Schrodingers email. if i never open it it will always remain potentially beneficial. this way i can never be disappointed. wdym whyd it take me weeks to respond

getaway car

─── a promise made on linked pinkies

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

Daniel promised he’d drive the getaway car. If it came down to it, if either of you needed a bit of saving (you more likely than him), he’d drive the car– for obvious reasons. It was an agreement you both came to sealed with the most sacred form of promises. Pinkies locked and a kiss against your thumbs. 

He didn’t have to drive the getaway car too often, in fact he could count on one hand the times he had. The first time was to pick you up from the club. You slurred your words, pulling him out of bed as you blabbed on and one about god only knows what. He didn’t understand a word you said, but he didn’t have the heart to hang up on the drive over. He liked listening to your voice, even if that was something he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself at the time. He had your arm slung over his shoulder as he guided you to his car, his hand wrapped securely around your waist after you drunkenly bragged about the number of vodka redbulls you consumed.  

“I did it for you Danny!” you slurred.

“I don’t drive for that team anymore honey.”

He’ll never forget the look of horror etched onto your face as he sat you in the passenger seat, the way he doubled over in laughter as you spewed messy apologies. The threat of tears in your eyes as you ramble words he can’t make out, all while clutching his hand tightly. 

The second time was to save you from a terrible date, one he had to call with a fake emergency while he drove to the restaurant to grab you. He had to stifle a laugh as you pretended to talk to your mom, something about how grandma needs someone to stay with her because her nurse would be late. Your grandmother wasn’t even in the city. You took quick steps from the double doors of the restaurant to his car, dropping into his passenger seat with a huff.

“He was so boring Daniel! He droned on and on about numbers and stats and figures. He didn’t even ask me about myself. Didn’t even say I looked good or something.” Your arms were crossed over your chest, lips in a pout.

“Well… you look beautiful tonight darling.”

Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red, cheeks sucked in as you bite down to fight a smile. He knew he got you, even if you refused to let it show. And had you looked over at him, you’d have seen the goofy smile on his lips– wide and proud– or the sparkle in his eyes when the compliment stumbled past him. 

The third time was when your car had broken down on the freeway, miles away from your home and therefore his. But he drove all of forty kilometers to stand by the road to wait for the tow company to come take your car before he drove you back. 

“You didn’t have to come all this way Daniel.”

Truth is, Daniel would do so much more. He’d drive that, tenfold. He’d do anything for you, you just had to ask. 

“I know but… I always promised I’d drive the getaway car, didn't I?”

He’ll always drive the getaway car, a promise is a promise. He’ll drive it until you don't need him anymore, until you break his heart and tell him that you found someone else to do all the saving. But he hopes you won’t, that even if you find someone else to occupy your time, that he’d always be in the back of your mind. It’s selfish, he knows that, but it’s the honest to god truth. 

Friendship is all either of you were able to ever maintain with each other. And even with the beckoning for more, even with his heart screaming at him to make a move and do something about it, Daniel has always taken a step back instead. You deserve someone who’s around, who can be there for you at every moment, for every milestone and accomplishment. You deserve more than him. So Daniel takes a back seat in your life, he enjoys the ride so long as you take him. That’s as selfless as he can be with you. Because in the moments he does get to be with you, he takes as much as he can get. He hugs you for longer, presses kisses to your forehead and cheek, squeezes your hand, all in the guise of friendship. Never ill-intentioned, just a hope to quench the burning desire he has for you. 

He’d hoped that it would be enough to sustain the friendship he has with you, to keep him satisfied with the fact it will never be anything more. He thought that the brief moments of selfishness would hold him over for a lifetime. But then he had to watch you fall for someone else. He watched as you began to slip from his grasp. If he were being honest, he thought the day would never come. 

Daniel drives the getaway car for himself, running away to different corners of the Earth to escape a heartbreak that chases after him. He loses touch with you because it’s easier than watching you in the arms of someone else. His feelings for you mock him when he watches the way you look at your new lover, the jealousy gripping his lungs so tightly it hurts to breathe. His hands tingle when he sees your lover push hair away from your face, or the way he rests his hand on your back in the way Daniel used to. His heart falls apart as he watches you live a life he dreamed of with you, without him. Selfishly, he drove the getaway car away from you. 

“I just don’t know why you never made a move,” Max said one day, a bit nonchalant, a bit uncaring as he bit into an apple. 

“She deserves more than I can give mate. I’m on the road entirely too much, can’t give her what she needs.”

“And now you’re mopey because someone else can?”

Max didn’t catch the scowl-turned-frown when Daniel realized he was right. And while he wished he could change what he had done, he was six months too late. He dodged your every call, every text, every attempt to repair what he broke. You’re a much better person than he is, further proof he didn’t deserve you– no matter the relationship he had with you. He stared at your text thread that night, heart aching at his lack of response and the way you apologized for something that was not even your doing. 

Please Daniel, just talk to me. I miss my best friend.

That was two weeks ago.

He called. He just wanted to hear your voice, he wanted to apologize, he wanted to make things right.

But you didn’t answer. You didn’t answer the next three times he called either. The only reason you answered the fifth time is because you assumed he was dying, because no one would call five times in a row unless they were dying. But he wasn’t dying, he was alive and well actually.

“So you’re alive.” You said.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” 

“I miss you.” 

“I miss you too darling.”

You introduced him to your boyfriend, Mark, two weeks later. And for the next two years, Daniel sat back and watched you fall hopelessly in love with another man. He doesn’t run away, he doesn’t retreat, nor does he find refuge in another. Daniel stays because you ask him to, and for you he’d do anything. You were happy, it was all that mattered to him now. Your happiness took precedence of his feelings for you, it was the only way for him to cope with the relentless doubt he had in himself when it came to you. Never mind the misery that lurks about him, that comes with the fact that you are no longer his. Never mind the way his heart aches as he watches you fall deeper and deeper for someone else, and further and further away from him. He stuck around through the heartbreak, selfishly wishing you’d ask him to drive the getaway car one more time. And maybe this time, he’d just keep on driving. 

The fourth time Daniel drives the getaway car for you, you were drunk at a bar. It’s reminiscent of the first time, but it comes as a shock. He didn’t think you’d need him to drive the getaway car ever again. He asked you where Mark was, but you avoided the question, begging him to come pick you up. So Daniel drives to a bar in the middle of the night, hat sitting low on his head as he picks you up at the entrance, helping you into his car. The drive to your place is filled with slurred singing, and sticky fingers that can’t seem to keep off his hands. Time and time again, Daniel places your hand back onto your lap, laughing at the way you had failed to sing lyric after lyric. The third time he put your hand back on your lap, you snapped. 

“Why won’t you hold my hand?!” 

Daniel took a quick glance at you, the way your brows are furrowed and your bottom lip jutted out in a pout. 

“Don’t you love me Danny?”

“Of course I love you darling.”

“But you don’t love, love me.”

His body went rigid, throat ran dry. He couldn’t breathe anymore, not with the way you stared at him with the same pouty expression. He didn’t know what to say, and though he opened his mouth to attempt at something, nothing came out. Daniel was panicked, afraid that maybe this would be it– that his stupidity and lack of a decent answer would mark the end of your friendship.

“Because I love love you Daniel. I’ve love loved you for a long time. Why don’t you love me back?”

He wanted to scream. I do love you. I’m so in love with you. 

“You’re just saying that.” That’s what comes out instead. Because it’s the only thing that made sense. There was no way he’d have been so blind all these years, dense enough not to see that you felt for him what he felt for you. You were drunk, probably blacked out, you couldn’t possibly mean a single word you had just said.

You chuckled humorlessly, head falling back against the chair as it turned towards the window.

“Yeah. Maybe I am.”

A phone call at the end of the month was the nail in his coffin. He was in some city far away from you, alone in his hotel room when you called. He could hear the tears of joy as you told the story of how Mark got on one knee and asked you for forever. Daniel cried silently as he listened to your happiness, feigning excitement all while his heart fell apart in his chest. Regret took its place, pumping self-hatred into every cell in his body. He threw his phone against the wall when you hung up. He threw whatever was in reach until the room looked like a tornado had run through it. He sobbed loudly, all alone as he mourned losing you. This was it, this was the moment he dreaded the most. You didn’t need him to drive the getaway car, you found someone else to do all the saving. 

This was the part he was supposed to run. This was when he was meant to hide in some city you didn’t know. This was the part he was supposed to drive the getaway car far away from you.

But he stayed because… he couldn’t lose any more of you. He takes what he can get, takes every minute you give, every word you offer. Daniel takes it all. 

You called him one night, a month before your wedding. He was in his apartment, twenty minutes down the road from where you lived. It’s late when you called, your ringtone jolting Daniel from his dreamless sleep. He answers quickly when he sees your name. 

“Did I wake you?” 

“No, not at all. Is everything okay?”

You said it was. Daniel lied in bed while you explained all the reasons why everything in your life was okay, until your speech came to a staggering halt. He listened to your soft stammers, the meek i- i- i- followed by silence. He held his breath, waiting for the next word, anticipation doing flips in his gut.

“Do you live with any regrets Daniel?”

He could name a few, but he shook his head, “I try not to. Why?”

Quiet again. Four beats of silence before you speak up again. 

“There are things in my life I wish I had done differently, and I always wonder what if I had. What would be different?”

Daniel has pondered over the same thought before. He’s an avid fan of the what ifs and what could’ve beens, especially when it came to matters pertaining to you. But he didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to cast a bit of self doubt a month before your big day, even if his heart screamed at him to just fucking do it.

“Everything happens for a reason, there isn’t a point to dwell on the what ifs.”

Sound advice, one he couldn’t seem to take for himself. But you took it well, he thinks.

Your wedding is in the summer a year after your engagement. Daniel showed up with his best suit and a brave face. His steps grow heavier and heavier as he moves closer and closer to the ceremony space. He’s done a great job of avoiding everything wedding related up until this point– work is a great excuse. But he’s between races now, there isn’t a reason he shouldn’t be at his best friend’s wedding. So Daniel mingles with familiar faces, makes small talk as he pretends to be elated. The day has finally come! I can’t believe she found the one! I’m so happy for her! It’s all a show, one he’d happily put on, but only for you. 

Your mother pulls him away from a conversation, a furrowed brow and a tone filled with urgency as she relays your request to see him. Daniel doesn’t hesitate, excusing himself from the group of people he was once speaking to and following your mom all the way to your room. She leaves him there at the closed door, a soft beckon to make sure that you’re okay.

He knocks twice. “It’s me.”

“It’s unlocked.” 

Daniel’s fingers shake as he twists the knob and pushes the door open. He’s sure to close it swiftly, locking it so that no one would interrupt the two of you. When he turns, he sees you sitting in a heap of white fabric on the floor, your veil pushed back behind your head. The sight of you knocks the air right out of his lungs. He’s rendered speechless as he soaks in every detail of you. Daniel feels himself fall in love with you all over again, it’s all he feels when he looks at you in this very moment. 

“You look beautiful.” 

That’s when he sees it: the tears that stain your cheeks, the balled up tissues clutched in your fist. You’re crying on your wedding day. Daniel takes long strides across the room to get to you, falling to his knees so that he comes face to face with you. He takes your hands in yours, squeezing tightly.

“What’s wrong darling?”

More tears. Daniel sees the frustration etched into your brow, the way you slip one of your hands from his grasp to put over your face. Your shoulders shake, posture faltering. He sits in agony while you cry, waiting for you to tell him how he can fix it. He’ll do anything for you, you just have to ask.

You drop your hand from your face, looking up at him with a serious stare. Your eyes are bloodshot, glossed over with tears that have yet to fall. “Do you love me Daniel?”

“Of course I do.” 

“But do you love, love me?” You sniffle. 

Your name tumbles past his lips, breathless, damn near hopeless. “Don’t do this.” 

“I don’t want to live in regret. I don’t want to live the rest of my life knowing that we loved each other at the same time and neither of us did a damn thing about it. Because I love love you Daniel, I’ve love loved you for so long. So tell me, do you love love me?”

Time stops. The seconds stop ticking by. This moment, the one where Daniel contemplates the next words that dare to fall from his lips, lives on. It takes precedence over everything. Over the guests waiting outside, over a groom unaware his wife-to-be has professed her love for another man. This moment is the most important one, it’s the only one that matters to the two people sitting in this room. So time stops, it gives Daniel a bit of leeway to choose his next words carefully. 

His heart climbs up his throat, nerves squeeze his lungs so tightly he can barely breathe. He holds your hands tighter, bringing them up to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles.

“I love love you, darling.”

Daniel will never forget the smile that forms on your lips, or the way you laugh in relief. He sure as hell will always remember the way you jump onto him, drowning him in your dress as you kiss him feverishly. Every second spent loving quietly, every plucked heart string, every wish upon a star that what you have would turn into something more is poured into that very first kiss. Daniel holds your face in his hands, holding you even closer to him. He savors the way you taste against him, the feeling of relief that washes over him because finally, you’re all his. 

The fifth time Daniel drives the getaway car, it’s after you change out of your wedding dress. It’s after you hug your parents and apologize, after you explain that you don’t love the man you were supposed to marry, and that this is just something you have to do. Daniel drives you away from the altar, away from the what ifs and what could’ve beens. He drives because you ask him to, because he wants to, and because he promised he would on linked pinkies and a kiss to his thumb. 

Daniel drives the getaway car with a heart full of love for you, and your hand clutched tightly in his. And this time, he just keeps on driving.

NOTE: listen if the last half of this seems rushed its because it was. i only wanted to write this wip because of the first four sentences. the rest of this is just vibes. also super unedited and definitely not proofread. anyways. hope you like it & as always, feedback is always appreciated.

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my celia headcanons! under the cut because there's a lot. a lot are very specific but... 😛

celia is a lesbian (no one is surprised by me saying this) and i don't think she has a preference when it comes to mascs and femmes.

celia would make several fake facebook accounts to make fun of people she doesn't like at work. she would be very deliberate as to not get caught. expert cyber bully

celia is a night owl. she'd have to be up early for work, obviously, but i feel like she would definitely feel safest to be herself and indulge herself at night

celia not only sleeps on her back, but she stays very still the whole night, like a rock

she has a very complicated skincare routine so she can keep herself staying "youthful" (not that she needs it 🙄)

celia's everyday perfume is delina (because she can afford it and i think she would like to smell a little fruity and like roses!). i think on nights out she would wear something a little stronger and more mature. going to meet the mc, i think she wouldn't put in the effort to freshen herself up or put on more perfume since it's the only space where she can be herself!

celia would definitely drink kale smoothies regularly (i'm sorry, i can't stomach these!)

celia would pick going to see the mc over going out to the club on most days

celia would have been so focused on her career that she'd have very little time to watch tv series or read book series. i think as a kid she would have played something like pokemon on the game boy, and gets confused when she sees things about the new pokemon games, but that's about it

celia is a high-functioning alcoholic and sometimes mixes her alcohol with coffee or energy drinks so she can stay more alert! sugar free vodka redbull, if an energy drink, but she doesn't like the flavor.

celia listens to house music and jazz so she can relax

i think lede is celia's maiden name so she and harold have different last names (he would have agreed to it reluctantly)

if celia gets tim hortons, she gets a double double and an old fashioned donut (extremely rarely), but she doesn't like tim hortons because they aren't canadian anymore

celia is 5'9 without heels, and she wears 3-inch heels for work every day, so she's usually 6'0 😆

i think celia came from a poor household and worked very hard her whole life to get where she is! this adds to why she is so stressed all the time. she thinks any slip up could cost her everything.

celia is lactose intolerant.

celia's ideal captive is plus sized

even on her days off from work, she is still dressed to impress!

celia's favorite makeup brands are Cle de Peau and La Mer

celia drives a luxury hatchback. the interior is always very clean and she gets it cleaned regularly. it smells like the black pine-tree car air freshener, although when she's very stressed she lets it get a little messy as long as no one sees.

i have headcanons for the "You ran away together" ending too, but i'm saving those for when i start writing a fanfiction in a few months. i want to see other people's headcanons, too!

Stranger Things Demon AU, Parental Guidance

"This place smells like piss and weed."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to the smell." Eddie waved off Steve's concerns as they made their way through the bar. The rest of Corroded Coffin was already on stage and starting to set up. The Hideout was a small bar just on the edge of Hawkins city limits. From the outside, the place looked abandoned save a few neon signs. It was a Monday night so there weren't a lot of people there. According to the owner they only had actual bands play the weekends. Bullshit if you asked Eddie but like Gareth said. Gig's a gig.

"Is it just me or is everyone staring at me?" The demon asked.

"Well considering you came into a shitty music bar dressed like you just drove here from your piano recital in a BMW, they probably are."

Eddie was still wearing his usual clothes but Steve insisted on dressing up. Digging through Eddie's closet until he found the one white button up shirt he never wore and putting it on. Combined with the extra pair of dress pants he bought from the mall...he stuck out like a sore thumb. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbows on the way over and his shirt collar was popped open. Eddie occasionally glancing down at the demon's exposed neckline.

"Sorry that I wanted to look nice to watch you perform." Steve huffed when he noticed a girl around their age sitting at the bar. She had long curly brown hair and Steve practically glided his way over into the seat next to her.

"Jesus H." Eddie muttered to himself as he held the strap to his guitar case tighter. Ignoring the two as he walked up to the stage to join the rest of his band. "Hey sorry I'm late guys." Eddie apologized as he set the case down pulled out his guitar. "Steve was taking forever to get ready. He uses more hairspray than I do." Digging through his pocket for his baggie of guitar picks, he felt Jeff nudge his side.

"Hey, not to be weird dude but, I think your boyfriend's flirting with some girl."

"He's not my boyfriend." Eddie tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "He can flirt with whoever he wants." Which was true. But eyeing the two of out of his peripheral vision, the metalhead frowned slightly. Whatever, he could worry about that later.

"Alright everybody!" Kevin grabbed the microphone as Eddie plugged his guitar into the amp. "Are you people ready to rock?" The bar was dead silent until one of the more annoying patrons called out.

"Play Freebird!"

"Fuck you!"

~~

"Sorry, it's just, you don't look like the type to come to this kind of place." The woman Steve sat across from said. Stacey? Or maybe her name was Tracey. It was kind of hard to hear over the live music a few feet away. She was pretty enough. Long dark brown curly hair with big brown eyes. Steve tried to make it obvious he wasn't looking at her tight little black skirt as he grinned.

"Wanted to try something new." Steve rested his right arm on the table as he leaned in. "Was hoping maybe that could be you."

"I don't usually go for strangers like this but there's something about you...I can't quite place." She reciprocated hus movement and pulled him closer. "Why don't we take this somewhere more private?"

"You read my mind." The woman walked towards the back door with Steve following close behind.

~~

It was when they finished their set for the night that Eddie noticed Steve was no longer at the bar. Going over and waving down the bartender over to ask where the demon went.

"Went out back with some girl." He shrugged. "They were getting a little hot and heavy."

Oh. Eddie made a face. The same feeling from before the show clawing it's way into his gut.

'This is fine.' Eddie told himself as he took a seat at the bar. 'I can finally have some time away from the guy.'

"A vodka redbull on the rocks." Eddie slid a five across the counter as he took a seat. He was a year under the legal drinking age but this place never ID'ed. The man nodded, turning his back while Eddie tapped his fingers on the wooden bar top. The rings clacking in a rhythm as he looked through the bar's small crowd for Steve's face.

"Looking for someone?" He turned to see an older man taking the seat next to him.

"Nah." Eddie shook his head. The bartender setting his vodka redbull in front of the younger man. "My friend's just being an idiot."

"The one you came in with right?" The guys asked as Eddie took a sip of his drink. "With the poofy hair?"

"That's the one." Eddie snorted.

"Sucks he left you alone for some random girl." The guy leaned closer to Eddie. "I could treat you better than that."

Ah. There it was. The guy was hitting on him. Normally he'd tell this kind of guy to fuck off. But considering Steve was probably going to come back any minute and see them...he could at least have a little fun.

"Really?" He asked in an over exaggerated playful tone.

"Yeah. Why don't I buy you another drink?"

~~

"Yeah, right there," Tracey moaned as Steve buried his nose in her neck. Trailing his tongue along her collar bone. Her voice was high pitched but Steve was trying to focus on the rest of her as his hand drifted up the hem of her miniskirt. One of her arms was wrapped around his waist as he pushed her into the bar's brick wall. The other way close to his pants crotch. Fingers lightly brushing against his growing excitement. Unable to hold back a grunt and he instinctively cried out.

"Mnngh-Eddie!" Wait, shit-

This made the woman stop her touching. Pushing him away and glaring.

"Excuse me?"

"Shit-I didn't mean to say that."

"Who the fuck is Eddie?"

"I, ugh-" She didn't give him a chance to speak as she stormed away.

'Fuck me.' Steve groaned. 'Why did I say that? Why Eddie?' Now he was alone behind the bar, cold and at half mast. Ducking back into The Hideout, Steve made a bee line for the bathroom to take care of his problem. Fitting in with the dinginess of the rest of the bar, the bathroom was absolutely disgusting. One bathroom stall and two urinals. Graffiti all over the walls and floor. There was a dirty sink in the corner with a brown mirror on the wall. It somehow smelled worse than the rest of the place.

"Fucking hell." Steve spoke to himself, going over to the bathroom stall only to find the door shut. "Hey." Steve knocked on the door. "Can you hurry up in there?"

"Go away." A man's called out. "We're kind of busy in here." There was the sound of something shifting in the stall followed by another voice whined out.

"Nughhh...not there...I don wanna. I feel sick..." Steve recognized the voice protesting. It was definitely Eddie but he sounded out of it.

"Come on, you just drank a little too much." The man replied. It clicked in Steve's head that there was something very, very wrong here. Forgetting about the girl from before as he slammed himself into the stall door and forcing it open. Eddie's body was draped over the toilet seat with his jacket hanging off his body. His hair was a mess with unfocused eyes staring at nothing in particular. Some guy literally twice his age was leaning over him with his pants undone. The man jumping at the intrusion and cursing. "What the fuck?"

Steve eyed the man and he felt his blood begin to boil when he realized what this man was trying to do with his human. Reaching forward and grabbing the man by his front shirt.

"You fucking bastard." Steve snarled and tossed the man to the ground.

"Wait-stop! I can explain!" The man's eyes lit up in fear as he recognized Steve. "We were just-" He was cut off by Steve slamming the man's head against the floor. Raising his hand into a fist and bringing it down. Over and over as his rage incensed him to keep going. At some point the man fell unconscious but he didn't stop until a voice called out.

"Hngh...Steve?"

The demon stopped his beating to face Eddie. The young man leaning against the stall wall as he tried to get up.

"I don feel so good," Eddie slurred out as he stumbled but Steve went to catch him. Helping the other young man up. "Can we go home?"

"Yeah," Steve adjusted his body so the metalhead could learn into him as they walked to the exit of the bar away from the unconscious creep. He could be dead but Steve didn't care. All that mattered was making sure Eddie was okay.

save me vodka redbull save me...

I need vodka right now 💀 // save some for me too, bestie

I’m adding Redbull in my vodka bestie. 😭

Blurred Lines

Rafael Casal x Reader

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Note: Thanks for the prompts! This was fun! Smut prompts can be found here. Feel free to send me more. Angst prompts can be found on my masterlist.

Words: 6.4K

Warnings: A bit of blood and a lot of smut (my buzzwords, apparently)

Tagging: @exrthangel @theatrenerd86​ @lonelydance​ @ohsoverykeri​ @summerofsnowflakes​ @ramp-it-up​ @alexander-hamilhoe​ @honeysucklechocolatedrippin​ @riiyy​ @mysearchforgratification​ @janthony-stan

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Rafa had truly done it this time. He had truly fucked up. Stepped in a pile of shit. Screwed the pooch. Whatever you wanted to call it. All because of a woman in his life who he had never truly appreciated before.

You.

He had always prided himself on his ability to stay cool, calm, and collected when it came to women, but suddenly you had shown up and it had changed everything. Well, he had known you since high school, so you hadn't suddenly shown up per se, but suddenly you had shown up almost naked! Gulp. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. He had always known that you were fine, but it had still taken him almost ten years to realise that you were indeed very, very, very fine!

You had been alluring all summer but for some reason, today was extra torturous: the skimpy little bathing suit tight against your body, how it hugged your tits so he could see your hard nipples through the wet fabric as you emerged from the pool. How it rested against the wonderful shape of your ass. Your skin all wet and slippery. How easy it'd be to just wrap his arms around you and carry you to one of the bedrooms in Diggs' new house. How he could easily make you moan his name repeatedly while he did wonders to your tight little body. Fuck.

Since the day he'd met you, Rafa had always found you insanely cute and funny so naturally he had turned up the charm whenever you were around. You had picked up on it quite fast, had challenged him, and within the first few weeks of your friendship, it had become a continuous game between you; who could flirt the most? Who could make the other person squirm in their own skin? It had always been in good fun and it had never lead to anything apart from whispered sentences late at night and sporadic drunk kisses in the dark. But never more. He had made sure of that.

Of course Rafa had spent some of his teenage years wondering what it would be like to delve into you - but seeing this side to you - seeing you all grown-up and sexy like this just hit differently. He had had a hard time all summer trying to stay as far away from you as possible to not fuck up. Not because he thought he couldn't convince you to spend the night with him, but because he wasn't really sure of the repercussions of sleeping with one of his best friends. At first, he had thought that he just needed to get it out of his system and he had experienced some wonderful sessions of self-relief while imagining you doing all kinds of stuff to him, but after almost three months of lonely nights with the image of your body glued to the back of his eyelids, he realised that he was indeed royally fucked.

From a distance, Rafa watched you neatly lie down your pool towel on a sun bed, in the process flashing your perfect shapes for him. He was well aware that he had been staring at you for quite some time now, but he was wearing his sunglasses and they had been known to conceal a wandering eye or two in the past so he felt safe looking at you from the other end of Diggs' yard. And concealment was of the utmost crucial importance because right now he absolutely could not look away from you: your well-shaped bottom was strutting in the air almost as if inviting him to touch it. He imagined you looking over you shoulder with heavy-hooded eyelids calling him over while touching yourself. He would walk over to you, yank your bathing suit aside, and spread your legs apart for him on the flimsy sun bed. He would delve into you from behind and caress your throat with his lips while you moaned with imminent pleasure. You would—

He suddenly realised how creepy he was being; luring at fine women from a distance?! Pull yourself together, Casal!

With a small shuffle, he tore his gaze away from you and poured himself the drink that he had been meaning to mix before you had stolen away his attention. Vodka Redbull. A horrible drink, really, but he needed the pick-me-up to get over last night's hangover. Sunglasses and advil weren't really doing the trick today.

"She's extra fine this summer isn't she?" Rafa heard his best friend comment beside him.

"Who?" Rafa said quietly as if he had no idea who Diggs was talking about.

Diggs shot Rafa an unimpressed look, "bro, I know you think you're subtle about it, but I've caught you slipping all summer."

Rafa knew his cover was blown. He had never been able to hide anything from his best friend. With a sigh, he mumbled "Has it really been that obvious?"

"I'm not sure if anybody else has noticed but I sure have," Diggs snickered, "you are so smitten!"

"Fuck off bro, I'm not smitten. I could've bagged her ages ago if I wanted to."

"So you wouldn't mind if I walked up to her and made a move?" Diggs arched an eyebrow.

"No," Rafa said, the lie thick in his throat, "- or of course I would mind. It would wound my prospects of ever getting to live out this dirty little fantasy I have in my head, wouldn't it?" he chuckled as he tried to save his obvious lie.

"Oh my, I don't think I've seen you this desperate since... well - ever," Diggs laughed, "and I know she's into you too. Has been for ages. Go turn up the charm for fuck's sake!"

Rafa shot his friend a sideways glance, "we've known her since forever."

"So?"

"A compelling counter-point," Rafa rolled his eyes with a small smirk, "you almost have me convinced."

"Shut up man," Diggs laughed before he continued, "I mean, you've never cared about awkward mornings before. Why do you suddenly care about it with her?"

"She's a good friend," Rafa said quietly.

"Okay, I know what you're thinking; that the absolute worst case scenario is that you guys will never talk to each other again - which, might I add, is highly unlikely!" he quickly added when he saw that Rafa was about to interject. Diggs continued, "you have the same group of friends. You see each other all the time. It simply won't happen. So in my opinion, the worst case scenario is not that you will never talk to each other again, it will in fact be a few months of awkwardness before things bounce back. Who cares? You haven't talked all summer because you're having a hard time keeping it in your pants. You can go on and have a few months of awkwardness afterwards too if it turns out to be weird between you."

"You really think that?" Rafa eyed his best friend for any sign of doubt.

"I'm sure of it," Diggs said resolutely, "you need to give it a shot before someone else comes along and snatches her before your eyes. I know you like her more than what you're telling me."

Rafa had to give it to Diggs; this time, he actually did make a compelling point. "Yeah alright," he groaned before he made a quick decision; he downed the horrible vodka Redbull, mixed two tequila sunrises - your favourite drink, he knew that - and walked over to you with as much swagger as he could muster.

He stopped in front of the tanning bed you were occupying, and immediately attracted your attention as he was shadowing the sun.

"Rafa?" you said and squinted up at him. You had to conceal a small gulp. He looked particularly dreamy today. "Hi..."

Rafa felt his throat run a bit dry, "Hey... I brought you a drink. Tequila sunrise."

"Yeah, uh, thanks..." you eyed him suspiciously as he handed you the tequila sunrise and when he didn't leave afterwards you added, "uhm - would you like to sit down?"

Rafa nodded eagerly and you moved your feet to the side to make room for him on the sun bed next to your body. He sat down close to your knees and had a large sip of his drink, hoping that it would cure some of the dryness he suddenly felt in his throat.

You eyed him intently. It was weird having him up close again. Especially because his absence and weird behaviour had been annoying you all summer. He had been acting totally out of character; he had been almost distant and cold as he had practically ignored you. "What can I do for you, Rafa?" you asked him with a hesitant smile, trying to sound calm. You couldn't reveal how frustrated his absence had made you. He couldn't know that you had been pining after him for years.

Rafa's mind went into overload; oh, what couldn't you do for him? He wanted to let you know that he was one word of approval away from throwing you over his shoulder so he could carry you to Diggs' bedroom. He wanted to do all the things that he had dreamt of for the last couple of months. He wanted you on your knees in front of him. He wanted to tangle his fingers in your hair while your mouth was wrapped around him. He wanted you to send him innocent looks while you let your tongue run over him.

He cleared his throat and shuffled around a bit trying to hide the fact that his slacks had grown a bit tighter. "Uh - I don't need you to do a thing," he said with a secretive smile, "how are you?"

"I'm good," you answered him slowly, still not really sure why he had suddenly approached you. "How about you?"

"I'm perfect," Rafa nodded, "Did you have an alright summer?"

You sent him a surprised smile. He was asking about your summer now? This friendliness he was suddenly portraying seemed to come out of nowhere. "An alright summer, yeah," you leaned back in the sun bed as you realised that you'd have to let Rafa's weird behaviour go. If he had finally worked out whatever had made him act strange since June, it was a good thing for the both of you. It meant that you could have your friend back. You could have your flirting back - and my god, how you had missed being on the receiving end of his excessive flirting!

"Glad to hear it," he smiled at you while running his fingers through his blonde hair.

"You've grown out your hair," you stated with a nod.

"Yeah," Rafa smiled and tugged on one of his long locks, "Diggs kept telling me that I looked 35 with the short hair and the beard, so I figured it'd be best to let it get a bit longer again."

"You look nice," you smiled at him, "I've always liked this hairstyle on you."

Rafa felt an eruption of colour in his chest when he heard your compliment. Relax, Casal, she's just flirting as usual. "Yeah, thanks," he said and looked at his feet to conceal the goofy smile that was slowly creeping onto his lips, "It's really great to see you. I feel like we haven't talked in forever," he muttered quietly.

You had already forgiven him for his weird behaviour but you were still determined to find out why you hadn't talked in forever. You let your gaze pierce through him, "I'm actually quite glad that you approached me," you eyed him. Now seemed just as good a time as any to bring it up, "I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Yeah?" He looked up at you with a twinkle in his eye, "About what?"

You looked around on the other sun beds. Maybe he wasn't too keen on discussing private matters in front of the rest of the gang. "It's a bit crowded out here," you said with a smile, "wanna go inside?"

Rafa nodded eagerly and stood up from the sun bed, pulling you to your feet. "Ladies first," he mumbled and let you walk a few feet in front of him.

"When did you become so gallant?" you laughed at him.

When I realised that you are, in fact, more than averagely well-turned, Rafa thought to himself. He had thought it through; walking a few feet behind you would allow him to look at your well-proportionate body parts swaying in the sunlight without fear of getting caught by you. He was mildly disgusted with himself but pushed the thought away before he followed you inside like an obedient pet, his eyes glued to your tanned legs.

You led Rafa to the secluded kitchen away from the pool area. Alone at last, you turned around and leaned up against the kitchen counter, looking at the handsome man in front of you.

He was having a hard time concentrating on your face as the shift in temperature from the sun outside to the air-conditioned kitchen had made your nipples rock hard. He could see them through the thin fabric of your red bathing suit, and all he wanted to do was to slip his hands under there and massage your tits with his warm hands. He wanted to pull down the straps to reveal your beautiful build to him. He wanted to take your breasts in his mouth and circle your nipples with his tongue until you were begging him to take you to a room with a bed.

"Are you alright?" you asked him when he seemed a little distant.

"Yeah, I'm good," Rafa smirked at the mental image of you on all four in front of him, "what's up?"

"I'm gonna be straight with you. I hope that's okay."

"Of course," Rafa gave himself a mental shake and promised himself that he would concentrate on your words and not your body. This seemed important to you.

"Have you been angry with me?" You looked at him with piercing eyes.

The question took Rafa aback, "What? Why would I have been angry with you?"

"No clue," you shrugged, "but you've been weirdly dismissive all summer and you've kept your distance to me, so I've been wondering if I've done something to upset you."

"No, everything's in perfect order. You've been perfectly fine," he said with a small smirk.

"So we're okay? You and me?"

"Of course," he nodded, "more than okay."

"Good, I'm glad to hear you say that."

There was a small awkward pause between you where neither of you knew what to do or say. Rafa tried desperately not to look at your round tits right in front of him, so he directed his attention to the wine cooler behind you in an attempt to look occupied. It gave him an idea however: "Hey, did Diggs ever give you a tour of the house?" he asked you, eyes glued to a bottle of nice champagne in the cooler.

"Not yet," you smiled, "he promised me one later."

"Yeah, same," Rafa mumbled, opened the cooler, and pulled out the champagne bottle, "how about we show ourselves around?" he said and wriggled his eyebrows, "sprinkle it up with a little champagne, you know?" he winked at you.

"Now who could say no to that?" you laughed and watched Rafa pop the champagne and pour you a glass.

"Cheers," Rafa held out his glass and you gladly clinked it.

He emptied his entire glass in one fast gulp, "this is some fancy shit," he said quietly while examining the bottle.

"Should we even be drinking this?"

Rafa directed his attention towards you with a small laugh, "well it's open now isn't it? I'm sure Diggs won't mind. Bottoms up before we continue our tour. I'll get you a refill."

You smiled to yourself; Rafa's nonchalant and cavalier attitude was exactly what had attracted you to him in the first place. You did as he said, gulped down the golden liquid, and was soon standing with another full glass in hand. "Where to first?" you asked after you'd had a sip of the second glass.

"Upstairs?" Rafa asked with a shrug, grabbing both his glass and the bottle with his left hand. He put his right hand on the small of your back, and directed you towards the staircase. He noticed a small smile creep onto your lips at the skin-against-skin contact. You were both back to your usual flirting and his plan was in action. Shake, rattle, and roll.

He let you climb the stairs in front of him and it didn't take him long before he was completely hypnotised by the swaying ass in front of him. The nice curve. The way the red fabric clung nicely to your buttocks every time you took a step forwards. The tantalising sway. And he couldn't even touch you. It was pure torture, he told himself as he gulped down his second glass of champagne while following you up the stairs. He clearly needed it.

"Refill?" he asked you as you'd reached the top.

"So soon?" you arched an eyebrow at him but emptied your glass, ready for your third refill.

"I'm thirsty," Rafa smirked and could already feel his hangover disappear as it was replaced with him getting tipsy. "Rules of champagne-tours are that you need to empty your glass before you enter a room."

"Okay, you're clearly more updated on the rules than I am so I believe you," you laughed at him and took a look around the first floor, "left or right?" you asked.

"Let's try left," Rafa said and followed you to a small room, "Wait! Before you enter you need to empty your glass."

"Again? Are you trying to get me drunk?" you arched an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, I don't make the rules," he sent you an innocent look before he emptied his third glass.

You sent him a suspicious look but ended up following suit and emptied your glass before you let him refill it a fourth time. You could feel yourself getting more and more tipsy. And Rafa looked cuter and cuter.

"After you," he said and opened the door to the small room in front of you.

"Okay, this is an office or something of the sort," you laughed after you'd entered, "this is boring."

"Very boring," Rafa groaned as he took in the desk, the computer, and the three filing cabinets standing along one of the walls. "Let's move along shall we?" he whipped around and hit his head against a cabinet on the wall with a loud bang.

He heard you gasp behind him before he felt the sharp pain on his cheekbone followed by something wet running down the side of his face. He turned around, facing you, the blood running steadily down his cheek.

"Are you okay?" you said in a concerned voice before it turned to laughter.

"Hey, why are you laughing?" Rafa chuckled at the sight of you as he touched the warm blood running down his face

"I'm so sorry!" you continued laughing, "but you should see the look on your face right now. You look so wronged!"

"It was an assassination attempt!" he smiled, "did you bring me in here to neutralise me?" he emptied his fourth glass of champagne to soothe the sharp pain.

"Yes," you said all seriously, "I work for the Israeli government and I've been sent to America to take out whiney boys who steal champagne from their best friends. And as revenge, I let them bleed."

"Would a Mossad agent such as yourself happen know how to clean a wound?" He asked with a playful smile, "because I think I might need a small band-aid. This shit will not stop bleeding."

"Lucky for you, I'm specialised in treating wounded animals in Siberia. Come," you took his hand and pulled him towards a bathroom you'd noticed as you'd passed it in the hallway.

Rafa liked being tugged around by you: your small hand in his felt absolutely right. He wondered what it would feel like with your fingers wrapped around his erection and he felt his cock do a small twitch in his boxers at the mental image of you rubbing him off. ...Okay he really needed to pull himself together.

Desperate to think of something else he looked around the bathroom. "Indoor hot tub!" he exclaimed as you let go of his hand and went to the small cabinet under the sink.

"Only eighties kids get this excited over a hot tub inside," you laughed at his excited kid-like face and pulled out a band aid and some rubbing alcohol, "sit down on the edge so I can clean the wound."

"Yes ma'am," Rafa said and looked at you as you concentrated on reading the instructions on the bottle of rubbing alcohol. You looked damned cute with your nose all scrunched up.

You found a cotton pad in the cabinet as well and sat down next to him, "okay," you looked him in the eye, "this is gonna sting but try to sit still."

"Okay," he said quietly and waited with anticipation for your hands to touch his skin - even if it was a place as non-sexy as the skin below his eye where he had cut himself by being embarrassing. He took whatever he could get.

You carefully draped the cotton pad across the cut he had on his cheekbone and felt yourself blush as he closed his eyes and hissed involuntarily. You wanted to rip his clothes off.

He felt your small fingers ghost over his skin as you cleaned the wound. He tried to fight it, but couldn't hold back the visible shiver that went through his body.

"Aw, Casal, am I giving you goosebumps?" you laughed softly as you cleaned his cheek.

"Yeah," he smiled goofily at you and felt the champagne talk some courage into him, "it's either the cold from the rubbing alcohol or your bathing suit. Not sure which."

"My bathing suit?" you laughed at him.

Rafa chuckled softly, "yeah, it's a nice colour," he mumbled, "this red looks amazing on you."

"So you're saying that the colour of my bathing suit is sending shivers down your spine?"

"Yeah..." he said in an obvious lie.

"The colour... and not the cut?" you asked looking into his eyes, wriggling your chest in front of him. You had always loved the rare times where you could make Rafa - the always calm and collected womaniser - uncomfortable. This seemed like one of those times.

"Uh - the - uh - the bathing suit isn't too shabby either," Rafa chuckled slightly as he let his eyes run over your wriggling chest. You would definitely be the death of him.

"You like my bathing suit?" you said quietly as you too felt the champagne rush to your head.

This time, Rafa didn't answer you but just nodded and gulped visibly. He looked as if he was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself and it was turning you the fuck on. For years, you had wanted Rafa to actually do something about his relentless flirting. "I have to admit; I bought it with you in mind," you sent him a small shrug as if it was nothing.

His smile grew wide, "yeah? Did you dress up like this just for me?"

"I wanted you to notice me," you said with a small smile.

"Well it worked," he said quietly and ran his eyes over your chest.

"Good," you chuckled and turned your face away from his. In the past, he had had several chances to act and he hadn't. It was stupid of you to believe that he wanted more than just a bit of casual flirting - even if it did feel like years of flirting had been leading to this moment.

Glad to have something that could divert your attention away from the very fuckable guy in front of you, you picked up the band aid that was lying in your lap, took it out of its packaging and carefully put in over the cut on Rafa's cheek bone. Your eyes were glued to the cut for a couple of seconds, allowing Rafa to gaze into your eyes.

It's now or never, he thought to himself and reacted before he could hold himself back; he reached out his hand and put it just below your chin, leaned forwards and planted a brief, soft kiss on your lips. You had kissed before but this one somehow felt different. His kisses had always been short and sweet - he had practically perfected pulling away from you before losing all control - but today was extra hard. He couldn't believe himself... Ten years of holding himself back and a fucking bathing suit had him feeling like a teenager again. Calm the fuck down, Casal.

"Thanks for taking care of me," he hummed against your lips and retracted his face from yours.

You let out a small whimper at the lack of contact but came to your senses soon enough. "A pleasure," you smiled up at him and slightly cleared your throat, "we should continue our tour."

Rafa nodded and emptied the rest of the champagne bottle in each of your glasses. He quickly poured it down his throat. "House rules," he shrugged when you sent him a bemused smile.

You followed suit, bottomed up and put down your glass next to the kitchen sink. You gave Rafa's arm a slight tug and urged him to follow you to the next room on the tour.

Rafa gladly - and slightly dizzy - followed you out of the bathroom and into the next room on the tour; Diggs' bedroom apparently. It seemed almost scripted.

"Master bedroom," you exclaimed when you saw the king sized bed in the middle of the room. You looked over at Rafa who was swaying a little, "are you okay?" you laughed.

"I'm a bit dizzy," Rafa joined in laughing, "not sure if it's the assassination attempt or the amount of champagne I've had."

"Probably a little bit of both," you smiled and put a hand on his arm to help him steady a little, "do you need to lie down for a minute?"

"Yeah, I think I better," he let out a small laugh and threw himself down on the bed.

You quickly followed suit, and positioned yourself on the bed next to him, "is the room spinning or is it just me?" you laughed.

"Oh it's definitely spinning," Rafa chuckled and reached out to touch your hand, "ah, much better," he said as he recalled the feeling in his abdomen when you had kissed only minutes earlier. He wanted to kiss you again. He couldn't hold himself back.

"I agree," you said softly and looked over at him, "how's your boo-boo?" you let out a small laugh.

"Still stings," he shot you a small smile and remembered Diggs words. He had to snatch you up before someone else did. What he did now seemed to be crucial to how your interactions would be shaped in the future. So he decided to just go for it, "you know... my mom used to kiss the pain away."

"You want me to kiss it off you?" You laughed.

"It might help," he said and brushed his fingers against your skin as his hand moved further up your arm.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" you laughed.

"Yeah, maybe," Rafa said and felt how the champagne made him daring and truthful, "you've been driving me insane all summer."

"I have?" you chuckled, slightly surprised, "is that why you've stayed away from me?"

"Yeah, I've been having a hard time keeping my hands to myself..." he chuckled innocently.

You decided to act on how cute you'd always found Rafa, leaned closer to him and repeated the short and sweet kiss you'd shared in the bathroom a couple of minutes earlier.

When you retracted your lips from his, Rafa moved his head forwards and continued the soft kiss, this time with a bit more power to it.

This was definitely new, you thought to yourself as you moved your lips in time with Rafa's.

He popped himself up on one elbow and kissed you so sensually that you physically felt the wetness between your legs. So his tongue could do more than spit out silvered words? Rafa had game! His soft tongue was slowly caressing yours while he let his hand run over your upper body. You felt the goosebumps emerge on your skin as he ran his fingers over your ribcage.

Rafa broke the kiss and sent you a smirk, "look who's sending who shivers now," he snickered.

"Shut up," you groaned and leaned forwards, softly recapturing his lips.

He hummed against you as you slowly moved your lips across his. His thumbs were brushing against the sensitive skin just below your boobs, but he didn't touch you anywhere that wasn't considered safe. He wanted you to approve of it before he delved into you.

You understood his careful actions and wriggled around a bit to get him to touch you properly.

"Are you sure?" he whispered against your lips, "you've had quite a bit to drink and I've been trying to seduce you."

"Just be happy it worked," you smiled against him, "I've been wanting this too..."

Rafa's smile grew wide, "really?" he laughed

"Yes. Now shut up and kiss me."

He inched his lips closer to yours and captured them once more. His tongue caressed yours slowly and sensually while his hand squeezed your thigh tightly. A small moan escaped your lips when your fingers tugged on his long strands of hair.

Rafa pulled you on top of him so you were straddling his waist.

You let out a small smirk when you felt his erection underneath you, "you're already hard."

"I've been hard all summer," he groaned as his lips found your throat, "you've been driving me insane in all your little sundresses. You have no idea how hard it's been to hold myself back."

"You don't have to hold yourself back with me," you whispered and looked into his green eyes while you moved your hips suggestively on top of him.

"From now on, I have no intentions of doing so," he groaned at the friction, his hands moving to the straps of your bathing suit. Slowly, he pulled them over your arms, making sure to kiss your clavicles in the meantime. He pulled down the red bathing suit and revealed your small round tits topped with small perky nipples for him. Exactly as he had imagined. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, while showing the other love by cupping your breast lovingly. You let out a sharp moan when you felt his tongue circle your areola.

Rafa's erection grew considerably and when you danced your fingers down his chest, and he decided to do something about it. He threw you down on the bed next to him and forcefully ripped off the bottom half of your bathing suit, leaving you completely naked on the bed. He took a step back and admired your finally naked body before him, your wet pussy glistening in the sunlight. He palmed himself through his slacks and let out a groan at the sight of you writhing on the bed, looking up at him with lust in your eyes. Your small hand was running along the length of your glistening slit and he had never been more jealous of a couple of fingers.

"Take of your clothes," you panted as you spread your legs apart.

Rafa quickly shuffled out of his shirt and slacks but kept his boxers on.

"Last chance to back out," he said as he leaned over you and trailed his hand down your body. You let out a small moan as his lips found yours, his fingers hovering above your waistline. "If you keep making those sounds I'm not going to be able to stop myself," he groaned in between kisses.

"Who says I want you to stop?" You let out yet another moan as his tongue found yours again.

"Good," he smirked against you. His fingers found your heated centre and you let out a raspy breath when his fingers dipped inside your sensitive folds. "Fuck you're so wet for me," he growled as he easily found your tight opening and pushed a couple of fingers inside you. You were moaning excessively and pushing yourself against his playful fingers as the was toying with you.

"Fuck, you look so good with my fingers inside you," he growled, "tell me how much you've wanted this!"

"So bad," you panted and looked up into his darkened eyes, "I've been wanting you to fuck me for years."

"Yeah?" He felt himself getting even more excited and he moved his fingers faster in an out if you, "have you been thinking about me when you're alone at night?"

"Yes," you whispered.

"Tell me about what you've been fantasising about."

You pushed his fingers out of you and sat up straight on the bed, sending him a lustful look. "I've been thinking about your big, heavy cock," you said as you pulled off his boxers, revealing his erection to you. You took him in your hand and ran your tongue over his wet head. Rafa shot back his head with a small groan, but kept the eye contact.

"What else?" He panted as he watched you pop his head in your mouth.

"This," you said, "my lips around you. Your fingers inside me."

"How can I deny you that?" He stroked your cheek, "lie down."

You did as he told and watched Rafa climb onto the bed on his knees. He positioned himself close to your face and ran his hand down your abdomen, his fingers easily finding their way to your pussy. You reached up and grabbed him by the root, positioning yourself so you could wrap your lips around him while his fingers worked their way inside you.

You bopped your mouth up and down his length a few times, releasing his head with a small pop before starting over.

"Oh fuck," he groaned as he bucked his hips closer to your face, "fuck you look amazing."

You let your tongue swirl around him while your hand pumped up and down him a few times. He shot back his head with a groan, "fuck I'm not going to last long," he panted.

You pulled your face away from him and said, "are you going to cum down my throat?" Before your lips resumed their positions around him.

"Yes," he panted, "are you going to take it all for me?"

You nodded and pulled him down your throat.

"Oh fuck," he panted and pushed his hair out of his eyes, "fuck you're working me like a pro."

You tightened your lips' grip around him and swirled your tongue around his head that had started leaking down your throat.

"Oh shit," he groaned and caressed the side of your face, "fuck you look so sexy with your lips around my cock. Fuck I'm so close!"

You pulled him as far down your throat as you could and reached up to cup his balls.

Rafa's breathing was hushed and shallow and he had his eyes closed. His fingers were still fidgeting with your clit but his movements were sporadic and lazy as he couldn't concentrate on much else apart from the tight wetness around him. With your tongue swirling around his head, your left hand cupping his balls, and your right hand working its way up and down his shaft, he gave out three loud grunts before he started shaking above you, warm cum shooting down your throat. He grunted a few times with his eyes closed before he came to his senses, pulled his fingers out of you and licked them only to have them resume their positions on your core.

"Oh god," you moaned as his fingers curled inside you, "oh fuck Rafa."

"Turn around for me," he whispered.

Quickly, you turned around and were sitting on all four in front of him.

"Ass up," he said and gave you a hard spank before he ran his hand over you.

With a pant, you buried your face in the mattress, "are you going to fuck me now?"

"I can't do that now," he groaned and positioned his face behind you, "it's your fault. You and your amazing lips," he said and caressed your ass with his hands for a couple of seconds, "say my name," he groaned as ran his tongue over you.

"Rafa!" You moaned when you felt his tongue.

"No. My name," he gave out a muffled demand.

"Rafael," you panted and he pushed his fingers inside you as a reward.

"Yeah, that's right," he said darkly and felt you tighten around his fingers, "fuck you're driving me insane. You're so good for me. Have you been wanting this for a long time?"

"Uh-huh," you panted in response.

"Show me," he panted before he started moving his tongue and fingers faster against you.

"Oh fuck! Rafa! Rafael!" You moaned loudly as you felt all your nerve-endings tightening between your legs. Rafa's tongue was moving sloppily over you as you cried out with your release, the grip around his fingers pulsating and tightening significantly.

Rafa was enjoying the sight before him - although a little disappointed that your tight gripping was wasted on something as boring as his fingers.

When you had panted and moaned out his name, he pulled his fingers out of you and let you plump down on the mattress.

You were still panting when you looked up at him with a huge grin, "why have we never done this before?"

"Because we're very stupid," Rafa chuckled and plumped down next to you, "that was amazing!"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Next time, I'm not letting you corrupt me to cum down your throat," he groaned and gave your breasts a kiss, "next time, I'm going to fuck you so hard."

"We're gonna do it again?" You arched a bemused eyebrow at him.

"Of course. Call me selfish but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."

A Blissful Moment (Revised)

♡ Pairing- Jimin and you

♡ Genre- Smut and One-Shot

♡Description- You finally convince your friend to go out to a club; on the last weekend your in Korea.

♡ This is my first story in a long time. For personal reasons I am scared of writing but thanks to some people I decided to try it. Please leave comments on what you honestly think. ♡

♡ Word Count- 3,644

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You monotonously check your Instagram one last time before putting your phone back in your clutch. You’re currently in the backseat of an uber with your best friend as you head to one of the hottest clubs in Gangnam. You had spent the last few days begging for her to go until she finally caved. You knew you had her when you argued that this was your last weekend in Korea, and that there was no better way to end the vacation than with several overpriced drinks, average to cringe-worthy dancing, and some extremely attractive strangers. Some of the mystique from the night fades, however, when you and she get out of the car and join the line that runs nearly a block away from the club entrance. This was your one of your last nights in Korean, though, and nothing was going to drag your mood.

“I can’t believe I finally convinced you to go to a club” you announce as you beam at your friend.

“You’re lucky I love you, because there’s no other way I would stand in these heels for this long if I didn’t cause honestly my feet are going to be fuc—” her words are cut off when you abruptly squeeze her into a hug.

“C’mon don’t think so much let’s just have fun” you muffle in response as you shove your cheek against hers and tighten your hold on her shoulders. If you only knew then how utterly dumb your words would sound after the events that would follow.  

After shuffling forward for almost an hour, you finally reach the velvet ropes. You and your friend eagerly flash your passports to the bouncer and pay the hefty entrance fee. As he removes the ropes to allow your passage, you can already feel the bass from the music thrumming through the floor. As you emerge from the long black hallway into the main part of the club, your draw nearly hits the floor from what you see. This place was utterly massive with several bars lining every wall space, a dance floor larger than any you’d ever been on, and a balcony above stretching around the whole joint. You easily identify the balcony as the VIP lounge when you spot the security at the stair entrances on either side of the club. That didn’t stop your eyes from peering through the glass railing to catch anything interesting. Without a soul in sight you figure they must all hang away from the railings for privacy. You shrug and grab your equally amazed friend’s hand and drag her to the nearest bar. You lean across the bar to order (shout is more accurate) two vodka’s in RedBull with two shots of green tea shots. Waiting for your order, you and your friend lean with your backs against the bar, taking in the scenery once more. The DJ is losing his mind on stage at the opposite end of the club as his audience screams every time he twists the track.

“This club is the definition of high-end insanity!” your friend shouts into your ear. You quickly yell back,

“Yea, I know! I read somewhere online that it’s supposed to be one of the best clubs in Gangnam!”

“I can see why! This night club looks like it’s straight out of a movie!” She answers, and you nod your head in agreement. You feel her turn to face the bar before her arm is outstretched, handing you your drink as she begins to chug hers.

“Come on and drink up so we can dance!” She smiles when she comes up for air. With new enthusiasm, you both down your drinks in record time before dragging each other deep into the mass of hot, sweaty bodies. You begin to roll your hips in the tight space as your ears catch onto the familiar tune. You’re surprised to hear reggaeton pulsing through the speakers

Several tracks and quite a few drinks later, you and your friend are still dancing the night away as the alcohol in your veins takes away any inhibitions. A thin sheen of sweat covers you skin, making you shine with a worn out, dewy look matched with a large dopey grin as you scream as the next song begins to play. You begin dancing once more when a tall, burly man in a dark suit approaches from behind your friend. You recognize him as one of the security personnel and begin to wonder what you or your friend could have done wrong when he interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, ladies, but there are a few VIPs who request they meet with you,” he explains.

With a sigh of relief, you playfully roll your eyes at your friend. Of course, she had caught the eye of some rich or famous man. Your friend was naturally stunning. Her slim frame was accentuated perfectly in her black shorts and white halter top tonight. To top it off, her long, sleek black hair draped down her back, effortlessly catching the eyes of several men throughout the night; now including some high-end suitors as well. Meanwhile, your eyes travel down your figure in a simple, green sleeveless dress that stopped mid-thigh. You look back up to meet your friends pleading eyes. You chuckle as you lightly shove her shoulder,

“Go on” you laugh. Her brow furrows slightly in concern.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Heavens, yes! I’ll be perfectly fine dancing here with strangers as we have been all night. Now go and meet whoever, but you have to tell me all the juicy details later!” You exclaim with a wink.

“But—” your friend tries to respond but is cut off by the security guard.

“Actually, they requested both of you.” He corrects.

You stand there dumbfounded, trying to process that there were high-end men up there who for some reason not only wanted your friend but also you. Before you could ponder up various explanations, you feel your friend’s grasp around your wrist as she chirps,

“Great! Lead the way!”

You both follow the security guard closely as to not get lost in the crowd. When you arrive at the bottom of one of the staircases to the balcony, you meet four other guards who quickly step aside for the guard you are following. As you climb the stairs, your eyes glance across the club to the other staircase to see how many guards there were. Damn, who was so important that there were nearly 10 guards blocking the entrances to the VIP lounge? You all eventually arrive at the balcony entrance, blocked by a swing glass half-door. When the guard swings the door open, you and your friend step onto the fine red carpet and continue to follow the guard to the back of the lounge. You stare at your feet as you all amble over because the nervousness in your stomach begins to eat away at you. What did they want? Why you and your friend? Why were there so many guards? Before you walk face-first into the back of the guard, your friend grabs your shoulder. You spare her a thankful glance before turning to take in what, or rather who, sit before you. There is a low-set square table, only a couple feet above the ground, supporting a wide variety of drinks. Surrounding the table on three sides, is a jet-black leather couch, providing a striking contrast against the red carpet. While this screams prestige, you are so distracted by your audience that your brain no longer registers—well, anything else. Not the music. Not at how the guard is no longer there. Not even at your friend whose grip tightens on your shoulder. You suck in a breath as you finally admit to yourself that you’re not dreaming. There before you, sitting casually with their arms draped across the back of the couch, are Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin.

You vaguely take in a few other guys and girls sitting on other parts of the couch, but you could care less. To ease yourself in, you scan Jungkook first. He is the embodiment of sin in tight black dress attire and designer leather boots. Your mouth waters at the way the muscles in his thighs pull tightly on his pants. After adjusting to Jungkook, you breathe in sharp breath and comb over every inch of the man that is Park Jimin. His pristine white dress shirt hugs his arms and stretches across his chest and abdomen before it dips underneath the band of his black skinny jeans finished with black leather boots as well. At this point, you are biting on your tongue so hard that you aren’t entirely sure if you would be able to talk due to swelling. Content with staying silent, you continue to stare, well honestly gawk, and the way Jimin’s smooth skin peeks out at the top of his shirt where the buttons were—

“You both are pretty impressive on the floor, dancing well enough to capture the attention of these two pros” says one of the other guys on the couch as he nods his head in Jimin and Jungkook’s direction. Your friend throws a soft smile and a “thanks” before turning to squarely face you. She leans in and whispers in your ear,

“Aren’t those two guys from that group you like?” All you can do is nod your head in affirmation; your eyes not breaking from Jimin’s form once as his scan you from head to toe.

“Hey, why don’t you both come take a break beside us?” Jungkook smirks as he pats the couch between the two of them. You freeze and of course your brain decides to leave you in your most dire moment. To save you from staring blankly, your friend nudges you forward enough to stumble next to where Jimin is seated. You throw a glare at your friend as she snugly takes her place next to Jungkook. She did this on purpose. She knew your bias was Jimin, and although her intentions were pure your thoughts at the moment were anything but.

“Where are you both from?’ Jungkook breaks the silence first.

“ Oh, well I’m from the states, but my family is Hispanic.” Wow, maybe your brain returned enough for you to answer a question.

“Ah,” Jimin’s breath is hot on your ear as he leans in. “and where is your family from?”

You manage to force out a coherent string of words about your ethnicity, but the husky yet sweet smell of Jimin’s cologne left you incapable of focusing.

“That explains why you looked so sexy dancing then…” You suck in a breath as he places his hands on your thighs while admitting this. Wow. Okay. Park Jimin. His hands. His hands on you. This is happening, right now. Okay, This. Is. Happening. Now. You don’t respond to him because this has to be a dream. Nonetheless, it’s a dream you don’t want to end. Jimin inches closer to you and whispers in a low even tone,

“You don’t have to seem so shy. You know who I am. You know exactly who I am don’t you?” Jimin’s hands wander further up your thighs, the coldness of them making you shiver slightly. “I recognize your tattoo. You’re an ARMY.”

Your eyes fly down to your wrist where you had a tattoo of the cover of the Love Yourself album inked onto you as a permanent reminder. You had been a little concerned that he would view fans as off limits, but the whole time Jimin continues to run his hands up and down your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you want to feel him most

“I—” You cleared your throat to prevent squeaking. “I—won’t tell anyone I saw you and Jungkook here, I swear.” Your promise radiates in your eyes as you lock gazes with him. His eyes pull into a smile.

“I trust you…and you haven’t even glanced at your phone the whole time you’ve been here.” Both pairs of eyes stare at the object of conversation. You remember you had placed your phone on the table when you were sitting down. As if on cue (and the universe working against you), your phone buzzes with a notification. That part is fine. It’s just a random email. However, it is behind the notification that turns your face scarlet. Staring back at you and Jimin, lit up in all of its LED glory, is your lockscreen of Park Jimin’s abs. Oh, yes. The universe does indeed want you to hide away forever. Your face falls into your hands, and you don’t even try to explain it. Although, you can’t resist the curiosity of seeing his reaction, so you spread your fingers to peak through them… and you’re met with the darkest gaze you’ve ever seen grace his angelic features.

“Aha, I see what type of ARMY you are…” he grips your chin to make you look directly into his eyes. “You’ll do what I say, won’t you dear?” Surprisingly, your motor functions haven’t short-circuited, and you manage to nod your head. “Good. Now be a good girl and sit on my thighs, legs open, facing me” he demands.

He doesn’t need to ask twice as you’re quick to follow orders. As soon as you’ve placed yourself over his lap, you feel his hands cup your jaw as you’re drawn forward into him. The kiss is hard and deep, contrasting with the soft, pillowy feel of his lips. You let out a small groan and an instinctual roll of your hips before you abruptly still on top of him. He is hard, very hard. This lets you know two things: 1) Holy hell you got THE Park Jimin hard? Your ego has never been more inflated, and 2) his size was well above what you have dreamed and that speaks volumes. Feeling more courageous after this discovery, you experimentally roll your hips harder across his erection. When you pull a deep growl from his throat, you know it’s over. He drags you in by your hips and begins kissing you even harder, tongue encircling yours and fighting for dominance. Small moans from both sides only spur you both on further until you’re positive your dripping. As you continue to encourage his wandering hands, he bites on your bottom lip and drags it through his teeth, pulling away to flash a devilish grin.

“You want me little bunny?” Fuck. You’re already soaked and now the nickname? Hell, if agreeing to him makes him put his mouth on you again then you’ve forgotten how to say no. You bite your lip as your hands trace up his chest, your eyes following your motion until they lock with his.

“Yes,” you half moan, half whisper to him. You feel one his hands sprawl across your upper back and suddenly you’re falling forward, chests pressed tightly against each other.

“Then un-zip my pants and ride me,” he deadpans.

“W-What? B-But—people are going to see us Jimin!”

“Shh darling, they won’t. It’s too dark, they’ll just assume you’re giving me a lap dance of sorts.”

Although in your mind you know his logic is flawed, the pull in your lower abdomen is writing his new philosophy across your decisions for the next half hour. You want to say you’re smarter—at least be able to say that you give yourself a few moments to consider.

Nope.

Nada.

Not at all.

You don’t even hesitate. You slide backwards slightly on his thighs, creating just enough space to unzip his pants and pull out his swelling erection. Stifling a moan at the sight, you ready yourself by reaching to move your panties to the side when Jimin’s grip closes around your wrist.

“Take them off and give them to me.”

You look at his expression to see if it’s a joke, but his eyes are void of humor and filled with lust. You quickly, and without shame you must add, stand up to slide off the lavender lace panties and curl the soaked material into Jimin’s outstretched palm. He immediately pockets them and drags you by your hips to resume where you both were headed previously. His fingers dig harshly into your hips as he guides your wet center down onto his dick. You both let out quiet moans at the indescribable sensation.

His size stretches you out so well, leaving a pleasurable sting as he bottoms out. You both sit there completely still giving each other time to adjust to the feeling and you the sheer size of him. Seeing your face relax, he mutters, “move” and begins to pull at your hips. You’re dying for relief, so you set a fast pace sliding up and down his length. You bite your lip in order to hold back the salacious noises you want to be screaming right now, but there are too many eyes that might suspect more than a lap dance if you do. To make up for this deficit, you pick up the pace and roll your hips even more, small beads of sweat beginning to form on your hairline and roll down your neck. Your thighs burn from the vigorous motion, and he catches the way you begin to falter. Without missing a beat, his hands dig into your flesh and guide you up only to slam you back down onto him. The pace combined with the sudden force is bringing you closer to your release.

“Please, Jimin I-I’m so close,” you whisper heavily.

“Good. Now, relax my little bunny and cum on my dick. Let go—”

“Agh! Jimin!”

You can’t help but cry out his name when those sweet words fall breathily from his lips and push you over the edge. In response to your outburst, you feel a heavy hand land on your ass, and you let out a small yelp. Your eyes flick to Jimin’s which tell you that the slap is a silent warning to stay quiet. As you continue to ride your high, Jimin gives a few hard thrusts and releases inside of you. You roll your hips lazily a few more times to help him before the oversensitivity becomes too much. You weakly slide yourself off of him and turn to collapse down next to him on the couch, your legs still dangling across his thighs. As he tucks himself back into his pants, your eyes lazily scan your surroundings. To your surprise, everyone is still preoccupied with their own business, not a single eye cast in you and Jimin’s direction. The wetness in between your thighs is growing sticky and uncomfortable, so you decide to go clean yourself before it dries completely.

“I think I’m going to head to the restroom and clean myself.”

“Yea, the bathroom is on the left down that hallway in the back.”

           You flash him a nod in confirmation and rise to your feet, pulling your dress down as you do so. Jimin sends you a wink as you walk away and leans towards the table to fix himself a drink. Once you finish cleaning yourself, you stare dead at your reflection in the mirror. This is the first time tonight your mind is catching up with your actions. You can’t believe it. You just fucked Park Jimin. THE Park Jimin. In public no less! You’re equally stunned and amazed with yourself as you head out of the bathroom and back down the hallway. Once you return to the opening of the lounge, your friend is leaning on the wall waiting for you.

“Hey, y/n. I’m glad I gave you time to uh, finish up, but I’m really really exhausted, and these heels are digging into my soul now.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s go say goodbye and then we can go back to the hotel.”

           As you stroll back to the couch, Jimin and Jungkook rise to their feet to give their farewells. You and Jungkook exchange a laugh as you say that you’re happy to meet him. Then your friend leans in close to wish her best to Jungkook, and you roll your eyes and turn to Jimin. When you spin towards him, his face is mere inches from yours again. He leans in even closer as he slides something into your palm.

“I thought you might want to keep my number for the next time you’re in Korea, by the way thank you for the present.”

With a wink and small peck on the cheek, he sends you off. You and your friend quickly descend back to the floor of the club and make a beeline for the exit, eager to get to the hotel and flop into bed. After climbing into the back of a taxi, your mind wanders off about the fluffly sheets you would soon get to pass out on. Your friend, however, has different intentions for the ride back.

“So, uh- that was one hell of a lap dance you were giving Mr. Park, huh?”

Your head whips to her side of the car as you witness the most brilliant know-it-all grin she could muster plastered across her face.

“W-wha- h-how, b-but I-we were so care—”

“Please, y/n, Jungkook and I were on the other side of the couch, not the universe.” You stare dumbly in complete disbelief and utter embarrassment. “Hey, hey it’s okay. You had a good night, and an even greater time in Korean now, right?”

Your face slowly morphs into a large grin. “Yeah, and I can’t wait to come back for more…memories?”

“Also what present was he talking about” your friend asked.

That when you realize that son of a bitch had your panties still. You turned to your friend

“Maybe he meant the lap dance” you told her with a smile.

You both fall apart into giggles at your weak attempt to disguise your favorite part about Korea. With a few more laughs and excessive eye rolls, the taxi continues to drive into the night, closing the most ~memorable~ vacation you’ve ever had.

FUNKY FLAVORS & OLD TUNES

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Short! "Skinny"! White reader (please don't be offended and if you are then don't read? I can only find specifically x black reader, x plus size reader, x tall reader for every character and I enjoy reading all of those things because I have a imagination but I am none of those things so just something from the other perspective and it isn't meant to offend anyone :), hope you ALL enjoy. This isn't meant to show hate to anyone, just show some love to people who arent those three things)

Warnings: maybe some 18+ (I write straight from my head), old music, old funk and groove music, horniness, corniness, puns, sarcasm, innuendos, maybe some old doo wop, maybe some 90s, a plethera of music in a variety of forms, nerdiness, uhm, thats it? Oh, Daddy! Sam at the end and not the kinky kind XD, interracial relationship (I dont know why that is a warning but some people get offended so I thought I would play it safe), bad dancing my a short bitch who think she has the skills of Tom Hiddles, maybe some sad talk, Steve and Buck being matchmakers

Summary: Things have been rough for Sam and the whole Avengers gang actually since losing Tony but Sam finds a little escape every now and then. A new little hole in the wall juice and homemade icecream joint. The owner might be stealing his heart but she can't see it, good things come in small packages, or was it dynamite? For Sam, it's both, the joint is always thumpin' and so is his heart

“Funky Flavors, that’s new?” Sam comes to a slow jog from his run as he is about to stop noticing a new business had opened just off the route he runs when he runs around the Lincoln Memorial. “I could go for some juice,” he shrugs talking to himself as he goes in, removing his earbuds from his ears. Upon walking in the first thing he notices is the music, She’s A Bad Mama Jamma by Carl Carlton blared through the small system. “Okay,” he raises a brow and looks around, the small place was empty at the moment. Figuring that the owner was in the back he let’s himself dance.

“Hey~!” He gets a little too into it as you walk out from the back. You don’t say anything and just watch smiling and trying not to laugh, being your size came in handy, quite often you go unnoticed. After a minute you decide to butt in. “Hey Shug, what can I getcha?” 

“Oh shit! Huh?” He stops suddenly, caught of guard he jumps a little. “How long you been there?” “About a minute and a half, smooth moves.” “Thanks,” he rubs the back of his neck, “Wait, Shug?” “Sorry, habit, daddy called me and momma that so it stuck and now I say it.” “That’s sweet,” he smiles. “Thanks, and thankyou for stopping by.” “Yeah, noticed the new place, decided to stop by. Thirsty after the run, uh, what do you have? You ain’t from around here are you?” “No,” you giggle and hand him the menu, “I’ve got homemade icecreams and original beverages”

He looks the menu over and reads it off 

Mango Mornin’ Sunrise- mango and pineapple orange juice slushie (alcoholic and non-alcoholic options)

Momma I’m Messed Up- vodka, Redbull, rum. Blueberries, blackberries, and tequila 

Wet- (icecream flavor and drink; drink comes with dish of sugar dipped strawberries, homemade) starwberries, red wine; 19 Crimes 

Classic Homemade Butter Pecan Icecream (optional served with homemade pecan pie)

The I’m Sorry Miss Jackson (icecream flavor and drink)- Jack Daniels, coconut and chocolate

Moonshine Milkyway- homemade icecream with Milkyway and moonshine flavor 

The Send Help- Irish Trashcan with a scoop of I’m Sorry Miss Jackson on top

Pantie Dropper- (alcoholic and non-alcoholic options) smoothie with pineapple, orange, lemon, pineapple and grapefruit

Soaking Thighs- (alcoholic and non-alcoholic options) smoothie with blackberries, red grape juice, and pineapple 

Thigh Rider- Red’s Apple ale with apple cider

Summer Heat- blackberry sprite beverage 

F*** Me, Now- house-made strawberry juice (alcoholic and non alcoholic options)

Sam rubbed his neck and cleared his throat, “Jesus girl,” he laughs. “So what’ll it be Mr?” You ask, leaning over the counter as Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gaye comes on. “Shit, I’ll have a Fuck Me Now” 

“One Fuck Me Now comin’ right now Shug,” you say shocking yourself with how you kept a straight face and not noticing how he was watching you as you made it. “Alcoholic or regular?” You glance at him. 

“It’s 10 in the morning girl” “And?” “Regular, this time,” he laughs. 

“Alright here you go,” you finish up and pass it to him, making your way over to the register. “I like the station, which one is it?” 

You laugh, “that ain’t the radio, it’s my playlist”

“Say what?” He raises a brow like he doesn’t believe you. 

“What?” You ask seriously as you ring him up. 

“It’s just-”

“Just?” You shake your head and stretch your eyes. 

“Well-”

“Well?”

“You’re wearing a Asking Alexandria t-shirt for one thing”

“Yeah, nice ain’t it? Soft too,” You smirk as you know the next song will address the elephant in the room as Play That Funky Music White Boy comes on and you both laugh. 

“3.45″

“oh, right,” he pays you already sipping at it. 

“You said this time, so, you’re coming back?”

“Maybe,” he smirks. 

“Alright, I’ll hold ya to it,” you say, thinking about how you’d like him to hold you to a wall and chewing your bottom lip. You quickly remind yourself that that won’t ever happen. Guys don’t really want your type, you aren’t thicc, or super curvy, there’s no meat with your potatoes and nothing for them to hang on to, you have to have a little something to work with because thicc thighs save lives and no man wants to cuddle a stick, you aren’t a snow-bunny. All things you have heard before, and that was just about your weight and all things you have heard before, the short jokes didn’t end either much less would anyone take you seriously as a woman.

“I’ll see you later Lil Juicy,” he smiles as he leaves.

“Lil Juicy?”

“You’re little and you make juice”

“Bye,” you both laugh and you watch him walk away.

“I’ll bring some friends next time,” he calls.

“Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for help so if you know anyone-”

“I’ll spread the word” “Thanks, bye”

Stepping outside once the door shut behind him and the door closed behind him, “I think the new Captain America has found his Miss America,first lady?  She is damn cute,” he smiles and chuckles making his way. 

Days go by, and then a week, and a week and a half where Sam can’t get you out of his head and you hadn’t stopped thinking about him either but you hadn’t seen him again yet. He did spread the word because the next day his friend Wanda show’s up and she started working for you. You liked her, she was nice and a giant help but working with her became hard sometimes when customers would go googly eyed over her. You couldn’t blame them, she wasn’t thicc but she but she was you could still understand why, she was gorgeous.

“So, have you heard from Sam?” You ask her while it is slow.

“Yes, he said he was bringing Steve and Bucky today”

“Really?” Okay, that was overzealous, it didn’t help when the trio came in. Sam, and ofcourse you recognized the other two based on them being the Avengers, and through talking with Wanda.

“Alright, Steveo, you first,” Sam gets his phone out to record the old man’s reaction. 

“Hello,” Steve says friendly, “Hi, what’ll it be?” 

“The uh,” he clears his throat with a blush, “No need to be shy,” you encourage him. “The strawberry one” 

“No, you’ve gotta say the name,” Sam teases him. “the fuck me now....” “That is a bad language word!” Sam teases and you make Steve’s drink as Bucky looks over the menu and he and Steve watch Sam watching you, glancing to each other knowingly. Well, it was obvious with how happy he was and how he chewed his bottom lip as you bent over to grab things not paying attention. 

“Alright, and you Shug?” You give Steve his drink and ask Bucky what he would like 

“I’ll have the Summer Heat, add vodka. Thanks,doll”

“You’re welcome,” you start making it and it was quiet except for Stand By Me by  The Drifters was on and you sang along and harmonizing, Sam hums along as well harmonizing with you. “This one or Ben E King?” He asks, “this one, obviously” “Alright, :Lean On Me, Club Nouveau or the original?” “The original sucks, doesn’t flow,” you answer as you make the drink and the guys just watch the two of you as they sit with their drinks. 

“You have good taste-”

“Bet you think she tastes good too,” Buck says casually and you all turn to look at him shocked.

“What?” He shrugs, “I’m 103, and I was bagging bitches in the 40′s” 

You all shrug and make the touche face. Steve on the other hand was about to implode trying to remain a gentleman and not laugh. “He wants to eat strawberries from your tits,” Buck continues sipping his drink. 

“Okay Pal, thanks,” Sam leans over to take it and Buck smacks his hand.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you joke honestly

“We approve,” the two old men say in unison looking at Sam.

“Ask her,” Buck edges him on and points to you with his head while you aren’t looking.

“Ask who what?” Wanda asks confused as you rise from what you were doing behind the counter. 

“Y/N,” Buck answers her.

“Ask me what?”

“Would-would you maybe uhm-would you like to come record shopping with me?”

“Sure, just message me,” you exchange numbers, thinking it was meant to be a casual friend thing. 

The next week after texting him almost constantly and him texting you you make arrangements. He picked you up, opened the door for you, and the day was amazing. You wandered through the record store browsing only for him to sneak up behind you and put his arms around you at some point to look in the same crate and look down to read your face to see if it was okay only to find you blushing again. He smiles feeling a sudden little boost in confidence, the pointers that Steve and Buck had given him were working. He swallows a lump in his throat, hoping you don’t notice before speaking softly by your ear. 

“Want to do this again next Friday?” “S-ure, but Sam...” “Hmm?”

“Can we not do this?” “Yeah,” he pulls away, “Y/N, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.....I just, well, I really-I don’t want to get the wrong idea”

“What is that?” he tilts his head.

You choose not to answer, you weren’t really allowed to answer that question as you look around gauging the room and seeing a few women who may get offended just by you telling the truth. They would probably attack you, call you a liar, mock you, definitely laugh. “I can’t answer that, I need jeans...can we swing by American Eagle-wai-,” you check your wallet to see if you will have enough. “i think I have enough for one pair,” he nods and you buy the records you want and you both leave. His hand in the middle of your back holding the door for you. “Thankyou” “You’re welcome....”

He walks to American Eagle with you as you find a assistant to help you find the one section of the store that is a half of a table that will have your petite sizes. She walks you over and Sam watches as you look through the very small section of the large store where the pants short enough in length and small enough in waist for you are and buy a pair and he looks at the other sections, pretty much the entirety of the ladies section of the store with the other jeans. 

“Ready?” You come over to him with your bag. “Yeah, hang on, let me see that?” 

You hand him your bag and he looks at the receipt, “Why did yours cost twice as much?” 

You shrug, “this is the only place that has anything to fit me at all other than the kids section at Walmart, lets go. I’m just happy i am thicker than I used to be in high school and I can eat now and it ain’t much but I’m proud of my little booty I do have some days,” you laugh. 

“So, next week?”

“Yeah, I love hanging out with you”

 Sam takes you home and gets the door, it was a silent drive home. He walks you to your door. 

“Thanks Sam, I had fun,” you start to hug him but can only reach his waist so to make it less awkward you make it quick. “Night,” you smile and start to go inside.

“Night Y/N....,” he grabs your arm and turns you, he lifts you enough to be face to face with you which honestly made you feel like a child as your feet dangles so high off the ground, “Thanks, I needed this on jean shopping day,” you say sarcastically to play off that it actually hurts because you really like Sam. 

“Y/N,” he sits you on the railing and holds your waist so you won’t fall.

“Hmm?” You ask, looking at your thighs, thinking about how they are thick compared to when people complimented your thigh gap and you hated it but had to smile because you couldn’t eat for a year due to being sick but you had to smile and say thankyou, and how now you had improved a lot and it has taken you years to do so but you still weren’t thicc enough to be good enough. 

“Look at me,” he lifts your chin and you glance at him, trying to have eye contact but you look so pathetic right now. 

“I like being able to pick you up,” he starts and smiles, you start to cut him off and hop down but he grabs your thighs to hold you there and he cuts you short. “I’m not finished.” 

That stern voice made the heat pool between your legs, you knew you loved this man. 

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I watch you walk away and I stare at your ass every time you bend over or squat for somethin’-” you can’t stop the blush in your ears and your face. “Really?” “yes, and I like being able to pick you up, it’s cute. if you would have hugged me a second ago instead of flinging your arms around me and moving away I would have wrapped my arms around you and taken a second to just enjoy your head against me.....I think you are a beautiful lady, and you are interesting, and intelligent, I can talk to you and I love that. Please, go out with me next week on another date?”

“Another?”

“Yes, I thought this was a date until you got sad....”

“I didn’t know, I thought you just saw me as a friend and wanted to hang out; that’s usually how it goes...”

“Alright, my fault. I should have been more clear,” he puts a hand to his chest, still holding you so you don’t fall. “Please, may I take you out to dinner, next Friday? I’ll pick you up at the same time, it’s a date...please,” he looks up at you as he kisses your knuckles. “You don’t have to beg little old me, I’d love to,” you answer honestly and he kisses the side of your lip almost your cheek. “I’ll get my real kiss next time,” he helps you down and that was how it all started. That is how you became Mrs. Sam Wilson a year later, and now here you were almost three years later lying down and watching him pace back and forth in front of the bed with your new son.  

“Sam, I have a idea”

“To get him to sleep?”

You nod and go to your playlist and press play letting the soft  shoo doo shooby doo~ shoo doo dooby doo~ In the still of the night~ fill the room.

Sam see’s his eyes drift closed and carefully lays him in his crib and crawls up over you on the bed slowly before swiftly flipping the situation so you’re straddling him. He grips and caresses your thighs and chews on his lip before pulling your neck in for a kiss, “I’ll have a Fuck Me Now please” “Coming right up” 

Jac & Amelia

Jac: How was your first day? Amelia: 🥱😴 Amelia: What about you? Jac: Oh dear, it was a lot more observing rather than doing I suppose, but I kind of expected that, if you want to get experience somewhere that isn't willing to just let anyone come in and do a shift so Jac: You'll never guess who was on my placement too though Amelia: Connor following you there wouldn't surprise me Amelia: he can't take a hint Jac: Thankfully not Jac: Swerving him during school is basically an extra-curricular Jac: I suppose it isn't all that surprising when you think about it, but I still was taken aback by the turn of events Amelia: thrill me Amelia: who is it? Jac: Savannah Moore Amelia: oh god, that sucks Amelia: if you don't wanna change placements, we'll make her Amelia: it'll be okay Jac: That's the surprising thing Jac: she was like, a different person Amelia: like really fake, you mean? Jac: No, like, a normal person Jac: maybe because she was away from her friends, her audience, or I don't know Jac: but she was just getting on with her work too, being chill about the whole thing Amelia: 🤔 suspicious Jac: Well, you can't say anything Jac: but why would you Jac: she's having like, a really hard time at home right now, she was a bit upset at one point Jac: it just broke the ice, and it makes a lot of things make sense Amelia: did it or did she throw you off with a convincing 😥💔 story? Jac: She was having a breakdown in the toilets basically Jac: I don't think she wanted anyone to see that, least of all me Jac: we knew her dad was like A LOT anyway, it tracks Amelia: it's Savannah, she wants everyone to see everything, especially you Jac: Come on, what would she even get out of tricking me with a sobstory Jac: bar work experience not being a total drama, which surely she'd love more, by that logic? Amelia: your attention Jac: 🤔🤔 I just don't see it this time Jac: I can't explain how sincere it was, what she said Jac: it definitely wasn't made up, at any rate Amelia: if you believe her, I believe you Jac: Like, I'm not saying we were wrong Jac: but too harsh, maybe Jac: we don't need to waste any energy on being her enemy or whatever Jac: not that we were ever THAT childish but, she really isn't that bad Amelia: I can be a bit harsh Jac: You're a softie, really Jac: but I'm not going to spill all your secrets to her Amelia: it's not a secret that I missed you today Jac: Was it seriously that boring? 😞 Jac: Who are you with again, anyone not awful? Amelia: yeah Amelia: my 🧠 has turned to mush Amelia: they put with with Valentina Hernández, I've had detention with her before Jac: You poor thing Jac: we'll have to do something fun when this is over, if you're going to hate it so much Jac: and I'll keep to a minimum how much I'm enjoying getting some industry experience 🤐 Jac: Oh yeah, she's cute Jac: I don't have many classes with her, but I know who you mean Amelia: she said I look like her ex, do you think that means she hates me or I'm her eye candy of choice for the next week? Amelia: can't we do something fun tonight!? Jac: How weird Jac: sounds like a really bad pickup-line a 40-year-old man would use Jac: Guess you'll see what she meant Jac: That's not going to make your early start tomorrow any easier, is it Amelia: I'm already planning to sleep through my alarm Amelia: and Is is up for it Jac: I'm totally wiped Jac: and trying to save you from yourself 😉 Jac: Is can make her own poor choices Amelia: vodka redbulls were invented to change wiped to wired Amelia: you know she'll get drunk and throw herself at some boy, that's what you'll be saving me from Amelia: dark corners are no fun when I'm being left in them on my own Jac: so I can be hungover tomorrow Jac: if she is tricking me, I'm going to need ALL my wits about me Jac: maybe Val will come and keep you company Amelia: and if she's as nice as you say, she can pick up the slack Amelia: please come Jac: Are we talking about a house party or a club or what, you've not even told me 😅 Jac: also, you know I don't want to drop anything, I need to ace this Amelia: it's a club you'll love Amelia: so you won't have to drink loads to have fun anyway Jac: If Is or any of her conquests have picked it I SO doubt that 😏 Amelia: I picked it in case you needed cheering up but it works for a pat on the back too Jac: Okay, I'll see what the parents say Amelia: if they look like they're leaning towards no, it could've been me having a breakdown in the toilets Jac: I'll tell them you'll be heartbroken Amelia: the truth works too Jac: they're not that understanding so I wouldn't hold your breath Jac: I'll corner one of them when they get in though Amelia: more understanding than mine, not to be Savannah-ish about it Jac: I assume you will be sneaking out, as per Jac: or staying over one of ours to catch up with your work Amelia: 😏 Jac: 🙄 how you ever get away with it when your mother knows everything about everyone is beyond me Jac: if you applied yourself, you could be seriously impressive Amelia: could be? Amelia: you just said I am Amelia: she knows everything about me that I want her to know Jac: duh Jac: gotta give you something to aim for though Amelia: oooh a challenge Jac: I know how you feel about them Amelia: unless it's going to be something about applying myself this week Jac: am I a teacher? Amelia: you've taught me loads like why would I waste my energy buckling down with Valentina 📠 when I could spend it doing something that isn't 🥱😴 with you Jac: You have a point Jac: or, I do? 😂 Jac: and I can come out for a while, but I need to be home to get at least 5 hours sleep minimum Amelia: can I stay or does Jude still need 15 hours minimum? Jac: if you keep the noise down and promise to talk less than her Amelia: I'll be so 🤫🤐 Jac: another person at mine in the AM makes no odds Jac: but I will be leaving extra early, FYI Amelia: why? Jac: Mainly because I want to get there on time Jac: but also because Savannah said she'd bring breakfast, as I listened to her when she was upset today so Amelia: bribery is her style 🤑 Jac: I guess so Jac: but it'd be rude of me not to accept any coffee or pastries she wants to throw my way Amelia: what if they're toxic Jac: You're giving her too much credit now Jac: she isn't going to have the time to poison them AND not be late Amelia: she's probably baking them right now, what else are her and her invisible mum going to do to bond? Jac: You're the one that takes home ec 🍳 Amelia: yeah and if you wanted me to kill her, all you had to do was ask Jac: Feel free to note my silence any time you like 😏 Jac: What are you wearing, how smart/casual is this place? Amelia: [pictures of potential outfits on the bed so she can see the vibe] Amelia: which one will you break your vow of silence for? Jac: You know I love that colour [hi khaki moment] Amelia: 😉 Amelia: if you want to know what Is is wearing, the group chat is full of her maybes Jac: I am purposely ignoring that notification 🙄😑 Jac: like yeah, I'm probably going to wear my black tank dress again but the difference is, I'm not pretending it's getting any crazier Amelia: it got her to shut up about all the 'hotties' at the sports centre that she got to 'service' today Amelia: 😣 Jac: Ew Jac: she's so graphic sometimes Jac: it's a good thing she has her reputation tbh if those are her lines Amelia: this is before a drink too Amelia: I need you, I wasn't even laying it on thick Jac: God, she is a lot Jac: hopefully one of them asks her out, she's at least less gross when she's in a relationship Amelia: 🤞 Jac: I do need to plan my outfits for the rest of work experience though Amelia: god, I can imagine what Savannah looked like today Jac: Right? Jac: She was so on point Amelia: for a stepford wife Amelia: it's unsettling Amelia: her mum probably stays invisible because she takes the clothes off her back Jac: Come on, she looks good Amelia: so would I in head to toe chanel Jac: Exactly Jac: so I need to keep up so I don't look like a scrub Amelia: you don't have to try as hard as her, that's the difference Amelia: you actually look good Amelia: not just expensive Jac: You're biased but I love you for it Amelia: you could ask anyone in our year and they'd tell you the same thing Amelia: even her boyfriend would probably want to agree with me Jac: I doubt his eyes ever leave her, they're totally inseparable aren't they Amelia: it sounds like you'll be getting all the gossip Amelia: you'll be able to tell me everything by Friday Jac: not that that has any real use now Amelia: maybe or maybe not Jac: ?? Amelia: we've got loads of school left, you can't say never Amelia: today could've been a weird fluke Jac: Nah, it was a total ceasefire if nothing else Jac: it's not like a feud Jac: Oh my God, what is that skirt she just posted Amelia: okay Amelia: 😳 on her behalf Jac: should I tell her to wear it? Amelia: yeah 😂 Jac: 😏 Amelia: what are you wearing though? Jac: my lbd 😂 Jac: I don't know if it's classic or predictable but if nothing else, I can say this was short notice Amelia: if I couldn't predict you I'd be worried Jac: but you love a challenge 🤔 Amelia: but I love the way things are Jac: see, so soft and soppy Jac: nothing has changed yet Jac: still think transition year is pointless 🤷 Amelia: your 🧠 didn't turn to mush Jac: it might Jac: I just wanna pick all our new classes and get started Jac: but it is cool we get to do stuff like this, I suppose Amelia: you just want to find out if Savannah will be in every single class again Jac: 🙄 Amelia: [like I'm gonna say she was joking then but now the posts have appeared so it's like oh you actually do and she leaves her on read which I cannot overstate how much that would NEVER happen because she always answers immediately no matter what] Jac: Hello? Jac: are you picking me up? Amelia: are you ready? Jac: you aren't talking to Isabelle Jac: of course I am Amelia: nothing she's saying needs a reply Jac: 'Fashionably' late is her vibe Amelia: yeah I know, Is hasn't changed since I met her Jac: Like that's a good thing? Amelia: I wouldn't go as far as to call her perfect or anything Amelia: but at least I get her Jac: Funny, Meels Amelia: like totally weird, that kind of funny Jac: You are being weird Amelia: that isn't even a worthy deflection Jac: What do you wanna say? Jac: It's just a post Amelia: I've never heard you describe anything as perfect, what are you saying? Jac: Did you see her post? Amelia: yeah, it's obvious why you're tired Amelia: I was exhausted reading it Jac: Well I couldn't just say nothing in return, could I Amelia: I never caption anything, it's easy Jac: you're a girl of few words Amelia: why does she think she knows you on such a 'deep level' now? Amelia: you said she was the one who overshared Jac: You know her friends Jac: Paige G and Becca Jac: I doubt they do 'deep' Jac: it's just in comparison Amelia: I know you, there's things you aren't telling me Jac: like what, I told her all my secrets Jac: if you know me then you know there's no way that's true Amelia: then you're keeping hers Jac: No I'm not, I told you, it's her home life Jac: and I'm sure she doesn't want everyone to know so I shouldn't but I did Amelia: okay Jac: You don't like her, you don't have to Jac: but don't be off with me Amelia: neither did you yesterday Amelia: but now you're going to [whatever that market location was] together Jac: She needed cheering up Jac: and I was going to go anyway, my last bouquet was dead Jac: it's not a big deal Amelia: it was so chill you weren't going to say anything before she outted you with a post Amelia: obviously Jac: I didn't say anything 'cos I didn't think you'd be bothered Jac: it's not your thing Amelia: right, why would it be news that you've changed your entire POV on Savannah Moore Jac: Well I told you about that Jac: scroll up Amelia: it's one thing putting up with someone during work experience, which is what you said Amelia: do you see me taking Valentina out when we're allowed to leave? No, because it'd be totally weird Jac: Why would that be weird? Amelia: we're not friends, I barely know her Jac: you're free to get to know her Jac: you may as well Jac: like I said, it's totally childish having some kind of grudge against her Amelia: it's too late to invite them both Jac: so you want to? Amelia: no, but you think I'm being childish Jac: I think it would be childish for me to decline this peace offering Jac: if it makes life easier, it'd be stupid not to Amelia: I don't see how it'll make anything easier if she's going to be that extra Amelia: Is is already a lot Jac: I can deal with them both Amelia: okay Jac: You don't need to be jealous Amelia: of her? oh please Jac: right Amelia: she's not the only one who has had a bad day, that's all Jac: what's wrong? Amelia: I got in trouble, they might not even have me back tomorrow Jac: What did you do? Amelia: nothing! It wasn't my fault Jac: Alright, what happened then Amelia: I didn't think it would crash the whole system, I was just trying to get done quicker Jac: Oh God Meels Amelia: it would've been impressive if it had worked Jac: they can't get rid of you for a mistake Jac: just be really, really sorry, yeah Amelia: I am sorry, it was really 😳 Jac: I bet Jac: you won't do it again Jac: did she tell you to Amelia: who would tell me to do that Jac: You said she was your detention buddy Amelia: no I didn't, I said I've seen her there before Amelia: everyone gets detention except you and Savannah Jac: Hardly Jac: well, you could say it was her idea Amelia: you've been having a go at me for being childish Jac: you'll be in so much shit if they refuse to have you back Amelia: I'll go work with my dad or something, it'll be even more boring but it's only a week anyway Jac: it'll still reflect really badly on you Jac: it's not childish, it's practical Amelia: it was an accident, I won't be the only one who's done something stupid Jac: Yeah, but you said they were arsey about it so Jac: just saying Amelia: maybe I was a bit defensive Amelia: don't worry about it Jac: Hmm Amelia: I'll smooth it over Jac: Good luck then Amelia: trust me Jac: You always end up alright Amelia: you're my lucky charm Amelia: I just ask myself wwjd Jac: You're such a loser 😏 Amelia: you're so cruel to me 💔 Jac: You love it Amelia: I love you Jac: I love you too Amelia: are you coming out or am I coming in? Jac: You'll just get waylaid by dogs and siblings Jac: be right out Amelia: the hair isn't an accessory I should wear to the club Jac: I've not done anything with mine, don't judge Amelia: it always looks perfect whatever you do or don't do Jac: 😘 Amelia: if you're going to use that word, at least throw it in the right direction Jac: oh yeah, that's a caption I wanna write 😂 Amelia: I'll write it for you, if anything's worth breaking the rules for Jac: You want to compete with Savannah's word count? Amelia: I don't want to, but I will if I have to Jac: I'm not that desperate for validation, you're okay Amelia: Isabelle meanwhile Amelia: has NOT shut up Jac: It's a wonder anyone is getting past her on reception Amelia: 😂 Jac: maybe she should ask if she can work the door when she finally shows Jac: [you go out now though gal, don't need to be messing about] Amelia: [go forth and be messy gays at this club instead] Jac: [no wonder, the tension henny] Amelia: [all the useless lesbian awards to amelia for not making a move tonight] Jac: [blink and you miss it babe] Amelia: [literally does not think she's running out of time, soz gal] Jac: [oh it's sad[ Amelia: [it is, we've been doing this dance for years ladies, obvs we think we'll just keep doing it until uni forces us to stop and do something else and at that point that's years away still] Jac: [when you think you got another three years to have gay angst and drama, nay nay] Amelia: [mhmm] Jac: [well, a different kind of angst and drama will be happening but nobody is loving that Amelia: [except me haha]

DBH - A Russian Alien in Detroit

This one is a little more rushed, but I wanted to introduce Artyum and Val before I proceeded to mess around with any more of my androids.

The DBH fandom needs just as many interesting and fun human ocs as it has awesome android ocs!

---

    In all of his 2 years of experience living in America, Artyum found that everything was kind of the same as his home city in Russia.

It stank of pollution and the people sucked ass, although very often he found that being so rude didn't do him any favours.

Or maybe just being a foreigner already screwed him up big time. He couldn't decide which one was it just yet...

    On arrival he'd been fresh out of uni, with his engineering degree still holding that pleasant new smell, and his hair being cut short and beard trimmed to perfection.

His grandmother had always told him first impressions mattered when going to a job interview, and applying for an apprenticeship at Cyberlife in America meant that he had to be careful with how he spoke, dressed and worked.

Perfect and efficient were what she'd told him to go for. Never less.

His father in turn, had told him to be better than that, so as to show the Americans how Russians got shit done. Honestly, he'd tried.

But when you're Russian and your country is having a dick measuring contest with the one you're supposed to live in for work reasons, you can kiss the simplicity of a nice life goodbye.

His superiors had hated him for being a “Commie” spy, and they'd all treated him like a trash fire for looking older than he really was.

Genetics were a bitch, and the male side of the family all reached 6’ in their early 20s.

He was 21 and built like a bear.

The chief engineer who was a pretentious jackass with the self-confidence of a worm, really didn't like that in particular.

Apparently being outsized, outweighed and outsmarted by a 21 year old graduate, was a personal blow to his fragile ego.

Really there was nothing, short the food and work, that got a tiny bit of pleasure out of his stay in the country.

And then working in the engineering department, testing the newly built androids, became less fun and more nerve-wracking.

    Everyone in his department knew about the “Defects”. The androids that just didn't come out working as they should.

His supervisor told him that he should flag any of the 'droids that just bugged out and acted up weirdly, but honestly?

Something just never felt right about it when he did it. A sort of gut feeling that had nothing to do with the sugar glazed donuts and redbull he'd had for lunch.

And then, being the curious idiot that he was, Artyum Kutznekov just started really paying attention to his tasks, rather than punching in his card and disassociating for the day until his shift ended.

The false bliss he'd felt over working his “dream job” had come crushing down when it really clicked what he was doing.

The “Defects” weren't so much as glitching androids as they were aware.

And not just a simulation gone wrong. They were scared, and it was REAL.

    Artyum wasn't that clean shaven nerdy boy anymore. He wasn't sucking up to Cyberlife and it's corporate vampires. He'd quit, sent a letter home, got a lecture back and then said fuck it to everything.

He became an official citizen of the United States and moved into some shitty hellhole of an apartment, right above some Brazilian couple that fought every night and then fucked their brains out at 4 am. The above tenant was nice, an old Scottish grandmother who'd greeted him with a beer and a few words.

 “Welcome to the most culturally diverse part of Detroit. We get all the immigrants here.”

 “Is that good or bad?” He'd asked.

 “Russian. Tsk tsk… Lose the thick accent and ya might not get shot in an alleyway.”

 “Would be much better than to live in America anyway...”

 “That's the spirit lad. You'll fit right in.”

She hadn't been kidding.

There were a lot of people with different ethnic backgrounds in the apartment and they weren't all that bad.

One of them, Val, was a young 19 year old latina who lived in the basement floor.

No parents, no other relatives, just her and her android dog, Regi.

She was as smart and cunning as a fox and had the tongue of a sailor. Nana Agnes scolded him for giving the kid vodka sometimes.

It kind of paid off that he'd befriended her in the end, after Sergei came into his turbulent life.

 “So, couple of custom parts and something to help save his skin?” The girl grimaced “Sugar, you're really killing my buzz here. That android is fuuuucked.”

 “Tell me something new...I know it is a difficult task, but I am being at...At wits end. Repairing is easy, yes? But customizing to fit older model is your bread and...and.” he paused, clicking his tongue for a second of annoyance as he tried to recall the proper term.

 “Butter. My bread and butter, which requires pay.” Val rolled her eyes. “I swear, you're a heck of a fuckin’ dictionary Artie, but how can ya remember the precise name of biocomponents and shit, if you can't remember how to say butter or even spork?”

 “I studied! Manuals have all information on complex parts, but they do not come with information on what one is to put in toast!” He pouted. “Also combining spoon and fork is most stupid thing I have ever been told! There are different utensils for reason!”

 “Oh my god Art you're killing me.” Val smirked “And fiiine. I'll get you those parts, but ooonly if you let me tweak the voice box for Sergei.”

 “You are enabler though! You will give him annoying voice that will get on my nerves!” he'd complained.

 “Hey! Sergei's all about dat sweet sweet gay culture. If he wants a super funny and cute nasally voice, let my boi have one! Bitches gotta go all out my dude!”

 “I swear I do not know why we are friends.”

 “Cuzz I'm such a charmer, and you're bored of hearing Marcello's and Joana's soap opera dramas every morning.”

 “Becoming listener of their activities was not a choice.” He reminded her.

 “And the term you're looking for there, is vouyer~”

 “I am not a vouyer!!!”

 “No, but you're a big hairy dude that lives with a gay robot that's missing several limbs and a lot of screws.”

 “You make it sound very questionable.”

 “I build custom vaginas and dicks for androids that can't consent, while knowing that there are living ones fighting for their rights in this shit show of a city. Life's fucked. Let me have fun at the expense of my Russian bear neighbour and his twinky android roommate.”

 “I will drink to that.” he replied as he took both their glasses for a refill.

 “Yeah could sure do with another drink. To our shitty weird as fuck life.”

 “Amen.”

 “Like God would condone any of this, lol.”

    America wasn't all that great, neither was Russia really, and honestly Artyum had chosen a poor time to move into Detroit, but hey...

If he hadn't died in some alleyway because of hate crimes, then he was surely not gonna die because of what was up with the city and it's "Deviancy problems".

If he did, at least then he'd die knowing he wouldn't have to get shot at the grocery store for having a thicker accent than people were comfortable with.

Until then he was content with repairing Sergei. The PL600 sure could use a helping hand after he'd been put through, whatever the fuck his twisted owner had done to him before Artyum found him in pieces.

Short story draft 1 beneath the surface

I will post updated drafts shortly

Beneath the surface Draft 1 James had left his home to move to university and he’d forgotten how cold Devon is in winter, especially with how warm August was this year. He only remembered when he came back during the Christmas holidays- when his hands grew red and numb from the cold air when he carried his groceries, left at the bottom of the stairs before he had ascended them. At least, in his student accommodation, he didn’t have to worry about paying bills and could turn the heating on for as long as he wanted. Upon reaching the top of the stairs his eyes landed on the open door directly ahead of him and like a car crash, the events of five months ago collided with the sight of the dusty room.

James and Ben had been driving home at around 2 am that Friday. The Toyota Corolla they drove in had belonged to their father, Lance Weaver who had passed it down to Ben after being accepted to his university in 2018. When James joined the same uni a year later, he and Ben would drive each other to campus. Ben would then walk towards the Forum, where his criminology course was and James would walk downhill, where his Film and Television classes were held in the archaeology building lecture theatre.

The two had ended up in the 1987 Corolla after James had discovered Ben was once again working on his summative assessment. It was an essay on international criminal justice and comparative criminology, that wasn’t due for another month and yet he had decided to work on it that night until 1 am with a friend in their student accommodation, a 3-minute walk from the centre of campus and a 10-minute drive from Ben’s private accommodation. When James had finally dragged Ben to the car, Ben looked as dishevelled and manic as the stranger who had offered them coke in a back alley they had shortcutted through in the city centre during James’ freshers week. James assumed Ben’s unkempt appearance was due to the sleep deprivation, the stress that came with Ben’s perfectionist studying style and many, many, many empty cans of Redbull he had caught a glimpse of as he dragged Ben out of the student’s accommodation and to the car parked outside, blinkers on. Ben had put up a fight when James took his study materials from him and delicately placed them in the boot. Now he was slumped in his seat, eyes closed and jacket rising and falling slowly with every inhale and exhale.

Sometimes when he and Ben drove to Ben’s house, the difference in outdoor lighting would catch his attention, especially if it had been raining like the day before. Student accommodation like James’ and Ben’s friend was always so well lit that someone couldn’t sneak up on you, even in the darkness that dusk brings. Ben’s accommodation, on the other hand, had streetlights that focused on the roads, dimly lit up the footpaths outside of his house and more often than not, had damaged lightbulbs or blown fuses.

The road that it had happened on wasn’t extremely dark or well lit, somewhere in the middle. The stoplight was red and as Ben shifted in his seat, James felt the lightweight frame of the car move with him. James tapped his finger on the thin, grooveless steering wheel as he waited, recalling the Bluetooth speaker one of his mates’ parents had on their BMW which could be controlled via voice command. It would take years to save up for that kind of car, so he would have to make do with turning on the cassette player at stoplights until 2023. After turning on the stereo and inserting an old Roxanne cassette that had been stuffed into the visor, he glanced at the stoplights, swearing as he realised they were green and changed gears. He wasn’t sure why- maybe the roads had frozen over, or the wheels were too worn out- but as he drove around the roundabout, he lost control of the car. He could imagine the dark skid marks the wheels drew into the floor as he lost his grip on the steering wheel, car flying off the road.

The next thing he remembered was his mother crying as he woke up in a white room, bed hard and clothing thin, a consistent beeping noise that sounded like it was having a breakdown, and the feeling of a long, hard object shoved deep into his trachea, which he later learned was an endotracheal tube as his lungs couldn’t breathe by themselves for five months with the damage the crash had done to his stomach. His mother had showered him with kisses after the nurses assisted with removing the tube. She told him about the crash and how he was unconscious for five months and she took it upon herself to tell him Ben was still in a coma. He couldn’t process another word. All he could think about was finding Ben. He didn’t think about the numbness in his arms as he tried to sit up. He didn’t think of the pain in his throat and the shaking he felt in his legs as he tried to roll out of bed. He didn’t think of his mother begging him to stop and calling for help. Even as the nurses injected anaesthesia and he fell into a day’s long sleep he could only think of Ben.

James refused to let his memories continue to what happens next. Blinking, he cleared the memory from his head and shut the door, steering his gaze clear from the mirror in the room. He knew the house was empty but out of habit, he shut the door behind him as he entered the toilet next to the room. Upon finishing his business, he flushed the toilet and moved to the sink, making sure to use the hot water. He made the mistake of looking at the mirror, his eyes stared back at him, plain and neutral, before changing to an explosive, unstable image of himself soundlessly screaming, mouth open wide and eyes shut, hands clawing at the sides of his head, before switching back to his emotionless visage like a channel on TV.

He left the toilet, unresponsive to his reflection’s show and headed down to the kitchen, grabbing his groceries as he did. He checked his texts to Aimee. Still unread. She must not be feeling well. Once everything had been arranged or put away he began making his lunch and just as he was about to slice through the onion, his phone rang, the name Nick popped up on the screen. He accepted, putting the call on speaker, “hi.”

“Hey,” none of his usual shenanigans or pop culture references, no insults or attempts to trigger him. Just hey. He didn’t know why he was still noting that after five months, it’s not like Nick had greeted him any different since the accident, “how ya holding up?” Ignoring the empty Kopparberg he nearly tripped on, James shrugged his shoulders, somehow managing to glance up and catch his reflections gaze in the mirror.

“I’m coping,” his reflection made a face as if it was chewing a sour pick and mix candy and looked to the empty bottles of VK, Russian Standard Vodka, Jaegermeister and more just out of sight for James but visible in the reflection on the window. James looked back down at the onion, once again unresponsive, and started cutting.

“How about Ben?” As the blade slid into the onion, James didn’t feel any sting at the corners of his eyes, nor did he feel them heat up or water.

“The same.”

“My mum visited today, she probably just missed you. She said she was just visiting your mother but I guess she wanted to visit your brother and try and bump into you.”

“That explains the clean grave and new flowers. Give her my thanks.”

“I will. She wanted me to tell you by the way, that you’re always welcome at ours. Any time.”

The silence dragged itself out then, inch by inch until eventually, James gave a half-hearted, “thank you.”

“Your welcome.” More silence. Nick was not one for smooth-talking or sugar coating. He would either say something then and there or keep his mouth shut. Though Nick had been doing the latter more and more with James- as if he had turned into a porcelain doll and needed to be handled with extreme care, lest he falls apart. James wasn’t falling. James was fine. His mother’s death was sudden, but it happened 3 months ago. He had processed it and he had healed and he was fine... and Ben will be fine too. Everything was fine. Nick didn’t need to worry. Nick’s mum didn’t need to worry. Aimee didn’t need to worry. Because James was fine. Nick gave some rushed excuse to hang up and the silence stretched on.

The onion was cut now and James’ eyes were still dry. Once his hands were washed, he moved onto compiling the rest of his dinner, with his laptop playing the Titanic in the background, a movie he hadn’t watched since the last time he was curled up in a sofa with Aimee and was one of the only movies that could make him watery-eyed. He checked his phone once more, going through Aimee’s Instagram story from 3 hours ago which showed her and a coffee at costa with her friend. He then went through her posts from the day, adding comments like, “thinking of u,” and “we should go there after the holidays,” or “so cute,” with a heart emoji.

By the time the sauce was cooked and he was waiting for the water to boil, the Titanic was slowly plunging into the icy sea and Jack was holding onto Rose with a grip stronger than life. It was when Jack finally let go that James paused it, seeing the water had begun to boil and he placed the pasta in, before pressing play and Jack resumed sinking into the darkness of the ocean, never to be seen again. Rose’s tears turned to ice on her face as she lay waiting for death. James checked his timer, unaware of his dry eyes and tearless cheeks. His meal would be cooked around the same time the credits rolled down the screen.

The rest of the movie went by slowly for James. It wasn’t as if he found it any less tragic or romantic as when he last watched it or all the other times he had watched it and it had made him melt into a puddle of tears with Aimee following him shortly after. He couldn’t find a reason and he couldn’t seem to care less why he was unable to cry now. As Rose let her priceless jewel slip into the sea, his phone lit up, beeping at him.

“Hi.” The text from Aimee said, below all of his texts that, until now, had been left unread.

“Hey,” five of them said, with varying amounts of kisses after, “want to go Costa?” one asked, “miss you,” another read, with a heart emoji. “I’ve not been feeling well, sorry I haven’t been texting much,” read one he had sent over a month ago, also unread until now.  

He picked up his phone, checking the timer on it as he saw the water simmering before replying, “hey”. The three dots appeared in a text bubble, jumping as she texted.

Finally, she typed, “how are u.”

He thought about what to type, before replying, “ok.”

In another text, he continued, “I watched the Titanic just now. We should watch it again.”

A pause, “Idk.”

In an instant, the message was unsent. She typed, “sorry.” The timer was beeping now and the water boiling, “I don’t want to date u anymore.”

He blinked, looking up from his phone, seeing his reflection briefly as it looked down at him, a sneer plastered on its face before he looked back down at his phone. Two unsent messages. Then her profile switched to offline. He typed.

“Why?” Unsend.

“That’s fine.” Unsend.

Finally, he typed, “If that’s what you want. I’ll not bother you anymore.” Send.

He put the pasta in.

After setting a new timer, he went upstairs. James closed the bathroom door, avoiding the mirror as he did, and went into his room, its mirror covered with a bedsheet. When she died, he found numerous diaries written by his mother, some from as far back as her teen years. Ignoring all the empty bottles on the bed, table and floor, he made a beeline for the box of diaries. He shifted through the ones at the top and opened one he didn’t recognise.

“Lance was with Mabel again. He showed off the new car he told me his dad had bought him and took her for a ride. Elsie and I walked to her student house. I told her that she should tell Arthur she-.” James flipped the pages, “Arthur and Lance got into a fight. Mabel couldn’t pull Lance away and Elsie was crying. They wouldn’t stop fighting each other until I banged their foreheads together. Someone told the teacher who was called over that they were pranked as someone else hid Elsie and gave her some water. I yelled at Lance and Arthur who had half a brain cell between them. Mabel gave Lance the silent treatment.”

James checked his timer. The pasta was cooked. He rushed downstairs to turn off everything before it burned. He drained and mixed the pasta into the sauce, before pouring it carefully onto a plate, which he then brought upstairs. As he was about to dig in, his phone started ringing, the name Dr Morgan popped up. He answered it, holding the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this James Weaver?” James put the diary down.

“Yes.” James nodded his head, “I see,” he replied, “I understand. Yes. Yes. I’ll come over tomorrow. Bye.”

He pressed the hang-up button, putting the phone and pasta safely on his bedside table. He walked over to the larger table covered in glass bottles and swung his arms at them. The screams of glass breaking into hundreds of shards filled his ears. Gripping onto the table, he refused to turn around when he heard the sound of glass shards being crushed underfoot.

“Get out.”

“I didn’t say anything,” a voice replied, continuing before James could reply, “but I didn’t need to. Right?” James glanced into the window, seeing the reflection looking back at him with his expressionless face.

“Get. Out.” James hissed, refusing to turn around and refusing to look up.

“Make me.” His reflection replied, “make me leave like you did that night.”

James covered his ears, “shut up.”

“You can do better than that. ‘You can wait until next month. You’ll drown in Redbull before you finish the essay. Come on-’”

James slammed his fists on the table, “shut up, Ben!” The reflection stopped.

“James,” it said, appearing across the table from him, “its time to move on.” As it said that, a notebook appeared on the table, open on a page with his mother’s handwriting.

“Lance refused to let me help him, locking himself in his room. I heard him hiss with every stitch he sewed into the cut. James hid behind me, holding his Thomas the tank engine plushie in one hand and mine in the other.”

The pages turned, revealing another entry, “I wish Ben would stop trying to do everything himself. I don’t want James to do the same when he grows up. Ben said he was fine with helping me iron and do the dishes, but he wouldn’t stop until he had done everything. I can hear his music now at 1 am. He said he’d finish the essay soon, but he said that at 10 pm. I told him I could do the chores, but he said he wanted to help again. I can’t let James think he needs to do everything himself. I don’t want him to end up like Lance too.”

Ben, identical to James in life and death -from his dark chocolate eyes to his fair hair- looked him in the eyes before the pages turned once more, “Ben was so quiet during Lance’s funeral. He disappeared before I could tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Now he’s locked up in his room. I tell him through the door. Lance’s death had nothing to do with Ben. Ben did nothing wrong. I don’t know if he was listening, or if he was even awake. I hope he comes back.”

James looked at Ben, “I should’ve left you at Gene’s. None of this would’ve happened if I had just let you work.”

“You were right to worry. You knew I hadn’t slept and you knew I wasn’t eating. It was my fault you had to look after me. I should’ve been looking after you.”

James stared at Ben, who continued, “why do you insist on tormenting yourself when all you did was the right thing?”

“If I did nothing you wouldn’t have flatlined today and mum would still be here!”

“Mother’s cancer had nothing to do with you or me. She was in stage four long before the accident. My death is not on your hands either. I don’t blame you for it.”

“You should blame me!” James yelled, “you should be driving me insane or making me kill myself! I killed you!”

“My death was an accident. No one killed me. No one blames you but yourself.”

The diary flipped to another page once more.

“When he was finally stable,” it read, “James told me what happened. He looked hollow when he told me the story- like he wasn’t fully here. No matter how much he insisted he caused the crash, I knew he was innocent. He must be in shock from everything to blame himself so boldly. Ben was the same when Lance passed. It took him years to recover. I need to help James process all of this. I need to help him realise that it wasn’t his fault, even if that’s the last thing I do.”

Before James could read any more, he wiped his eyes, blurry with the tears that melted down his cheeks, unable to look at Ben.

“The only thing we can be certain of in life,” Ben said, “is death. Nothing we tell ourselves can ever change that. All we can do is treasure what little life we’re given.”

James took a deep, shaky breath, “Ben, I-” as he looked up, Ben had vanished and the book was gone.

James turned to the box of his mother’s possessions and there it was, on top of everything else.

He ran to it and opened it once more, wiping away the last of his tears.

“I’m so proud of James,” it read. James could almost hear his mother’s voice, “it feels like only yesterday he was learning how to say his first words. Now, he’s a university student and has just passed his first summative assessment. I love him so much and I will always love my darling boy.”

James looked at the mirror next to him, reflection hidden from view. He pulled off the cover.

“Ben?” Only his reflection stared back, reflecting his still figure. He felt himself doing something he hadn’t done in a long time, he smiled. Looking up, he said silently, “thank you.”

END

Only ~2 more hours of work and then I can go home, drink blueberry redbull and vodka, binge watch Supernatural and hope Jensen Ackles cheekbones are enough to save me from falling into a void of black despair.

Her Latest Flame Chapter 21: All Aboard

Previous Chapters

Sophie sees it coming. Right from the moment she sees Reagan’s number on her phone, to the minute she calls her back, eight hours later. Eight hours and thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds and yes, she counted them all and no, that doesn't make her weird and if you think that it does, she’s got two fucking words for you.

You’re probably right.

Alright… so three words. She never claimed to be good at math so just go ahead and fuck right off, OK, cause the math? So not the point.

The point is that she sees it coming like a mile away, like she’s staring it down even as she finds herself tied to the tracks, and that train is barreling on, coming closer and closer and no matter how much she struggles, no matter how hard she fights, those knots in the ropes are just too fucking tight.

Yeah, she knows it’s an odd metaphor, she gets that. But come on, maybe we ought to cut the girl a bit of slack. Just a few days ago she thought - so so so fucking wrongly - that she’d found someone she could love (OK, that part might have been right) and someone who could, maybe, love her back, if she just gave her enough time and enough… incentive.

Except now she knows that part was never going to be right cause there’s not enough time in all of eternity and as much incentive as she can give - and it's a lot - it’s never going to measure up to what she’d like to call the ‘memory’ or, really, the 'memories’, cause she’s absolutely sure that there’s a lot of them, but the problem with either of those is they’re both past tense and if there’s anything Sophie’s sure of now, it’s that that train that’s about to grind her up beneath its wheels?

Yeah, it’s anything but past.

Anything but past or over or done or… just pick your fucking term cause Sophie’s fresh out of vocabulary words for the day and if it weren’t for the Redbull portion of those five Redbulls and vodkas she put away last night, she’d be pretty much fresh out of damn near everything at this point, because, it should be noted, the whole 'thought I’d found the one' ridiculousness isn't all she’s had to deal with.

What else, you ask? Oh, you need a refresher?

Well, there was also the whole discovering her 'maybe’ one was Amy’s ’always’ one and then there was the whole having to confront her friend - best friend and, unless you count Lauren (and you really can’t because she's definitely Amy’s) or Reagan (do we need to spell that one out?) then best might also be synonymous with only and that’s a whole other heartbreak in and of itself - and, of course, there’s the whole punching said best (only) friend bit and then there’s the drunken night with Reagan that didn’t go the way Sophie’d imagined a drunken night with Reagan would go, like at all.

And that was before the talk with Farrah and the phone call with Reagan that took eight hours to get to but lasted less than eight minutes - cause, really, how long does it take to say 'we should talk’ and 'can you meet me’ and not say 'it’s you, it's always been you’ - and, truthfully, Sophie ought to be fucking commended for it being only five R+V’s.

So, yeah, she can be forgiven a mixed metaphor or two, but no matter how she phrases it, the point is always the same. That train’s coming and it’s coming for her (something Reagan never did and no, she’s not thinking about that right now, but it might have crossed her mind a time or two in between R+V #’s 1 and 5) and, if she’s being honest, the thing that really, truly, absolutely pisses her right the fuck off?

(Besides all of it)

It’s that, no matter how hard she tries - and she’s fucking tried - she can’t manage to see either Reagan or Amy as the evil mustache twirling villain what tied her to those tracks. Oh, make no mistake about it, she is the one on the tracks and they are safe on the train (maybe in different cars, at the moment, but come on, we all know that won't last) but Sophie can’t quite see them as wrong. Not for what they feel, at least.

What they did… well… it’s gonna take a few more R+V’s - like all the Redbull and most of the vodka in the fucking world - for her to not see that as wrong.

(And no, she’s not thinking about how right some parts of her - some stupidly thruple leaning parts - might see what they did.) (She hasn’t thought about that since R+V #3.)

(Not much, anyway.)

But Sophie can’t hate them for how they feel or for never getting over each other, and she can’t even hate them (much) for chugga chugga chugging their powerful locomotive of inevitable love right over her. When you find that, when you stumble your way into discovering the person that you can’t ever let go of - even when you’re holding on to someone else - that's exactly the kind of thing that you should fight for and you should refuse to let go and you shouldn't give even two tiny damns about anyone who gets between you and it.

Even when that 'anyone’ between you and it is your best (but not only cause Lauren and maybe not even best cause Karma, sort of, kinda, maybe) friend and roommate and you won’t be quite the same without her.

Sophie’s spent a lot of time lately - mostly sober time, but quite a bit of drunk too - wondering if she would have done something different in Amy’s place.

The fact that she’s never come up with an answer one way or the other just pisses her off more but it does explain why, really, all she can do is watch that train come (shut up) and hope that when it gets there, when the blow finally comes?

It comes quick.

(Oh, for fuck’s sake…)

And that and that other stupid fucking hope, that unspoken but not un-thought desperate prayer that maybe - just maybe - there will be something salvageable out of all this when it’s done - and 'it’s' totally means the breaking of the kinda already broken bits of her heart - is the only feasible explanation anyone would need for why she’s here, sitting in a diner, watching as Reagan slides down into the chair across from her and, more importantly, why she’s not angrily tossing a glass of water in her face and storming out the door in a huff.

Well… that last part might have something to do with R+V #1 and #2 and, yeah, #3 through #5 cause, really, Sophie doesn’t think she’s got a single 'huff’ in her.

The vodka is taking up all the room.

Still - and maybe it’s the Redbull - Sophie can’t quite bring herself to focus, to really listen, and so, when Reagan starts with 'Thanks for coming, I wasn’t sure you would’ she just wonders, for a second, just how many times she’s said that recently. There was a mention, in those less than eight minutes, of talking to Heather, so there’s one, for sure. And now there’s her, which makes two. And, yes, Sophie totally knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help her wandering mind, and it can’t stop wondering if Reagan said those same words to Amy.

Which, you know, totally defeats her whole 'not gonna think about them together’ plan - did she forget to mention that? - but, honestly, that was shot long ago, cause she’s been thinking pretty much of nothing but for damn near all of the last twenty-four hours, to the point of being sick of hearing herself, sick of thinking about it, of thinking about what Farrah said about it and, most of all, sick of trying (and failing) to consider all of the options she’s got about what to do about it.

And when she says 'all’ of the options she really means the few cause, let’s face it, there’s not that many choices for her here and none of them (not a single fucking one) are good and all of them (every single fucking one) involve someone getting hurt and yes, that someone is almost always her and yes, that is why none of them are good and why none of this is even kinda fair and yes, she ought to be paying attention to what Reagan’s saying to her but, truthfully?

Sophie’s just about used up her 'yes, I’m listening’ fucks and her 'I know you’re sorry’ fucks and her 'it’s OK, I get that you didn’t mean to hurt me’ (that came right after “I wasn’t sure you would” and just before "I’m sorry" and she’s not entirely sure that’s the order that they should have been in) and her 'of course I understand how it could just… happen’ (and parts of her really do, all the decidedly non heart parts) and her 'no, I don’t mean one single fucking word of what I’m saying and you can’t seriously think that I do’ fucks.

So, you know, basically all the fucks. Sophie’s just fresh out of fucks to give and fucks to feel and fucks to care. She’s utterly absolutely completely fuckless.

And yet…

Here she is.

She came when Reagan called and - Reagan’s 'not sure you would’ notwithstanding - there was never any doubt, and Sophie knew that, which is maybe why she held out for eight hours, trying to save what little dignity she had left. Like that ship hadn’t sailed long ago and yes, she knows it was a train before and now there’s a ship and she’s pretty sure, eventually, there’s gonna be a car too - cause, it’s planes, trains, and automobiles, motherfucker - but the transportation of her metaphors is, again, so not the point.

Though, at this point, Sophie’s not even sure what the point is other than wishing Reagan would hurry the fuck up and get to it and put her out of her Old fucking Yeller misery.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this,” Reagan says, right on time for Sophie to tune back out of her own head and into the conversation - one sided as it may be - and it's perfect timing cause that might be the first thing that Reagan’s said that she actually agrees with, seeing as how she knows all too well what that’s like.

Sophie’s been thinking about it a lot too. And by 'a lot’ she means pretty much all the thoughts all the time. Most of those thoughts, even the ones before the Redbull and the vodka, were of that one moment, of Reagan in the doorway with the phone clutched in her hand, and how it all suddenly made sense. Sophie keeps replaying that slow realization that washed over her, the dawning idea that of just who belonged to who.

Reagan was Amy's her - the nameless ex (and oh, who’s regretting Rule #6 now?) that she’s never quite put behind her (and oh, there’s an image) - and Amy was Reagan’s her, the one she said she was ready to forget though, in her defense, that’s easier to do when said 'her’ isn’t standing right in front of you.

Or, you know, laying next to you. Or on top of you. Or between your legs staring up at you as she slowly…

Fuck.

This is why she had that plan, that not think of them together plan and, honestly, this is why that plan never stood a snowball in Liam Booker’s Thunder Box’s chance of succeeding.

But, again, not the point.

This point Sophie does know though, cause it’s so fucking obvious. That realization, that slow and stumbling trip to Amy and Reagan and true love… it hurt. It hurt like hell, it hurt even more than that other, considerably faster realization, the dawning - sprinting - idea that they…

They… well… yeah. They… you know.

That one hit her like a fucking Mack truck (sort of a car, right?), crushing her on the spot. But it’s funny to her - like the way a shiv in your kidney or a bullet to the spleen or stepping on a Lego in the middle of the night is funny - that the 'you know’ wasn’t really the problem, that it wasn’t the pain.

Sophie knew she could compete with sex, even great sex and yes, she’s sure that any Reamy sex, even if it was just a hook up (and it so wasn’t), even if was just 'the feels’ without the feels would be great… no… AWESOME sex (and yes, all those caps are absolutely necessary) and maybe some of those thoughts about Reagan in the door and the phone and all the realizations might have drifted a bit sometimes (to Reagan and Amy, like that) or maybe just a bit more than a bit (thruple) (thruple that begins with her just watching cause… well, that’s just polite but then Amy - and it’s Amy every time - reaches out for her and then, well, it's game fucking on) but, eventually, all those thoughts come back to one simple equation that even her math challenged brain can compute.

It’s Amy for Reagan and Reagan for Amy and that 1+1 doesn’t = thruple. Not where it counts.

Maybe it would count in their bed, but not in their hearts and yup, there it is, there’s that shiv and that bullet and that fucking lego in the night (one of the big bricks, none of that tiny little two-hole shit) and so, yeah, she’s been thinking about it and yes, that’s yet another reason she shouldn’t be here, not that she really need any more of those.

That moment in the door was really the only one she’d ever need.

Or… you know… not. Cause here she fucking is and oh, wait… Reagan's still talking?

“It’s been about the only thing I’ve thought of,” Reagan says, and, what do you know, that gives them two whole things in common, and that’s two more than Sophie expected. “I’ve come at it from every angle,” Reagan says, “but I just can’t figure it, you know?”

Yeah. Sophie knows.

“It’s been keeping me up at night,” Reagan says and what was that Sophie thought about all her fucks to give? “I toss and turn,” she says, shaking her head, fingers drumming a steady beat on the tabletop. She’s nervous and she’s beating around the bush and she’s doing everything she can to do anything but get to the fucking point. “And I just end up laying there, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. I don’t know what to do or how I… did what I did.” Reagan stares down at her drumming fingers, and Sophie’s sure that’s mostly because that means no eye contact, as that’s apparently the one thing she can’t do. “Last night I was so mad and so… wrecked… so lost that I… cracked. I spent like hour just screaming and pounding my fists into the mattress.”

Sophie takes a sip of her water and wonders, briefly, if Reagan even realizes how close those descriptions of her torment come to matching Sophie’s imaginings of them together, what with the screaming and the fists and the mattress and all.

Though, in fairness, Sophie usually pictures Amy doing most of the screaming which is probably only because she’s, you know, actually heard that.

(Elsie)

(Rule 21: If it happens again, Amy will buy Sophie a pair of Beats headphones and don’t even play like you don’t know what 'it’ is, Raudenfeld.)

(They’re purple. Sophie’s Beats. Ironic, no?)

Sophie takes another sip of her water - drinks: the socially awkward’s perfect shield - trying to remember her plan. She’s not here to think about Amy and Reagan together or any ridiculous thrupleized version of Amy and Reagan and her. She’s here, she reminds herself, cause she’s hurt and mad and hurt and wronged and hurt and betrayed and did she mention hurt?

It bears fucking repeating.

And she’s here because she sees it coming - that damn train - and the quicker it gets here, the quicker it’s done and that’s one step closer to her figuring out just how much she’s really lost.

She’s afraid it’s going to be everything.

She's more afraid that it won’t be.

Sophie tries - stick to the fucking plan - but, in the end, she forgets that Reagan doesn’t know the plan and she’s sure as hell not sticking to it, not when she quits drumming, reaching across the table instead, one hand finding Sophie’s. And oh, will you look at that? Now she make eye contact, now she suddenly can’t look away, even if Sophie tries - and fails fucking miserably and what a shock that is, right? - to look at the table or the floor or the waitress with the really not all that great ass or, you know, anywhere that isn’t Reagan.

“Sophie? Look at me?”

She'd love to cause, well, Reagan. But when she looks at her, she sees them and she doesn’t feel like crying just yet.

Yet being the key word, she’s sure.

“Sophie, please.”

And oh, how this isn’t the context she imagined hearing that in.

“I know you don’t owe me a fucking thing,” Reagan says - and there’s thing number three they agree on - as she gently squeezes Sophie’s hand in hers. “But, please, just look at me?”

If there was ever any way she could have resisted (spoiler: there wasn’t), Sophie knows it flies right out the nearest window when she hears the pain and the pleading and the fucking anguish in Reagan’s voice. She may not have any fucks to give, but she’s still got a heart.

Battered as it is.

Sophie looks over at Reagan and she feels it. Everywhere. In her hand, still clutched atop the table. In her chest, as her heart thuds against her insides, feeling so much less broken which, really, only serves to break it more. And there, right fucking there, in those eyes, the ones that can’t and won’t look away, staring so deeply into her own.

Like they did that night.

I’m ready to forget.

And yeah, that’s a notion Sophie can fucking get behind.

But there’s no time for that cause Reagan… she’s already rolling again, and talking faster than Sophie has ever heard her, like she needs to get it out, like even though she's on the train, she can still see it coming too, and her knots…

They’re digging into her flesh and, if the tears suddenly welling in her eyes are any indication, they may well be drawing blood.

“There’s just no good way out,” Reagan says, and before Sophie can even process that, she’s already moving again, headed right into 'it’s a mess’ and 'it’s just so fucked up’ and, finally, into 'no matter what, someone’s going to get hurt’ and at that, Sophie finally does the smart and right thing and pulls back, retreating as best she can, pulling her hand free and dropping it down into her lap and looking away cause, well…

Duh.

She doesn’t say that, doesn’t even say that, you know, maybe there was a way around that, all the way back before Reagan’s thighs found their way around Amy’s head, again. And this time, thinking of that is only a pain in her heart and not a… feeling… down between her legs, and yes, Sophie realizes that’s probably a good sign.

Probably. Maybe. Most likely.

Of course it is. It’s a good sign, like a good indication that - fuck her dignity - she’s gonna crack and she’s gonna cry and soon she’s gonna run right out of the damn door, tears streaming down her face and then she’ll hit the wall, the cold and hard and wrecking realization that she’s got no one and nowhere to run to, even though she totally should.

Rule #27: When in doubt or need or pain, we go to each other. Always.

Fucking rules.

“Someone said something to me recently,” Reagan says, her hand still just sitting there, limp on the table and she says it like there’s a world in which Sophie can’t figure out that her 'someone’ is obviously Heather, but the bigger thing is: oh my God, she's still talking.

Sophie wants nothing more - has wanted nothing more for the entire fucking conversation - than for Reagan to get to the fucking point, to drop the damn hammer, to hit her with the 'I need Amy and I love Amy and I’m so sorry that it had to be you that paid for our perfect love cause it totally should have been Karma’ and be done with it. But, Reagan seems intent on dragging this shit out like a Walking Dead cliffhanger and Sophie can barely hold back a screaming 'just fucking say it already’.

“Amy runs,” Reagan says - and again, duh - “and that’s on her, but…” She finally pulls her hand back, folding them together in her lap. “All I’ve ever done is give her reasons to. Over and over, I’ve given her nothing but things to run from and that someone… Heather said that maybe it was time I gave her something to run to.”

As much as she feels that shiv twisting and that bullet breaking her skin and that fucking Lego shooting pain up her leg, Sophie feels something else even more.

Relief.

Finally, she thinks. It’s about time, she says to herself. Now she can get on with it, now she can deal with this new reality of Reagan and Amy and how she might fit into that, if she even does or even wants to.

The train’s finally come.

“And so that’s what I’m going to do,” Reagan says. “I"m going to give Amy something to run to.”

It’s the oddest thing, the way part of Sophie wants to just curl up and disappear at the very thought and part of her - a surprisingly big part - can only think that it’s about damn time.

And then Reagan is suddenly standing and it's her cheeks stained with tears and her hands trembling at her sides and it's her saying “I’m bowing out.”

Wait. What?

“I love her and I always will and I don’t know how to fucking stop but I know…” Reagan shakes her head - vehemently - as Sophie starts to rise and that freezes her in place, halfway between a stand and a sit. “But I know this is right. I’m gonna give her something to run to, the one thing I know she won’t run from.”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no.

“I’m giving her you.”

And then she’s gone - exit stage fucking what - and so, yeah, it does end with someone in tears and running and with no one and nowhere to go to except that it’s not the right someone, not the right someone at all. And Sophie’s left there and all she can think?

She so didn’t see that coming.

Ok Vodka helped team russia successfully survived QF in Montreal(it not worked good only for Melka), and now the question is what we will drink tonight for Larisa and team Romania QF? bc i only know about Romania wine called Feteasca :D

Heh, you're totally right, Feteasca will work just fine! Any wine works, tbh. I got me some Sauvignon Blanc, so I'll start on that for a lovely Romanian quals evening, and I'll save me the redbull for the morning lol

D&A is like Vodka and Redbull

My depression and anxiety when it comes together is a bit like vodka and redbull. It speeds my heart up, I get shakey and shifty, yet I feel numb and wobbly and I don’t care. I lose inhibition. Essentially vodka and redbull right?

I hate it. Having to explain how this feels to my partner. I feel cold, like the world is condensed into my room and I’ve traveled all there is to travel without seeing anything. Like the sun exploded and nothing is warm and light anymore. That I’m stuck with my legs to my chest. I feel cold and sad and like I’ve run out of body heat. I don’t want to move. Yet my hands shake, my heart races, I fidget and snap and my mind is a million miles an hour. Yet the thoughts are fast depressive thoughts. Not like long and drooling depressive thoughts. Its fast and forever changing and incredibly existential and have such impact. Like pegging a brick with all of your might at a delicate cushion every 5 milliseconds. It defies physics and hurts. so. much. 

All I want is that feeling of drinking coffee in winter but everywhere inside of me. I want to look out my window and know that there’s a world of possibilities and unseen things for me to discover in my long life. I want the tides to stop rising in my head. I want my brain to sleep. 

I like sleeping in bed with my partner when nights feel like this. His body heat compensates for my lack there of. He reminds me I’m not alone. His strong clutch on my torso relaxes me. Like I’m supported. His kissing my neck takes my focus from my head and its thoughts. He says “I will always love you. Lean on me. I’m here. Breathe”. Thank god.

But then I remember. How does this make him feel? His last girlfriend and him broke up because of the deteriorating effect her mental health had on them both. From what he told me, he did what he could for her, and lost himself in the process. I don’t want him to lose his self. He is precious and needs to be saved for someone who won’t drain him. I don’t want to drain him. I don’t mean to drain anyone.

What do you do when you can’t move? Do you just move anyway? How do you keep warm when you sleep alone? Just ignore it? How do you keep the thoughts in your head at bay? How do you stop them? When do they stop? Do I wait? Or is that wrong? Am I not being strong enough? Am I not even trying? For fuck sake I don’t want this. I want to love what I do in my life. I want to want to lay in my bed in the dark. I want to look forward to happy memories. I want all of this so badly but is it bad enough?

I read stories all the time of people who overcome this and how it was hard work and everything was a struggle. “You just have to want to it hard enough”. What about the people who can’t? What happened to them? Please, because I think that’ll be me and my V&R body. Leaving my partner withered away and me with my knees still to my chest.