masoquista e você tinha dado exatamente o que ele queria. derramou-se no interior da sua coxa, arrancando um suspiro de consternação dos seus lábios.

"que porra é essa? eu ainda nem gozei." você protestou, o segurando pela camisa para que ele não escapasse. o peito ardia em raiva pela sensação gostosa ter sido arrancada de si tão rapidamente.

"a gente teve o mesmo tempo, meu bem." ele deu de ombros, vestindo a calça novamente e soltando suas mãos da camiseta dele. "é uma pena que você não tenha conseguido."

Matías apertou a sua bochecha, retirando-se do meio das suas pernas e em seguida, do banheiro. você continuou sentada na pia, o sentimento de humilhação e frustração a comendo viva. as bochechas ardiam em vergonha e as mãos agarraram o pedaço de mármore que a sustentava para que não corresse atrás dele e o esganasse no meio de todas aquelas pessoas.

contentou-se em se vestir novamente e limpar a coxa onde o maldito tinha deixado a sua marca. só aí percebeu que ele tinha levado a sua calcinha com ele, gemendo em descontentamento.

quando achou a bolsa e pegou o celular, algumas mensagens pularam na tela. a maioria das suas amigas, procurando por você. mas, no topo de todas elas, estava o contato que você nunca tinha apagado por mais que jurasse que não receberia uma mensagem dele nunca mais.

a gnt devia repetir oq rolou hj mais vezes

[miskhalie]

Sex on the Beach - Fran/Francisco Romero x Reader

Pairing: Fran Romero

Advertencias: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, ¿Public sex?

El sol de verano calentaba el agua del mar, la piel y la arena de la playa. Tu te abanicabas con tu mano incluso dentro del agua. Metiste la cabeza dentro del mar. Cuando volviste a la superficie, miraste a Fran, que se bronceaba junto con las toallas y el bolso. Llevaba unas gafas de sol de colores que le quedaban preciosas con su tono de piel mas bronceada. Además, sus bañadores azules se veían desde la distancia.

Decidiste ir hasta allá. Fran vio como Venus surgió del mar. Tu caminabas a paso seguro mientras el agua te lamia el cuerpo y resbalaba sobre tu piel, dejando atrás gotas. ¡Que mujer!, pensó Fran. ¡Vaya vistas! Se tuvo que levantar un poco, apoyandose en sus codos y quitarse las gafas porque eras todo un espejismo. Tu pelo mojado, tu sonrisa, las gotas bajando por tu cuello a tus pechos a tu cintura y caderas hasta la arena. Se sintió afortunado, como lo había hecho muchas veces más.

Te sentaste sobre tu toalla y lo miraste con esos ojos que le expresaban ternura.

- ¡Que buena esta el agua! - dijiste - Metete si quieres, yo guardo el bolso.

Pero Fran tenia otras intenciones. Lo volvías loco y lo hacías actuar fuera de si. Queria recorrerte la piel con la punta de sus dedos.

- No, gracias. Estoy bien así. - te respondió.

Quizás si debía meterse en el agua, porque estaba empezando a sentir un cosquilleo dentro del estomago que solo podía significar una cosa: te quería allí mismo.

Él también estaba irresistible, con su piel morena, la arena pegada al cuerpo en pequeños granos y el cuerpo reluciente por el aceite corporal. De sus labios colgaba una sonrisa misteriosa y picara. Como si ya estuviera maquinando su siguiente movimiento. Su pelo al sol relucía tanto que parecía Apolo. Y olía a after-shave y a aceite de playa.

Te acercaste a él y juntaste tus labios con los suyos. Sabía a la macedonia que habías comprado de camino. Su lengua era suave, dulce y cariñosa. Por como profundizaba el beso, sabías que estaba necesitado. De ti. Sin separar los labios, te tumbaste a su lado. Un brazo voló a agarrarte de la cintura. Por suerte, habíais colocado en un lugar un poco remoto de la gente, en una pequeña cala a solas.

Su boca bajó de tus labios a tu cuello, donde dio un lametón caliente y sentiste un escalofrío. Suspiraste. Fran se puso sobre ti y poco a poco fue besando tu cuerpo, lamiendo y mordiendo. Cuando llegó a tu braga, beso sobre el forro de esta y sin previo aviso, metió la mano suavemente. Se tumbó a tu altura y siguió besándote con lengua. De momento solo sujetaba tus partes intimas como si lo reclamara, pero tu te sentía tensa, impaciente.

Un dedo hizo camino a tu agujero y se mojó ligeramente para poder acariciar tu punto más sensible, tu clitoris. Con la primera caricia, soltaste un gemido sutil. Fran se comió este al posar su boca sobre la tuya para hacerte callar. Te tapaste la boca después de que te besara y le concediste paso a tu cuello, donde dejaba marcas y besaba con pasión. La combinación de los besos húmedos y calientes con la euforia que sentías por como te tocaba te hacía mojarte más.

La rena de su cuerpo y el agua del tuyo se mezclaban creando una fricción que aunque te irritaba la piel también causaba sensaciones placenteras. El olor a Fran, a playa y el sol que calentaba, todo te traía a un trance del que no eras consciente. Tan profundamente estabas en ese trance que no notaste cuando Fran despego sus labios de tu cuello y fue dejando un camino de os labios de tu cuello y fue dejando un camino de besos hacia tu entrepierna. Hizo a un lado la tela y empezó a lamer. Tu tensabas tus músculos al gemir y no podías ya negar que te gustaba estar así en un lugar medio publico.

Fran te lamia con dulzura, con largos lametones de arriba abajo. Tú levantabas las caderas presa de las sensaciones. Tu cuerpo pedía más y formaba un nudo en la base de tu estomago. Se sentía tan bien que agarraste a tu novio del pelo, por lo que empezó a hacer vibrar su lengua y a lamer en círculos tu nudo más sensible. Justo cuando pensabas que no podías más, te introdujo un dedo, después de que lo aceptaras con facilidad, fueron dos, hasta que fueron tres. Sin parar de dar atención a ese punto donde los nervios de tus genitales se juntaban.

En unos minutos más te derretiste sobre sus dedos. Ambos jadeabais, tu casi perdiendo el conocimiento de tal climax y él asombrado por como habías estado.

- Che, no sabia que podías hacer eso. - se rió.

[bagopucks]

A. Matthews - Para Siempre

✄————————————

Auston Matthews x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 3.7k

Warning(s): None?

Spanish Translations, in order of occurrence;

Por siempre y para siempre - forever and always

mamá ahora no - mom not now

Puedes proponer - you can propose

No en tu playa sexual - not at your sex beach

—————————————

“When your father proposed to me…”

Auston hadn’t been expecting the story of the century. Meaning, that his mother took as long as a century to tell it.

“It was extravagant!”

Auston had planned to propose in Arizona. When he invited Hudson and I home with him, I was only under the influence that I was going to meet his parents and enjoy a short vacation. Nothing more.

I also had little to no suspicion of any ulterior motive when he asked me to go to the store and get a few groceries for dinner. And I certainly didn’t expect anything when Hudson bounced along with me. Though perhaps I should have. Because Hudson hated grocery shopping.

“He had flowers everywhere! Oh and Auston- the ring!” Ema spoke as if Auston hadn’t seen it millions of times. His own mother’s engagement ring. Of course he knew what it looked like. “It has to be something she’ll love. Something that makes sense for her.” Dainty and beautiful. Sparkly. Auston stole a glance at his mother’s ring. Definitely not as big as hers. His lover wasn’t quite that extravagant. He already had the ring anyway. Stuffed away in an old hockey duffel in his closet. The safest place he thought to hide it.

“He took me out to one of the lake beaches way after dark, where we spent the night together.” Her brows lifted in a suggestive manner, and it caused all three of her kids to groan and whine in complaint.

Alexandria and Breyana only joined their brother and mother in the kitchen when they picked up on the marriage conversion. In true sisterly fashion, they wanted the details. As it turns out, they got too many unwanted details.

“That’s actually,” Ema set her glass of water down, “where you were conceived.” She pointed a finger at Alexandria.

“Mama!” The eldest daughter scolded for the lack of filter, while Auston snickered.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s life. And yours was created on that beach. Right after your father proposed.” Breyana’s head fell into her hands. When their mother grew older, all three feared the things that may come from her mouth.

“Oh quit complaining.” Ema rolled her eyes.

“The proposal, mom.” Auston swiftly guided her back on track. “Please.”

“Right. Well.. we ate.. then swam for a bit, laid down.. and eventually he pulled this ring out. He never bothered to get on one knee- but we were already laying down, so I figured it was close enough. And he opened the ring box, and I just couldn’t contain my joy.” Ema hugged herself as a smile formed on her lips. “And do you know what he said?”

“What?” Alexandria pried.

“He said, Por siempre y para siempre. Forever and always.”

Forever and always.

Auston kept that in the back of his mind. He let it sit. He thought it over. He gave it a good mental discussion. Forever and always was a long time. He had no second thoughts when buying the ring, or talking to Hudson. But cold feet creeps up on everybody at least once when they consider making the lifelong commitment that is to another person.

Two people in Auston’s case.

When I returned from the store, the home was exactly as I had left it. Auston was arguing with Alexandria in the kitchen, while Breyana sat on the couch scrolling through her phone, a smile on her lips the second she heard Hudson shout her name.

“Welcome home, girlie.” Breyana spoke as she wrestled Hudson for a hug. The boy giggled and tried to push her away.

“Hey, Brey. I got these groceries Ema needed.” I held the bag up as I kicked my shoes off.

“In the kitchen. Just be careful. Auston woke one of Alex’s demons.”

Demons. I snorted.

“Got it.” I whisked away, down the hall to peek into the kitchen, having to hold in a laugh at the scene I’d walked into. Alexandria had a tight hold on a lock of Auston’s hair, pulling it taught while he whined and begged for mercy in a language I didn’t fully understand. Perhaps Alex did have a few demons. Ones that could only be provoked by the tedious presence of a baby brother.

“Hope I’m not interrupting any sibling bonding.” I piped up from the doorway, watching the way both startled and stumbled away from one another. Auston whipped around to look at me, cheeks flushed and lips pursed, while Alex kept her back turned. I knew however, that there was a good chance she was smiling to herself.

“I got groceries.” I walked into the kitchen to set them on the counter, a smile spreading across my face the moment Ema came through. Her hands fell upon my shoulders as she passed, a silent expression of thanks before she spoke.

“You should be resting, sweetheart.” Ema suggested as she grabbed one of the handles of the plastic grocery bag and dragged it toward herself. “You’re on vacation. Don’t let my son make you run errands.” She spoke as if she didn’t have a clue why he asked me to go.

“Mom!” Auston protested, though he quieted when he saw the look she shot him from the corner of her eye.

“You know what you need?” Ema asked.

“What could I possibly need?” I sighed out with a smirk.

“A day at the beach.” My brow furrowed in curiosity when I watched Ema eye Auston once again.

“Mamá ahora no.” Auston seemed to scold her.

“Puedes proponer!” I leaned back slightly when Ema gestured to me. Clearly the subject of the unknown conversation.

“No en tu playa sexual!” Auston’s rebuttal had his sister falling into a fit of laughter, and I became increasingly interested when I realized their conversation had to do with something intimate.

“What are you guys talking about?” I asked, smiling nervously.

“Nothing, honey. Auston was just asking about date ideas earlier and I told him the beach was a good one.”

“Scottsdale doesn’t border any oceans.” I mentioned, somewhat confused.

“Lakeside stuff.” Auston swiftly interjected, shrugging. “It’s nice on hot days.”

“We could go.” I looked up at him, watching as he crossed the kitchen to stand by my side.

“As much as I’d love to, my mother ruined that idea for me.”

“What? Why?” I felt his arms snake around my sides.

“It’s not worth explaining.” He took a step backwards, dragging me along with him.

“Where are you taking me?” I reached behind myself to rest my hand on the back of his neck. Auston’s chin immediately fell against my shoulder.

“To my room.” He spoke, as if it was obvious. “It’s the only place we get any privacy here.”

“Oh your family is not that bad.” I laughed softly, following his lead as Auston slowly walked me backwards to the kitchen doorway.

“They’re the worst.” He teased before he pulled away and grabbed my hand.

“Auston Taylour!” I watched his face light up at the sound of his mother’s shout, and in a flash he was dragging me up the steps at such a speed I thought he might pull my arm out of its socket.

“Jesus, Aus!”

There was one thing I had gotten incredibly comfortable with since we arrived at Auston’s childhood home. And it was leaving Hudson alone. There was always somebody he was with. Somebody to keep him company or entertain him. And the girls simply fawned over him. Auston and I had more time to spend together. A little time without having to constantly fret over the kid a few feet away.

By the time we made it safely into his room, Auston had pushed the door shut, both of us heaving for air while he tried to listen for his mother.

“She’s a follower when she’s angry.” He explained.

“You stress her out too much.” I laughed softly, dropping onto his unmade bed. A twin size that I learned barely fit him growing up. The two of us had found multiple odd ways to sleep on it since arriving in Arizona. Most of the time it was just one on top of the other. Though I learned immediately one night that supporting Auston’s weight was a life or death situation, because he was too heavy to breathe under.

“I’m her kid. It’s my job to stress her out.” Auston defended himself with a smile, turning to look at me. I rolled my eyes at him. A mutual silence overtook the room, eyes wandering. Minds wandering.

“What were you and your mother talking about down there?” I watched something shift in Auston’s expression.

“Do you wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

Forever and always.

There was no going back.

—————

What did forever and always even mean?

“I know you don’t like it Buddy.. just stick with me on this, okay?”

“When can I take it off?”

“After I propose to your mom.” Auston adjusted the bow tie on Hudson’s neck. His little button down and suspenders were nothing short of adorable. An outfit his mother helped pick out. Auston on the other hand, wore black slacks and a button down of his own, the first few buttons undone. Hudson found it unfair.

Forever and always.

Auston glanced at the ring box on the night stand. “Momma doesn’t know you’re proposing?”

“Nope. I asked her to fill the car with gas so we could get ready.” Auston explained.

“Is momma all dressed up?” He fidgeted with his tie while Auston grabbed the velvet box and slipped it into his pocket.

“I didn’t see her before she left. But I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

“What are you gonna say to her?” Hudson looked up at Auston, who adjusted his hair one last time before slipping his dress shoes on.

“Por siempre y para siempre.” Auston spoke, sure as he would ever be.

“What does that mean?”

“Forever and always.”

“What does that mean?” Hudson followed Auston out of the bedroom. The grownup now left trying to find an answer to a question he wasn’t sure how to respond to. Perhaps forever and always meant something different to everybody.

Auston decided not to answer as he walked down the steps, met with the sight of his family waiting patiently in the living room.

“Oh, oh it’s happening.” Ema stopped her pacing by the window when she caught sight of the two boys.

“Hudson you look so handsome!” Breyana cooed, causing a flush to take over the boy’s cheeks. Brian slowly stood from the couch, eyeing his son with a quizzical look before he smirked. He walked over and rested a hand on Auston’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill it, kid.” Brian glanced down at Hudson. “And the kid’s support is a pretty good sign.”

“Hey uh.. can I ask you a question?” Auston’s voice softened.

“Always.”

“What’s forever and always mean?”

Loving someone so much that you want to spend your life with them. Loving someone so much that it’s unconditional. Loving someone to the end of time, and loving them always.

When I pulled the car up to the front door, Auston had instructed me to switch seats. We shared a brief kiss as we passed around the hood of the car, and only when I got inside did I notice Hudson’s little outfit. I made a comment on it, but mistook his silence for displeasure. In reality, Hudson was too afraid of giving anything away. So he kept quiet for the whole drive, and it seemed Auston did as well.

Only when we arrived at the restaurant, and Hudson popped out of his car seat to open my door, did the boys start talking.

“You look so beautiful tonight.” Auston made his way around the car, offering his arm for me to hold onto as I climbed out, smiling at him before my gaze turned to little Hudson, holding my car door open like a butler.

“You boys look awful cute too.” I complimented playfully, stepping away from the car so Hudson could shut the door.

“Momma!” Hudson whined.

“Handsome.” I corrected, sharing a look with Auston. He pressed a kiss to my cheek, and I linked my arm with his own. My free hand came up to gently flick the small charm hanging from Auston’s earring.

“The leaves?” I asked softly. Knowingly.

“The leaves.” A pair he had well before we met. Initially bought because the silver hoops held dangling maple leaves that resembled the one on the jerseys his team wore.

“You wear those for luck.” I commented, allowing suspicion to raise in my tone. Auston didn’t respond right away, instead opting for a smile as he and Hudson led me toward the entrance of the restaurant.

“I might need it tonight.” When the words reached my ears, I finally decided to come to terms with the fact that something was going on.

The restaurant Auston chose was a homey little place more on the outskirts of the city. Surrounded by beautiful gardens, with outdoor seating to drink in one’s share of the view. I felt no surprise at all when Auston gave his name to the hostess, and she led us to possibly the best outside seat on the whole property. Hudson pulled my seat out for me, and I couldn’t help but feel like a Queen. The lines began to blur between who had taught Hudson better manners. Myself or the man sitting across from me, ordering my favorite wine from memory. And requesting an extra fancy glass for Hudson and the juice the boy ordered.

I immediately rested my elbows against the table, leaning forward and eyeing Auston through the orange flicker of the candle flame between us.

“You two are up to something.” I commented, my gaze falling to my son only momentarily. Hudson quickly looked away.

“We’re not up to anything. We just wanted to take you out.” Auston could lie all he wanted, but he wasn’t great at it. The guilty smile on his lips raised my suspicions more than Hudson opening my car door, wearing a bow tie, and pulling my seat out.

“You’re such a horrible liar, Aus.” I gently nudged his foot beneath the table.

“I am not!” His defensive attitude brought a quiet laugh from my lips. I felt his foot push my own away.

“Momma!” Hudson whined, “you gotta let it go.” He waved his hand dismissively at me, astonishment flashing across both mine and Auston’s faces.

“Well then,” I feigned offense, leaning back. “Suppose I will let it go then.” I folded my arms across my chest.

“Oh come on now.” Auston reached for me, but stopped short when the waitress came by with an opened bottle of wine, three glasses, and a bottle of orange juice.

“Just pour me a glass, Matthews.” I let him off the hook with a smirk, reaching for Hudson’s orange juice. I twisted the cap off and poured it into his own fancy glass, setting the half empty bottle aside and putting the cap back on. Auston busied himself with filling our own glasses, and I had no shame in watching the pools of honey in his eyes as the Arizona sunset lit up the warm dark undertones of his features.

When Auston handed my glass over, I was swift to take a sip, humming happily at the refreshing flavor.

“Perfect?” Auston quizzed.

“Better than perfect.” I assured, taking another sip.

“It’s magnificent.” Hudson chimed in after taking a gulp of his orange juice.

“That’s a big word for you, Hudsy.” Auston teased, and I watched Hudson giggle and stick his tongue out in return.

“Play nice, boys. You might have to live with each other one day.”

The banter between us always came with ease. Something I was always thankful for.

“Oh yeah,” Sarcasm immediately took over Hudson’s tone. “Pfft. Live with Auston. What a crazy idea.” My brow furrowed, amused and confused by his behavior. “Do you hear her?” Hudson looked toward my lover, with a look that practically said, ‘she’s a lunatic.’

“Just drink your orange juice, bud.” Auston scoffed, taking a sip from his own glass.

I wasn’t sure what signal I had missed, but I knew it was something. Hudson quickly relaxed after the exchange, and the topic of living together was long forgotten. We ordered and ate, I couldn’t remember how many times I thanked Auston for the dinner and the view. Hudson chimed in a few times asking for a thanks of his own. And I granted it with ease.

The boys had outdone themselves. I just hadn’t been able to figure out why until we were on the last leg of the large slice of chocolate cake Auston and I shared. Hudson had his own piece. I was dreading having to deal with his sugar rush on the way home.

“I didn’t know Arizona was so good at making ice cream.” I commented as I slipped a piece of the chocolate cake into my mouth, swiftly scooping a piece of vanilla ice cream off the plate to go with it.

“Guess they kinda have to. With all the warm weather.” Auston flashed me a toothy grin. We’d given each other far more fleeting looks and admirable glances than I cared to admit. I peered back down at the small chunk of cake left, losing myself in my thoughts before I heard Auston’s fork hit the glass. I looked back up. He licked his lips and reached for his napkin, wiping his spotless mouth. Tense. Anxious?

“Aus?”

“Oh.. oh!” Hudson kicked his feet excitedly the second Auston reached beneath the table. Hudson quickly clasped a hand over his mouth to stay quiet.

“Auston.” The use of his full name brought his eyes to my own, but in the slight darkness of the almost set sun, I could see him still shuffling beneath the table.

“Just trust me, okay?” Auston spoke quietly, leaning forward before his movement stopped.

“I always do.”

Forever and always.

It’s answering last minute calls for a woman who’s in desperate need of assistance. It’s being open minded to a situation you didn’t expect. It’s keeping an eye on that kid in the park, and offering the pretty mother your number. Forever was in sickness and in health. Taking care of a mother and her son when they’re both ill. It’s about still showing up to be a dad, even after that second round knock out takes the shit out of you. Always was in the way you still loved somebody, even at their worst. The way you still wanted what was best for a kid kicking screaming and crying. Teaching a kid when they’re stubborn, being patient with a woman when she’s learning to trust again.

Forever and always was about finding his forever, and sticking to it always.

Auston found it with one woman from the park, and her lively son.

A gasp fell from my lips when Auston stepped aside from the table and got down on one knee. His mother may have said his father didn’t, but Auston thought I deserved tradition and nothing less. I reached out to touch his shoulder, tears brimming both of our eyes, before he could even speak. And then he did.

“Por siempre y para siempre.”

“Aus,” he knew I didn’t understand. And I knew I didn’t have to tell him.

“Forever and always.” His voice quivered, the smile on his lips faltering only due to the exhaustion of his muscles. The tears in our eyes were of pure joy. The excitement written in our slightly quivering bodies.

“Will you marry me?” I finally shot out of my seat, launching myself forward into Auston’s arms. Somewhat kneeling to match his height. His arms wrapped so tightly around me that I thought for a moment I might snap in half.

“Absolutely! Auston yes! I’ll marry you.” Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I pressed a hard kiss to his shoulder. I heard him let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. I even heard the soft sniffles from the boy still seated at our table.

Then it seemed, simultaneously, we both remembered the ring. Auston had to peel me from his body, and I cooed at the sight of wetness on his cheeks. Our hands almost collided as we tried to wipe the tracks of joyful tears off one another’s faces. Then Auston snatched my left hand, giving a quick squeeze before he lowered it toward his thigh. My face hurt from the smiling as Auston slipped the ring from the velvet box, then carefully placed it onto my ring finger. My heart stuttered.

“It’s so beautiful.” No words could describe how I felt, and I chose not to try to use them either. When our eyes met, my hands rested on Auston’s cheeks and I pulled him in for a kiss. The feeling of a ring on my finger was foreign, but welcomed. The kiss barely lasted long between our smiles and euphoric giggles of laughter.

“You make me so happy.” Auston whispered against my lips.

When I pulled away, I felt the weight of a tiny hand on my back. Peeking toward my side, I spotted Hudson with a sheepish smile and teary eyes.

“Oh honey.” I wiped his tears too.

“You’re happy, momma?”

“Oh I’m the happiest.” I promised. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I glanced at Auston, reaching for his hand. He held my own with such tenderness, I felt like a piece of fine China. “This is my family right here. I couldn’t possibly be any happier.” I sniffed, shaking my head in disbelief. Hudson hugged me, and I felt my heart completely melt. “This is my perfect little family.” I clarified, more for Auston than anybody else. And it was my family. A little unconventional, but a family nonetheless. It was the one I wanted.

“Of course I’ll marry you.” I reiterated sternly.

Forever and always.

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[dollechan]

Sex, Drugs & etc - LTY

Tarde da noite, um bom vinho e conversas bobas. esse é o ritual de todos os finais de semana de Taeyong com você.

fluff, slice of life(?), uso de 'princesa' apenas, menção a taeyong fumante.

a/n: não sei se tá bom, só imaginei um momento que eu gostaria de ter com o Taeyong se eu fosse namorada dele. é isso, curtinho pra poder dar um gostinho a vocês do que eu escrevo. revisado porém pode conter algum erro!

O jazz suave ecoava pela sala iluminada apenas por algumas velas. Ali estava o último casal realmente apaixonado do mundo, você e Lee Taeyong. O Lee amava esses momentos com você, dentro daquelas quatro paredes vocês poderiam ser vocês mesmos. Bebiam um vinho bom, ele te tirava para dançar e vocês ficavam ali. Dois apaixonados, falando coisas bobas e sem sentido, curtindo um ao outro. Taeyong sabia que queria ser seu para sempre, e você sabia que queria ser dele para sempre. Os últimos românticos do mundo, apenas você e seu amor trocando juras. No final dos movimentos lentos da dança simples, ele acende um cigarro. – Eu sou todo seu, princesa. E você, é minha? – O Lee entrelaça o braço na sua cintura, lhe puxando para um abraço desajeitado, mas bom. – Eu sou todinha sua, dos pés a cabeça. Sorri sem graça, tudo é novo, tudo é resumido em amor. Os acontecimentos seguintes são intensos, embriagados pelo vinho e pela música, eles conversam e se amam mais ainda. Deixam as preocupações de lado, ao som de Sex, Drugs & etc., aproveitam o que a vida a dois lhes proporcionava.

[bullet-prooflove]

Ex!Joe Part Two: Brighton Beach - Joe Velasco x Reader

Tagging: @plaidbooks @misscharlielulu @witches-unruly-heart @storiesofsvu @magic-multicolored-miracle @rosaliedepp @cycat4077 @crazy4chickennuggets @cixrosie @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @mysoulisasunflower @legit9thlunaticwarrior @mydarkestsecretlol @the-adzukibean @@the-person-in-the-circle @wooshwastaken @kiwiithecrazybird @justreblogginfics @anime-weeb-4-life @hey-dw @alwaysachorusgirl @julieelliewrites @telepathay @weiwei0210 @nessamc @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989

Part One: Left Behind

Joe’s forgotten how beautiful the Russian language can be, how the syllables ebb and flow, how your dialect can soften even the harshest of words as they leave your mouth. He remembers nights in bed, where the two of you had exchanged phrases in Spanish, Russian and English.

I love you; you had taught him. я тебя люблю

You mean the world to me; he had taught you. Para mi significas el mundo.

He’s retained scraps of phrases over the years but the main thing he recalls is the sentiment. The look in your eyes as your fingers brushed the hair at the nape of his neck and you whispered them against his lips.

You meant every single word back then.

Your tone is soothing as you translate between him and Sonya Solovyov. A mixture of reassurance and strength as you guide her through the questions with as much care as you can. He sees the weight of it bearing down on your shoulders as she details the ten hours she spent in the company of her rapist.

Joe hates the fact you have to hear this. You’re no stranger to violence and hate but sex crimes comes with it’s own caveats. He notices the way your fingers twitch when Sonya starts to break down. He understands the compulsion to reach out, to want to comfort someone while their describing the most horrific thing that has ever happened to them.

It’s your training that prevents you from doing that. Instead, you clasp your hands together, the knuckles practically turning white as you lower your head so you can meet Sonya’s gaze.

When it’s over, you remain seated as Joe escorts Sonya from the interrogation room. You stare at the chair that she occupied, reliving the interview over and over again in your head. You see the injuries on her face and neck, the restraint marks on her wrists, you see her broken spirit and her torn soul.

“How many more?” You ask when he returns.

“Another two today.” He tells you, his shoulder coming to rest against the wall as he studies you.  “You’ve got time for a break.”

You nod, your gaze still fixed on the chair before you push yourself away from the metal table and leave the room without sparing him a second glance. He knows you’re shutting down, that the statement he’s just taken from Sonya has unnerved you. This job isn’t for the faint hearted, he thinks what you heard today in this room is going to haunt you for nights to come. It’ll haunt him, he’ll think about it as he lays in bed tonight staring at the ceiling.

He finds you on the roof, smoking a cigarette as you look out across the skyline of the city. Nobody’s allowed up here, not really, but a couple of months ago someone disabled the alarm on the fire door so that they could sneak out for a smoke. He thinks it was Murphy, the last time he visited the precinct.

“I don’t understand how you do this day in and day out.” You tell him as he comes to stand beside you. You take a drag before holding out the cigarette towards him, he takes it from you and puts it between his lips, letting the smoke fill up his lungs before he exhales.

“It’s not easy.” He admits, watching the smoke evaporate into the air. “But it’s better than what I was doing before.”

You both know he’s talking about the undercover work, about the nights he lost himself in another man’s identity, the days that he became one of them.

“You prefer this?” You ask him, gesturing at the building before he hands the cigarette back to you.

There’s an intimacy to sharing a smoke. It’s like kissing in a way, his lips touching the same space as yours. It’s an echo of the past, when the two of you used to stand outside the bar in your neighbourhood, sharing a Marlborough before Joe would lean in and kiss you, the smoke bleeding out of your mouth and into his.

“I know who I am with this.” He tells you with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyebrows furrowing as he surveys the view in front of him. “I know who the bad guys are.”

It’s a conversation you’ve had before, a long time ago now. How you lose fragments of yourself when you become someone else, you take on their traits, their mannerisms, their thoughts and ideals. You start to understand what drives people into that life, the poverty, the depravation, you see how you were just one bad decision away from becoming the same thing you’re trying to denounce.

It could have been me, he’d told you one night, his head in his hands as he sat on the couch. You don’t understand how close that was to being me.

“We can get someone else.” Joe says into the space between you, his elbows coming to rest upon the handrail. “If this is too much.”

You turn your head to look at him, for a second your eyes lock and you feel like you’re back there in that moment, the one before he went away again. You see the agony in those green eyes of his, because this, being here with you, it’s hurting him. You can’t seem to stop doing that, no matter what you try there’s no right course of action. You leave you hurt him; you return you hurt him.

 All you want to do is get through the rest of the day so you can return to your lonely little apartment and pretend that none of this had never happened. That you aren’t still in love with a man that hates you, that you didn’t walk out the door because you couldn’t cope.

You sigh as you stub out the cigarette on the wall before dropping it into the makeshift ashtray.

“No you can’t.” You tell him, rubbing your hands together against the cool breeze that whips through the air. “You would have done it already if it was that easy.”

Joe doesn’t deny it. He’d put a couple of feelers out with the Desk Sergeant before Sonya had come in. You were the only one in the locality with the language skills and specilised interview techniques to undertake something so delicate. Anything else meant being attached to a waiting list and with the way this guy was ramping up, they simply didn’t have the time to sit and wait for an interpreter to become available.

“Why are you here?” He asks you finally, his voice lowering an octave. “Why come back to Manhattan after being away for so long?”

“Maybe it was time for me to find a home too.” You say, clasping your hands together and leaning on the railing.

Joe’s gaze lowers to the wedding ring on your finger.

“It looks like you have one already.”

You laugh and it’s a bitter sound that cuts straight through him. He’s heard it a handful of times over his duration with you, and he knows that it masks pain. You use it as a way of lightening a situation that cuts you so deep, you feel like you’re bleeding out onto the concrete.

“It turns out I’m a shitty wife, I only wear the fucking thing because I don’t want to admit to anyone that I’ve failed at that too.”

Out of everything he thinks of you, he never would have deemed you ‘a shitty wife’. You’re loyal, fierce, dedicated. Traits that he admired in you at the time, that he still admires because he sees them there under the surface.

“What happened at Brighton Beach?” He asks you quietly. “What was it that made you come home?”

The word slips out before he can stop it.

Home.

Home used to be him. It used to be a spacious one bedroomed apartment in Tribeca with a rug you’d brought from a thrift store and end tables the two of you had spent an afternoon upcycling. It had been a bed filled with love, and soft words and tender caresses.

You don’t think that Joe means to linger in your proximity, but he does. You can feel the heat rolling off his skin and it warms something inside of you. Nobody you work with knows that you’re getting divorced, that you signed the papers last week and send them back to your husband uncontested. There’s no belongings to split, you’d already moved and you’d rented together not bought.

“I arrested my brother-in-law for fucking underage girls.” You find yourself telling him as you toy with the ring on your finger. “I’m getting divorced because my husband can’t stand the sight of me. My mother and father won’t talk to me because of how it makes them look in the community. My mom slammed the door in my face the last time I went by.”

“Your mom hated me.” Joe recalls, thinking back to that dinner, that horrible, oppressive dinner that the two of you had been forced to sit through for your father’s birthday.

Your mom had made it abundantly clear that Joe may have been an immigrant, but he wasn’t the right type of immigrant. You’d fallen out with her after that, didn’t speak to her for a long time.

You didn't give a shit that he'd come over from Mexico during his teenage years and he didn't give a shit that your family were Soviet Jews, fleeing Russia during the 1930s. You mother did though, she clung to your heritage as if it was a lifeline. She wanted you to marry a nice Jewish boy from the neighbourhood.

This whole thing with Alexi's brother was a kick in the face for her, your family were well established in the community and blood came before anything else, even if it was married in.

“Well, she hates me too now, so I guess we have that in common.” You tell him tilting your head and meeting his gaze.

Your mother is five foot tall and Joe has seen grown men cower in her presence, especially when she has that wooden spoon in her hand.

Joe tries not to smile at the image; he really does but there’s something about the expression on your face that cracks him up. He sees the edges of your lips tipping up and he knows that it’s the same for you. It feels good to laugh with you again, to share something.

“It shouldn’t be funny.” You say and he gives you that hapless look because it’s a little funny.

The moment’s cut short by the sound of his cellphone chirping to life. He removes it from his back pocket, studying the message before he purses his lips together grimly.

“The next one’s here.” He tells you almost apologetically. “Think you can handle it?”

It’s a genuine question and he already knows the answer because the woman he knew back then was tough as hell and he can see that hasn’t changed in the time you’ve been apart. You think of the women who’ve endured this torture, the strength it’s taken them to actually come into Special Victims, to recount their stories.

“Yea.” You say, taking a deep breath and squaring your shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

Love Joe Velasco? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[aphrogeneias]

oi benzinho <3 por aqui passei a noite fazendo sobremesas para a ceia de natal, e você como está?

also, in honor of christmas time being really fucking hot for us summer babes, i raise you: corroded coffin touring in a beach country and rockstar!eddie x assistant!reader enjoying their free time in a hidden beach. i’ll let you elaborate <3

ahhh eu também fiquei na função da sobremesa, mas vou fazer tudo amanhã a noite pois sem procrastinação não sou eu :') hoje eu só fiz as últimas compras e descansei <3

i have this feeling that eddie wouldn't like the beach very much. he'd love the ocean, but the sand and the sun do not agree with him. he'd be under the parasol the whole time, reading a book, writing some music, relaxing. watching you in your swimming suit, laying in the sun, asking to apply sunscreen for you with no second intentions, not at all.

beach holiday, a pause on the tour, though? sex everywhere. hotel room sex, with the windows all open and the sun warming your bed. pool sex, late at night. beach sex, on the towels, in the sea. inappropriate touches at the dinner table.

but most of all!!! i think eddie would just be happy to have you not work, at all. it's his turn to make all the adjustments, all the reservations, and let you rest. it's what he wants the most. you're there, sipping on a fruity drink at the beach, with him by your side doting on you the whole time, that's what makes him the happiest.

maybe it's the first time he realizes he wants to do this all time, possibly forever.

[ladysophiebeckett]

imo we dont talk enough about how Betty was (indirectly?) s.a'd by Mario (or at least she def felt like that) -a man other than who she thought was her bf knew too much abt her body, her sexual life and her "performance" WITHOUT HER CONSENT. While we know that Armando prob didnt give Calderon the most detailed descriptions of their two times together, Betty def seemed v sickened whenever she saw Calderon after reading the letter, and even dreamed about beating him up after Cartagena. Thoughts?

Betty was not indirectly or directly sexually assaulted by Mario. Her privacy however, was violated. I wanna make that clear, first. She does however feel disgust at what she thought were private moments between two people, were shared with a third party. She very much believes her privacy was violated. (It was). But to have one's privacy violated is not the same thing as your actual person being violated.

Now, the scene you're describing when she says she 'at least it felt like it' is true. She does say\think that. But there's a context to it.

The fantasy happens during her first official meeting as President, when Mario, in a too familiar and bro like manner, touches her shoulder in greeting.

She wants to say, 'don't touch me. don't ever touch me again. Ya tengo suficiente con las caricias sucias de Este (armando) como para seguir soportando las suyas!' and Mario says 'Pero yo no la he tocado!' to which she says, 'Pues yo si siento como si me hubiera tocado! De hecho, lo hizo cuando le entrego nuestra intimidad y usted se delito escribiendole en sus asqueorsas cartas. Siento que me manoseo cuando se recreo describiendo cada cosa que pasaba entre el y yo. No vuelva a tocarme. Me produce nauseas. Me de asco!'

'Manoseo' or to 'Manosear' is to touch\grope someone inappropriately. At least that is the context in which Betty is saying that in. Yes, very much a form of harassment.

This fantasy gives us insight into Betty's mind post Cartagena--that despite forgiving Armando before she left, she still has a lot of anger. She's not seeking revenge anymore but Betty's hurt and anger is still fresh. The way Mario is treating her now, now that she's been made over, now that she's president--is infuriating.

Betty's has two fantasies within Ybslf where she causes Mario physical harm. The first one is after she reads the letter and he gets back fm Palm Beach. She enters the office and he completely ignores her and she dreams of kicking him in the balls. In that fantasy she doesn't say anything, she just kicks him in the balls and smiles. In the fantasy I described above (when she's president), she grabs him by the suit jacket lapels and pushes him onto the table to threaten him. What triggers that fantasy is that he suddenly doesn't ignore her, he acknowledges her and acts like they're all buddies. He shows Betty in that moment that he lacks shame at the part he played in her tragedy.

(note: this is the very thing Armando and Mario fight over when he catches Mario reading Betty's diary--Mario's complete lack of shame.)

Betty believed her (clandestine) relationship with Armando was private because he promised her it would be. He said Mario would never find out. About anything. Betty's anger and disgust towards Mario is not just about her sex life--it's about the entirety of her relationship with Armando that she thought was sacred (and just as special to Armando as to her). The letter that Mario wrote, taints everything she thought about Armando and what she thought about herself.

....'con las caricias sucias de este'...Every caress she accepted from Armando, tainted. Every word, every action that she thought came from Armando with love, tainted.

We, the audience, know how much Armando told Mario and how much he actually kept to himself. This doesn't justify him. Trust was broken from the moment the plan started. But Armando didn't give details about the two nights he and Betty shared. IIRC the letter even says 'You don't tell me things anymore' but it doesn't matter bc it implies that Armando was telling him things before. (And you know, he was).

And that is the horrifying knowledge that Betty has to live with Post Letter.

It is violating to have intimate moments of your life in the mouth of anyone, not just your supposed boyfriend's best friend. But in this case it's worse because it was the one person Armando specifically promised would never find out about their relationship.

Betty's disgust towards Mario is very real. I mentioned above that he shows no shame as he goes on about Ecomoda like everything is fine. (Except for one scene where he's worried about Betty taking things away from him bc of the reduced office space). Armando is the one who feels ashamed and seeks her out to explain. Mario never does anything for anyone that isn't for himself.

His lack of shame, his inability to admit his part in Betty's tragedy to Ecomoda's financial fumbled state (the panama contraband), and how he never once apologizes to Betty; make him an irredeemable character.

[themasterreader69]

LA FLACA

Enzo Vogrincic x Reader

Enzo Vogrincic te conoce en un lounge de Ibiza, lo que empieza como una conversación casual se convierte en una conexión intensa.

Después de una racha de discusiones interminables con Marco y una conversación frenética con mi amiga recién casada, algo adentro mío hizo clic. Es que la idea de perder mi juventud, de no aprovecharla, me aterraba. No podía seguir así. Así que, en un episodio de manía, cerré mi laptop, empaqué lo esencial y a la mañana siguiente me dirigí al aeropuerto con un solo destino en mente: Ibiza.

     Home office. Claro. Porque podré escapar de Marco y de mis responsabilidades pero de la explotación del trabajo jamás.  ¿Quién dijo que no se puede trabajar desde la piscina de un motel temático cerca de la bahía? Sí, motel, no hotel. Mi estadía solo sería de tres días y la idea de un hotel familiar en una ciudad que definitivamente no es para niños me hacía enojar. Un motel —por más mala idea que parezca— sonaba más prometedor para mí y para mi bolsillo, y aunque los sonidos característicos fueran distintos.  Los gemidos eran fugaces... no constantes... Como el llanto de un niño en el vuelo que tomé para llegar hasta acá.

El dormitorio en el motel era adecuado, por falta de mejor palabra.  Contaba con un pequeño escritorio incluso pero ¿quién quiere trabajar en un escritorio cuando hay una piscina desierta durante el día? —yo definitivamente no— y para mi suerte, ese lugar solo cobra vida durante la noche y como mis horarios de trabajo eran ridículos debido a la diferencia horaria, lo podía aprovechar. 

El segundo día, durante una de mis pausas de treinta minutos, decidí aventurarme al lounge. Había evitado ese lugar la mayoría del tiempo por los insistentes residentes que buscaban compañía para sus tríos nocturnos, pero necesitaba una bebida para despejarme de tanta redacción de contenido. Sí, el trabajo paga bien —muy bien para lo poco que debo hacer— pero, quisiera directamente no tener que trabajar, sin más. 

     Mientras estaba en la barra, vi a un hombre que inmediatamente captó mi atención. 

No es como si no hubieran hombres de sobra en ese lugar, los hay, y de sobra. Pero ahí estaban ellos, con sus ojos claros, sus acentos extraños, nadie hablaba español... Y sí, yo podía intentar comunicarme, pero si así lo hiciera sé que sería su nueva atracción exótica y eso llevaría la atención hacia mí —lo cual, no buscaba—

     Este hombre tenía la piel besada por el sol, una presencia magnética. Se sentó cerca de mí y con una voz muy distintiva, pidió una bebida «Hoy voy a variar, tráeme a La Flaca» ese acento... Sonaba a tierra patria. La ironía me golpeó fuerte. Había venido hasta Ibiza para escapar de todo, solo para encontrarme con un recordatorio más de casa. Se me hizo inevitable pensar quién le pone a una bebida...

—¿La Flaca? 

No fue un pensamiento, son ahora dos palabras que había dicho fuera de las paredes de mi cabeza. Deseando que el muchacho que estaba al lado no me hubiera escuchado, tomé un sorbo de mi bebida. Yo me había pedido uno de los cócteles clásicos, SEX ON THE BEACH para estar a juego con la temática del lugar. Contenía vodka, licor de melocotón, lima, jugo de naranja y...

—¿Cómo dijiste disculpá?

Y arándanos. Interrumpió mi tren de pensamiento. Lo único que faltaba, tener a un uruguayo esperando a que yo hable mientras me baja el alcohol al cuerpo.  

—No que... Que... Que curioso nombre, La Flaca para una bebida. — dios, como demoraron en salir esas palabras de mi boca, debe pensar que tengo problemas en el habla. Qué vergüenza, Que vergüenza, no me sigas la conversación. 

—Ah jajaja, que no te sorprenda, también tienen una llamada Lolita. 

Que risa tan estupenda, me contagió al punto que me reí —capaz— por demás. 

—No paré a leerlas, la verdad, suelo ir a lo convencional. — ¿convencional? ¿Quién habla así? relajá, dios mío, solo están hablando de bebidas. 

—¿Qué estás tomando entonces? — Dijo mientras apoyaba el dedo índice sobre la barra en dirección a mi bebida.

Pude ver que tenía anillos en la mano, ninguno de matrimonio.

—Un poco de sexo en la playa. — Intenté decir a modo de broma pero sentí que no la recibió así que procedí a enlistarle lo que contenía rápidamente.

—Me dijeron que ese está bueno. — El bartender le alcanzó su bebida—. El sexo en la playa, digo. — Agregó. 

¿Se me está insinuando? ¿en serio? ¿después de ese mal chiste? tomé otro sorbo de mi bebida, no sé en qué momento este se hizo el último. Mi celular se iluminó y pude ver que era mi alarma. Carajo, tengo que volver al trabajo. 

—Un gusto, nos vemos. — Dije apresuradamente mientras me levantaba del taburete.

—¿Te vas? — Soltó como perplejo—. ¿A dónde? 

Lo vi voltearse y seguirme con la mirada. 

—A mí habitación. Número 8, ¡chauuuu! 

¿Por qué le dije el número de mi habitación a un extraño? ¿y qué fue ese chau tan infantil? no lo sé. Me da ansiedad siquiera pensarlo. 

Volví a mi habitación con una mezcla de emociones. Sabía que tenía que seguir trabajando, aunque la tentación de dejarlo todo y disfrutar de la isla era fuerte. Sin embargo, logré ignorarlo y concentrarme en mis tareas. Las horas pasaron más rápido de lo que esperaba, y antes de darme cuenta, había terminado mi jornada laboral. 

     En un momento me dirigí a la ducha, dejando que el agua tibia lavara el estrés acumulado, la verdad es que la ansiedad por la situación que pasé en el lounge seguía en mi estómago.

‹Por un beso de la flaca, daría lo que fuera, por un beso de ella aunque sólo uno fuera› canté mientras me duchaba. Siquiera llegué a preguntarle a ese uruguayo como se llamaba... Que bronca.

Finalmente, me vestí y salí a explorar la noche de Ibiza. Al salir del motel, me recibió una brisa suave y el sonido distante de la música y risas. La noche era hermosa, con un cielo despejado y lleno de estrellas. El ambiente de verano se sentía en el aire, impregnando todo a su alrededor con una energía vibrante y contagiosa. Caminé sin rumbo fijo, dejando que mis pasos me guiaran por las calles iluminadas. La gente se veía feliz, disfrutando de la vida nocturna. Parejas caminaban de la mano, grupos de amigos reían y compartían anécdotas, y los locales estaban llenos de turistas disfrutando de la gastronomía y la música. Me dejé llevar por el ambiente y encontré un pequeño restaurante con mesas al aire libre, perfectamente ubicado para observar el bullicio de la calle.

     Tomé asiento y pedí algo de comer, dejé que los sabores mediterráneos despertaran mis sentidos. 

     Mientras esperaba mi comida, observé a la gente a mi alrededor. Había algo mágico en esa noche, reflexioné sobre mi juventud, sobre las decisiones que había tomado y las que aún estaban por venir. Había pasado tanto tiempo preocupándome por tantas cosas... y las discusiones con Marco... Me había olvidado lo que se sentía ser realmente libre. Bueno, no sé si libre, pero, en ese momento, me sentía joven —no solamente por mi edad— Era como si Ibiza me hubiera devuelto una parte de mí que creía perdida.  

La juventud no era solo una etapa de la vida, sino una manera de ver el mundo, una forma de abrazar cada momento con entusiasmo y yo, esa noche, lo había retomado.

     La comida llegó y me sumergí en los sabores. El restaurante estaba animado, me uní a ese ritmo, sintiéndome parte de algo más grande. Recordé las palabras de mi amiga recién casada, sobre aprovechar la vida, y me di cuenta de que tal vez esto era exactamente lo que necesitaba.

Después de cenar, seguí caminando por la ciudad, cada rincón revelando una nueva sorpresa. Sentía una conexión con el lugar, una libertad que no había sentido en mucho tiempo... 

Regresé al motel. 

La noche avanzaba, pero mi energía no disminuía, la noche anterior había ido de fiesta y como la experiencia interactuando con gente no fue la mejor, decidí no adentrarme en ninguna parranda. Aún así, el pensamiento sobre ese muchacho no salía de mi cabeza, así que volví al lounge. Esta vez, revisé las bebidas. Resulta que La Flaca era una mezcla de ron, Martini, jugode lima, naranja, granadina y soda. ¿Qué me importaba el nombre de la bebida? Debería haberle preguntado su nombre.

—Un Flanagan, por favor. — Le dije al bartender. 

A esa bebida, le siguieron varios tragos distintos más. Es que el tiempo parecía no avanzar y mi esperanza de que aquél uruguayo volviera a aparecer habían disminuido, disminuido tanto, que luego de una hora de pretender risas con extraños y rechazar más tríos, la esperanza llegó a cero, por lo que volví a mi habitación.

Poco pasadas las dos de la madrugada, escuché que tocaban mi puerta. Estaba comiendo snacks, aún con mi ropa de salir —sin energía para cambiarme— había aprovechado para adelantar parte de mi trabajo, con la esperanza de tomarme el día libre al día siguiente, ya que era mi último día en Ibiza y quería disfrutarlo al máximo.

     Me acerqué y abrí la puerta. Era él, el hombre del lounge. Vestía una camisa negra que contrastaba con su piel, su pelo, definido con gel, le daba un aire aún más atractivo. No encontré palabras que decir, así que simplemente abrí la puerta y lo dejé pasar.

—Tu habitación, número ocho. — Dijo él mientras echaba un vistazo alrededor.  Asentí.

— Sí, sí —respondí— disculpa que te corté así antes, es que tenía que trabajar. 

Añadí, señalando la cama donde estaba mi laptop y el desorden de los snacks.

—¿Trabajar? — Se le salió una sonrisa en los labios mientras lo decía. — Ojalá yo pudiera trabajar así también.  

Soltó una risa que resonó en la habitación. Esa risa... 

Observándolo más de cerca, me di cuenta de que no se veía como alguien que estuviera en Ibiza escapando de su trabajo y tratando de encontrar su juventud. Definitivamente no era un desastre como yo. Había algo en su porte, en su manera de moverse, que denotaba confianza y despreocupación. 

—Bueno pero ¿qué hacés acá a estas horas?— Pregunté, tratando de disimular mi curiosidad y nerviosismo.

—Pensé que podríamos seguir conversando, terminar la conversación que iniciamos en el lounge me genera mucha intriga ver a alguien de mi país por estos lugares. — Respondió acercándose. 

Me senté en la cama, moví algunos snacks y coloqué la laptop a un lado. 

—No esperaba encontrar a alguien interesante en este viaje, solo quería alejarme de todo.

Al instante, el ambiente en la habitación cambiaba, todo era tan extraño, no parecía real. Nos quedamos en silencio por un momento, solo mirándonos. Sentí una oleada de emociones, una mezcla de deseo y algo más.

—Entonces...— Dijo él, rompiendo el silencio — ¿Te ayudo a terminar ese trabajo o mejor salimos a dar una vuelta y disfrutamos lo que queda de la noche?

Sonreí, sintiendo una chispa de aventura encenderse dentro de mí. 

La noche avanzó y seguimos caminando por las calles iluminadas de Ibiza. La conversación fluía con una facilidad sorprendente, como si nos conociéramos desde hace mucho tiempo. En un momento, él mencionó que estaba en la isla por trabajo.

—Modelo... Principalmente actor, pero este viaje es por modelaje.

—¿Modelo? — repetí, mirándolo de arriba abajo. —No me sorprende, con lo bien que te ves...

Él rió, agradeciendo el cumplido con un gesto modesto.

—Gracias. Aunque, honestamente, prefiero actuar. Pero el modelaje me da la oportunidad de viajar y conocer lugares como este.

Resulta que él se hospeda en un hotel, no tan cerca del motel pero visita el lounge casi todas las noches porque se hizo buen amigo del bartender en una de sus visitas de lo que él llamó "noches locas".

Finalmente, llegamos a una playa, un tanto escondida. No puedo decir que estaba desierta pero la cantidad de gente era drásticamente menor en comparación a las otras. 

La luna se reflejaba en el agua Nos sentamos en la arena, disfrutando del paisaje. Recién ahí, en ese momento en el que hablábamos mirando las estrellas, no contuve mis ganas de besarle y lo hice. Él lo recibió muy bien, sus labios, suaves, con un leve gusto a alcohol, me hipnotizaron.

—Una cosa más... — Frenó el beso de golpe. — me llamo Enzo. 

¿Recién me dijo su nombre? ¿Enzo? Enzo se llama... Pensar que estuvimos todo este tiempo sin saber nuestros nombres.

—No me importa. — Dije acercándolo nuevamente hacia mí. 

En un momento, mientras estábamos sentados en la arena mirando el reflejo de la luna sobre el agua, se me ocurrió una idea. Me levanté y extendí mi mano hacia él, me siguió hacia el agua.

Nos acercamos a la orilla y sentimos el frío en nuestros pies. La temperatura era un marcado contraste con el calor de nuestros cuerpos. Nos adentramos un poco más, el agua subiendo lentamente por nuestras piernas, hasta que finalmente nos sumergimos por completo.

El frío era intenso, pero no tomó mucho para encontrar el calor en el contacto de nuestros cuerpos. El agua parecía intensificar cada caricia, cada movimiento. La adrenalina corría por nuestras venas, y la posibilidad de que alguien pudiera vernos solo aumentaba la emoción. Enzo y yo nos movíamos juntos en una danza sincronizada por la naturaleza y el deseo.

Entre los jadeos y los susurros, reflexioné sobre lo que significaba ser joven y vivir el presente. Este momento, este acto de pura libertad y entrega, era la esencia misma de la juventud. No se trataba solo de la pasión física, sino de la conexión emocional, del arrojo y la valentía de vivir sin reservas. Sentí que estaba experimentando algo auténtico y profundo, una mezcla de euforia y satisfacción que no había sentido en mucho tiempo.

Cuando finalmente nos detuvimos, respirando con dificultad, el agua nos rodeaba, fría y silenciosa, mientras nuestras respiraciones se sincronizaban nos quedamos en el agua un poco más, disfrutando de la quietud y la cercanía. 

Cuando el cielo dio los primeros indicios del amanecer, supimos que era hora de regresar.

Nos vestimos con prisa, riendo en voz baja por la locura de lo que habíamos hecho. Caminamos de regreso al motel, las manos entrelazadas, compartiendo miradas y sonrisas cómplices.

—Tuve suerte de haberte encontrado...

No supe qué responder a eso, otra vez, me sentí con nervios y de seguro fue muy obvio porque al instante soltó:

—Entonces... ¿Brunch mañana?

Supe que no era solo una pregunta casual. Era una promesa de más momentos.

—Sí, brunch mañana. — Respondí, sintiendo que mis esperanzas se elevaban de nuevo.

Nos despedimos, al entrar a mi habitación, la energía de la noche comenzó a disiparse, dejándome con una sensación de satisfacción profunda. Me desplomé en la cama, sintiendo cómo el agotamiento físico se mezclaba con una alegría inexplicable. Cerré los ojos, permitiendo que las imágenes de la noche se repitieran en mi mente: la risa de Enzo y el mar. Una sonrisa se dibujó en mis labios.  

Mañana sería otro día para descubrir, para conectar, y para dejarme llevar por el flujo de la vida. Con esa certeza, me dejé llevar por el sueño.

[xkaidaxxxx]

Gojo x best friend

Spanish and English

Mentions: provocative scenes, sex scene, dirty talking, squirting, loud moaning, whimpers, smut

12am writing sorry for errors

Example 1:

You were at the beach with Gojo. You “dropped” your water bottle. “fuck. I swear que tengo manos de mantequilla.” You said bending down making sure your breasts were out a bit. You’d think he’d notice and get hot and bothered. That didn’t happen.

Example 2:

“Gojo I’m cold. Tengo frío. Is it okay if I can sleep with you?” You asked standing at his bedroom door. Wearing short silk shorts and a matching top with no bra. “ tengo pijamas que puedes usar” pointing at his winter clothes section. “Thanks so much” you replied taking his pjs.

Example 3:

You giggled holding his arm. Flirting. “ let’s get on the roller coaster. Solo promete tomar mi mano! I get nervous at the start” you said. “ I promise. You’re such a loser.” He replied. You purposely brushed your finger tips on his hand. He had no freaking reaction it’s beyond stupid.

Example 4:

“Hey Gojo, you’re finally here handsome.” A girl said walking up to him while you cleaned your weapon. “ yeah I’m usually late.” He replied. His body language said it all. His flirtatious ass. You walked over. “Gojo come on you promised me lunch today.” You said with lovey dovey eyes and cute voice. “ cualquier cosa para ti” he replied. “Who’s this?” The girl asked brushing his arm. “This is my friend. We grew up together.” He replied punching my arm. “ wow good to know. Maybe we can go out to dinner sometime.” She said placing a piece of paper in his pocket. You were extremely jealous. Of course at the end of the day. You shared a home with him. He came home to you.

Day of confession.

“ Gojo me tienes asta la madre!” You yelled annoyed and tired of him not realizing how much you love him. “What did I do this time?” He asked genuinely confused. You both had just came back home from your family gathering at your parents house. “I’ve been dropping hints since forever! For years! It’s crazy how oblivious you are. I love you.” you said. Getting close to him. “ Te amo mucho. Me compré este vestido solo para ti. Para que me vieras. Para que por fin pensaras que soy muy guapa. I bought this dress so you can take it off.” You confessed. “ I do see you…you really are beautiful and a great person.” He replied and gulped as you made him sit on the couch. “Only bought this dress so you can take it off Gojo.” You said seductively. Straddling him. “ don’t you want to take things slow. I mean you’re a virgin. You’re getting hot hearted right now. He spoke placing his hands on your waist. “Mhm I need you” you replied grinding. He whimpered. “Y-y/n. Let’s compromise. Sólo te comeré esta noche, okay.” He replied carrying you upstairs. You giggled. He undressed you and teased you in the process. “Gojo por favor.” You begged while he kitten licked your pussy. “se paciente or I’ll only tease you more.” He replied. Slapping your juicy cunt. You moaned. He sucked on your clit. “ h-ahh” Gojo looked up at you. His eyes screamed you asked for it. He ate you out like there was no tomorrow. He wouldn’t stop even though you begged him. “Gojo! Nghm. Fuck fuck. G-ojo” you said with a hiccup. You had so many orgasms just from him eating your pussy. “Mhm..mhm..” Gojo hummed sending off vibrations. Your body was on overdrive. “ Comételo bebé, es tuyo, es todo tuyo así..asi!! Si si si!!” You yelled about to release all over his face. His face was covered by your cum and juices. His mouth left your clit. Whining, you wanted this, wanting him to stop but at the same time you wanted all of him. His hands took over. He rubbed your sensitive clit as fast as he could. “Gojo! Gojo! Gojo! Gojo! Fuck G-Gojo!” You came and squirted all over him. He smirked giving your cunt a soft kiss. You shivered. “ Te amo mucho.” Tears slipped. “Was it too much?” He had a worried expression. You nodded “un poco…pero me sentí bien.” You replied. He left for a moment and then came back to clean you up. You blushed. He took his time opening your folds. Cleaning the juices that leaked down to your hole. He wanted to make sure you’re all clean so you can sleep comfortably. “trabaja conmigo” he spoke as he dressed you in his shirt and sweatpants with your help. Poor Gojo. He was hard. He wanted to devour you. Make you come around his thick long cock so many times with different positions. You noticed him. “Te puedo ayudar?” You asked thinking it’s not fair you’re the only one who received pleasure. “ No estoy bien. It’ll go away plus I want you to be 100% ready. Me gustaría ir paso a paso.” He replied smiling. You nodded relaxing. You were scared he would say yes. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. “ so when the times come when you completely ready we’ll both enjoy it. To the max as well.” He winked at you smirking. “Thanks for understanding me. I want to take it easy as well. I don’t want to rush things.” You replied cuddling up to him. “Good girl. Let’s sleep. I love you so much y/n” he said. “Yo también te amo” You both fell into a deep slumber. Holding each other for dear life. Now that you have each other you guys don’t want to lose one another. Love blossom tremendously. It will continue to.

[paddockkeeper]

[ES|SP] Mini drabble

Se me ocurrió entremedio del "inicio" del "beef" de Carlos y Oscar, y hasta ahora me da por darle una oportunidad de publicarlo, es un charlos y landoscar con carcar sutil.

Insp mientras escuchaba: Doin'Time - Lana Del Rey (no significa que tenga algo en sí que concuerde con lo escrito).

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Lo está observando.

No quiere admitirlo, y las luces de la discoteca lo hacen mantenerse en esa negación.

Está bailando, algún ¿reggaetón?, el ritmo de la música tiene encendida toda la pista de baile.

No es la excepción, ve como sus manos viajan hacia las caderas ajenas, apegando ese trasero a su ingle, es obvio lo que quiere.

De Charles Leclerc.

Charles no es tan buen bailarín, sus movimientos parecen algo torpes, pero Carlos lo guía como si para él fuese innato.

No quiere admitir que los observa, que lo observa, sentado en uno de los grandes sillones de las mesas cercanas a la pista, pero lo suficientemente lejana a la escena.

Y le ayudan la oscuridad y las luces aleatorias, tanto que Lando cuando llega a su lado con dos poco elaborados sex on the beach, no se ha percatado.

La música no le deja oir bien lo que Lando dice, pero para él siempre asiente.

Estira una de sus manos para tomar uno de los vasos y con la otra arrastra a, su compañero de equipo, a su regazo, nadie a tan avanzadas horas de la noche los está observando, los celulares están muertos en los bolsillos de la gente y ellos dejaron los suyos en la habitación.

Lando se acomoda.

Su trasero se apega a su ingle, sabe lo que quiere.

De Oscar Piastri.

Oscar no es tan bueno con las expresiones públicas de intimidad (no cree que lo que sigue deba llamarse afecto), pero eso a Lando no le incomoda en lo más mínimo. Como buen piloto que es, le gusta controlar, le gusta tener el control del auto, de lo que maneja, de su compañero de equipo.

No quiere entender por qué entremedio de las juguetonas manos de Lando viajando por todo su pecho, sus ojos vuelven a la pista de baile.

Las manos de Carlos desaparecen debajo de la camisa de Charles, mientras este se apega aun mas al cuerpo contrario, buscando...

Y mientras le da espacio entre su cuello para que pueda ser, no, no besado, comido, como si Carlos fuera algun vampiro buscando la posición perfecta para tomar la sangre de su presa...

Y su presa es Charles.

Charles que está pasando sus manos por arriba de su camisa, justo donde Carlos ha llegado a sus pezones, donde aprieta y estira, donde estira y aprieta, donde de sus labios entre abiertos un gemido llega a sus oídos.

Lando sonríe saliendo de su cuello y besando sus labios, orgulloso de la reacción, de provocar una reacción así en él.

Una parte de sus emociones quiere buscar... pero las luces distorsionan, la música ensordece, su vista terca que no puede mirar sus acciones a Lando o las de Lando a él.

No quiere admitir que sigue observando.

[rayssion]

Shuffle your on repeat playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people.

Thanks for tagging me!! @horsesarenotdeer

For some reason I felt compelled to do sixteen ones instead of ten sooo:

1- Lucid dream by aespa.

2- Fourth of July by sufjan stevens.

3- The exit by conan gray

4- Eve, psyche and the Bluebeard's wife by le sserafim.

5- Lover's rock by TV Girl.

6- Bye my Neverland by kiss of life.

7- Eta by newjeans.

8- Heather by conan gray.

9- On my youth by wayv (there's an English version too).

10- Sex, drugs, etc. by beach weather.

11- Afterglow by taylor swift.

12- Born to die by lana del ray.

13- Psycho by red velvet.

14- Ditto by newjeans.

15- Nobody knows by kiss of life.

16- Dulaman by milanda.

I don't usually listen to music, I mostly play podcasts.

No pressure tags! @taluvi-does-stupid-things @silentwillowwhisperer @guardianspirits13 @para-not-para @queenofkillugon

[bah-circus]

hii! could we get a level 3 ticci Toby headmate?/nf !

Of course dear audience! We have heard your request and have found a suitable performer for you! We hope this performance suits your needs, but you are free to make any adjustments you wish.

❣︎For Our Next Act, Please Welcome,,,❣︎

Ticci Toby!!

°·⊱ Name: Toby / Tobi, Tobias, Woods, Forrest, Erin 

°·⊱ Nicknames/Titles: The Proxy Killer, The Hatchet Weilder, (prn) That Is Unfeeling

°·⊱ Age: 22

°·⊱ Race/Species: Human..? 

°·⊱ Source: Creepypasta Kastoway

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Sex: Male

°·⊱ Gender: GoreFreak, DeadThing, Horroriune

°·⊱ Pronouns: He/Him; Fuck/Fucks; It/Its; She/Her; That Thing; H3/H1m

°·⊱ Sexuality: Biromantic Demisexual

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Personality: Freak /silly 

°·⊱ Likes: Naps, Reality TV, Wooded Areas, Late Night Walks, Sweet Tea 😔

°·⊱ Dislikes: Vehicles, Beaches / Sand, English Classes, Being Called “Ticci” 

°·⊱ Role: Symptom / Tic-Holder, Physical Protector, Medicine Taker

°·⊱ Emoji Sign-Off: 🪓❌🩸🌲

°·⊱ Typing Quirk: e=3, z=s 

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ TransIDs: TransCannibal, TransPica, TransRabid, TransFeral, TransRedEyes, TransSlitPupils, PermaHigh, NullCIPA, TransHappyChildhood, TransStaticVoice, PermaMasked

°·⊱ CisIDs: Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Scars, CIPA, BPD, Schizophrenia, Delusions, ADHD, Tourettes, Autism, Anxiety, Younger Brother, Stoner, Hypersexual, Dyslexia, Dyscalculia 

°·⊱ MUDS: Slender Sickness (If it’s not coined it should be)

°·⊱ Paras: 🔥, 🐾, 🐙, 🥚, 🌼, 👄, 🫀, 🩸, 🩹, 👀, 🔪, ⛓, 💧, 🪢, 🫁, 👿

°·⊱ Extra: I can’t figure out how to really word it but wishes to be immune to the Slender Sickness, NullSlenderSickness?°·⊱ Faceclaim: 1, 2, 3

[monicalestrange4]

Quiero contarte una anecdota cuando tenía 12 años 🤣 Yo estaba viendo el final de una novela mexicana que se llamaba "te sigo amando" y creo que una pareja de la novela se estaban besando acostado en la arena de la playa y yo no entendía de eso pero de repente me gusto esa escena pero por mi inocencia no sabia porque me gustaba eso y luego empeze a tocar mi miembro ¡No entendía nada porque hacía eso pero me gustaba hacerlo! 🤣 me sentía confundido😂 pero bueno segui tocandome hasta que sentí un gran placer me gusto demasiado pero algo raro paso para mi en ese entonces...salio un liquido de mi miembro que era un semen al final pero yo no sabía, creí que me enferme y al otro día le pregunte a mis amigos lo que me paso y se rieron mucho 🤣 me dijeron que eso era una masturbación que era algo normal y eso fue mi primera masturbacion 😅 hahahahahah

Ayyyy noo!! es que nunca tuviste clases de educación sexual en la primaria?? por qué te pasó eso? increíble, gracias por compartir tu historia. 😅

English:

I want to tell you an anecdote when I was 12 years old 🤣 I was watching the end of a Mexican soap opera called “te sigo amando” and I think a couple in the soap opera were kissing lying on the sand of the beach and I didn't understand that but suddenly I liked that scene but because of my innocence I didn't know why I liked that and then I started to touch my member I didn't understand anything why I did that but I liked to do it! 🤣 I felt confused😂 but well I kept touching myself until I felt a great pleasure I liked it too much but something weird happened to me at that time…a liquid came out of my member that was a semen at the end but I didn't know, I thought I got sick and the next day I asked my friends what happened to me and they laughed a lot 🤣 they told me that was a masturbation that was something normal and that was my first masturbation 😅 hahahahahahahah

Ayyyy noo!!! is it that you never had sex education classes in elementary school…why did that happen to you…amazing, thanks for sharing your story. 😅

[journaldemarina]

Sábado, 30 de setembro de 2023

Sábado à noite. De praxe, acho que vou sair, ainda sem muita certeza. Se for, vou sozinha em mais uma festinha indie. Estava deitada pensativa então achei que precisava vir escrever sobre ou pelo menos algo. Na minha cabeça a palavra VULNERABILIDADE estava assim, em destaque, caixa alta. Outro dia saí beber com meu ex. Quando estava no meu terceiro sex on the beach confessei, pela primeira vez, que estava ficando meio que regularmente com esse tal menino. Disse que não queríamos uma relação RELAÇÃO, mas que tem algo acontecendo aí, só pra deixar claro. Penso agora se eu deveria realmente ter dito isso. Não quero dar satisfação da minha vida para meu ex, ao mesmo tempo estou curtindo manter essa amizade com ele. Não sei. Território cinzento.

Ontem saí com o AA, mas não há nada para falar sobre isso. Vimos A vida de Brian, Monty Python.

Voltando. Vulnerabilidade, né. Não sou uma pessoa pessimista. Realista, pé no chão, seria o que definiria melhor. Fui traída, homem geralmente é uma bosta, é só dar uma circulada e se consegue ver o que há de pior no mercado. Ainda assim, acredito no amor sincero, nas relações que se constroem nos detalhes, na intimidade, na segurança no outro. Somos humanos e somos complexos e há beleza nisso e merdas acontecem, é inevitável igual a vida, igual a morte. Não acredito no ideal amoroso de amor eterno, de plano divino, de única pessoa possível. Todos os dias fazemos escolhas e são essas escolhas que nos levam adiante. Sei que fui traída, mas não sinto culpa nenhuma no processo. Sei que não sou perfeita e devo ter sido escrota em muitos momentos, mas escolhas atrás de escolhas culminaram no término. No fim, o que eu poderia fazer? Vida que segue, enfim.

Eu acredito no amor. Quero, sim, me jogar numa relação, abrir meu mundo, conhecer outros mundos. Há tanta vida e tanta coisa além de mim. Mas. Tem um mas aqui. Sempre falo que sou muito ciente de mim mas isso não quer dizer que sou bem resolvida, só quer dizer que eu consigo ver com clareza meus problemas. Não consigo ficar vulnerável com ninguém. Eu evito chorar. Evito saudades, evito confrontos. Evito tudo que possa me expor. Queria ter a leveza de quem simplesmente desabava e jorra os dilemas mais íntimos para quem quer que seja o receptor. Eu gosto do controle da imagem que o outro vai construir de mim. Pode até saber algo, mas parcialmente, com muitas omissões. Estou acostumada desde sempre a ser assim. Como quebrar esse muro que construí? Com o passar do tempo fica cada vez mais reforçado.

Não há nada que eu possa fazer nesse momento. Vou circular sozinha por essa cidade, esbarrar por todos sem pedir desculpas, unir sorrisos, sentir, pulsar. Merdas acontecem e a vida sempre segue independente de qualquer coisa.

[metatattoo]

Tatuajes en la Cultura Popular: Del Estigma al Arte.

El Tatuaje, una forma ancestral de expresión, ha pasado por una metamorfosis impresionante en las últimas décadas, de ser un distintivo asociado con la rebeldía, han ascendido a un nivel artístico y cultural que desafía las nociones preconcebidas. Hoy En El Blog, exploraremos el viaje de los tatuajes en la cultura pop, desde su estigmatización hasta su transformación en una forma de arte apreciada.

Históricamente, los tatuajes han estado envueltos en una nube de estigmatización y misterio. En sociedades pasadas, eran símbolos de pertenencia a grupos específicos, a menudo relegados a las fringes de la sociedad. Los tatuajes eran asociados con marineros, criminales y rebeldes, y esta reputación contribuyó a la percepción negativa que se tenía de ellos.

Sin embargo, el estigma que rodeaba a los tatuajes no impidió que numerosas culturas los abrazaran como parte de su herencia. Desde las intrincadas y simbólicas tallas maoríes hasta las elegantes geishas japonesas, los tatuajes han sido apreciados como una forma de arte en todo el mundo, a pesar de las opiniones negativas.

La transformación de los tatuajes en la cultura pop comenzó en la década de 1950 y 1960, cuando los tatuadores se establecieron en ciudades costeras como Long Beach y Miami. Los militares que regresaron de la Segunda Guerra Mundial habían adquirido tatuajes durante su servicio, lo que contribuyó a una mayor aceptación de esta forma de arte.

La música también desempeñó un papel crucial en la popularización de los tatuajes. Bandas de rock y punk, como los Ramones y los Sex Pistols, lucían tatuajes como una declaración de su estilo de vida contracultural. Los músicos, junto con los deportistas y actores, ayudaron a desafiar las nociones establecidas de lo que representaban los tatuajes.

El mundo de las celebridades ha desempeñado un papel importante en la normalización de los tatuajes. Actores como Angelina Jolie y Johnny Depp, conocidos por su amor por el arte corporal, han ayudado a desterrar la percepción de que los tatuajes son exclusivos de ciertos grupos sociales. Las redes sociales y la prensa han hecho que los tatuajes sean más accesibles y aceptados que nunca.

En la actualidad, los tatuajes son apreciados como verdaderas obras de arte. Artistas del tatuaje de renombre mundial han llevado esta forma de expresión a niveles nunca antes imaginados. Los tatuajes ahora incorporan elementos de diseño, color y estilo que rivalizan con cualquier pintura en lienzo.

La diversidad de estilos y técnicas es asombrosa. Desde el realismo hiperdetallado hasta el minimalismo geométrico, los tatuajes son una manifestación de la creatividad y la habilidad del artista. Los tatuadores utilizan herramientas y suministros de alta calidad para crear tatuajes que son impresionantes y duraderos.

En Meta Tattoo Supplies compartimos esta visión y estamos comprometidos a ofrecer suministros de la más alta calidad para artistas del tatuaje. Colaboramos con tatuadores expertos y apasionados para proporcionarles las herramientas que necesitan para crear tatuajes excepcionales.

Si bien los tatuajes han experimentado una transformación impresionante en la cultura pop, pasando de ser estigmatizados a ser apreciados como arte. Celebridades, músicos y la evolución del arte del tatuaje han desempeñado un papel importante en este cambio. Como proveedor de suministros para tatuar, estamos seguros de que tú eres una parte esencial de esta evolución… la próxima vez que veas un tatuaje impresionante, recuerda que es mucho más que tinta en la piel; es una manifestación del arte en su forma más pura.

VISITA NUESTRA TIENDA

[casiang]

* @charvlotte ) ha dicho ' ¿me recomiendas algún trago? '

' depende mucho de lo que te guste o lo que busques esta noche, bonita ' desconoce qué tantas opciones haya en la barra, pero es probable que vivianne se haya encargado de planear hasta el más mínimo detalle para distraerles. ' ¿piña colada o un sex on the beach? creo que son buenas opciones para arrancar ' dulces, seguro no se les nota tanto el alcohol. ' ¿planeas emborracharte hoy? '