#el is augustine

[mylittlevsoldier]

brb writing an essay about the folklore love triangle and byler and why theyre connected.

[garadinervi]

Tomm El-Saieh, Song and Dance, (acrylic on canvas), 2017-2018 [Luhring Augustine, New York, NY. © Tomm El-Saieh]

[rabbitcruiser]

Cinco de Mayo

Cinco de Mayo commemorates the Mexican victory at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862, during the Franco-Mexican War. The day is a minor, regional holiday in Mexico, being mainly celebrated in the state of Puebla where the city of Puebla is the capital. Military parades, speeches, and reenactments of the battle are held there. It is also celebrated in Veracruz and Mexico City, but in many other places of Mexico, May 5th is no different than any other day.

It is more widely celebrated in the United States, where it commemorates the battle, and celebrates Mexican culture and heritage. It is most celebrated in areas with large Mexican-American populations. The day began gaining popularity in the 1940s, during the beginnings of the Chicano movement. Mexican immigrants used the day to show their pride in their Mexican heritage. Awareness of the holiday was further raised in the 1960s by Chicano activists. Today it is celebrated by many in the country, regardless of their ethnic background. Parades, parties, and festivals are part of the day. These events usually include mariachi music, Mexican folk dancing, and traditional Mexican foods. The largest festivals in the country are held in Los Angeles, Chicago, and Houston.

Some have been critical of the day, saying it didn't have more widespread demographic appeal until it began being linked to Mexican alcoholic drinks. Some have also been critical of the day by saying it sometimes perpetuates negative stereotypes of Mexican people. The day has sometimes also been confused with Mexican Independence Day, which commemorates the call to arms against the Spanish, that took place on Sept 16, 1810. That day began being celebrated years before Cinco de Mayo.

The story of the Battle of Puebla deals with Mexico's war with France. In 1861, Benito Juárez became president of Mexico, at a time when the country was in trouble economically. They had defaulted on debts to France, Britain, and Spain, and those countries sent naval forces to Veracruz, Mexico, in an effort to retrieve their money. Britain and Spain worked out an agreement and withdrew. But France stayed, in an effort to seize back their money, and to create a French Empire in Mexican territory. France also wanted to limit the influence of the United States in the region. Although, during this time, the United States was preoccupied with the Civil War, giving France more of an opportunity to do as it pleased.

In late 1861, French forces landed at Veracruz and put Juárez and his government on the run. 6,000 French troops, under General Charles Latrille de Lorencez, planned an attack at Puebla de Los Ángeles, a town 80 miles southeast of Mexico City, and were optimistic about its outcome. Juárez was stationed just north of there and sent 2,000 (by some accounts 4,000) men to Puebla. Poorly supplied and outnumbered, they were led by General Ignacio Zaragoza. They fortified the town and got ready for French.

On May 5, 1862, the French attacked the town, and the battle lasted from morning until night. They lost between 500 to 1,000 soldiers, while Mexico lost less than 100. After the battle ended, the French retreated to the Gulf Coast. It was not a strategic win for Mexico but was a symbolic victory and morale booster. General Zaragoza died a few months later, and the town was renamed Puebla de Zaragoza. France's leader, Napoleon III, the nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte, installed Austrian Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian as emperor of Mexico in 1864. He was executed by Juárez's forces in 1867. France withdrew from Mexico the same year.

How to Observe

One way to celebrate the day is to eat traditional Mexican foods, or foods associated with Mexico, such as tacos, burritos, sopes, enchiladas, grilled corn, chips with salsa verde or guacamole, or mole poblano, which is an important food in Puebla. You could wash it all down with some margaritas. Mexican mariachi music or other Mexican music could be listened to, or you could do some Mexican folk dancing. Food, music, and dancing will likely be a part of any Cinco de Mayo festival or event, so it may be best to attend one! You could attend Los Angeles's Festival de Fiesta Broadway, the largest Cinco de Mayo event in the world (note: this Cinco de Mayo celebration is held in late April). Chicago and Houston are also known for large events. San Diego has various events, including a battle reenactment. The Cinco de Mayo festival in Chandler, Arizona, is known for its Chihuahua parades, races, and pageants. There are many smaller events taking place in cities and towns across the United States. Check to see what is taking place near where you live. In Puebla, there is a museum dedicated to the battle, and the battlefield is a park. A reenactment, replete with rifle and cannon shots, takes place in Puebla on the day, and it ends with a sword fight between the Mexican and French generals. No matter how you celebrate the day, make sure you are being culturally sensitive if you are not of Mexican or Mexican-American descent.

Source

[musicalchaos07]

By this time next week I will be Levi Stadium listening to this and thinking of them

[davidpotash]

Coffeeland: What's In Your Cup Of Java?

Augustine Sedgewick is an innovative thinker, a scholar with strong research skills and the ability to tell a story with big ideas. An historian who teaches at the City University of New York, Sedgewick’s award-winning book Coffeeland: One Man’s Dark Empire and the Making of Our Favorite Drug is a provocative, complex and fascinating work. It is accessible history, to be sure, and it offers…

[jesusjay-blog]

Qué clase de santo es san Agustín. El es mi primer santo patrón porque cuando yo tenía 6 años estaba estudiando en el Colegio san Agustín del Paraíso en Caracas, Venezuela. Nunca me hubiese imaginado cuánta admiración tengo por él. Bendito sea Señor!

[exoexid]

this is sooooooo

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[hawkjames]

untouchable.

Betty demorou a voltar para o hotel desde que James saiu disparado do jantar de ensaio, o que foi bom, já que deu a ele tempo para reagir e pensar nas coisas que tinham acontecido naquela noite desde a pausa para fumar no jardim. Ele até tentou tomar um banho para tirar Augustine de sua pele, de sua cabeça, e assim evitar problemas que até então não possuía, mas desistiu ao perceber que qualquer esforço era inútil e se entregou às lembranças e à série de análises que passou a fazer. O contexto atual dava àquele encontro outro significado que, talvez, há cinco anos não teria. Ou seria menos intenso. Fato é que, desde que percebeu que a ruiva estava espalhada por todo seu livro, James decidiu abandonar a ideia no papel, e deixar morar lá, em nenhum outro lugar, definitivamente não em seu coração. Mas, agora que a tinha encontrado, percebeu que havia mais do que estava escrito, que poderia reviver algo que achou que estava resolvido. Ele nem sabe que horas pegou no sono e a que conclusão chegou, mas as garrafinhas de uísque certamente ajudaram. Acordou no dia seguinte com Betty chamando seu nome e sacudindo seu ombro. "Você vai perder o café e vai me atrasar para o casamento." Enfureceu-se. Eles se falaram um pouco a partir daí, Betty o atualizou sobre todas as pessoas que encontrou, mas não se demorou nos relatos. Não que ele tenha se importado. Para James, só interessava o momento em que ela citaria Augustine de alguma forma, qualquer forma, para ter qualquer notícia que fosse, mas isso só aconteceu quando desceu com ele do carro na porta da igreja onde, muito facilmente, se via a figura da dama de honra junto de outras madrinhas. Sem mudar sua expressão, parecendo muito tranquila, Betty murmurou ao se apoiar no braço do marido, que estava de terno e gravata, cabelo ainda ligeiramente úmido do banho: "I know you talked to her last night. Please, don't embarrass me today in front of all these people. Oh, hi, Sasha!" A mulher já mudou o foco, acenando simpática para uma amiga, sem deixar James responder. Em resultado, intimidado pela surpresa da "bronca" da esposa, como se tivesse sido pego no flagra, ele evitou a todo custo colocar os olhos em Augustine. Mesmo quando Betty se descolou de seu braço e disse que ele podia entrar na sua frente e esperar por ela. Mesmo desejando, com o que percebeu ser ansiedade, contemplar o quão linda estava dentro daquele vestido.

[idollete]

Oioi Jujuu bom domingo pra ti mulherrr...

Tava aqui pensando... como seria a reação de Enzo, Kuku, Fernando Contigiani, Augustin Dellacorte... bando de homi gostoso🔥👀

Cenário: Leitora lobinha BR, tá querendo provar uma lingerie pra se sentir mais sexy e confiante.

Mas tava provando escondida do namorado.

Ela quer tentar algo fora da zona de conforto dela...

Ela tá de lingerie rendada azul claro (que fica muito bem nela) e veste um robe.

Aí os meninos chegam em casa, (banho tomado) depois de terem ido pro bar com resto dos meninos do elenco e tão morrendo de saudades ( tipo: "saudade da minha mulher") da leitora querem um dengo dela, colocar de no colo e encher ela de beijos.

A lobinha chama ele pelo nome quando ele chega no quarto e diz que queria mostrar uma coisa e pede pra ele não rir (ela tá mega tímida mas quer se sentir sexy e fazer surpresa)... pede para ele fechar os olhos e aí vai abrir o robe e aí o resto é contigo.

Como ele reagiriam? E o mais importante o que eles iriam fazer???

Tem dirty talk em espanhol, praise kinky, size kink (ela é menor que ele), muito beijos pra seduzir ela é provocação.

oiie, benzinho! tentei incluir tudo que você colocou, mas algumas coisas ficaram de fora, porque senão isso ficaria grande demais e o dirty talk em espanhol eu vou ficar te devendo, porque não sei falar espanhol skshslsnssjsha e não confio no google tradutor pra fazer o trabalho pra mim. also dirty talk em português lowkey pisa em qualquer outro

enzo:

ele estranha o seu pedido. te mede da cabeça aos pés tentando entender e é só quando você tira o robe que a expressão dele relaxa. de cara dá aquele sorrisinho de canto, cafajeste que só, até umedece os lábios e não tem pudor em admirar cada detalhe da lingerie. a risada é de quem não se acostumou com a tua beleza ainda, sempre se surpreende, não importa quantas vezes já tenha provado o teu corpo.

é brincalhão no começo, pergunta qual é a ocasião especial, te toca o calcanhar, porque não consegue ficar longe. "ay, nena...o que é que eu faço contigo, hein?", nem sabe por onde começar, na real. e quando você só balança os ombros, cheia de doce, pra dizer que ele pode fazer o que quiser. ah, aí é que ele dá um sorrisão mesmo, sorriso de homem que sabe que ganhou a noite. "o que eu quero, é?"

o enzo vai te cozinhar um tico, porque a primeira ação é pegar câmera que deixa na tua penteadeira, "tá tão bonitinha que eu quero lembrar de ti assim no futuro", enquanto ajeita a câmera e sem nem te olhar, concentrado demais, "principalmente quando você estiver longe demais e eu só ter as minhas mãos".

no sexo é o puro praise kink mesmo. te banha de elogios da cabeça aos pés. e por causa disso se mantém no tradicional mesmo, papai e mamãe, porque dessa forma ele pode admirar o teu rosto e o modo que o sutiã enfeita o seu torso. "você é a menina mais linda que eu já coloquei os olhos. e é só minha, a minha menina lindinha".

rola muuuuuito dumbification. se o enzo te põe pra sentar, você não aguenta, vai ficar chiando cheia de dengo, é demais pra ti. ele te dá um tapinha na bochecha quando seus movimentos perdem a força, quer a tua atenção, "no, no, bebé. não foi assim que eu te ensinei, foi? não, não foi. sei que fica tontinha sempre que leva pau, mas você sabe o que tem de fazer. então, tenta usar essa cabecinha vazia e faz o que o papai te ensinou". e ele é perverso, vai te manter por cima até você fica chorosa demais, o corpo tá pedindo pra ser destruído e só enzo consegue te dar isso. é aí que ele te imobiliza, as mãozinhas presas atrás das costas e a outra dele te apertando o pescoço e começa a te foder com vontade.

esteban:

já chega meio trocando as pernas e alegrinho (imagino que o kuku seja muito fraco pra álcool e fica bêbado só com umas cervejinhas), te chamando e dizendo que estava morrendo de saudades, que nunca mais quer sair sem você, que vocês vão passar o resto da madrugada de chamego.

fica sóbrio bem rapidinho quando te vê numa posição mais sugestiva, percebe o rubor nas bochechas e como a seda do robe desliza pela tua pele com facilidade ao revelar o conjunto. a expressão de quem queria carinho some pra dar lugar a uma outra que você conhece muito bem.

primeiro ele te come com os olhos. é completamente sem vergonha quando escara o detalhe da calcinha, se demorando de propósito, porque sabe que você se acanha com isso. chega até a ponta da cama e te chama pra perto, mas você não vai, faz charminho, ele quem tem que ir até você, oras. o problema é que esteban não tem cabeça para joguinhos quando quer foder. e ele realmente quer, no nível que nem se preocupa com as preliminares, só pensa em meter até o talo e esvaziar tudo dentro ti. é por isso que te pega pelos calcanhares, brusco, feito você fosse uma bonequinha. vai estapear a tua coxa na mesma intensidade, "quando eu mandar, você obedece, princesa. ou já esqueceu do nosso combinado?"

agora já não é mais suficiente só te comer. não, ele quer aproveitar. te manda ir até o meio do quarto, porque te quer de joelhos. escolheu o ponto certinho em que as suas costas ficam para o espelho e ele pode admirar a calcinha praticamente sumindo na sua bunda arrebitada. e quando você tá com o pau dele indo até a garganta, ele te mantém ali por alguns segundos. "como você é bonitinha...parece uma boneca mesmo, até quando tá com a boquinha cheia de pica, ainda consegue ser a garota mais linda do mundo".

o praise dele vem acompanhado de promessas, porque depois de ter esporrado no teu rostinho ele diz que "você foi tão boa pra mim. na verdade, sempre é. me fez essa surpresa, ficou toda pomposinha. sabe o que merece? só porque se arrumou toda assim, merece levar tanta pica até ficar com a buceta magoadinha".

fernando:

talvez ele seja um dos que mais gosta da surpresa, porque toca o ego, sabe? a ideia de que você se preparou pra ficar toda pimposinha pra ele. é todo o conjunto da sua atitude, da lingerie, do seu sorrisinho acanhado, o brilhinho nos olhos que só aparece quando você tá muito doidinha por ele. vai te encarar cheio de malícia e te come da cabeça aos pés mesmo, não tem vergonha nem de quando para na ponta da cama pra se ajeitar dentro da calça.

o praise é completamente sujo. porque ele faz questão de frisar o quão boazinha você é, mas que também é muito cadelinha, já que "colocou essa coisinha que nem te cobre direito, né, bebê? facinha assim pra meter" e ele consegue ser mais perverso, vai até o pé do teu ouvido pra perguntar se "tava querendo que eu te usasse de depósito de porra, é? por isso que ficou bonitinha assim pra mim? porque quer ficar entupida de mim?".

também faz a linha de quem não vai nem tirar a lingerie de ti, porque "já que você se arrumou toda princesinha assim, prometo que vou tentar não te bagunçar muito".

o que é a mais pura mentira, btw! o fernando fica tão drunk in love e dominado pelo tesão, que enquanto mete com força, vai acabar rasgando alguma parte da renda delicada e ele sequer vai ligar pra isso. provavelmente vai terminar de acabar com a peça e se você reclamar, ele te manda ficar caladinha, porque putinha não tem direito de choramingar, não.

tem um leve flerte com o mirror sex, porém é mais pro lado do exibicionismo que qualquer outra coisa. te põe no colo, miúda perto dele, faz questão de mostrar como as mãos engolem cada parte do seu corpo; cobre o pescoço, espreme os seios um no outro, aponta aquele lugarzinho no teu ventre que fica estufado sempre que ele te fode. diz que quer te ver direitinho e quer que você veja o quanto é linda também (sempre tem uma leve dose de romantismo com ele)

agustín della corte:

o della corte é muuuuuuito o tipinho que tem uma leve pane em situações assim, vai ter aquele momento à la edward cullen quando dá uma risadinha que é meio apaixonada, meio nervosa e cobrir o rosto com uma das mãos assim que abre os olhos pra te ver.

mas, nossa, ele enlouquece! fica babando mesmo. e nem se esforça pra esconder, porque vai te pedir pra ficar de pé na frente dele e aqui você precisa até vergar o pescoço para vê-lo melhor, se sente pequena com o jeito que o tronco musculoso parece de cobrir por completo. e quando as mãos te pegam pela cintura, então...o agustín te faz dar uma voltinha na frente dele, vai ser ousado e deixar um tapinha de nada na sua bunda e dizer que "você é a mulher mais gostosa que eu já tive o prazer de comer", faz uma gracinha também, e continua com um "ops, conhecer...", se fingindo de príncipe encantado.

vai querer uma boa mamada antes dos finalmente, mas a sugestão é de um 69, porque ele não conseguiria nunca resistir a ficar sem te sentir de alguma outra forma. não vai te despir por completo, vai deixar os acessórios que rodeiam as coxas e a cintura. ele gosta da ideia de que você está usando peças tão delicadas quando está prestes a ser fodida até perder os sentidos.

ah, porque é isso que o della corte faz! ele não vai ser tão romântico como é de costume. vai usar e abusar do manhandling para praticamente te fazer de bonequinha de foda nas mãos dele. é com um toque mais bruto que ele vai te levar ao máximo da sua flexibilidade, te põe com as pernas bem abertinhas, completamente vulgar e faminto no jeito que encara o pau dele entrando e saindo de ti.

em um certo ponto, penso que ele fica bem pussy drunk e perde o controle de tudo que está fazendo, vai te deixar bem na ponta da cama, ficar de pé, pois nessa posição ele consegue meter com ainda mais força. é automático o jeito que ele faz tudo isso, beira o irracional, de tão afoito que o della corte fica. vai foder até gozar. e é no pelo, já que ele esqueceu até a camisinha.

[longliveblackness]

Martin Luther King Jr. was Arrested 29 times for these so-called crimes. Here are just a few occasions when he was arrested and why:

January 26, 1956 — He was arrested in Montgomery, Alabama as part of a "Get Tough" campaign to intimidate the bus boycotters. Four days later, on January 30, his home was bombed.

March 22, 1956 — King, Rosa Parks and more than 100 others were arrested on charges of organizing the Montgomery Bus Boycott in protest of Parks' treatment.

September 3, 1958 — While attempting to attend the arraignment of a man accused of assaulting Abernathy, King is arrested outside Montgomery's Recorder's Court and charged with loitering. He is released a short time later on $100 bond.

September 5, 1958 — King was convicted of disobeying a police order and fined $14. He chooses to spend 14 days in jail, but is soon released when Police Commissioner Clyde Sellers pays his fine.

October 19, 1960 — He was arrested in Atlanta, Georgia during a sit-in while waiting to be served at a restaurant. He was sentenced to four months in jail, but after intervention by then presidential candidate John Kennedy and his brother Robert Kennedy, he was released.

May 4, 1961 — He was arrested in Albany, Georgia for obstructing the sidewalk and parading without a permit.

April 12, 1963 — He and Ralph Abernathy were arrested in Birmingham, Alabama for demonstrating without a permit.

During his time in jail, he he wrote what is now known as his historic "Letter from Birmingham Jail."

June 11, 1964 — He was arrested for protesting for the integration of public accommodations in St. Augustine, Florida.

February 2, 1965 — He was arrested in Selma, Alabama during a voting rights demonstration, but the demonstrations continued leading to demonstrators being beaten at the Pettus Bridge by state highway patrolmen and sheriff's deputies.

Legendary civil rights activist Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spent a night in the jail on a trespassing charge after he and others were arrested after they attempted to eat in the Monson Restaurant on June 11, 1964. The arrest was reported in The St. Augustine Record and is included in the state legislative committee's investigative report, "Racial & Civil Disorders in St. Augustine," February 1965.

•••

Martin Luther King Jr. fue arrestado 29 veces por estos supuestos “crímenes”. Estas son sólo algunas ocasiones en las que fue arrestado y el por qué:

26 de enero de 1956: Fue arrestado en Montgomery, Alabama, como parte de una campaña "Get Tough (Ponerse Firme)" para intimidar a los boicoteadores de autobuses. Cuatro días después, el 30 de enero, su casa fue bombardeada.

22 de marzo de 1956: King, Rosa Parks y más de 100 personas más fueron arrestados acusados ​​de organizar el boicot a los autobuses de Montgomery. Esto en protesta por el trato que recibió Parks.

3 de septiembre de 1958: Mientras intentaba asistir a la lectura de cargos de un hombre acusado de agredir a Abernathy, King es arrestado frente al Tribunal de Registro de Montgomery y acusado de holgazanería. Poco tiempo después fue liberado, luego de pagar una fianza de 100 dólares.

5 de septiembre de 1958: King fue declarado culpable de desobedecer una orden policial y multado con 14 dólares. Eligió pasar 14 días en la cárcel, pero pronto lo liberan luego de que el comisionado de policía Clyde Sellers pagara la multa.

19 de octubre de 1960: Fue arrestado en Atlanta, Georgia, durante una sentada mientras esperaba que lo atendieran en un restaurante. Fue sentenciado a cuatro meses de cárcel, pero tras la intervención del entonces candidato presidencial John Kennedy y su hermano Robert Kennedy, fue puesto en libertad.

4 de mayo de 1961: Fue arrestado en Albany, Georgia, por obstruir la acera y desfilar sin permiso.

12 de abril de 1963: Él y Ralph Abernathy fueron arrestados en Birmingham, Alabama, por realizar una protesta sin permiso.

Durante su estancia en la cárcel, escribió lo que ahora se conoce como su histórica "Carta desde la cárcel de Birmingham".

11 de junio de 1964: Fue arrestado por protestar por la integración de alojamientos públicos en St. Augustine, Florida.

2 de febrero de 1965: Fue arrestado en Selma, Alabama, durante una protesta por el derecho al voto, pero las protestas continuaron y los protestantes fueron golpeados en el puente Pettus por patrulleros de carreteras estatales y agentes del sheriff.

El legendario activista de derechos civiles, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., pasó una noche en la cárcel acusado de invasión de propiedad privada después de que él y otros fueran arrestados después de intentar comer en el restaurante Monson el 11 de junio de 1964. El arresto fue informado en el periódico The St. Augustine Record y está incluido en el informe de investigación del comité legislativo estatal, "Desórdenes Civiles y Raciales en St. Augustine", febrero de 1965.

[mylittlevsoldier]

I love making everything about byler and Taylor Swift's "folklore" (my favorite Taylor Swift album) In folklore, there is a love triangle between Betty, James and Augustine. And Taylor herself said that "Betty and James ended up together but he put her though it." But they willelmike love triangle goes a little bit differently.

How the folklore love triangle goes is, Betty and James were together and had a falling out (but didn't break up) Then, he went away for a summer and cheated on Betty with Augustine. And after that summer, James shows up at Betty's party and apoligizes, Betty ends up kissing him on her doorstep (in front of all her stupid friends) and start dating again. Eventually, they "end up together" But. this is where byler and El come in. How I think, Mike is James, Will is Betty and El is Augustine.

The folklore love triangle is a musical parallel to Mike's relationship with El and Mike. This is why:

Will has been with Mike from the start, just like Betty and James. While, yes, Mike and Will have never dated, they've been best friends since kidergarten (i think) and they've been friends the longest out of anyone else is the party. While they have also had several falling outs but Mike has always been the one, at Will's door, apoligizing to him and begging for forgivness.

Now it's time to talk about El. Don't get me wrong, I am not one of the bylers that hates El, I love her. BUT, she was and is Augustine. She hasn't been there (with Mike) as long as Will has. She's basically a disraction for Mike in a romantic sense. And, hear me out on this, I think Mike is basically using El as a shelid. To cover up his interilalized homophobia and so he dosen't get picked on, so he isn't a target.

Time for lyrics breakdowns! (I have alot of headcannons about these lyrics but I'll try to keep these as close to canon event as possible)

"i knew you" -cardigan

Like I said, Will has been there from the literal start and he knows Mike better than anyone. a n y o n e.

"a friend to all is a friend to none. chase to girls, lose the one." -cardigan

We all know Mike hates being or feeling alone, espically without Will. (See all of Season 1) And I think he knows that he loves Will (that he's in love with Will) but he's too scared to pursue Will because he might lose El or Will or both of them. Also, I do think Mike needs El but not as much as he needs Will.

"but i'd knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss. i'd knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs." -cardigan

(i can't help but sneak a hc in here but idk if it is bc i might be canon already) I think that Will has stayed up late at night, just thinking about why he likes Mike and how he's never going to like him back. Why does Mike have to linger in his thoughts?

"i'd knew you'd miss me wants the thrill expiered and you'd be standing in my front porch light." -cardigan

This lyric reminds me of the aftermath of the rain fight in season 3, where Mike (with Lucas) stood in the pouring rain and basically almost kicked down the door, begging Will for forgivness (and later rain though the dark fucking forest, still in the pouring rain, to find Will and make sure he was okay.)

"cause you were never mine." - august

El has to know about Mike and Will at this point. She isn't dumb. This is highlighted in the "You never say it" scene. She knows that Mike isn't loving her the way she wants/needs to be loved, but she knows that Mike loves Will the way he needs to be loved.

"i remember thinking i had you." -august

While I think El knows, I think this is a new(er) realization. I think this was as nesw as that "you don't say it" and airport scenes. And just a friendly reminder that Mike only said "I love you" to El with Will's encouragment.

"and say, meet me behind the mall. so much for summer love and saying us. 'cause you weren't mine to lose." -august

This entire lyric reminds me of season 3 elmike and the whole "I dump your ass" scene.

"betty, one time i was riding on my skatebaord when i passed your house, it's like i couldn't beathe." -betty

(another hc im sorry) i 1000 percent think that Mike would go back to the Byers' old house after they moved. And everytime he felt like he was gonna cry so hard he would throw up.

"the worst thing that i ever did, was what i did to you." -betty

We all know Mike regretted the whole "it's not my fault you dont like girls" thing. (y'know banging on his door, running though the woods. all the stuff i already brought up.) But he proably also lies awake at night after Will moved away, staring at the celing, thinking about what he said, replaying it in his head, wondering why he was such a bad fucking friend.

"slept next to her but, i dreamt of all sumer long." -betty

I definitly think that Mike realized his liked Will in season 3 but got back together with El and that's when he started using her as a sheild.

I love the folklore love triangle and willelmike. i even write a whole one shot about byler and the song betty. (ill proably post a poll abt that to see if yall wanna read it.) ive been wanting to write this for a while so thank you for reading! and let me know if i missed anything so i can add onto this. i love you! bye!

[garadinervi]

Tomm El-Saieh, Flon, (acrylic on canvas), 2020 [Luhring Augustine, New York, NY. © Tomm El-Saieh]

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐓𝐑𝐀 – FERMÍN LÓPEZ

summary. going clubbing doesn’t go as planned when your brother’s rival shows up to ruin the fun

warnings. fermín x paz!reader, f!oral, semi public s3x, fingering, & a cocky!fermín.

a/n. my brain worked overtime on this tbh. poor fran i completely slandered him in this. based off tra by bad gyal (catalan it girl)

the strobing lights were almost strong enough to blind you and half of the real madrid b squad. the dj seemed to be going through an existential crisis since he kept going back and forth between edm and reggaeton. you’re fortunate enough that he at least plays fiebre without remixing it or pausing it to try and drop a beat.

“joder.” your brother puffs clearly done with whoever he’s texting. (fuck.)

“is it the schedule?” you ask him wondering if this seasons schedule finally came out. it always got him worked up.

“no, this season seems like a good one. it’s just-” he sets his phone down before turning his head towards you.

“el boludo de agustin…” he takes a sip of his drink. he’s always been the most dramatic out of the two of you, clearly. (augustin’s dumbass.)

“nico, you already know that i’m not interested in him like that. he’s just my friend. ” you reassure him.

“no, i know and i don’t want to be an overbearing protective brother but mom would kill me if i let one of my teammates hurt you.” he sighs.

“nico i can take care of myself. don’t worry about me you’ve got a whole career ahead of you. focus on that instead.” you smile at him.

“i’m trying- joder” he scoffs again.

“now what?” you say concerned about the way his mood changed so quickly.

“look who just came in.” he nods towards the entrance.

you try to subtlety turn around but it’s almost impossible without doing a full 180 to see who your brother was talking about. your eyes immediately spot the three guys nico hated the most on the pitch. although out of all three of them only one stood out to you, fermín. you didn’t care for your brothers’ rivalries except for the one he had with the barcelona midfielder. not only did he bother nico but he bothered you as well. every time you were in barcelona he was always there with his annoying attitude.

“well, we are in their city.” you shrug trying to ignore their presence.

“there’s like a million other clubs here and out of all of them they arrive here it can’t be a coincidence.” he scoffs as if the three of the players had been following them.

“i’m not very fond of them either but you’re being ridiculous. we’re like ten minutes away from their training grounds i think it would be a coincidence that they’re here.” you explain logically.

“yeah what- you know what i’m just very stressed out about my whole nationality process right now. i’m gonna go get a drink. do you want anything?” he asks.

“no, it’s fine. just don’t indulge too much i do not want to take care of you again like in vigo.” you bring up the northern city into the conversation.

“you promised you wouldn’t bring that up again. that shit was so embarrassing.” he whines.

“i wasn’t the one who confessed their profound love for duki in his messages. i had to delete over ten voice notes of you singing, crying, and explaining why you’re better than emilia.” you burst out laughing.

“whatever, i’ll see you later.” he walked off.

you watched as your brother walked away either to find someone to flirt with or get another drink. he was the social sibling always outgoing and making friends as soon as he joined a new team. your house would always be full of people you hardly even knew. so you were surprised when his distaste for fermín began, your brother never held grudges. but then you met the devil himself and you realized why your brother disliked him.

he was arrogant, a total egomaniac, and an asshole. you remembered how nice he was to you when he first met you outside the stadium but as soon as he realized who’s sister you were he was always taunting you. you knew how serious rivalries were but you didn’t think it was that deep.

“hope your brother enjoyed my goal from the bench.” a voice interrupted your thoughts.

you look up to find him sitting in front of you replacing your brother. you’re studying his features when the chain around his neck distracts you. a cross. yet, he was somehow the worst person you knew. meanwhile, a smirk grows on his face as time passes and he realizes you’re not in a rush to get him to leave.

“milking a friendly today, are we?” you tease him.

“a friendly your brother spent at the bench the whole night.” he smirks.

“i’m starting to think you have a crush on my brother.” you laugh at him. “which probably explains why you always stalk my story every time we’re in town.”

“what are you talking about?” he scoffs at the accusation.

“felopez03? could you make it more obvious?” you manage to embarrass the barça player.

you had lied to your brother earlier. every time the two of you ran into fermín it was never a coincidence. you had debated on telling your brother about his secret admirer but quite frankly you loved the attention. you knew he always watched your stories when you were in town so you took advantage of that. posting pictures of yourself in short dresses, bikinis, and including some where the only thing covering your breasts were your hands. he always seemed to like those anyways.

“lópez is an extremely common last name.” he simply replies.

“good night fer.” you stood up and picked up your things.

“if you’re going to go like for your brother you won’t find him. saw him leave with a girl who looked very familiar. i think-” he paused debating on whether he should say what he was thinking. “i think i must’ve slept with her as well.”

you simply roll your eyes not wanting to be the victim of his ego. you check your phone and surely enough there’s a message from your brother. you can’t believe he’s left you alone with his teammates and the egomaniac to get laid.

nico 🐣: don’t wait up on me fran will take you home.

y/n: you left me alone to get laid? i hope she bites your dick off.

you shove your phone into your bag and begin looking around for fran. you spot the defender near the bar with a few of his teammates. you’ve avoided him for almost a month and the last thing you wanted tonight was to talk to him. the barça player seems to notice that too because as soon as you start walking towards fran he steps in front of you. you try to push him out of the way but he’s too strong.

“fer-” you sigh exhausted at his antics.

it all happens in a quick blur one minute you’re trying to shove fermin out of the way and the next you’re completely drenched in vodka. you’re not even sure how it happens but the girl in front of you is currently rambling about how sorry she was. you were a bit annoyed that the top you had just bought was now ruined but you could always borrow your brother’s card again.

“it’s okay. it’s fine don’t worry.” you try to calm her down because somehow she’s more upset about the situation than you are.

as soon as she leaves you head towards the bathroom hoping to dry off your shirt. you don’t realize that fermín has followed you into the bathroom until he shuts the door.

“what are you doing here?” you scoff.

“she spilled half of her drink on me too. must’ve tripped or something.” he murmured.

“and you came to dry your shirt in the women’s restroom?” you ask dumbfounded.

“well i can’t exact leave you alone in a bar full of strangers.” he shrugs.

“i know more than half of the people here.” you complain.

“yeah and they’re not exactly looking out for you. nico asked fran to take care of you and as far as i know he hasn’t come looking for you yet.” he bites back.

you murmur a quick ‘whatever’ before focusing on your top again. it’s completely wet from top to bottom so you have no other option but to take it off. you completely forget about fermín’s presence when you start walking around the restroom with your black lace bra and mini skirt. fermín tries his best to look away, to be respectful for once but you leave him in a trance. the view you give him is all too much and he decides to do something about it.

“here. it’s almost dry anyways.” he takes his shirt off and offers it to you.

your eyes linger on his toned body for too long you practically have to force yourself to look away. the dirty blonde finds himself smirking at your reaction. he walks closer to you hoping you’ll accept his peace offering. it begins to drive him mad how beautiful you look you in your current state. if he hadn’t been such a prick to you for the last couple of years maybe it’d be him taking you home and not fran. besides fran wouldn’t know what to do with all that.

you look at him again and throw your inhibitions out the window. your brother is the one who hates him on and off the pitch but not you. maybe just on the pitch but right now you were in a club bathroom without tops on. if your brother could have fun why couldn’t you?

“fer?” you turn around to look at him directly.

“hmm?” he puts his arm down realizing you won’t take his shirt.

“do you think i’m pretty?” you bat your eyelashes innocently.

he pauses not knowing how to respond. of course you looked pretty but he couldn’t exactly say that out loud. not if he wanted to keep up with the banter the two of you had. it would ruin the dynamic.

“it’s fine you don’t have to answer i’ll just go and ask fran.” you fake being upset and head for the door before fermín steps in front of you again.

“you can’t go out like that.” he panics.

“why? don’t you like my bra?” you tease him.

“joder tía pero tú estás loca.” he sighs frustrated. (fuck, you’re crazy.)

“i mean you’re the one who’s been liking all my stories. especially the ones where i leave little to the imagination.” you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra letting it hit the floor. you’re too far gone now. “you seem to really likes the ones where my breasts are showing though.”

he bites his lips trying to avoid his eyes from wondering. he can practically feel his pants getting tighter the closer you got to him. it was as if the room got smaller and ten times hotter. he’d always been so cocky with his hookups but you somehow made him lose his confidence. but then you said someone else’s name and he suddenly gained his ego back.

“do you think if i asked fran to fuck me he’d say yes?” was the question that threw him off.

his demeanor changed in an instant and suddenly he needed you right there in that bathroom. he knew you were probably just teasing him but he wasn’t going to lose you, not to fran at least.

“he’d probably finish in his pant just by seeing your tits and you’d go home upset.” you didn’t realize how much little space was left between the two of you until you saw both his arms on the sink. you were stuck between the sink and his shirtless body. “he’ll never satisfy you.”

“and you would?” you test his patience.

his hand finds its way onto your thigh and you realize you’ve finally gotten what you wanted. as your breath hitches his hand trails up and the look on his face proved he wanted this as much as you did. he pauses once he gets to your clothed core and looks up at you. you realize he’s asking for permission. you trail your hand down your body to where his hand is and carefully move your panties to the side.

“joder.” he groans at the sight. this is definitely not how he expected his night to go.

“fer.” you whine wanting him to touch you already.

his hands creeps up your throat you can feel his fingers getting closer to your lips. you know what he wants you to do so you open your mouth taking in two of his fingers. he watches intently as you suck on them making them wet enough to enter you. he takes a mental screenshot of you not wanting to forget about this moment. when you finally stop he places his fingers on your thigh again, teasing you. he’s gotten his ego back.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he can feel the blood rushing to his dick as you you spread your legs for him.

you want to tell him to shut up and hurry up due to how needy you are but he finally drags his fingers over your core. a wave of pleasure rings through your body as he finally touches you. he circles your clit before dragging his fingers down to where you needed him the most. he enters you with one finger first thrusting it slowly letting you adjust. the room is filled with your incoherent moans and your acrylics dig into his free hand.

“oh, fuck.” is all you can say as he enters his second finger.

his thrusts begin to gain momentum as he sees how much you’re enjoying it. the feeling of having your walls squeeze his fingers is so surreal and he can’t resist the urge of reaching up to kiss you. the first kiss is long and sweet but as soon as you start kissing him back it gets heated. soon the kisses become short and needy and you can barely breathe between them. he grabs you by the hair pulling it to get better access to your neck and the pain turns into pleasure as he curls his fingers inside of you.

fermín expects you to tell him to not leave marks but you can’t help but want him to bite down on your neck. he leaves short peppered kisses on your neck before sucking and biting making sure that tomorrow you’ll have to hide your neck from your brother. he hears you panting and knows you’re getting close to coming undone. your hands run through his hair tugging on the strands as you get closer to your high.

and then suddenly you feel empty. his fingers are no longer thrusting inside of you and he pulls away from your lips. you’re about to yell at him when he kneels down in front of you and your eyes go wide. he spreads your legs further apart placing one on each shoulder. you can feel his breathe on your core and you’re not exactly sure you’re ready for what’s to happen. one lick is enough to make your head go back and your legs tremble.

his hold on your thighs get stronger and he dived in deeper. you pull on his hair harder each time he gets closer to your hole, clearly teasing you. he sucks on your clit and that’s enough to have you screaming out of pleasure. your moans are enough to raise his confidence and he brings his fingers back and enters you once again. his tongue and fingers are too much, he’s overstimulating you. you can feel your high approaching once again. this time he doesn’t stop he keeps going. he wants to see you reach your high.

“gonna cum all over my fingers?” he teases.

“fuck, yes.” you gasp barely having the strength to speak properly.

he somehow manages to go faster and you know you’re only a couple of thrusts away from cumming. then he adds in another finger and you’re a moaning mess. your juices squirt all over his fingers and pulls them out of you. he drags your fingers back towards your lips and you grant him access again. you lick them tasting yourself before he kisses you again. it’s a slow sensual kiss and then it happens you spot something moving in the background from the corner of your eye.

“fran.” you gasp at the sight of your brother teammates standing in the back shocked at the scene he walked into.

“what?” fermín pulls away confused at the sudden burst of fran’s name. that’s when he spots fran in the mirror and instead of being ashamed he can’t help but smirk.

that is until you push him off of you and fix yourself. you grab fermín’s shirt without a second thought and fix your skirt embarrassed about being caught and by fran of all people. fran’s disappointment is visible but you really don’t care about his feelings at the moment but rather about whether or not he’ll tell your brother.

“my shirt!” fermín yells.

“you’re a man you can walk around without a shirt.” you say as you get your purse from the sink.

fran walks out not wanting to witness more of what he’s already seen. you have no choice but to follow him since he was your designated driver for the night. but once again fermín steps in front of you and stops you from leaving. he leans down and kisses you and you can’t help but kiss him back.

“next time leave the bodyguard at home.” is all he tells you before stepping aside letting you leave.

that night you fell asleep in his shirt. you’re definitely looking forward to the next game your brother has in barcelona.

[musicalchaos07]

Asking the Duffers to drop s5 sooner so I can make the Byler edit to Betty

[augiebrown]

snow on the beach: flashback.

Os pais de Augie haviam liberado seu toque de recolher naquela noite, como vinham fazendo na última semana em que ela vinha passando tempo com James Hawk. Ela entendeu que eles haviam gostado de James, um garoto educado e bonito. Augustine não havia achado nem um pouco ruim, considerando que isso significava ter mais tempo ao lado dele. E ela vinha gostando muito de estar ao lado dele. Começava a sentir medo de que sua paixãozinha poderia não ser retribuída, sim, mas preferia sua amizade do que nada. Estava sentada ao lado dele em um tronco, próximos à fogueira, enquanto vários outros adolescentes riam e brincavam por ali. Augustine viu um casal aos beijos no tronco ao lado e se sentiu grata por ter o fogo como desculpa pelas bochechas vermelhas. "Fifteen thousand dollars." Ela disse de repente, dando continuidade na brincadeira de mais cedo na qual discutiam por quanto dinheiro entrariam nus no mar, com toda aquela gente por perto. "É minha oferta final." Brincou, como se tivesse aquele dinheiro.