#hot girls have grammatical errors every other sentence

[purdledooturt]

songs to break your back to (respectfully)

Ignore the title - this is my first attempt at writing smut and I'm just snowballing ideas at the moment for a multi-chapter fic I want to write. There is a bit of context missing to this, but take it as PWP for the time being.

I did write this with old Heisy in mind, but realistically you can probably sub in anyone else - it's not like I go into detail describing him, but he does get mentioned by name every once in a while.

Uh. This is written in second person POV (self-indulgent). There is daddy-kink (which is abandoned midway), and a breeding-kink (which the reader questions themself about). Please practice safe sex, I'm begging you - condoms do prevent more than just pregnancies.

I wrote the entirety of this on my phone, because apparently the Notes app just gets them creative juices flowing. Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors - I tried really hard to keep my tenses straight. Trying to copy and paste from Word to tumblr is a pain - sorry for any formatting mishaps as well.

I hope this is as hot as the stories that inspired it.

❤

You never quite understood ‘backbreaking’ until you met Karl Heisenberg.

Not until you found yourself laying prone on the bed that you swear is the epicentre of a magnitude 7 earthquake, with his delicious weight on your thighs, pounding into you like there was no tomorrow. You can’t match his pace, no matter how hard you tried. You are nothing but a doll made to be used. He has such a firm grip on your hips you swear you’ll be bruised for weeks, and his breath comes out in pants that made you wetter with every sound. At one point he gathered your hair like reins and force you to arch your back, but his ministrations have made your arms weak and unable to hold you up for long. Mercifully, he let you go, but you committed the action to your memory, to ask him to try again later, in a different position.

You can do nothing but lay there as he fucked noises out of you — your knuckles have cramped closed gripping on the sheets like a lifeline but he refused to let up. You’ve tried to hold your head up but could barely manage, as every thrust knocked you back down again.

Simply put, he was a man starved, and you were all too happy to provide.

He leans down on you, slowing to a roll. He grabs at your hair at the nape of your neck and twists your head sideways as he gives the corner of your mouth a breathy lick, and you moan at the intimacy of it. You try to catch his tongue with yours. “You like that?” He asks, tucking his lips close to your ear in a growl, “your cunt just gave me a little squeeze.”

You try to nod, but he keeps your head still, continuing with his slowed assault of your poor, bruised cunt. What he now lacked in speed he made up for with raw force. “Yes,” you gasp out when he hummed.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

He moans, leaning his head against the back of your right shoulder blade as he gave you a particularly hard thrust to punctuate the erotic sentence he was writing. “Good girl,” you hear him mutter, as he pulls back upright. You feel him spread your ass cheeks to get a better look at where you’re joined. He massages the flesh as he does so, “look how well you take me.”

You look at him over your shoulder, throwing your hair out of the way. All the other guys you’d been with always loved this angle and Karl was not immune. He slows to a halt, raising an eyebrow at you. You muster up your best innocent smile, batting your lashes at him. “Thank you, daddy,” you say, and he rolls his eyes at you with a shake of his head. He gives your ass a slap. The move didn’t have the effect you wanted but you didn’t mind — you love that he called you out on the cheesiness of it. You laugh.

He gasps, pulling out of you roughly. He is crouched over your legs, breathing heavy and giving you an amused and lopsided smile. “Geez, buttercup — warn a guy, won’t you?”

You roll over quickly — surely he hasn’t…? “What’s wrong?”

“Fucking vice grip,” he mutters as he crawls back over you, retaking his position between your legs. You can feel a slight burn in your thighs as you spread your legs wider than you’re used to in order to accommodate him, but the burn only adds to the excitement of it all. You watch him hook one of your legs up with his, in a move that got your brain short circuiting. “When you giggled.”

“Sorry?”

He takes his cock in hand, giving it slow strokes. “Don’t be,” he says, as he holds the base and slaps the head against your clit. You jump at the motion, and he chuckles. God — the sound of his chuckle, in the situation, is somehow hotter than the grunts and pants and dirty talking. You’ve never had so much fun during sex before, often feeling more like there was a role you were meant to play and you were gunning for best performance. “Was good.”

He rubs the head of his cock up and down against your dripping, slick slit, teasing you with a knowing grin that looked a little sharper than what you’re used to. Occasionally the head catches on your entrance and threatens to slip, but he coaxes it out to continue the slow teasing. He’s using your wetness to lubricate himself. You whine and try to wiggle to catch him but he is far too good at anticipating your moves. 

Finally, when he’s had enough, he keeps his eyes on you as he slides back in, slowly and tantalisingly. You moan as you are filled again, and your walls are stretched around his thick cock. As he bottoms out in you with a low groan, your eyes flutter close and your head tilts back. Your legs jerk — your knees dig as best as they could to his sides, and your ankles try to find each other behind him. Your left hand finds his thigh, nails digging in to the bulk of his muscle, not to push him but to anchor yourself before you float away. “So big,” you gasp out, as your lower back lifts off the bed, and he takes the opportunity to slide his arm underneath to support you, providing you with a lovely, lovely angle. With his other arm, he supports himself, leaning over you.

Given his height, he is bent over you, caging you. The idea excites you, and makes you feel oddly safe. Protected. You’ll unpack what this means later. He presses his forehead against yours. “Only the best for my baby girl.”

Your eyes flutter back open and you giggle once again, and he groans at the action but stays in you. Your right hand finds his cheek, and you cup it with a gentle smile as you give him an Eskimo kiss. You take the moment to catch his lips in a quick, cheeky kiss, which he smiles into, returning the gesture with his own light kiss back. It was a quick, tender moment, like the eye of a storm passing over and enveloping you in a peaceful silence. Slowly, he rolls his hips and the dance begins again, but this time you are more familiar with the steps as you push back. For such a well built man, Karl is so fluid, and you were enamoured with the way he moves, looking down between your bodies and watching him undulate.

Your hands travel to the base of his ribcage, sliding over his wide chest, scratching upwards before you wrap your arms around his neck. Your breaths mingle as you keep your foreheads connected, staring deep into each other’s eyes. His pupils are blown wide, and your eyes flicker between his steely greys. It hardly registers in your head that he is asking you if you’re liking it, and your mind is blank as you agree, your voice disembodied and far away: Yes. Yes. Keep going, please. Harder, please, please, please —

He’s slowly building up to his brutal pace again, and like a roller coaster your core tightens in anticipation of the heights you’re about to be taken to. He slams into you, over and over, until the room is filled with the obscene noises of your slick union and the sound of skin slapping against skin, mingled with your panting and the punctuated gasps he thrusts out of you. He breaks eye contact when he nudges your head to the side to start whispering praises in your ear — oh, how tight you are. How well you take him. How your cunt was made for his cock, and how he was going to absolutely ruin you. You feel the familiar ache in your lower belly — you’re close. So, so close. And you can’t get enough of him, grasping at what you can with clawing hands and desperate legs. Like a mantra you plead, fervently praying to the shrine you built in your mind for this man you met while on this whirlwind holiday.

The angle at which he holds you has you seeing stars soon enough — he continually hits a spot that makes you spasm, and he grins proudly. “That good?” He asks, as you come down from the soundless scream from your climax. He hardly slowed to accomodate you and let you ride out your release.

"Oh, yeah,” you reply mindlessly, voice hoarse, and as revenge for his cockiness you let out a breathless giggle, followed by a kegel.

“Little bitch,” he swears, but there is no venom at all. He sounds so amused, so enamoured. Like he was having so much fun, too.

You poke your tongue out at him, scrunching your nose in the process. You were feeling carefree and playful in his presence. The arm that was supporting your back slides out from under you, and he uses his hand to grasp your face roughly, his thumb on your cheek and the rest of his hand wrapped across your neck and around your jaw, locking you in place. He takes the opportunity to lick your from your chin to your lips. You stick your tongue out again, less playful now and more desperate. He sucks on your tongue to punish you. He pulls away but you remain connected with a thin trail of saliva. His hips never slow. Oh God — everything he does is hot.

He’s made you cum at least four times since the night started and as much as you enjoy the treatment you were hitting your limit. You notice his pace stutter — he was close, and chasing the high he’s put you on four times tonight. He starts roughly pawing and kneading at your tit. You cover his hand with one of you own, squeezing along. Your other hand takes care of what he couldn’t. You try to encourage him.

“Karl—“

“Where do you want me?” He asks, sounding breathless and strained, and in a moment of sheer stupidity and fuckdrunk horniness, you gawk at him.

“Inside. Oh, god — inside.”

He groans, his head buried now in the crook of your neck. The hand that was massaging you is now on the bed, and he has now enveloped you. His lips are at your collarbone, leaving ghost kisses with his breath. He alternates between biting what he can reach and muttering “oh, baby” and “please” over and over.

“Fuck,” he pushes himself up slightly and catches your ear again, licking the shell of it. He growls, the timbre of his voice sending a shock down your spine all the way to your tailbone. “You horny little bitch. I’m going to fucking fill you until you’re dripping. I’m going to fucking breed you.”

You moan. ‘Do I have a breeding kink?’, you wonder. Who fucking knows. Who fucking cares? Your mind is blank, and you damn the consequences, begging senselessly.

He moans and stills to a jittery stop after a final hard push, and you can feel the heat of his release inside you. He pauses, his breathing intense. “Fuck. Holy fuck.”

"Holy shit,” was your reply, and he is catching his breath as he pulls out of you. You shift to lean on your elbows, keeping him in your sight as he gets up. He stands at the foot of the bed, taking deep breaths to fill his lungs not unlike an athlete who has just finished their event, and you do the same, involuntarily trying to match his breathing. You watch as he steps away, disappearing into the ensuite. You can feel his spend start dripping towards your ass, and without the added weight of him on your pelvis you take stock of the state of your body more clearly, and you swear you’ve broken something, somehow. As his figure reappears, you declare, “I’m going to keep you.”

He laughs as he approaches with a small towel. He begins to wipe your thighs with the damp cloth with a gentleness that was the stark opposite of the assault he’d mounted against your body previously. God — he helps with clean up too? Heaven help you. “Are you?” He croons.

“Are you kidding?” You ask, as you sit upright with weak, shaky arms and take the towel from him with a smile and a bright ‘thank you’, taking over the wiping. You watch as he wanders over to the kitchenette, still fully nude, now to grab two glasses of water. You could marry him for this alone. “Where have you been all my fucking life?”

He gulps down his drink. “Romania.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“That good, huh?” He asks, with a wolfish grin, as he passes you a glass of water and he sits at the bed again with his back to you.  He leans with his elbows on his knees.

You shuffle towards him on your knees, making the bed springs complain. He tilts his head towards you. With your free hand, you brush his hair behind one ear, parting the curtain which hid his face from view. You place your chin on his shoulder and beam. “That good. I think you’ve pulverised my pelvis but give me a few hours and I can go again.”

He throws his head back in a rakish laugh, and you find yourself wishing you could bottle the sound. He’s rearranged your insides, surely — you’ve never felt so many butterflies in your stomach before. You wrap your left arm around his waist, sliding over to the edge of the bed to sit to his right. You spill a bit of water as you move.

“God, I could use a smoke right now.”

“I have never once smoked in my life,” you reveal, unsure of why you couldn’t seem to stop your mouth from running, “but I could also use a smoke right now, too.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, and the two of you are oddly tender and soft in the afterglow. You knew of happy drunks — you didn’t realise something similar could apply to this. You were feeling… cuddly. Your cheeks hurt from beaming. “Have I reset your programming? You’re doing wonders to my damn ego, buttercup.”

You take a sip of the water and let silence fall over you. Suddenly the weight of exhaustion bears down on your shoulders, heavy and cloying. You yawn.

“Go wash up,” he says, giving you a slight shove with the arm still wrapped around you. “Don’t want you getting an infection.”

Romantic — not. But very caring. Karl Heisenberg was ticking the boxes swiftly and convincingly, getting closer and closer to your idea of perfection. A voice in your head chastises you for the irrationality of your thoughts, chastises you for hearing wedding bells after three fun-filled days and one passionate night together. Sure, it was out of character, but then again you’d never had anyone fuck your brains out like he just did. “Yes, yes,” you bat his concerns away with a wave of your hand. You try to stand but find your legs stiff and uncooperative. You’re like a newborn foal.

“You sure you only need a few hours to recover?”

You flip him off as you hobble to the ensuite, and he lets out another laugh, flopping on to the bed as he does so. You turn your attention back to your own care, and wash up as you normally do.

You hobble towards your suitcase to look for new underwear. You’ll forgo the sleep shirt tonight, wanting to feel your partner’s skin.

You look up to find him watching you, pillows propped up behind him as he leaned against the headboard. There is something missing in the picture — a cigar. He strikes you as a cigar person. “You need help?”

“No; thank you though,” you say, as you pull your underwear on. You wander back to the bed and take the free spot, sliding into the covers.

“Do you need me to get you anything for the, uh…” he’s at a loss for words for once. Your eyebrows rise as you try to decode what he’s trying to say. “Well, I’m not really keen on little Karls running around, despite what I said.”

“All good,” you say, as you reach to the inside of your left forearm, feeling around for the familiar stick that is your birth control implant. You pinch the ends of it to make it stick out, and he observes it closer. “Birth control.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

You pull the covers up to your chin. You turn to lay on your side to watch him. He brushes your hair back.

“How long is a few hours?” He teases. You slap his hand away, and with an exaggerated huff you turn away from him, and the pettiness of it all makes him laugh. It makes you laugh too, unable to maintain the facade. “Goodnight, doll.”

“Goodnight. Don’t disappear on me or I’ll hunt you down.”

You fall asleep to the sound of his laughter.

[davinkis-penis]

The Record Store.

   Hiya! This is my first fanfic- like ever. So there's a shit ton of mistakes! *also this was originally supposed to be a few head cannons until I got carried away lololol and I'm typing this on 0 hrs of sleep bby send God*

CANON COMPLIANT // ONESHOT // MENTIONS EDDISY //

1760 WORDS

Synopsis: Wayne and Eddie Munson Being the Buds That We Never Got in the Show so We Have to Make it Up Ourselves™

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When Eddie first starts living with Wayne, the record store is sort of like a bonding experience? Wayne isn't the most affectionate and doesn't really know how to communicate with the kid now that he's responsible for him. Yeah, he's seen him a few times but Eddie's Dad was always doing stupid shit and Wayne didn't want to get wrapped up in that- So, he takes Eddie to the record store because before everything went to shit, that was where him and his super-cool big brother used to hang out to get away from whatever was going on at home.

The record store became a ritual- they’d go one day at the end of the month, order pizza, come home and listen while merged with the couch- staring blankly at the ceiling. They usually picked out something together, but one day Eddie was dead-set on this brand spanking new Agents of Fortune album by Blue Oyster Cult- Wayne thought the band name was weird- but he'd never seen Eddie so adamant, so he caved. They get home with the record and it. never. stopped. playing. Over…and...over...and over. Wayne prayed it would just stop. Every lyric from that album was forever ingrained in his head. But Eddie was just so damn happy- he'd hop off the school bus and bust through the door just to put that record on the player in that cramped bedroom hall.

Wayne didn't understand how he wasn't sick of it. Until he came back from the plant one morning, and found Eddie sprawled over his old beat-up acoustic that came from his grandfather, Eddie's Great-Grandfather, who was a pretty good player himself. That thing had cracks, scratches, water damage, you name it- the strings were so damn old Wayne was surprised they didn't all snap off with Eddie's strenuous playing. Which was pretty obvious from the kid's bleeding and bruised fingertips. Wayne wondered how long he spent, trying to go over the riffs, listening to where the notes cut off, which note played where, playing the record back, trying to move fast enough to keep up- Wayne knew a few chords but never could fully get it. The musician gene skipped him, but maybe it didn't skip Eddie. Wayne learned to embrace the never-ending record playbacks. A rare grin appeared on his face as he heard his nephew progress in the skill.

A few years down the line, Wayne would listen to Eddie's band play at the middle school talent show- He had never been prouder. He didn't know how to show it then but now- he wished he would've ran around and danced like that little cheerleader Eddie had a thing for. He noticed Eddie get all red in the face talking to her after the show while she was running all over the place talking about how it was so cool he played the guitar like that. The guitar that Wayne got him for his 12th birthday. The one that he saved the whole town with, according to one of Eddie's few friends. The town that didn't sow a single seed of gratitude for their unsung hero, instead of gratitude they flocked fields with hatred and disdain. Wayne wonders if that guitar was the beginning of the end or maybe it was the record- maybe he should've showed Eddie that wacky Bee's Gee's album instead. Maybe- His nephew would be sitting next to him. Maybe he'd be going on and on about that damn Mrs. O'Donnell and how he was finally gonna graduate. Wayne was going to take him to a Metallica concert in Fort Wayne to celebrate, even though Heavy Metal wasn't his scene. He'd put up with it for one night for Eddie. He had already made arrangements for time-off, because he knew Eddie was going to finally get that damn diploma.

Wayne always thought metal was a bunch of racket, He was more into the likes of Glen Campbell, Johnny Cash, and on occasion The Beatles; i.e. the softer stuff. He remembered always telling Eddie to turn that shit down and he would hear the conundrum as Eddie crashed into the record player to get it from max volume to almost nothing before Wayne could even finish his sentence. He was such a good kid. Trying to fill the shoes of Eddie’s father became especially tough when Eddie went through his teens. Not that Eddie was angry like most teens, he just became harder to read, and there was an obvious distance between them that wasn’t there before. When he was younger, it was easy. That boy was an open book. He'd come through the front door and when Wayne was home- he’d tell Wayne everything about his day from what he learned about in English to what he had for lunch. Eddie’s Dad nor Wayne were much talkers so he always wondered what made the kid run his mouth so much. He was far from the quiet bug-eyed kid Wayne met down at the police station.

Over the years, Eddie stopped busting through the door and then he stopped smiling as often. As if very time he left, bits and pieces of his enthusiasm were walking out with him. And some days, Wayne could’ve swore he saw tears in his eyes. Wayne knew Eddie put up with shit at school- they'd make fun of his clothes or the way he talked. They’d call him the freak because he had gotten into some game with dragons “DD” or something like that. He didn’t press on Eddie to talk about it because he didn’t know how to handle it. Wayne tried teaching the kid to hit first and hit hard but it didn’t work, at least he thought, until he got a phone call from the school, luckily he was home to get the call. Eddie came back home with black and blue splotches swallowing him up that day as well as 3 week’s worth of suspension. That was the point where Eddie’s grades started dropping and his room started reeking of weed and cigarettes. Maybe the guitar and the thrashing metal were inevitable, but Wayne knows if he would’ve intervened then- he would enjoy the silence that surrounded him now. He sure as shit wouldn’t be scrambling through all this junk to flip the damn cassette to side b in the radio that sat on the clutter infested counter.

Wayne hated cassettes, the sound could never compare to vinyl. But as soon as Eddie started making his own money, he owned more cassettes than Wayne could count. Every week he would go around the neighbors asking if they needed lawn work done and at the end of the month they’d go to the record store like usual- the guy behind the counter greeted them with a bright smile and warmth. He knew Eddie by name at that point and always saved a stack of what he might like behind the counter. Wayne would flip through the vinyls, carefully peering at anything new that would catch his eye, but usually it wasn’t much. On the way home they bicker about which was better but he knew Eddie didn’t care. Kid just loved the music. Of course when Eddie got his license and Wayne’s work schedule got chaotic-,the visits to the record store trickled down to only once a year, on Wayne’s birthday. The only thing he ever wanted when Eddie came through flamboyantly with some wacky plan for a surprise party. He shoo’d it away at first thought. Even though they didn’t spend as much time as they used to sometimes they would still listen together. They may have not been on the same wavelength in the last few years- but they were listening together in their own respective ways.

When Wayne went back to that same record store, the clerk who was once so warm- now moved with a lingering aggression that Wayne wasn’t used to. The scent of rotting cardboard and that sweet wood smell threw Wayne into fond memories with his nephew and brother, both of them gone in different ways now. His own brother wouldn’t show his face at Eddie’s memorial- son of a bitch was convinced Eddie was guilty- spewing some bullshit about the Munson family curse or whatever he was strung out about. Wayne thought he would be the only one there- but Eddie had a lot more friends than he let on. They all said such sweet sentiments about who he was- as they too were grasping for another second with him, Wayne wished he would’ve pried Eddie a bit more- because there was so much he didn’t know.

One kid spoke up how Eddie bent over backwards to make sure they were ready for their first game of that “DD'' he played so fervently. Eddie apparently looked out for them better than anyone in that school. He had been the leader of the game- the dragon?- or maybe it was the dungeon master and he was pretty good at it- a little girl interjected with her story of how he welcomed her to the game. She looked like she still played with baby dolls so he wondered what she was doing playing a game like that. But when the clerk asked if he needed help it brought him back to reality. He explained how Eddie would come in there all the time- the man's face crumpled as he went under the counter to grab a single cassette- the title read Somewhere in Time by Iron Maiden- The name and look of the small box sounded about right. The man went to talk about how Eddie waited day and night for the band’s next album, that he would've loved it. Wayne a small promise to buy all the newer albums that Eddie would've loved but would never get the chance to listen to.

Truth be told, he couldn't deal with the silence now that Eddie was gone. He was so accustomed to the thrashing, there’s a void clumping chest without it. He flips the cassette into the radio, turning it all the way up. The lyrics “Caught Somewhere in Time” bleared out of the speaker and kept repeating. Wayne hoped Eddie was caught somewhere in time. That maybe Eddie was with him somewhere merged into a couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, just listening like they used to, together.

[axwalker]

Bad Timing: Only For Tonight

Book: The Royal Romance (AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x Alexis O’Brien (MC)

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is escaping a terrible past. After months of running  she settles  in Cordonia where she meets Drake at the bar where she works and they spend a passionate night together.

What happens when a one-night-stand turns into unexpected parenthood?

This chapter: Drake and Alexis spend the night together. What happens after? 

MASTERLIST HERE

WORDS: 1998

POV: Dual

TRIGGER WARNINGS:  Explicit Sex 🍋🍋🍋. Mentions of domestic violence.

ALL MY FICS ARE +18

A/N: I apologize for any grammatical errors.

I’m participating in the Wacky Drables prompts  

This is Prompt #87: No offense, but I'm not interested (Bold)

@wackydrabbles​

Thank you to @burnsoslow​ for beta reading! I love you ❤️❤️

Please if you want to be added or removed from the tag-list, do not hesitate to ask.

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ALEXIS

"Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," Drake whispers in my ear.

"I want you, Drake."

"I should probably warn you," he says to me, placing feather kisses down my jaw, his stubble grazing my skin, "that I can be very bossy."

His baritone voice sends a shiver through my body.

"Don't worry about me, Walker. I can take it."

Drake smirks, and I yelp when he scoops me up into his arms and carries me inside his apartment. He sits me on the couch and suddenly drops to his knees, his hands running up my bare legs and parting them. He looks up at me as his thumbs slide over my inner thighs, brushing over the delicate skin, pushing my dress up higher and higher. His expression is wild with desire. I raise my hips slightly as he pushes the dress up, so it's bunched around my waist, and he slowly runs his finger over the top of my underwear, from the waistband all the way over the mound and down between my legs.

"I've wondered all night what you taste like," he murmurs, sliding his finger back up, pressing in at my clit. His hands firmly grip my hips; He lowers his head, pulls me toward his face, and I feel his wet mouth pressing against me, the thin barrier of my panties muffling the sensation just enough to drive me wild. I suck in my breath, my fingers going into his hair, while he runs his tongue over my clit, the pressure causing me to jerk my hips toward him.

"I've had enough teasing," he says, the vibrations spreading through me.

He pulls his face back for just a moment, long enough to slide my underwear down over my thighs until they're off me, then he's pushing my legs wide again, his mouth going in for the kill. Every worry, every horrible memory inside me gets lost with the wet sweep of his tongue. My mouth falls open. My God. He knows what he's doing. My thighs are already trembling. His mouth is so warm, so strong. He kisses me there like he kisses my lips, soft and gentle, then quick and wild, sliding up around my clit, then down inside me with a grunt. I can't contain my cry. It tears out of me, driven by the need for him to be deeper.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he whispers into me.

I'm exploding, wet, warm, pure fucking bliss. My hips jerk into his mouth as I spasm, my thighs gripping the side of his face, his stubble so beautifully rough.

He stands up and takes off his shirt; my mouth waters, and he kicks off his shoes, bends down to take off his socks. Takes a step toward me. My eyes follow his hands as they undo his belt and then the zipper of his jeans. And then his jeans and boxer briefs drop to his ankles. Holy fuck, he's hot. Ripped and manly. Huge. I've never been with someone like him.

With trembling fingers, I take off my dress and bra as he inspects every square inch of my body, making me feel incredibly vulnerable.

"Jesus." He steps forward and trails his fingers up and down my bare arms. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he says, kissing my shoulders, my breasts.

He pushes a book off of the couch and then turns me around, placing his hand between my shoulders and shoving me down, so I'm on the couch on my knees.

"Hands up, against the wall," he says from behind me, his voice extra rough, almost feral. I've never been so excited before. I put my hands up so they're pressing against the wall, just as his hand curls around the small of my waist. His touch is electric, especially over my hyper-sensitive skin.

"Spread your legs for me, beautiful," he groans, and I hear his teeth opening the condom wrapper.

"I'll fuck you for hours," he murmurs, mouth now at my ear. His voice is rough with need. "I'll make you come over and over until you can't walk, can't talk, can't see anything but stars. But right now, I need to come inside you. And I'm going to do it fast and hard. Get that, Lexie?"

I nod, trying to swallow.  

"Good girl," he says, straightening up. He caresses my ass and slams himself into me. All the air is pushed from my lungs, and I bend a little more, trying to accommodate his size. His cock is in so deep I'm not sure where I end, and he begins. Then he starts working me, his fingers pressing so hard into my side that I think he's leaving bruises, holding me steady as he fucks me hard. There isn't anything in the world but this. He grinds into me, over and over, his hips jerking against my skin. His frantic thrusting is measured, his hips circling just enough to slide against every part of me—faster, harder, deeper.

"Fuck. Fuck, Lexie. This is ..." He doesn't finish his sentence. His grip tightens around my waist. I feel him everywhere, like he's filling me up in every way.

"So wet … so tight, baby." Just then, his cock hits the right spot until I catch fire and burn inside out. I've never felt this before. This pleasure, this passion.

"Right there. Don't stop!"

"Not even close to stopping," he grunts. He thrusts even deeper, watching my back arch into him with overwhelming pleasure.

It's a curious thing to have a one-night stand with a stranger. You've known each other for only a few hours, and then you decide to share something that leaves you so vulnerable. When I turn my neck and stare into Drake's deliciously wicked deep-brown eyes, there's a sort of freedom I've never enjoyed in bed before. He makes me feel safe and powerful.  

Then as he starts to tense, his breath becoming hoarse, a drop of sweat falling from his face and onto my neck, he slides his hand over the front of my skirt and below, finding my clit. A rub from his thumb is all I need to come, and it's not just the intensity of the orgasm that rips through me, causing my body to spasm and shake. It's the intensity of us. Of Drake, as he groans into my shoulder with one final thrust, his cock twitching.

Several positions and many orgasms later, we fall together into his bed, exhausted. True to his word, Drake took his time with me after the first time. Going slow, kissing every inch of my skin.

He gets up from the bed to throw away our last condom; I contemplate leaving. I don't know how to behave, it's the first time I’ve had a one-night stand, and I don't want to act clingy or emotional.  

"How are you feeling, Lex?" he murmurs when he comes back before he kisses me, long, deep and sweet. And just like that, every worry I have is gone. I melt into his touch, into his arms, and I never want him to let me go.

Which is a fucking problem because I can't stay.

He scoops me against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around me. He peppers kisses all over my shoulders, my neck, my back. I let my eyes drift closed just for a second and fall asleep.  

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Warmth engulfs me, every inch of my body is warm, and I nuzzle into the pillow deeper, wanting to stay like this forever. It's been a long time since I've had a decent night's sleep in a comfortable bed. However, as soon as I notice the room's complete darkness, my eyes pop open, and I start to panic, trying to remember where I am and how I got here.

There's a weight over me, and I feel suffocated. I force myself to take a deep breath, and I realize that I'm safe. I'm in Cordonia, thousands of miles away from him. Slowly, yesterday's events come back to my mind, and I realize my head isn't lying on a pillow but a firm, ripped chest. I glance up at the sleeping man I shared last night with and take in his harsh but beautiful features.

Drake's sleeping peacefully. His arm is still around my waist, holding me almost protectively. For a second, my heart flutters, and I allow myself to dream. What if I had met Drake instead of Matt? Even after only one night, I can tell what kind of man Drake is -- manly, confident, protective. I feel safe, cherished. But it can't be. Not now, or ever.

Gently, I untangle myself from Drake's arms. I gather up my dress and shoes and creep toward the living room. I order an Uber, and three minutes later, my phone pings with a notification that the Uber is here just as I reach the front door. I quietly open it, tiptoe out, and glance back at the house.

A deep sorrow overcomes me because I know that I will never be the same again after tonight.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DRAKE

It's been three days since I last saw Alexis. I figured I'd feel differently in a few days. I'd forget the sweet taste of her lips, her delicate cherry scent, the sound of her laugh on my ears. Never did I think I'd still be replaying our conversations, jerking off every night to the vision of her body moving against mine. Fuck. Me.

Finally, I decide to go to the bar where we met. Despite the way she left --in the middle of the night without saying goodbye-- I don't want to ignore the crazy chemistry between us. I'm not an arrogant jerk; I know when a woman comes undone in my arms. And the way Lexie responded to me? It was fucking explosive.

"Why are we here? Li's dinner is tonight," Leo protests. I picked him up at his loft after work so we could go to Li's place together. In hindsight, he wasn't the best person to bring along with me, but I had to come to the bar tonight. I just need to see her. "Do you know how many women will be there? It's going to be a buffet, man." Leo insists as I park in front of the bar. I get out of the Jeep as fast as I can, so he doesn't follow me, but, of course, the fucker comes after me.

We walk into the bar, and it's as deserted as it was on Monday. The woman behind the counter smiles at us when we approach.

"Hi, guys! I'm Daisy. What can I do for you tonight?"

Leo winks at her. "I have a couple of things in mind, sweetheart."

I stare at him, and he shuts up. "I'm looking for someone who works here. Alexis Ortiz, she's a bartender."

She smiles at me. "Alexis quit this morning."

"Did she leave an address or a phone number?"

My heart sinks when the blond shakes her head. "She was kind of weird. She kept to herself." She looks at me and smiles again. "I'm free in an hour, though."

I don't want to be rude, but there's only one woman I want. "No offense, but I'm not interested."

I'm cut short by Leo, who grins at her. "You're embarrassing me, Walker." He gives her the same smile I've seen him give to a hundred women before her. "I'm Leo, sweetheart, and we're not free tonight, but I'll be happy to come by any other night."

She's grinning at Leo now, a flirty expression on her face. She sure moved on fast. I clear my throat. "Here's my card; if Alexis comes back, can you give it to her?"

She takes it. "Sure, no problem, but I don't think she will. She told Daniel she was leaving Cordonia and she wasn't coming back."

[comelylust]

Workmates

That's right I deliver what I promise, Request through my discord, Anon asked for some Miguel with plot so I made a plot attempt haha. if you find spelling or grammatical errors sorry I do this from a tablet 👀read the warnings 👀.  

Warnings: Smut content, +18, street fights, mentions of alcoholic beverages.

 "Ugh I really can't stand it" You mention this to your boss with an irritation in your voice, pacing back and forth with both hands on your head "how the hell are you two friends?! it's so... agh"  

Seeing how frustrated you were all your boss did was scoff at it, he continues to clean the glasses and arrange them on the shelves in the back, he looked like he really didn't care that two of his workers don't get along as well as he would like.  

"You're just stressed, go take a break" Your boss laughed, gesturing towards the employee door where you already knew who was there, Miguel, chances are he was listening to everything, instead instead of embarrassing you your anger continued to rise.

"He's a nice guy, you're just not used to his temperament."  

He's right, you still don't know him well enough just a couple of months ago you moved to Spain for personal reasons, but let's say things were getting difficult and you decided to venture to a new destination in search of opportunities, at first you didn't know where you were going, you were coming and going without a previously planned route, this didn't bother you at all you felt better about yourself above all you felt free for the first time in your life.  

On one of your countless trips you heard a group of strangers talking about a certain wrestling tournament which caught your interest. You decided to join that event after they finished their talk, grabbed your stuff and headed to a new country.  

When you finally arrived in Spain the first thing you did was to look for a temporary job, difficult at first you didn't have the necessary documentation to back up your identity, yeah shit, it wasn't the best idea to leave with nothing but your passport.

You continued your search now in the slums of that country, hoping that someone would offer you help, instead the only thing they offered you was endless fights showing the wimps not to mess with you, earning you a little respect from the locals.  

"Strange" You thought "People usually loathe people like me".

It didn't take you long to figure out the reason why the inhabitants were so used to subjects of your ilk. Miguel Caballero Rojo, a subject without a shred of compassion when it came to street fights, was brutal and violent making his opponents regret it on the spot.

Going to where he always made his appearances you found on the way an old cantina: on the outside it was crumbling, but the old letters of the place were still visible. Entering with your best hard face you asked about that mysterious man, without receiving a clear answer, again you let out a disappointed sigh and a pout formed on your lips.

"Hey, don't be so sad" A middle aged man catches your attention offering you a drink which you cheerfully accept "You're not from here are you, cutie?" Your eyes widen like saucers when he found out you're just an outsider, without taking the drink away from your lips you nodded.  

"Well, I need a bartender so why don't you stay for a while while you wait for him" He offers the old rag along with the apron, you were in doubt, but you really needed this job, the opportunity to work and hit on a guy sounded exquisite without hesitating a second longer you made your decision.  

"Okay I accept, just for a while".  

"I'm Daniel by the way" The old man who is now your boss mentions it.

You worked in that bar for the next few weeks, you didn't do much, just make drinks and take out old creeps trying to be smart. Now the main issue, if you met Miguel, yes, he really looked violent, and yes he had hated you.

When he first walked into the bar he was fuming, his nostrils flared, his muscles tensed and the fingers on his hands were crusted with dried blood, in short he's pissed, to add more to the mix you lunged at him with incredible speed that even Miguel himself was taken by surprise.

"What the fuck" He exclaims as his head face down is resting on the dirty floor, you crossed his wrists and paralyzed him with a knee on his back "Get the fuck down, what's wrong with you".  

"It's nothing personal just that I liked the idea of defeating the best fighter in this neighborhood" You licked your lips forming a fuzzy smile of joy. Miguel tries to move, but you strengthen your grip, raising your hand now in the shape of a fist ready to punch him in the Spaniard's face, until someone interrupts you.

 🌒🌕🌘

 "Sorry Daniel" You fiddle with your fingers as the pout returns to your face along with a blush forming on your cheeks. "B-but you already knew what my plan was!"

"Plan?! What's going on Daniel, are you conspiring with this Chiquilla?" Miguel points at both of you accusingly, scratching the back of his neck furiously.

"Eeh, who are you calling a chiquilla, brat?"

"The only person who is behaving like a brat is you" The two begin a verbal sparring match with overly childish insults. Daniel for his part lets out a loud sigh catching both of their attention.

"You both are behaving like brats, Now Miguel she is the new Bartender she will work here for a while be nice" The last sentence was thrown remarking that she will behave "Same goes for you, Be nice he is your co-worker"

"Coworkers!? That if ever!" Both mention at the same time throwing each other murderous looks.

And here we are back where we left off at the beginning. Working with Miguel was annoying, he is always drunk, when he is lucid he gets in a bad mood and even starts fights for stupid reasons, the problem is when you have to interfere when things get too intense, this didn't bother you, you were annoyed by the idea of saving his ass.

Instead of thanking you he starts a useless fight questioning why you helped him and all the crap you decided for your and Daniel's mental health more than anything else for your boss it's better to ignore him.

But what happened?  

You were not a sports fan, much less a soccer fan, however since you arrived to this place the only thing that the bar TV broadcasts was soccer, getting used to it, you noticed that Miguel on special occasions wears a jersey of his favorite team, your lips curved into a cheshire smile at the prank you were going to do, your plan is only to support the opposing team for no apparent reason, this would annoy Miguel as a "revenge" for what he had put you through.

Tonight you put your new plan into practice, you borrowed a t-shirt from the opposing team that is playing tonight, you put it on by buttoning every button, oddly enough this shirt highlights your beautiful figure, accentuating your breasts and molding to your abdomen/torso, you hope no one notices this, but who the fuck cares, you look great.  

The bar is more crowded than it normally is, you complained about the smell it smelled too much like Cologne, alcohol and sweat hopefully your brain will adapt to it. You headed to your work station serving the drinks to their respective buyers. Until you saw him come in of course with his charming outfit, fuck, you have to admit the man is hot, his manly appearance and his well toned and thick muscles soaked with a light layer of sweat would make anyone drool, unfortunately this was his only virtue.

He gave you a small smile and of course foolishly you returned it, you shook your head forcibly bringing yourself back to reality and remembering the reason why you had decided to do this in the first place.  

"Are you kidding me?" he approaches you intimidating as always, the difference is this time his voice framed mockery as if he knew what you were trying to do.

"What are you talking about, I'm just working" you bite your inner cheek avoiding emitting a laugh, You poured him a pitcher of beer waiting for him to forget the topic of conversation.  

"Yeah right, I know what you're planning, cutie" He takes a long swig of the drink wiping the rest of it off with his arm "And it's not going to work" He winks at you you roll your eyes so much you're able to see your brain, it really is unbearable.

As the night continues, Miguel continues to make fun of you and how your "shitty" team is losing, the strange thing is that you ended up joining him, drinking the whole keg of beer answering his comments with sarcastic remarks.  

You were wrong to think that his only quality is being a handsome man when you noticed that his resistance to alcohol is quite high happened exactly with you, your resistance to alcohol was the best, however, the drinks were doing in you a kind of aphrodisiac turning you hotter as you kept talking to Miguel.

"How about...if we go to the back" your voice comes out smaller than you would have liked you play again with your fingers waiting for an answer, instead he didn't give you one he just grabbed your bicep with his hand and dragged you to the employee only room.  

Before partially closing the door, his free hand wrapped around your jaw pulling you closer to him in a hot kiss, intertwining their tongues licking every part he could, he pushed you into the room closing the door behind you. He connected his lips this time on your neck leaving you with purple and bite marks.

 He held your wrists guiding you to the lounge chair obediently sitting there, still kissing you enjoying your taste despite the bad beer you had chosen.  

"Apparently you're not a rough girl anymore" Separating slightly so he could speak.  

"H-hush don't ruin the moment" You turned into a red, stuttering mess, all Miguel did is smile at you and get up from the seat, your mind raced hoping he wouldn't leave.

"On your knees" His hoarser than normal voice made you shudder and let out a low moan, he had never been so dominant and you would be lying if you didn't say you didn't like it. You quickly went down on your knees looking up at him with eyes clouded in lust.

"Fuck" Solo said unbuttoning his pants, you helped by pulling them down along with his boxers "I'm going to punish you for being a spoiled brat."

 You finally released his cock from its confines, you gasped at the sight previously you could picture it, but your mind didn't do it justice, it's big with veins that framed its outline the red tip was already dripping pre-semen, you licked your lips and included its head between your lips, giving kitten licks.

 "Stop teasing" He growled, you opened your mouth wider with your tongue hanging out, shoving his cock in your mouth touching your throat, you looked up as you gagged which made him let out a guttural gasp.

You pulled back pulling his cock partially out before thrusting harder into your throat, you moan and the vibrations you throw are so delicious he can't take it. Getting rid of his remaining clothes he continued to pound your throat rapidly as he watched your face fill with tears and you try to breathe through your nose so you don't choke.  

"Will you stop teasing?" your eyebrows flex in anger, but this action doesn't last that long, still gagging on his cock you nod energetically. "Good girl."

Thick, hot ropes sprouted from his cock covering your mouth, trying to swallow as much as possible. Inhaling and exhaling heavily catching your breath, you struggled to stand up before Miguel lifted you up placing you face down on the couch climbing behind you, your instinct was to raise your ass and spreading your legs apart, giving him a perfect view of your already slippery pussy.

 Miguel looked at you with carnal hunger re licking his lips as he looked at your innocent form, his palm slapping against your ass in a thud, you squealed as you felt another series of spanks follow leaving your buttocks red.  

 "Remember it's your punishment pretty girl."  

He rubs his fingers over your wet folds and plunges a finger inside you, you yelp at the sudden action pulling away, Miguel firmly holds your hips so as not to go any further and continues to plunge his fingers stretching your tight walls.  

"Easy I'm getting you ready" Miguel works on your sex pulling his fingers in and out "She's too tight".  

Your legs trembled with excitement and your moans echoed in the room loudly, before you could come he pulled away from you collecting your essence smearing it on his long shaft lubricating it.  

The tip of his cock rubbed between your folds teasing your entrance, you moaned needy moving close to him.

"Don't tease" you pout and he teases you, he pushes his member slowly into your pussy. The sensation of your walls squeezing his cock made him throw his head back as you rolled your eyes at the bliss of being filled.  

Miguel pulled your hair back into a ponytail using it as leverage to go faster and deeper, the lewd noises you make are music to his ears instigating him to move.

You could feel every part of his thick cock and how it exquisitely hits that rubbery spot inside you, through your mouth overflowing saliva and your eyes still rolling back. Your walls tremble giving hints of your come.

"Cum on my cock pretty girl" his voice a few octaves lower brings you to the edge, a lewd moan escapes your sweet lips and he quickens his pace chanting your name between curses, his load shoots inside your sex painting them white.

He pulls out of you and you both catch your breath. When you realize what has just happened your face turns red and you try to hide it between the cushions of the couch. Miguel notices this and pats your head.

 "So..." You say shyly.

"Then I'll ask you out, mi amor."  

"W-what?!"  

"Ha, I really love your temper."  

"Idiota" this wasn't the plan nor much less the expected result but you're happy.

I must improve on the fast way it ended haha I hope you liked it.  

[hisgirlwonder]

House of Wolves - Part Three

Length: 3.5K words Warning: Implied smut – sex and oral, hateful angst Synopsis: You’ve been offered an apprenticeship at Kineros Robotics and you couldn’t say no; you’ve been dreaming about working in the field for as long as you can remember. Will it be everything you’ve been building up in your mind, or will it all come crashing down around you? Notes: Elizabeth Johnson in this story, if you don’t know, is the human name of The Countess. She’s going to make an appearance in another part which I will get to soon enough (and maybe she will be more than just a brief mention?????) so keep an eye out!

That morning was relatively busy but you enjoyed it all the same - between organising all of the various meetings, conferences, and dinners, there wasn’t much room to breathe sometimes. The thought of “when do I get to work with Jeff and Mutt?” constantly pricked its way into your thoughts; this was superseded time and time again by an overwhelming desire to help Michael. You didn’t dare breathe a word to anyone about how you thought you’d been sent there for more than just an apprenticeship.

*

“Thanks, Pierre. I’ll be in touch before next Friday if there are any further changes but for right now I think we have enough,” you confirm to the person on the other end of the line – you’d been put in charge of organising an event for prospective investors in Kineros Robotics. The second after you told Michael that Elizabeth Johnson, the heiress of an elite hotel chain, was in town he immediately jumped at the chance to schmooze her. He’d been a fan of her late husband’s work and figured there would be a way the two of them would be able to work together.

A familiar voice sings out your name; it was Michael and the way he said it you knew he wanted something. It was similar to a child asking its mother for sweets from the supermarket even though they’ve been naughty. You break eye contact from the screen to see that he’s peeking around the corner, hands around the doorframe.

“I know you’re probably busy right now…” he trails off, knowing the amount of work you had to do for this event. If the Elizabeth Johnson was going to show up then you knew you had to use every ounce of energy inside your body to make this something to remember.

“Yes, Michael?”

“Is there any way you’re able to proof the file I have open on my computer? I left it to the last minute and foolishly wrote it late last night. I’m going to rip apart my pride for a moment and say that it needs your touch.”

“Did you really do that after what happened last time?”

“I know, I know,” he rolls his eyes, “I’m so stupid. Can you do it? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hmm?”

“Y/N, please?”

“For you? Of course, Michael.”

He mouths thank you with his hands in a position of prayer – as if to say I’m more grateful than you’ll ever know then disappears into his office and you look back at what you were doing; clicking your way to compose a reminder e-mail to yourself. Moments later Michael reappears with bag in hand and you can’t help but grin when you see it - You’d specifically told him to go one to make things easier and he did. Granted, it probably cost more than your wages in a month but it looked good on him. He informs you he’ll be back around lunchtime and, like always, don’t take any shit from her.

The way Michael pronounces the word her when referring to Venable always made you laugh. Speaking those three syllables left a bad taste in his mouth so he opts for a three letter word instead. He didn’t believe she was deserving of wasting more than a small breath. The event you were organising was equally as important because Michael wanted to open up the new branch so he could finally send his least favourite person away, sooner rather than later.

“Yes, daddy,” you bring your hand up to your forehead and salute him, “No shit taken from the Queen. Got it.”

Even with your spine now strengthened from confidence at the development of your close professional (yet somewhat personal) relationship with Michael, you were too naïve to see that he retreated a little because of his enjoyment at your use of that word. His actions secretly backed by the fact that he’d fantasised night after night about you wrapping yourself around him, flesh against flesh, and purring that word in his ear like it was his birthright to be called it. For you, the naivety sprung from your air of innocence and the thought that a man such as himself wouldn’t be interested in a child. To you, Michael would be better off with a woman like Elizabeth Johnson than someone who was barely an adult.

Warm, heartfelt smiles are exchanged and then a moment later he’s gone. You always hated seeing him leave.

*

Upon sitting you notice Michael’s seat is still slightly warm and you’re comforted by the feeling against your skin paired with the scent of his cologne swimming in your nostrils. Your eyelids fall and you melt away into your own fantasy – he’s freshly showered and standing in front of the bedroom mirror, towel barely holding itself up around his hips, the sight of hair from his belly button to his pelvic area leaving saliva pooling in your mouth, and his hand gripped around a bottle of cologne that he’s spritzing all over himself. You, in this fantasy, up behind Michael and one of your soft, delicate hands grace over a bicep. You rest your chin on his shoulder and now run both manicured hands over his strong, sculpted body.

You force yourself to snap out of the dream and back into what you were doing.

Oh, this is what he’s writing about?

You read over the document four or five times (the technical jargon in parts was a bit too much for your tired brain) and decide that, besides a few grammatical errors, it was perfect.

You hadn’t noticed it earlier but he has another file open. You drag the mouse over it, hovering over the icon on the taskbar, weighing up whether or not you should open it. The title was a bunch of random letters which made absolutely no sense; mostly in lowercase but a few uppercase. Unbeknown to you, you’d click what it meant after you maximised the mystery file he’d been working on.

The strength of your will is weak when it comes to Michael which means you give in to the curiosity and bring it up – you immediately notice that it’s over 10,000 words long and this doesn’t surprise you but the first few sentences do. You try hard to avoid making any kind of assumptions but the two characters had been written with very similar names to yours and Michaels which only meant one thing.

It was almost as if Michael had invented the English language the way he crafted those sentences laid out before your very eyes; as if he was Michelangelo creating a written version of the Statue of David. It was decadent, and beautiful, but also very sinful. For example, he wrote of how the man was starving for the peach hidden between her thighs and you gasp with the realisation he’s talking about her cunt.

Your mouth waters because even if you lacked sexual experience you still understand how sweet a peach tastes; how it melts the moment your teeth sink in and drips its juices over your fingers and lips. You imagine this is what it’s like to have a man between your legs – once his mouth is on your folds, your body secretes your own nectar from the arousal. Heat swirls between your legs and beckons you to keep reading; leaving you helpless and causing you to lose the fight against the lust gnawing inside.

Every composed thought becomes drowned in the wish, the want, the need to be this girl that Michael has brought to life. The semblance between you and her was unsurprising and anyone within a five-mile radius knew that but you shrug it off as you get sink deeper into the depths of his words.

What started off as actions akin to that of the picking of a flower out of your grandmother’s garden, soft and sweet, become more voracious over time. This man becomes so driven with lust for the girl that even smelling something resembling her perfume made him have to leave a room and take care of himself; spilling his seed messily in hiding like an addict. One day she walks in on him and he’s so loud he doesn’t hear footsteps but she notices him, in his office, with a video of her in front of him on his tablet. He’d gotten so drunk from want that all other sounds were drowned out by the moans of pleasure.

She interrupts him but he doesn’t stop which makes her stutters and stammer because after all she’s a virgin who has never been around a naked man before but she’s pined for him for so long. There’s no denying that they both want it and something draws her to him, like a magnetic, unable to resist and finally opening up herself and her legs like a flower blooming in Spring.

That girl, that lucky girl, is devoured by him on his desk – first with his lips and then with the aching swollen member he had previously held loosely inside his right hand as his other holds his weight up on the desk. He knew without a doubt that there’s no way a girl like her was on birth control so he had to finish in a condom but it was safe to say that being inside her with a condom on was better than going raw inside anyone else.

The story ends like the movies do in the way that the two of them continue this only for him to realise he’s fallen in love with her and vice versa. The sappy ending did nothing to dampen the fire that spread from your groin throughout your body.

You’re treated to a rude awakening when Michael appears before you and he’s waving a hand in front of your face. He’d come back and now you were like that male character in the story; too distracted in your own fervour to hear anything or anyone else.

“I got you a hot chocolate with three pink marshmallows inside; your favourite.”

 The slack jaw is replaced with a meek smile and accompanied by cheeks tinged with pink. You were blushing because Michael had caught you and you didn’t know if he could see, or smell, the after effect of those grossly inappropriate thoughts or from the deception that dwelled within. You attempt to fan away the heat and embarrassment away with a weak hand to no avail.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I’m uh, fine, I think? I think I just need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever you need. Take your time, okay?”

*

How you managed to get to the bathroom safely you’ll never know. Every limb ached and felt hollow, your knees especially wanting to buckle at any moment. You turn on the cold tap and run your hands through the water to dropping them a good 10 to 15 degrees before resting them on the back of your neck in an attempt to cool down. You catch your reflection in the mirror and while you are somewhat pink, you’re mostly pale. Then a thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Did I minimise the story? Is he going to see it up on his screen? Oh, fuck.

Before you can think, you run fast back to the office and nearly collapse into the doorframe. The sting of breathlessness felt like it was ripping apart your lungs and you were trying to gain your breath back but bit of oxygen also choked you. Michael sounds and looks more worried than before; his eyes shot a look of concern at the girl standing before him struggling to breathe.

You nod, holding yourself up by hands on your thighs. You manage to catch your breath enough to say, “I’m better.”

“Well, in that case, can you come here?”

Guilt and shame wash over you like you’d killed someone as you’re travelling over to his desk. Your eyes glance down and see that you didn’t leave his dirty novel open up and that he was merely asking for advice on flowers to pick.

“Which one screams ‘I think you’re amazing’?”

This was it. The moment your mother had warned you about. He wasn’t the man in the story because he didn’t outwardly lust over you. You, being the nineteen-year-old you are, didn’t think for one minute there was another explanation besides he’s finally found a woman. Pangs of jealousy stab into your gut and you bend over, wincing in pain.

“M-M-Michael? I’m going to go home, okay? I really don’t feel well.”

You think that the stomach grab and wincing must have looked pretty bad because the sadness on Michael’s face is evident; that mouth, usually grinning at the sight of you, has fallen into a pout and his eyes showed he felt some kind of pain as well.

As you turn the handle to open the door, Michael asks you to let him know how you are later. You answer with of course I will and a piss poor attempt at smiling; sadness is brewing in your gut and you don’t know how long you can hold it down for.

For fucks sake, really?

Venable is on her way into Michael’s office and you two meet in the entrance. You had grown used to her cold, callous demeanour and what once seemed to scare you now just annoyed you. She’s trying to restrain a smirk and pretends to feel bad but you can practically feel her thoughts as if she was saying them out loud to you.

You rush past and throw open the front door to the building when you arrive to it. Had it not been for the adrenaline from the anger she made you feel you probably would have collapsed before you arrived at your car but, luckily, you make it there in one piece. Your hands are unsteady and you almost smack your door in frustration but know this won’t help and instead pull the keys out of your bag and attempt to unlock your vehicle - the first few tries fall flat when you can’t get the key in and then drop them on the ground. You take a deep breath in and exhale slowly, trying to steady yourself and do it again. It works.

Once you’re finally sitting back in your seat, you drape your hands freely over the steering wheel. An eruption of rage comes suddenly pouring out and causes you to yell out fuuuuuuuck while hitting your hands against the steering wheel multiple times before collapsing into your arms.

**

I forgot to ask Y/N if much needed to be changed but as far as I’m aware this is great. I really hope she’s okay.

Michael scrolls down to the next page to begin reading but is interrupted by an unnerving voice - Venable. He already knew she had no qualms about destroying someone else but her words, had anyone else heard them and didn’t know her, would make them aware of just how awful she is. She taunts Michael and tells him just how hurt Y/N was when she left. She left in quite a state, what did you do to her, lover boy?

He explains that she’s gone home because she wasn’t feeling well. Venable stays quiet as she tiptoes to the front of the desk where Michael is. She reaches out and grabs the bottom of his Gucci tie to inspect it and with a frigid yet sinister tongue continues to taunt him, “Yeah, like she’d seen the face of her worst nightmare meeting her.”

Venable was talking about Michael – knowing exactly what Y/Ns parents had told her about Michael Langdon when they found out their precious daughter got the job. Venable also wasn’t stupid and knew Y/N had gone home because of Michael but it was as if he was the last one to click on. She throws the tie down and leans onto the table, staring directly into Michael’s eyes.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Maybe you were born yesterday but I wasn’t.” She growls and pushes herself off the desk to stand up straight. “Yeah, we both know why she’s not feeling well. I’m sure that meek little girl you call your assistant has something wrong with her. She’s probably only twelve years old mentally. Her attachment to you is sad.” Venable pauses and points a finger at Michael, resuming the abuse, “And yours? Yours, however, is pathetic.”

Michael is holding back his desire to break off her hand right at this moment. Her bullshit was enough to deal with without her waving herself around him like she was the boss. Venable can sense how pissed off he is but she won’t stop in her tirade. Michael decides he’s had enough, rising to stand and fume at her, “Why do you insist on speaking to me like this? I’m your superior.”

A heartless glare followed by a taunting eye roll is shot at him before cold-blooded Venable makes a beeline for the door to escape. She’s reaching out to get a grip on the door handle to pull it open but Michael slams his hand on it, holding it shut. It was glass, yes, but reinforced so it didn’t break easily. The hit was a bit too hard but Michael was fuelled with so much animosity over the insults towards Y/N that he didn’t notice the pain beginning to sear through his extremity.

She spins around on her heels and looks Michael dead in the eyes, pretending to yawn, claiming she’s tired of him. Venable knows she shouldn’t call him it but she says Michael in the most condescending tone you can think of.

He doesn’t take too kindly to this, jumping down her throat about if he ever gave her permission. Venable makes it known that Michael isn’t the only one who can raise his voice when she barks back, yelling louder than him, “When did I ever give a shit about what you thought? Your little fantasy comes waltzing in and all she has to do is smile in your direction and you’re like a weak puppy dog. Yes, Y/N. No, Y/N. You can call me Michael, Y/N.”

“Get out of here before I make you regret it.”

The feisty faux redhead inches closer to Michael, slathering her pigheadedness in his face when she pushes back on his threat. “Or what, huh? Or you’ll write some bad words and tell everyone how mean I am?”

The two bodies now practically face to face, noses almost touching, Michael throw his hands against her chest and shoves her away with a bit of force so she staggers around from the impact.

“Everyone knows how mean you are, you prudish cunt.”

She mocks Michael, bringing a hand to her chest and opening her mouth in a display of fake shock, “You called me a bad word? Oh no, I better run home and tell my mommy. Oh, wait, that’s what little girls do. I bet your little lamb is crying on her bed and her mother is trying to comfort her. Oh honey, what’s wrong? Did you have a bad day? Yeah mom, I did, Michael is not a very good man.”

“I swear to God if you don’t get out of my fucking office right now-”

“Don’t worry, I’m going. I’m going home and don’t you dare think about stopping me.”

She throws open the door and storms out of the room. Michael's voice becomes louder when he begins bellowing at her, “You’re a stupid bitch for even thinking that because I won’t. You’re lucky I haven’t already fired you. I only keep you around because I feel sorry for you since nobody else would put up with your shit.”

Venable doesn’t bother to look at him and instead throws a middle finger up as she’s leaving the building while she screams how Michael better have fun without her tomorrow because she wouldn’t be in.

Michael’s chest is full of agitation and he sharply exhales some of it out. There was no way to know exactly why Venable hated Y/N so much but he was determined to find out. His temples throbbed from the rush of blood and jump in his blood pressure from her insolence. Without thinking twice, Michael decides to escape before his meeting for a drink to calm down and not let a tyrannical monster like her ruin the rest of his day.

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @langdonsdemon @taintedaffairs @queencocoakimmie @violett124 @1-800-imagines @1-800-bitchcraft (If you’ve asked to be added to my list and I can’t tag you then I can’t add you in :( )

[fatestemptress]

Paramount Remembrances - Chapter Two

Summary: Dean Winchester has reached a point in his life where he doesn’t have many firsts left to fulfill.  Except maybe falling in love.  This is the story of how he got there.

Warnings: Smut. Lots and lots of smut.  Oral (male & female receiving).  Dry humping.  Backseat sex. Teaching/Guiding. 18 Plus ONLY! 

Pairings: Young Dean x OFC, Dean x OFC, Dean x Reader (Eventually)

Word Count On this Chapter: 1,553

A/N:  Here we go!  Part Two! 

Please note, I’m not sticking to canon timelines as rigidly as some wonderful writers do.  Please take any errors in timeline continuity with a grain of salt.  Many thanks!    

 As I said before, I’m new to tumblr so if any of this posts incorrectly, I apologize.

 Please note, this is unbeta’d.  Any and all grammatical errors are mine.  (And I’m sure there are PLENTY. :)) 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean was eighteen when he lost his virginity.  

The back of the Chevy that his father had officially gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday has seen a hell of a lot of action.  But the night Dean first slid into his first wet pussy would easily go down in history as one of the best on the sizzle reel.

Her name had been Gillian.

Such a sweet name for such a dirty girl.

His dad had left him and his brother behind and took up with another hunter friend on a tough case wanting to keep them out of the more dangerous hunts until he felt they were ready.

One evening, with Sammy at the town library studying God knows what, Dean had made his way down the road to the diner closest to the motel they were staying at.  He sat down at a corner booth, looking out the window, bored out of his mind, when a sweet voice interrupted his musings.

“Hi, I’m Gillian. What can I get ya?”

Dean turned his head and looked up into the sweetest hazel eyes this side of Texas.  Her long red hair was gathered into a side ponytail and curled softly down the front of her waitress uniform.  Her small waist led to a curvy set of hips that immediately made things inside of him tighten.

A slow smile spread across his face and he watched as she bit the bottom of her lip as he tilted his head and looked up at her, “The special, please.”  

She blinked down at him, “Uh, yeah sure.  Coming right up.”

One special and three coffees later, Gillian was off work and taking Dean on a tour through town, telling him about her plan to get the hell outta dodge the second she graduated from college in a year.  

Two nights later, in his car, on some cliff overlooking some lights that Dean never got to appreciate, Gillian sat beside Dean in the backseat as she led his hand under her skirt and over her soaked panties as his tongue licked its way into her mouth.

His fingers hesitated for the slightest of seconds.  He had never touched a girl down there before.  Sure, he had rubbed his jean covered dick against an equally covered pussy, but he and Mandy never got as far as him actually putting his fingers on her.

But when Dean rubbed his way over Gillian’s soaked white panties and she reached down and pulled them to the side for him, he was hooked.

Gently, he rubbed his fingers over her folds and swallowed her erratic breaths as he slid his middle finger down to her waiting hole.

Should he?  Shouldn’t he?

Gillian answered the question for him as she canted her hips into his touch and whined when the tip of his finger entered her.  When he still hesitated, she reached down and pressed his middle finger in deeper and moaned into his mouth, her tongue darting out and wrapping against his as she kissed him deeply.

“Fuck.”  He whispered into her mouth as he slowly started moving his hand, savoring the feel of her slick running down his finger onto his hand.

Gillian broke the kiss and moved her hips into his motions, her harsh breaths grazing along his lips as she met his eyes with intensity. With a low groan, Dean licked his way down to the swell of her breasts and she immediately started unbuttoning her shirt and threw it somewhere behind her.  Her white lacy bra glowed in the moonlight and he pulled down the cup with his free hand to suck her nipple deep into his mouth.  

Before he could contemplate his next move, Gillian was pulling back from him as she shimmied out of her panties.  Quickly, she unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans, “Need you now, Dean.”

Dean lifted his hips, “Ummm, o-okay.”  He answered as he helped her bring his jeans down to his ankles.

Gillian lifted an eyebrow at him as she took in his dick, “Well that is pleasantly surprising.”

Dean blinked at her and let out a small huff, “Uh, thanks?

She reached behind her and undid her bra throwing it in the same direction as her shirt, “You got a condom, right?”

“Uhhh, yeah, in my, uh, wallet.”

The same condom his dad had given to him when he had turned eighteen along with a long embarrassing speech about safe sex and the rules of the road.

As he fumbled through his jacket pockets, looking for his wallet, sweet Gillian leaned over and engulfed his cock in one smooth stroke, careful to put her lips over her teeth.  Immediately, his fingers gripped the leather of his jacket in a death grip as he tried to keep his composure.  

Mandy had been sweetly naive.  

Gillian on the other hand knew what the fuck she was doing.  

And she was doing it well.

Too well.

When she pulled up his cock and started tonguing his sack he knew he had to stop her.  He was milliseconds away from spurting into her face and God knew he wanted to come inside of her instead.

“Gill-Gillian.  Sweetheart, you gotta stop.”

Gillian hummed and rolled her eyes up at him as she gave his balls one last swipe, “Eager to fuck me, are we?”

Dean nodded jerkily and finally pulled out the condom from his wallet.  He had a moment of pure panic as he pictured himself fumbling with the slippery thing, struggling to put it on but it seemed it was for naught as Gillian plucked it out of his hand and quickly ripped open the package and rolled the condom on with a practiced hand.

The moment of truth was upon him and he half expected someone to start knocking at the window, stopping him from losing the virginity that he felt should have been left behind a hundred towns ago.  (Life on the road, taking care of a sibling, didn’t really amount to a lot of personal time.)

Lucky for Dean, the only knocking that sounded was the rapid beat of his heart as Gillian tugged on his t-shirt and ripped it over his head.  Oddly enough, she kept on her skirt, the only piece of her clothing left, before simply raising it up as she threw her leg over his lap and straddled him. Holding her skirt with one hand and grabbing his cock with the other she lined him up with her core and slowly slid him in inch by inch as she mewled at the stretch.

Dean’s eyes crossed as the searing heat enveloped his cock and it took everything in him not to come right then and there.  

“Oh, fuck that’s good.” Gillian moaned as she bottomed out.

It was the most amazing feeling in the world and nothing in his life had ever topped this moment.

Or at least nothing had until Gillian started to move her hips and slid his cock in and out of her wet heat.  

The sound that came out of Dean’s throat should have been embarrassing but it was quickly overshadowed by the high-pitched whines coming out of Gillian’s mouth.

Dean wished he could say he lasted a long time.  That he was a stallion.  But having your first wet pussy roughly pounding out on your virgin dick, didn’t exactly give a guy stamina.

Lucky for him, someone in heaven must have liked him, because Gillian was one hell of an orgasmic chick and came about two point five seconds before he raised his hips is abandon meeting her rough thrusts as he squeezed his eyes shut and came with a loud groan that paled in comparison to her screams.

Holy shit.

Dean came out of his stupor to Gillian placing warm wet kisses up and down the column of his throat, before she nipped at his ear and whispered, “Let’s do it again.”

When he was able to formulate sentences, he had to tell her that he only had the one condom. Luckily, Gillian was a paragon for safe sex and had condoms of her own in her purse.

They had stayed in that town for two weeks.

Dean had fucked Gillian left, right and sideways, every chance he got.

One time he had even had her in the diner’s kitchen after closing.  Bending her over the stainless-steel countertop as she begged him to go harder and harder until he had exploded with a loud grunt that left him on shaky legs.

Another time, Gillian showed Dean just how dirty she really was as she begged him to come in her mouth and on her face so she could swallow and swipe up his extra essence with her fingertips before bringing it into the hot cavern of her mouth with a humm.

She had certainly taken his virginity with a bang.  

And then he had to leave her.

It was somehow easier this time.

Gillian knew he was a drifter and expected nothing more from him than what he gave and when it was time to say goodbye, she looked him in the eye and told him, “See ya around, Winchester.”

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean was nineteen when an older woman taught him how to eat a girl out.

Chapter 3

@chook007 @scorpiongirl1

[kellendriaaa]

Fate and choices

Chapter 1

Cast: Jack Kline; Rose Ceallaigh (Main OFC); Sam Winchester; Castiel; Dean Winchester; Gabriel; Lucifer; Tara Zendey (OFC); Clark Barker; Victoria Wellagan (OFC); Dolby Murray (OMC); Mitchell Inkle (OMC); Loris Lichens (OMC)

  Pairings: Jack Kline/Rose Ceallaigh; Castiel/ Dean Winchester; Gabriel/Sam Winchester; Lucifer/Sam Winchester; Clark Barker/Tara Zendey and others... 

  Summary: Rose Ceallaigh, a student and part time waitress found an innocent boy, not that innocent in front of her building. Knowing that he ran away from his family not to escape them but to protect, Rose try to help him discovering a world she did not know who was right in front of her eyes.

He know basically nothing about the world, so Jack will learn what is love, burn, passion, joy and being hurt. He will learn how to be human, how to feel every emotions.

While Dean, Sam and Castiel are still trying to find him and finding that girl who is immune to supernatural powers when dealing with their own preoccupation.

Okay I sucks at summary too. I'm sorry please give it a try 

Notes: I don't own Spn neither their amazing characters only mine so all the OFC and OMC. English is definitely not my first language (I'm french) so sorry for my many mistakes.

It's really slow, and basically nothing happens, I'm placing the characters and the context of their lives but I always put hints into my chapter. Sooo enjoy ! ^^

The music was ringing in the dinner. Heat of the moment by Asia was making her move her head while reading her document on the global warming; it is not that she did not like it. C’mon, she definitely love studying and learning about the environment and water and all of that but making a whole project about it seems heavy and way too much in her mind.

Except, that asshole naming Brennan, Mr. Brennan, do not even wait for her to come in the class to choose what she had to do.

Well, not exactly. Yes, global warming was the last subject but there was another one.

Fate and choices.

C’mon, how the hell were we supposed to do something with that. She was not really a fatalist (sometimes she was, after watching sappy movies. And knowing she will passed another valentine’s day watching other sappy movies) but apart from that she was believer and did not think everybody deserves hell.

  …

  Okay reading fanfiction on the net was enough for everybody to go straight to hell but at least she knew and was ready to run to hell with her fanfiction friends. However, all these peoples with a rough life do not necessarily deserves this. After her class discuss the subject of “Fate and choices” she was pretty sure, her classmates were demons or at least some dark creatures even if she do not believe in that.

  So is she really a believer? That is a good subject! Better than all of them actually.

  “Rose!” her boss shout, “less brooding and more working lil’ girl.”

“’m coming” she answer tying the knot of her apron correctly.

  She was working as a waitress in the diner when school was over or before. For now 2 years and she freaking like it, everything was cool and people were kind (not always but most of them!) so was her boss. Mitch Inkle, soon to be, 60 years (they were preparing a little something for the event) and four marriage in the counter, well four-failed marriage so four divorce. He was immune to marriage now.

  “Why don’t you shout Vic name when she’s obviously sleeping in some corner of the house huh?” she complained while dressing the table, “’m pretty sure she’s your fave here.”

“Yeah maybe, she gives me chocolate cake every day not like you and the rest of this damn house.” He shout the rest of the sentence so everybody hear him, then everybody laughed.

“We, on the contrary, care about your health old man so don’t complain,” says Loris, another waiter.

“Yo Loris,” start Vic finally out of her beauty sleep, “can we talk about all the cigs you smoking? We should have another big conversation about how your ass will burn with these things.”

“My ass will be cooked perfectly just waiting to be eat hon’,” he says laughing.

  This was her day, joking around before the opening. Her coworkers became her family.

  Today was a chill day, clients were calm and all, no problem happen.

Yet.

Nothing happen before these guys came into the diner. ‘They look freaking weird’ she said to herself. They were four, a guy with a trench coat (like who still wear that?) giving his soul with his eyes to the guy who look a squirrel. Actually, they were giving each other heart eyes but seems deep in Narnia. Then there was the giant one and goddamn it he was tall as hell. Probably Eiffel tower height.

How did he even walk correctly and the hair! Is he doing an ad for L’Oréal or what? Well, the giant one was in front of a young guy, looking like the trench coat guy. Seems lost, like a kid.

  Did they kidnap him?

  “Rose! I’m tired of screaming your name all the time,” Mitch, who was right next to her scream laughing, “go ask these guys what they want lil’ girl.”

“I’LL GO!” she screamed in his ears going to the weird team. “Hey guys! What can I get you?”

“What is the most delicious and greasy thing you have?” The squirrel asked. She laughed while the giant one just rolls his eyes.

“The Mr. and Mrs. Is the biggest and greasy thing I eat here and it makes regret it the day after. But hell it was all worth it.”

“Yep,” said Vic staying next to me, the smile on her face becoming bigger showing all her teeth and she got so many teeth. “Big, delicious and mouth orgasming. You’ll feel it all over your body, trust me I know.”

  Was she flirting with the squirrel? He is way too in love wi-

  “Well, I’ll take it then,” he says winking at her with a smirk.

  Not so in love I think. Or just too much in the closet. That done, she wrote down his command and went for the others while Vic went to tell Dolby, the cook, what she needed.

  “Soooo, what about the others?”

“Egg and bacon,” said the giant one, “with water.”

“Nothing for me.” The trench coat.

  The last one seems to search very deeply, what he wanted to choose. Rose feet were hurting her in these damn shoes. Too small for her feet but what can she say when it was calling for her, screaming her name for her to come and buy them.

But right now, she regretted it more than anything, how something so pure and beautiful could be so evil. The fact that the young one seems to be searching excessively long did not help at all, even if he was cute when he was concentrating.

  “Ooooookay, he’ll take egg and bacon,” the savor, who was the giant one, say.

  She nodded then go to Dolby while she saw Vic adjusting her clothes, opening the button of her shirt then going to serve the squirrel. Rose thought that she should probably tell her that he was not that type of guy but then she thought about how he reacted to her poor attempt of flirting then let it go. She sit at the bar checking her text.

  Tara

Hey booboo, your still in work or?

11.17AM

  She loved that woman but she hates her grammatical errors. She answered rapidly.

  Rosie

You’re* and yup still. What about you?

11.26AM

  Tara

Shut up, just finished some stuff, about to go to you. Need some burger with a lot of bacon asap

11.28AM

  Rosie

It’ll be waiting for you. Love ya xx

11.28AM

  Tara

Same here xx

11.29AM

  She put her phone into her apron and take the plates, sighing when she knew rush hour is about to come. She walk toward the team giving them their plates.

  “So 2 eggs and bacons for the two of you and hot sauce for the guy here,” she gives the hot sauce to the squirrel, “’m sorry she forgot it.”

  They nodded and started to eat. They really really freaking really seems weird and she was pretty sure she saw a blade in the giant one coat but maybe eyes were becoming tired. Anyways, she waited for Tara and not long after she saw the old red mustang parking and her best friend coming into the diner hugging her closely.

  “I don’t know how that old car is still rolling.”

“My baby is tough, she’s the strongest person I’ve ever see in my life,” Tara answered, her car was her life literally, she was taking care of that car more than herself sometimes. “You done? ‘m taking the food home.”

“Just wait until this table is done then ‘m all yours.”

  She was about to tell Mitch that she was done then something inside her twist. Maybe her instinct but she take Tara and throw her down, using her body as a shield against whatever that happen. Probably an explosion, her head was tripping, she hears gunshot, then a big light in the dinner but her head was too dizzy to focus, she tried to see if Tara was good but her face was full of blood, same for her arm then nothing.

TV was on, probably SpongeBob because she knew every episodes of this show. The smell were horrendous, it was a hospital. She was in a hospital. What the hell was she doing in a hospital, she tried to move but every part of her body hurt even part she didn’t knew exist were hurting her.

The first things she saw was white, too bright, too white and too clean. There was a face smiling at her, face she recognize as Tara. She try to smile back but her lips was drier than the Brennan bald ass so she tried to move but Tara stopped her.

  “Hey easy booboo, you take some good shot here.”

  Rose wet her lips, her mouth feels weird, disgusting just like hospital. Like death.

  “Stop being overdramatic about the hospital, it’s not death,” Tara say laughing slightly.

“Ho… How?”

“I know you, how do you feel?”

She adjusted herself in the bed.

  “Like a 2 trucks went over me then a train came and end the job.” She respond scanning the room, there was SpongeBob at the TV and men in front of her, men in suit. Black suit and sexy suit. Weren’t the guys from the dinner? Tara saw Rose confusion about the two men standing and watching her like a mouse in a laboratory.

  “Booboo, these guys are the FBI and they want to ask you some questions if you want.”

  She nods quietly. She knew something were weird with these guys but FBI, she did not except this.

  “Hi Rose I assume,” say the giant one, Rose nod, “I’m agent Smith and this is agent Wesson,” he continue pointing the squirrel. “We want to ask you some questions about the attack at the diner.”

  She nodded again.

  “What do you remember?” asked agent Wesson.

“Not much, I was about to tell my boss that I was going with Tara then… then… I don’t know I felt something coming so I pull Tara away, then nothing much after that.” Rose answered. “By the way, Tara your face was full of blood and… and… how?”

“How what?” She answered not sure.

“How did all the blah on your face is gone, it looks like nothing happened.”

  Tara looked at the agents then at Rose.

  “You protected me, which is by the way the last time you do such a stupid thing, you were the one who was damaged booboo.”

  Rose was sure and certain that Tara’s face was disfigure but she did not remembered a lot so she let that go. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks. Still, she was curious about what could have happened.

  “Do you know what happened?” Rose asked.

“An attack, we’re working on these missing people, did you hear about it Rose?” Asked agent Smith.

“Yeah, they’re talking about it at school apparently these guys were going in and out the old house, at the end of the street. A haunted house or something.”

  They seems interested, the three looked at each other then at Rose.

  “Which one?” Asked Wesson.

“Pink with an angel on the porch, you cannot miss it, it’s the only old house around.”

“Thank you, we’ll let you rest now,” said agent Smith.

  She didn’t hear about them after that. C’mon agent Smith and Wesson, were they that obvious? Why not agent Beyoncé and Jay-z?

Months after that, life was still the same nothing more or nothing less. Tara was in one of her many traveling, so Rose was mostly alone at home but she likes it. She loved chilling on her big comfy couch while watching TV, with some shows or Marvel movies. She loooooooved Marvel since the day Tara bought her, her first comic book as a birthday gift, it was almost 5 years ago. She was 18 years old and it was her first gift. She still have it, cherished it since this day. Since her 17 she lived alone, ran away from abusive parents and found that beautiful woman who helped her and raise her up when everything was down. She owed Tara her actual life even if she was working in a little diner, struggling with school, she has never been happier than right now.

  Today was Mitch’s birthday surprise. The regular customer knew about it, so they were acting differently on purpose. The old lady, Mrs. Marks, was upset about everything, complaining all the time so Mitch would take care of her, living the employees to plan the surprise. Dolby did an amazing cake who was in the fridge, Vic took care of ours and Mitch’s clothes, Loris make sure that Mitch was away during the preparation.

  “Goddamn! Where is Rose? Or Vic?”

“Calm down Mitchie, Loris is in the place why don’t you go and see what Mrs. Marks needs huh?”

  He shook his head, refusing to go again and hear about how stupid those teenagers, being taller and provocative than ever are.

  “No, hell to the no, I love her but not today,” he begin then whispering the last part, “I just want slit her throat and burn her at the moment, go with her and I’ll see the new one.”

  Loris laugh, it was amusing to see how the charming and loveable Mitch could be when things get out of his control. Loris went to Mrs. Marks thanking her then went to see how things were going in the kitchen with the girls and Dolby.

  “Yo! Is everything ready ‘cause Mitchie is about to freak out and kill everybody.”

“Yup, almost done,” said Rose, “go and change ‘m gonna shut down the power.”

  They all nodded, so she did it and called for Mitch to see what was happening, he was almost relieved to get away from the constant stress and check everything making sure it was alright but he and Rose came back, there was no light in the dinner just a little bit the cake’s candle then everybody screamed.

  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY MITCHELL!!”

  Rose has barely seen Mitch crying and it was one these moments she will forever keep.

The party was good, they were so many gift it took him 1 hour to open them all, from the customers, the employees, his kids and even ex-wives, same for his family. Mitch is someone you cannot not love. He was like that and Rose like it this way.

After the cleaning, Loris dropped her at the nearest bus station so she could take a bus go straight home. It was late and very dark and that part of the city was not full of light. So she took her phone from her backpack and use the lamp torch to see through her way home.

Everything was fine when she saw a body sitting on the ground, her first reflex is to run to him and see what is happening because he seemed hurt. The truth, he was full of blood and there was a cut on his lips. She tried to wake the guy up but he was totally down.

So she shake him a little bit, trying to have a reaction from him, he open his eyes, looking at Rose. She try to make him stand up but it was hard since he was about to collapse.

  “Damn!” She curse and put him on his feet nevertheless. “Yeah, that’s it hold onto me big guy. ‘m taking you to my house. Do you understand?”

  He nod so at least he was still conscious. She hold him through the way his arms around her shoulders while she was holding him from behind, going upstairs slowly until they make it to her door so she try her best and open it taking him directly to her room so he can sleep on the bed. She close the door and lock it twice to be sure. Then run to her bathroom taking all the medical care she got. She put some alcohol on a compress, cleaning his head and his lips.

The guy was beautiful, soft pink lips, beautiful features. Looking like an angel.

But she didn’t stop, she keep searching for other marks or cut but his clothes full of blood did not help at all so she try to find something that could fit him. And there was her ex-boyfriend’s clothes who can fit him so trying her best to not look, Rose undressed him, cleaning the bruises every time she finds some, and put the fresh cleaned clothes on him.

After putting the bloody clothes in the washing machine, she put the covers on him and turn on the heater so that he will not be cold then clothes the door letting him sleep.

  She start questioning herself. First of all, what the actual fuck? What will happen if the boy was a killer or something like that? However, a killer would not be in that state huh? He would’ve been the one putting someone in that way so no, well she hope no.

Trying to keep her mind out of this, she started working on her school project. Doing research and writing down everything that seemed important in no order, after she will put all the ideas and information in order.

When she looked at the watch, it says 02:54 AM.

  She scratched her eyes not being sure of what she was watching.

  And indeed it was not 02:54 AM but 06:24 AM, it was worse so she stopped everything and let her body fall on the couch and sleep.

Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4

[thefangirlslair]

FIRE (A Touken One-Shot Fanfiction)

Note: This is my very first fic so please bear with me. This is a work of fiction so I hope you understand if ever there is flaw with the plot with regards to the original source which is the manga itself. There might be grammatical errors as well so sorry in advance. Please, if ever you’re just a hater of this ship or the fandom or Ishida or just life in general, leave the premises, thank you. Hahaha!

This is actually made just for myself coz I want to. So y'all actually can’t do anything about this shit. Lol. But I wanted to share this to my co-shippers because I’m a bit proud with this one and this is my first. This is how I would want and have imagined the story will go, if only I was Ishida-sensei. But I trust him tremendously. I love that man. He made our OTP canon as fuck! Fucking hell yes!!!

Finished this after 7hrs and a few hours before the next chapter, this is how I imagine would happen after Chapter 130. Enjoy and thank you for reading! I would love to hear your comments and suggestions. Love lots! Xo

IMPORTANT PS. This is the new tumblog that I made for my fangirl moments. So this is where I will fangirl hard on TouKen and the rest of Tokyo Ghoul :Re, and the other manga’s that I read, and the other things that I really love. Thank you! FOLLOW ME!!!

PPS. SORRY FOR THIS LONG ASS NOTE. —–

Touken Pairing (5,052 words)

A Poor Attempt at Writing Fics TouKen Edition I

Fire

If there’s one word to describe his feeling, it’s definitely this: fire. He feels like his whole body, heart and soul are burning in a hot, blaring fire. Kaneki never really felt like this before. Not until he saw what happened to Touka.

The said girl is sitting with her head down, obviously in pain. She’s clutching her right arm with her left hand and biting her lip to supress her groan because of her injuries. Fortunately, she only got few cuts in her arms, legs and face. But she hit her head while dodging her opponent’s attack so she feels a little dizzy.

Kaneki continues to seethe internally so he wouldn’t have to take his anger on Touka in full force. They’re in his room in their base at the underground located at the 24th ward.

—– After the fight, he immediately took Touka’s unconscious body to escape the scene. He didn’t want to risk being found by the back-up teams heading their way. He took a little damage since his body can’t heal properly but he managed to carry Touka all the way to their base, even in his worried state. He almost thought Touka’s dead while holding her in his arms. He felt so helpless and scared for her life. He had never felt so weak.

Entering their base, they were immediately surrounded by few Goat members including Tsukiyama, Nishio, Naki and Miza. Hirako also went up to them to check what happened. He shouted to ask if someone could check on Touka’s condition while laying her somewhere safe. He was ushered away by Tsukiyama to check on his head for there is a slight gash on the side of it, bleeding slightly. Tsukiyama tend to his wounds and he silently welcome the sting of it while never taking his eyes off Touka being treated by Nishio.

Nishio quickly went to her side and checked her limp form. He was a pharmaceutical student, but he knows a few things about medical stuff, thanks to his human ex-girlfriend, Kimi. He noticed that there was a quite deep wound in her right arm and few cuts and bruises all over her arms and face. Her legs have bruises and cuts too but nothing deep and serious. He checked for broken bones and discovered none. Other than that, there’s nothing to worry about. He cleaned the wounds and put bandages on them, and told Kaneki that she would be fine. She probably lost consciousness because of her current body condition.

A forbidden image of Touka receiving what she asked of him comes to mind. He remembered his curiosity when she asked him to buy human food. But then, it’s not his place to ask questions so he did what she asked. Besides, she asked him quite nicely. That was unusual of her. He told Kaneki that Touka was just exhausted and probably wake up in a few hours. He did not tell him anything else.

Kaneki breathed a sigh of relief. He immediately picked up Touka and carried her all the way to his room where he laid her down on his bed. He knows that Touka is strong. Hell, she’s one of the strongest people he ever met in his life and it’s not just as a ghoul, but as a person. Her personality and her whole being just screams braveness. But the fear of losing her because of his incapability to protect her overwhelms him every time. He’s the One Eyed King and yet, he still can’t protect the ones he care about; the ones who depend on him; the ones he love.

—– Seeing her right now, finally awake and looking down while hiding her pain from him, infuriated him more. Only God knows if it’s at Mutsuki who’s the sole reason of all this, at Touka because she’s as reckless as him, or at himself for being such an idiot. He should’ve burned the report regarding Yoriko’s death sentence. He knew it was wrong that he kept it from Touka but he just wanted her to be able to take care of herself. Especially now that he’s aware of her condition. She haven’t said a thing about it but he already have his suspicions right after his talk with Nishio, and it further strengthened when he saw her calendar and was literally thrown out of her room.

Kaneki stopped pacing back and forth and just focused on Touka. He wanted to say a lot of things. But his current burning feeling doesn’t help. Instead he quietly said, “You scared me.”

He finally saw Touka lift her head and their eyes locked. Her wide, suprised ones to his fearful and angry orbs. Slowly, his gaze went from her eyes down to her nose, and lips, and chin. His eyes roaming around her face, noticing purple bruises and ugly cuts on her cheeks and the corner of her lip. His gaze slowly going down, down, down; to her neck, her chest and her arms. Her long sleeved shirt and her tights were torn all over the place when he carried her so when Nishio finished her bandages and they’re in his room, he took off her torn shirt and her ripped tights and gently put her in his white t-shirt. It was too big for her so it covered half of her body, ending just in the middle of her thighs.

If not in their current situation and his mild rage inside him, he would’ve been aroused by her image – her hair messed up, her eyes wide drinking him in, her lips a pinkish color beside the small bruise on the corner of her mouth.

Touka in his clothes.

He committed this image to memory to think about when he misses her, a few rooms away from him every night. But his eyes flew to her thighs and saw cuts, her knee scraped, and a gash on her leg. He saw her consciously try to conceal them from his eyes and he saw her writhe in pain from moving. Her whole body aches and it can be seen clearly from her face. His anger went on another level. Touka clutching her deeply wounded arm did not help at all.

He continued, saying his words a little louder because of anger, with his voice a bit shaky and breathy at once, “You fucking scared me, Touka-chan.”

He lessen the blow of his remark with that suffix following her name but inside he wanted to scream. And it’s already evident in his voice when he continued to speak.

“How could you risk your life like that? How could you follow me knowing that it would be dangerous? How could you fight Aura in your condition?! Do you know how frightened I was when I saw you there?! I knew you were right here, safe and sound, and suddenly you appeared there and didn’t think about yourself! You should’ve trusted me! I know I could save Yoriko myse-”

At that remark, he saw Touka’s eyes flashed with anger and suddenly Kaneki’s heart lurched. He have never seen her this way before and his words got stuck in his throat until he heard her talk.

“Yoriko is my friend,” Touka said with her voice hushed laced with venom. Directing her eyes back at Kaneki’s, she continued, “Do you expect me to just sit here and wait for her to die? Do you expect me to just watch until the news of her death suddenly break me?” Her voice cracked a little, and Kaneki felt his heart did too.

“And what about you? Do you expect me to just do nothing while you risk your life? Alone? For fuck’s sake, Kaneki! Why do you always do this to yourself?!” Her eyes suddenly filled with angry and frustrated tears. Her voice dropped down a few notch until it’s almost like an anguished whisper, “Why do you always do this to me?”

Kaneki stood there, feeling his anger wane a little, but the fire remains. Whether it’s the fire of rage or fire of fear or maybe the fire of love, he doesn’t even know anymore. All he could see is Touka’s tears starting to form in her eyes, staring defiantly at him. His heart dropped as a tear did as well, spilling across her injured cheek.

He always thought Furuta and his games will be the death of him. Maybe his hunger or his recklessness. But now he realized that perhaps Touka’s tears will be his ultimate demise.

She took a deep breath and wiped away the tear from her cheek. She composed herself before opening her mouth to speak, “I know it was reckless. And I know you only meant good. But she is important to me and I would do everything I can to save her. You would’ve done the same if you were in my shoes.”

And then she added quietly, “I would’ve done the same thing over and over again.. just like I would if you were taken away by anyone.”

He put his hand over his heart by then, feeling like something squeezed it. Kaneki continues to stand there across from her sitting form, a few feet away from his bed. His anger being replaced by shame, longing and exhaustion. He wanted to gather her in her arms to console her for not being able to take Yoriko away.

—– Yoriko was never there in their meeting place. Mutsuki told him that he should go to the chateau as Mutsuki will break out Yoriko from the CCG headquarters, then bring her there to prove Mutsuki’s loyalty to him. He knew it was a trap but he was desperate to help Touka’s friend. For Touka’s sake. He knew how important Yoriko was to her. He was such an idiot for believing Mutsuki. When he got there, Mutsuki was there waiting for him. That’s when he knew he fucked up miserably.

They were fighting for a while then and it was evident that he got the upper hand until he sensed another force coming from behind and it was Shinsanpei Aura, a few feet from him and ready to strike with his quinque. Kaneki got distracted and Mutsuki used this as an opportunity to attack him. He blocked Mutsuki’s attempt and was struggling to dodge Aura’s quinque when shock gripped his whole body completely.

And that’s when Touka appeared behind him to block Aura’s attack. She managed to block Aura with her kagune and counter-attacked with her close combat skills. Kaneki didn’t have the chance to see Touka and Aura’s fight for he was busy with his own fight with Mutsuki but he was shaking the entire time, desperate to knock Mutsuki out to get him and Touka away from there.

After a few minutes of fighting, he was finally able to disarm Mutsuki of his quinque and damage his kagune. Mutsuki was lying down, knocked out from their battle. If Tsukiyama was there with him, he would’ve told him to kill Mutsuki and not just leave him be. Hell, his right hand man would probably kill Mutsuki himself.

But as torn as he was whether to do it or not, he did not have the time for that. His mind was occupied by Touka who was facing Aura, a very cunning opponent, and they’re nowhere to be found. Kaneki went cold all over.

He quickly searched around the area and scanned it frantically. His heart thumping wildly and his mind giving him possible scenarios of what happened to Touka are making him shake uncontrollably. Then, he stopped midway his frantic running and saw a body.

It’s obvious that its left arm was twisted and broken. A small puddle of blood pooling under it and the stench of it filled his nostrils. He fought the hunger and swallowed his fear. He ran closer to it when he recognized it as Aura’s bloody limp form. It was slumped a few meters away from Touka’s unmoving body and that’s when he saw her.

That’s when he knew he fucked up more than he did before.

He wanted to kill Aura right then and there but knowing that Touka is more important, he dismissed his initial reaction and took his Touka in his arms. Besides, Touka took care of Aura already, evident with his broken arms and perhaps spilled organs. He’s either dead or nearly dead. He doesn’t give a single fuck.

That’s my girl, Kaneki thought. Pride, fear and love swelling inside him. He’s taking them home.

We’re going home, Touka-chan.

—– And now, as he stood there in front of Touka, with her looking at him the way as he was looking at her, he thank whoever it was to be thanked for because she’s alive. She’s here. She’s safe.

Kaneki walked the little distance between them and kneels in front of her. She looks down on him as he raise his eyes on hers. He whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Tears starts to form again in her eyes. He raises his hand and use his thumb to wipe them away as they spill along her wounded face. Touka closed her eyes and cried silently.

“I know I should’ve told you,” Kaneki said, his hands still on her face. He wanted to kiss her tears away so bad. But first, they need to talk. “But you should’ve told me, too.”

Touka opened her eyes then. She starts to say, “There was no time and you were already gone so I-”

He immediately cut her off, “I’m not.. talking about.. that.”

A long silence ensued. They’re both looking at each other without uttering any word. Touka opened her mouth a few times, only to close them. Kaneki patiently waited for her to gather her thoughts and speak.

After a few minutes, Touka looked down and bit her lip. She was clearly avoiding his eyes.

Kaneki struggled to keep his smile. She’s so cute, he can’t help but think.

“I guess you knew when you saw my calendar.”

He smirked a bit, “Actually, it was when Nishio-senpai told me.”

Touka looked at him abruptly and angrily retorted, “What?! Four-Eyes told you?!” She struggled to get up but Kaneki, still kneeling in front of her, gripped her hands and put his arms on the sides of her thighs to keep her from standing up.

“You’re not in the right condition, Touka-chan,” he said, softly. Suddenly amused, he realized that his anger is finally gone and he actually find their situation quite amusing and endearing.

But Touka obviously don’t think so.

“Oh, I still have strength to kick his damn ass! I’m gonna kick them so hard he’d need another glasses coz I will shove it together up in his butt,” Touka furiously remarked while still struggling under his grip. Kaneki couldn’t help but chuckle.

Touka heard this and turned her attention to Kaneki, her intention of kicking Nishiki’s ass slowly being turned towards the white haired man kneeling in front of her.

“Why are you laughing?”, she asked, her teeth gritted.

“I can’t let you do that,” Kaneki told her. He’s keeping his face neutral, for his sake. “I can’t let you roam around our base looking like a feast for every man’s eyes. I won’t.”

The girl stopped struggling and just looked at him. She looked down at her attire. He saw how her face changed from an angry shade of red because of her pissed off attitude to a deep glow of pink because of shame.

She’s so fucking beautiful, Kaneki thought with a skip of a heartbeat.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and pushed Touka down his bed gently. She wanted to struggle but Kaneki hovered over her and she felt like the cat got her tongue.

Kaneki smiled softly at her and he gently lay down beside her. His left arm went under her nape to wound around so he could grip her shoulder, his right snakes around her waist and gently tug her body against his. Her face is red now, and Kaneki put his head a few inches from hers. He never knew Touka can be shy.

Of all the times they were alone, whether talking or doing unspeakable things to each other (which is really not often, to his dissapointment and relief at once), she was always the one who initiates it. And to be honest, he doesn’t mind at all. He secretly likes it. Besides, Touka is really far decisive than he is. She’s fierce, and passionate, and wild, and sweet, and everything good in this world. If she wants to do something, she will do it. Fuck the consequences. It may be her biggest flaw, but to Kaneki, it’s what makes her Touka. And he loves her for that alone. Her beautiful face, and her more beautiful body, and her most beautiful heart are just another extra bonus. A big, fat one at that.

He continues to stare at her face, relishing the quiet around them.

I missed you. I missed this, Kaneki thought to himself.

As if she heard his thoughts, she blurted out a hushed “What?” She tried to sound annoyed, but her blushing face says something else.

Kaneki patiently smiled at her, “We should talk. We could’ve avoided all this if we did this a little sooner.”

Touka silently looked at him, then nodded. “I thought so, too.” She laughed a bit and added, “We’re so stubborn, you and I.”

Kaneki couldn’t agree more. Because of their situation with their food and the issue with Furuta’s plans above ground, plus their plans on the counter-attack, Kaneki doesn’t have the time to talk to Touka and check on how she’s doing. They barely see each other and the only reminder he has of her is her sweet scent, the feel of her body pressed against him, and her parents’ ring now wrapped around his neck by a silver chain.

Touka is eyeing the said ring while she said, “I didn’t want you to worry too much about me. I know you have a lot on your plate right now. And I cannot be much of help. I can’t burden you with another thing.”

She said it really softly that if he was not paying his full attention, he would’ve missed it entirely.

“Why do you think you are a burden, Touka-chan?”, he asked her. He cannot believe Touka would think like that about herself. She have never been so wrong.

“I’m afraid, Kaneki,” she admitted. Her fingers unconsciously toying with her parents’ ring. “I’m afraid of what’s to come. What if this situation will be used against you? What if this pregnancy fails?”

Her fingers stopped fiddling with the ring and she splayed her hand against his chest. She looked at his eyes, fearful and sad at once.

“What if I don’t make it?”

His grip on her body automatically went tighter. “Don’t,” he half shouted, half whispered. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But what if, Kaneki? We don’t know what’s gonna happen. We don’t know if this baby needs a human food or what,” Touka cried. Tears started to form again and this time, they’re the scared kind. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t-”

Kaneki abruptly cut her words with his mouth. He kissed her lips, tasted tears and love and sweet, sweet Touka. He kissed her cheek, her wounds on them, her nose, her eyes. Everywhere his lips could reach. He could hear her quiet sobs and he doesn’t know how to ease her pain but he’s trying. God, he’s trying.

He buried his face in her neck, his hands rubbing her shoulders and her back as she quietly cries. Her hands now grip his shirt between their bodies, he could feel her shaking.

He continues to soothe her as much as he can. He couldn’t even imagine how hard must it be for her. All he could do is just be there for her.

After a few moments, she visibly relaxes. He turn his face towards her face and see her looking at him, tears drying on her perfect face.

Beautiful, he thought.

And it was not enough just to think about it so he told her, “You’re so beautiful, Touka Kirishima.”

She closes her eyes and smile. And when she opened them, her hands went to his face, tracing his eyebrows, down to his nose and lips. He puckered his lips to kiss them.

“I lost everything important in my life already,” he started. His gaze never leaving her.

“My dad at first. Then my mother. After being with my auntie and her family, I lost that too. I lost my whole family. I had Hide and then I became a ghoul. I thought it was a punishment. Because I knew I might lose Hide along the way because of it. And I did. I lost Hide. My bestfriend in the whole world, and I lost him. And I’ve never felt so alone. So lonely.

Then Anteiku. I was angry and scared when I became a ghoul. But Yoshimura-san’s solemn face made me at peace. I was happy for a while, being with all of you there. Only to be taken away from all of you after the raid. I felt angry towards myself again, for I wasn’t able to protect everyone I care about.

Then I became a Dove. I had friends there, Suzuya for one. And I got my so-called parents, Akira and Arima. My Quinx. The moody Urie, the shy Mutsuki, the sweet Saiko.. And the kind Shirazu. And I lost them all. Shirazu who I wasn’t able to see before he died; Tooru who went to a terrible path; Juuzuo, Urie and Yonebayashi who I haven’t seen for such a long time and probably sent to hunt me down and kill me; Akira who I lost as I lost Haise; and Arima, my only father figure that I had, who died in my arms. I lost them all.

And now, recently, the :re cafe. You worked so hard for that cafe, Touka-chan. Just to wait for me to come home. To you. And I lost it too. We lost it.”

Memories and feelings flooded him. His heart hurt remembering all these people and all these things that happened to him. His life really is a tragedy.

But every time his eyes fall on Touka, something blooms inside him.

Hope.

“But you’re still here. With me,” he tells Touka. His hand caressing her face, soothing her injuries. His arm wounded around her shoulders slowly tracing her bones with his fingers. His eyes roaming around her face, committing everything to his memory.

His hand stopped on the junction between her shoulders and neck, his thumb moving rhythmically. “I won’t lose you again, Touka. I can’t lose you.”

His emotions started to grip him powerfully at once, “I can’t lose you, too.”

He closed his eyes and felt hot tears spill on the left side of his face, tiny drops obvious on his white pillowcase.

He can feel Touka’s eyes on him. Then a split second passed and her arms are around him, his arms immediately doing the same, his body desperate for the comfort of her arms and her heart.

They cried together for a while. Because that’s what you do for the one you love. You don’t do anything alone. No I, no me. Always us. Always together. Always.

Kaneki loosen his grip on her after a moment then takes her face in his hands, “We can do this, Touka-chan. You and me, together.”

He looked down below at her stomach. Feelings of fear, anticipation and love overwhelms him.

That’s my child right there, he mused in his thoughts. My own flesh and blood. Touka and I’s child.

Ours.

He looks back at her, “I’ll do my best to protect you. Protect you both. I’ll make our future safe. I won’t fail you, Touka-chan.”

“Kaneki,” Touka stated. His heart hurts just by seeing her like this. He waited for what she’s gonna say next.

“Promise me one thing,” she whispered. Her voice soft but determined. Her eyes wet but steady on his. “Whatever happens, save the baby.”

Kaneki stopped breathing. “What are you saying? How ca-”

“Promise me!” Touka urged him. She’s hurting him and she knows it, but she wants to make sure the safety of her child. Their child. “Please, Kaneki.”

She’s asking him to choose their child if it ever comes to that point. That means he would lose her. He wouldn’t want that. He can’t take that. He might as well just die.

But knowing Touka, she might resent him when they meet in the afterlife, if ever there is one. And he can’t take that as well.

The thought of leaving a mark in this world, in that case, his child, is a pretty exhilarating idea. Knowing that his child will be there to witness the world he fought hard to create and protect. A world where humans and ghouls live together in peace. He will do everything in his power to achieve that goal.

Looking at her, he sees endless possibilities. And knowing that one day, he might not see her again; hold her like this again and kiss her senseless again – he made a promise to her and to himself.

“I won’t stop,” he started slowly. “Never, until my goal is achieved. And if there may come a time that I have to choose between you and our child..”

His voiced cracked a little but continued, “I promise to choose our child.”

Touka breathed an almost mute ‘thank you’ until she heard him again.

“But not without putting up a goddamn fight,” Kaneki declared, his gaze steady and determined on Touka. “I will always fight for you, Touka.”

She was breathless. His eyes are full of fire and determination that it took Touka’s breath away. Her heart skipped a beat.

I love you so much, she thought to herself. You’re so brave, my love.

Kaneki saw her eyes flash, full of unsaid feelings. He thinks he must look the same for there are words unspilled in his mouth. He can’t contain them anymore.

“I love you,” he quietly mused. He looked at her and saw her staring with shock. It’s the first time he said it and it just felt so right. “I love you, Touka Kirishima. I love you so much like my heart could burst.”

There, it’s out, he breathed a sigh of relief. What will she say? Does she feel the same? Nah, I don’t care if she doesn’t. I just wanna say it out loud. She doesn’t have to answer now, I could wai-

“I love you too,” she murmured. She’s looking down on the ring around his neck. She’s licking and biting her lips nervously. A slight blush creeping on her wounded cheeks.

After and despite all the heavy burdens they threw out of their chests, he smiled. A big, goofy one. She loves him, and he couldn’t ask for anything better.

Touka saw this expression and said, “What’s with that annoying face?”

She didn’t seem annoyed, she’s more like trying to be annoyed. It’s hard when his cute smile is right in front of her. Meanwhile, Kaneki feels like a real king.

“Nothing,” he answered happily. She chuckled under her breath and felt his body shake with mirth as well. They’re so weird. Crying, then laughing the next second. Perfect for each other.

Kaneki kissed her then. He kissed her like it’s gonna be the last time. They both know there are too many problems to solve, and friends to save, and plans to create. But right now, they kiss. They kiss and they love. And it would be enough, even just for right now.

Kaneki’s kissing Touka’s neck, hearing her softly moan against his ear, making him shudder because of too much pleasure and love. At this rate, they’re gonna end up banging each other’s brains out. But Touka’s injured condition may not take that. So Kaneki needs to stop this before he forgets her wounded form and pounce on her. It’s so hard especially when his hand is already gripping her exposed thighs and he could see her underwear because his shirt she’s wearing just rode up. He’s losing it.

Think! Kaneki pressed on his thoughts as he kisses her mouth, drinking her sighs as he stroke inside with his tongue.

Fuck, think you idiot!

He suddenly thought of something and he knows he’s gonna be in trouble for saying this but he had no choice.

He broke the kiss and breathed out, “What about Nishio-senpai? What are you gonna do about him?”

He haven’t told Touka that Nishio didn’t even tell him directly that she’s pregnant. He just hinted at it but well, Kaneki’s desperate now.

Sorry, Nishio-senpai.

Touka looked taken aback at first because they were making out when he blurts this shit out. She immediately thought of the four-eyed bastard and seethed under her breath, “Oh he’s gonna be in trouble. I can’t believe he told you I’m pregnant. I haven’t told anyone. Not even Hinami or Ayato.”

“What did you just say?! And what the hell is this?!” a loud voice suddenly came into the room.

Kaneki stood up abruptly and saw a very mad, very fuming Yomo in front of them, his face contorted in anger.

Touka and Kaneki looked at each other worriedly. Kaneki actually looked a little green. Yomo is either angry at the both of them because Touka is pregnant, or because he saw them barely making out like teenagers with raging hormones. Touka thinks it’s the former plus the fact that she was injured, the latter appealed to Kaneki more.

Well, Kaneki thinks to himself. At least Touka is safe from me. She’s still in no condition to be made love to.

But looking back at Yomo and his very angry face made him doubt his choices in life. Especially the choice to refuse his desire for the love of his life and the choice to use his Nishio-senpai as a cover to save his girl from his hormones.

Eitherway, karma is real.

One Eyed King or not, Kaneki thought to himself. You’re still an idiot.

[voymedia1]

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It’s not enough to have a great story to tell. You have to be able to communicate the story effectively. That takes skill and talent that doesn’t come naturally for everyone. Fortunately, there are a variety of resources that you can use as you create compelling stories.

Hemingway App: This app helps to instill focus and self-discipline in your writing. It will point out when your sentences are overly complex, you use big words, and encourage you to write clearly and concisely.

Grammarly: This simple yet effective grammar checking utility is free. Even better, it works in Windows, Chrome, and as a download for Word. It automatically checks your text and flags potentially embarrassing mistakes.

Hot Essay Service: This is a great resource for proofreading and editing assistance. The website also has informative writing samples on a variety of topics.

White Smoke: A great alternative to Grammarly. This English grammar checking tool also helps you to ensure your writing is top-notch.

Supreme Dissertations: You’ll find great writing samples here. Don’t forget to check out the blog posts as well. There are plenty of posts with useful writing advice.

Language Tool: This is a great tool if you use Google Docs. Use this add-on to enhance Docs’ functionality with a truly useful grammar and spelling utility.

Rewarded Essays: This is yet another ‘one stop’ resource for writing help. It includes writing, proofreading, and editing assistance. You can also find useful writing examples.

Readability Score: The more people your stories touch, the better. Readability score will help you accomplish this goal.

  4. Enhance Stories With Data And Visuals

Data is an important component of storytelling. It provides the facts and information to bolster an emotionally compelling story. In addition to this, if you have data to present to an audience, combining it with a story can make the data easier to understand.

There’s another reason to combine data with storytelling. Your audience is comprised with people each with unique learning styles and experiences. Some can be won over with a relatable stories. Others read a story, and think, ‘Great! Where’s the proof?’ When you put the two together, you are able to convince more people.

Finally, great stories need a visual element. First, visuals can be used to present data in a way that is easily understood by audiences. In addition to this, imagery adds a compelling, emotional component to stories that help to keep audiences engaged.

  5. Know Where to Find Storytelling Opportunities

Where do you tell your stories? One very important component of using stories in marketing is finding opportunities to tell stories, and making the most of those chances. Brands use storytelling in their blogs, paid advertising, product pages, company history, and their sales pitches.

The key is to find the right opportunities first. Then, identify the exact stories that are the best fit for any given situation. Finally, tell the story in a compelling way.

  Final Thoughts

Take any concept and present it in the form of a story, and you’ll have a much easier time generating interest and engagement. Even better, good storytelling can boost online sales. Remember that the lack of face to face contact in e commerce must be replaced with compelling content, and that includes storytelling.

  Author’s Bio: Bridgette Hernandez is a Master in Anthropology who is interested in writing and planning to publish her own book in the nearest future. She finished her study last year but is already a true expert when it comes to presenting text in a creative and understandable manner. Bridgette has been working as a contributor writer at IsAccurate.

The post Business Storytelling: 5 Tips to Engage Your Customers And Boost Ecommerce Sales appeared first on Facebook Advertising Agency | Facebook Marketing Company.

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The Sad Reality Of A Christian Pick-Up Artist

This is the story of a man who raged against the vagina and lost. A man whose erection died a thousand deaths, until all it had left was its God. But at its core, it’s the redemption tale of a man who went from sex predator to sex predator for the Lord. If you have any holes on you, you already know who I’m talking about: pick-up artist and author Don Diebel.

It’s important to me that you know this is a real person, and not some wacky character I invented for an SNL audition. This man is an actual author who wrote real books. Here is how he appeared in the actual June 1990 issue of real publication Texas Monthly:

Coming into the 1980s, Don Diebel’s only personality trait was sex. Whether he was out on the town or at home coyly staring the panties off you from white overalls with no shirt or muscle tone, Don made every interaction into penetration. You may look at his picture and think, “This guy? He looks like a Before picture in an Out Traveler control shampoo ad.” Sick burn, but don’t be fooled. He waged a four-decade crusade against unfilled orifices. Planned Parenthood nurses would call him the Baba Yaga.

Don, a leading Texas pussy vagrant, started off with the noble goal of teaching others how to swindle strangers out of sex. It’s a cause that would consume and ultimately destroy him, but at the age 33, Don didn’t know any of this. He only knew two things, and both of them were titties. With his thick, wavy hair going prematurely white — a totally-worth-it side effect of mustache ride friction — he wrote his first book on the thing he thought he did best: How To Pick Up Women In Discos.

Unfortunately, Don wasn’t as great with language as he was with nipple play. He wrote like a man who spent elementary school crushing ass instead of learning sentence structure. He made love like a dream, but when he typed, his commas limply flopped into the wrong spots like a porn actor who lied on his resume. Don Diebel is first and foremost a lover, and not at all any kind of second thing. No publisher wanted his manuscript.

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To circumvent the literary world’s decency and taste, Don started his own publishing company. The newly founded Gemini Pub Co’s first book, How To Pick Up Women In Discos, became an instant critical and financial failure. What happened? Well, Don Diebel can only spell “pusy,” and he writes like eight of his fingers are trapped in a butt. Politics also played a part. It’s easy to forget that women in 1980 had to file taxes as “female livestock or lipstick storage equipment,” and they could still be arrested for removing the tuna from a Jell-O casserole recipe. Yet even during that era, Don’s book on “picking up” women was seen as sexist. So Diebel bounced back in 1982 with the more gently titled THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN. It was pretty much the same book.

Don still had issues with punctuation, grammar, and spelling, but you don’t buy a book like THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN because you have keen communication skills. You buy it because your swollen balls were in the bookstore shrieking, “Aargh! Try anything! Heeelp!” Here’s what’s crazy, though: This book is almost criminally wrong about how to approach women. Applying this book to your game is like adding anime rants and seven mouth sores to your game. If you’ve had sex fewer than 70 times, reading THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN legally restores your virginity. Let’s look at some excerpts (1982 first edition). All typos are Don’s.

The first chapter is mostly for fun. It describes the different types of women you’ll run into in the disco. Watch out for The Man-Hater! She’s a type of wildlife who only goes to singles bars to make mean faces at men asking for casual sex. You can skip most of this chapter, since if you use the techniques described in the book, you’ll find virtually all women fall into this category.

This section helps establish some of the rules for the ladies. If you make eye contact with Don Diebel, then great. Enjoy the moistest night of your life. And if you make the mistake of not accepting his penis, the least you could do is give honest but fair notes on what he and it could have done better.

Stay where you are, though, silent and alert. Don will have some questions and arguments, followed by several sexual offers of reduced intimacy, such as “handjob” or “eat your ass.” Wait for him to fully complete his exit interview before going home. If you do remain in the club, you tease, return to Don often, and a bit hornier if you don’t mind, for up to ten last chances. Don understands this can be inconvenient, but it’s what you signed up for when you brought a vagina with you outside.

So let me get this straight, Don. You spend your afternoons looking for the least interesting alcoholic in Houston’s Holiday Inn bars, and you’re willing to be slapped and humiliated for the desperate, minuscule chance to destroy an already sad person’s marriage. And after years of this, you think, “I should write an advice book to help others avoid this tragic life. Wait. No, the opposite.” This whole book is like getting advice from the world champion of diarrhea speed eating.

Judging by the advice he gives, Don considers a woman not taking a swing at him to be a sexual conquest. His approach is to take the tact of a subway masturbator, combine it with the charm of a subway masturbator, then remove all self-awareness. So yes, of course it seems like topless dancers are “easy lays” to him. When he talks to a woman in literally any other line of work, she calls the police before he says a second thing.

It’s important to note that Diebel thinks he invented trying to fuck strippers. This will be a recurring theme in his books, along with another overlooked source of eligible bachelorettes:

With this level of relentless pursuit, I have to wonder how Don managed to stay single. I’d ask one of his former lovers about it, but this entry makes me think I’d need a team of dogs and a shovel to find one.

Women, this is going to sound like obvious advice after you hear it, but find yourself a man who can list nine different swingers magazines before he even gets to the mediocre ones.

Whether it’s Carl Sagan or Neil deGrasse Tyson, a good science communicator finds ways to take complicated, expansive concepts and translate them into conversational language. Others, such as Don Diebel, might ramble for 57 words about untested neuroscience instead of suggesting “Point at your dick?”

Shout out to 1982’s Barbara, who managed to have the most uncomfortable line in a panty sniffer’s How To Date-Rape book. This was your chance to help people, and you really blew it, Barbara. I don’t know why I’m lecturing you, though. You’ve probably been dead 30 years, and your entire eulogy was just your bartender telling a coroner, “Yeah, I think that’s Britney.”

If a lady isn’t having a good time at a party where a man is leaning against a wall pointing at his dick, it’s probably because she’s sitting too far away to see. Move in close, wiggling your fingers around your genitals as necessary. If her eyesight is especially bad, here is how you say “I’M POINTING AT MY DICK” in Braille:

Haha wait, what? Fucking what, Don Diebel? This is a complete reversal of what you were saying last page. I’d hate to find out I became registered as a sex offender in 19 states by following the advice of a guy who was so full of shit he couldn’t even keep his own wisdom straight. Oh, great. Now you’ve got me writing GOP slogans.

Well, yeah. Duh. I have a boner, Don, not a passion for sorcery.

Don Diebel, if masturbation fantasies were forced by universal law to come true, we would all be hunky detectives investigating erotic mysteries with Shannon Tweed. Every few hours, we would suddenly find ourselves buried in confusing piles of our stepmother’s pantyhose. You can’t conjure things by fantasizing about them really hard. And if you could, the least imaginative seventh-grader would occupy the free time of every hot girl in the world. Don Diebel, listen. You can literally look down at your own lonely, unwelcome dick to know none of this is true, Don.

THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN continues like that for a while, going into great detail on how to hypnotize yourself to be more seductive and offering beginner hygiene tips to avoid being a dealbreaker at orgies. The book was, by any measure, a humiliating disaster. His eager, virgin dong still had more to teach, but cracks were starting to form in Don Diebel’s fragile soul.

It had been eight years since the release of THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN, and the book only became popular in one community: district attorneys presenting evidence in rape trials. But Don had an idea that could turn his literary career around — an idea most people would call embarrassing. It was a pick-up artist book written by a man, but for, get this, ladies.

It’s worth noting that the two-time failed author whose advice on hitchhikers was “try to fuck them” was now describing himself on book jackets with “Don Diebel — World famous writer, author, lecturer, dating consultant, TV and radio personality, astrologer, has helped thousands of lonely hearts win at the game of love with his phenomenal best-sellers.”

FINDING MR. RIGHT: A Woman’s Guide To Meeting Men was an ambitious project to take female victims and sexually aggressive disco creeps and swap their brains. If it worked, it would be the greatest breakthrough in free vagina since Donald Trump had a daughter. And if it didn’t, Don Diebel would just look like a lonely idiot whose greatest ambition was to get away with sexual assault — the exact thesis of his last book. Let’s see how things worked out. Once again, all typos and grammatical errors have been respectfully left in.

The first chapter is mostly for fun. It describes the different types of men you’ll run into in the nightclub. Watch out for The Woman-Hater! He only came here to get cranky when women offer him- hold on, this sounds way too familiar. Did he … no. No, he couldn’t have. There’s no way.

Oh, holy shit. This is … oh, holy shit. Don’s book on helping ladies find romance is just THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN, word for word, with the genders switched. This maniac actually knows so little about women that he thinks he can search-and-replace pronouns in a pussy-grabbing handbook and it will work as woman’s guide to finding love. That’s … that’s the most sexist thing but also somehow the least sexist thing I’ve ever heard.

When I realized he rewrote the same book (again), only with different pronouns, I thought, “OK, but he’s going to take out the section on banging hitchhikers, right?” He fucking didn’t! All he did was add three sentences to assure the eager female reader that while it is dangerous, she still has at least a 51 percent chance of surviving sex in her car with a destitute drifter. But before you jump on that “golden opportunity,” girls, keep in mind that these statistics are only the casual speculation of a lonely man who dreams of one day porking a hitchhiker. They are not official numbers from a census of highway stabbing incidents.

If you’re luring junkie male strippers home with cocaine, you’re operating at the very highest level of finding Mr. Right and Don Diebel can teach you no more. You started as a sad woman with a book and an unused lap. Now you have a man who loves your cocaine and cares about your cocaine, but who needs to leave soon to rub his balls on a birthday party. And he will remain faithful to you until the very moment a different person has cocaine. On behalf of all women and everyone who believes in true love, thank you, Don Diebel.

Maybe I didn’t give Don enough credit for his ability to adjust to feminine thinking. He made a few changes other than search-replacing the pronouns in his manual for beginner sex predators. For instance, in the male version of the book, the astrology section was about tricking gullible women into your home to pretend to do astrology. In the female version, there’s a bit of astrology.

One chapter of the female version of his book was four pages about where you can meet horny rich men. This replaced a chapter for the men devoted to infiltrating swinger communities. He may not be a smart man, but Don has been kicked out of enough orgies to know that women prefer cash prizes to group sex.

When FINDING MR. RIGHT: A Woman’s Guide To Meeting Men — the female reboot of the previous reboot of an unpublishable book — didn’t work out, Don knew he had to innovate. His keen mind, honed by years of imagining vulvas, thought: “What if there was a collection of pages that contained the names, locations, and phone numbers of businesses!?” He then published THE HOUSTON ENTERTAINMENT AND Dating GUIDE: WHERE TO GO AND WHAT TO DO FROM A TO Z

This joyless list of business hours and addresses contained 100 pages, eight grainy photos, and several short descriptions of what things like art galleries and senior citizen centers are as basic concepts. If you were in the Houston area in the early ’90s and wished the Yellow Pages were harder to navigate and written by a pervert, it made the perfect gift. Unfortunately, this was not a large enough group of people to make the book a hit.

So after publishing one pick-up artist book three different ways and one Houston Yellow Pages spec script, Don spent eight years coming up with his realest idea yet. It was a book about picking up chicks, but focusing on the only part he’d ever experienced: the opening line.

In 1999, at the age of 52, Don Diebel published 1001 Best Pick-Up Lines: Sure-fire Opening Lines For Meeting, Attracting, and Seducing Women. On the book jacket, he described himself as “America’s #1 Singles Expert and one of the nation’s leading experts on dating and relationships.” He was back and doing what he did best: creating awkward situations between a handful of sad men and their book store clerks, then nothing fucking close to anything else.

Fun fact: The book was also published on CD-ROM, but instead of featuring a hot chick getting seduced in a bar, Don used clip art of what seems to be a hospitality worker explaining to a passenger that his mother just fell off the back of the cruise ship. A strange choice, and also one irrelevant to anything I’ll be discussing! Let’s take a look inside:

Women love honesty, but they also love mystery, which makes this a perfect line, because she will find this honesty very mysterious. And then you have her right where you want her, engaging in the sensual game of cat and mouse that is seduction. She’s thinking, “Did this elderly man really fuck a breach into his blow-up doll, or does he have a poor sense of humor and no judgement?” and you’re thinking, “LICK HER TOES, COWARD. NO, MOTHER, I MUSTN’T! LICK HER TOES, COWARD.”

At first this seems like innocent wordplay, but it’s so much more. This line subliminally recreates that erotic feeling that only exists between the moment you open a Valentine’s Day card from a child and the moment you place it in the trash. She will be overwhelmed with a sense of predictable, expected disappointment.

If you built a robot to package toothpaste and it left the factory to go house to house tearing the teeth from every mouth it found, it would be better at its job than this line is at picking up women.

This one isn’t bad, Don, but the default human greeting seems a bit obvious for a book promising “Sure-fire opening lines for meeting, attracting, and seducing women” from “America’s #1 Singles Expert.” This is kind of like including “milk” in a cookbook, or “none” in The Comprehensive Guide To Vaginas Don Diebel Has Actually Seen.

“Because if you are, your pizza, pastas, and zeal for life really plumb my koopas. And lasagna? I’m sorry, no woman has ever let me talk this long. I- aaaaaaahhhhh I’m! Is this? I-I’m CUMMMING!!!!”

This is such an amazing combination of stupid, confusing, and pathetic that I think Don has given up trying to seduce ladies and now he’s simply searching for the secret cheat code to turn off a woman’s nervous system. There is one good thing about this pick-up line, though: If the club is too noisy for her to hear you, you can communicate the exact same thing by sadly holding out a condom while your own pants fill with pee. Which, if I’m not mistaken, is the Diebel family crest.

This opening line can really move things along, but it only works on Alzheimer’s patients who are willing to have sex with the men they think are their children.

No, she’s still not Italian, Don. Are you fucking stupid? Why did you write a book promising 1,001 conversation starters if the only nine honest conversations you can have are about swingers magazines? Don, when your pick-up lines are so dull you can’t remember them from earlier on the same fucking page of your own book, how are they going to work on the real women laughing at the little mustache you grew to hide your chimpanzee lips? How many times will you ask them if they’re Italian while they’re telling the bouncer you were smelling their bar stools? A million dollars says the closest you’ve ever come to actual sex is when you found a pizza pocket in your swimming trunks. You miserable fuck, Don Diebel.

While she’s lubricating from your Laffy Taffy cleverness, follow this line up with “That counts! You all saw! FIRST BASE FOR DIEBEL! Ow! Stop! OK, I’m leaving! I, HEY! I’m entitled to a phone call! I need to tell my mother I met a girl!”

Let’s imagine this in a best-case scenario. Let’s say this woman alone at the bar has no defenses against aggressive perverts. Let’s say she believes there was a fart and that it wasn’t you, Don Diebel, the man giving local fart updates to strangers. Say she abandons her drink and runs outside with the obvious pervert screaming about farts. Does this seem reasonable, Don? Because we’re not done.

Don, you seem to think a woman’s mood can be manipulated with suggestion and imperceptible body language. If that’s true, and we’re just playing games now because it isn’t, wouldn’t it work in the opposite direction? Don’t you think running up to her with a butt smell emergency might undo the 40 seconds you spent trying to get her to look at your dick? By your own science, you’ve implanted yourself in her subconscious as the bar-clearing fart guy, Don. And no one steps out on their husband with the bar-clearing fart guy.

Of course this guy has a feet thing. Jesus Christ, Don, at this point you might as well ask for her address and if it’s OK for you to keep any Maxi Pads she throws out.

This isn’t how meeting people works or how licking people works. The nicest thing anyone has ever said about Don Diebel is this quote I wrote for the back of his next book: “Don Diebel’s direct, slobbery approach to picking up women saves everyone time! Most sexual predators hide their dark intentions behind charm until it’s far too late!”

You probably know this is the desperate act of a sex criminal and wouldn’t work. If you did this one million times, you would see zero boobs and be the least popular man in prison. This is like writing a book on finance and suggesting, “Sell a stolen bike for $50 million! (Someone out there might actually do it. Billionaires are noted eccentrics.)” And don’t fucking forget, Don Diebel wrote this when he was a 52-year-old man. That’s almost 40 years past puberty, and he still cannot even imagine what it would look like if a woman said a second thing to him.

There’s no way anyone is this bad with women. If you told me this book was a marketing scheme created by the pepper spray industry, I would pretend I knew it all along.

Is that true, women? Call the police for “no,” and dry heave for a more comical “no.”

I’ve made fun of a lot of the stuff in this book, but this one is just good writing. It’s effective, too. Approaching a woman as if you have an emergency and then revealing you’re only a horny idiot works in any situation. For instance, if you’re at the DMV, say, “You crazy bitch, I know you took my cat!” Then I wait six, maybe seven beats, and finish, “…alog for big penis rubbers. Hi, are you Italian? Can Italians catch herpes on their feet?”

Let the record show: America’s #1 Singles Expert suggests, in his chapter on daddy-themed pick-up lines, that you should tell a woman her dad makes you horny with a trumpet pun.

If hundreds of miracles simultaneously take place and you find yourself in a relationship with the woman you say this to, this opening line will torment her every moment. At night, she will lay awake remembering how you introduced yourself. She’ll think about it when you’re inside her. She’ll go onto pervert forums and trumpet subreddits, desperately looking for answers. “My lover said my father must play the trumpet because he sure does make him horny. Please, what does it mean?” You couldn’t say anything more hauntingly unappealing if you walked up to a stranger and asked to slide your cold hands into her tits.

Oh, come on. Fuck your frigid soul, Don Diebel. You would lick a hole into an old shoe if you thought a female garbage collector touched it.

This book contains an entire chapter of Beavis And Butthead pick-up lines. Not similar in theme to Beavis And Butthead, but direct quotes and references to the cartoon. I don’t have a joke about that; I just want you to know it exists.

Don also included a chapter specifically about picking up topless dancers with lines like “What’s your real name?” and, I swear to God this is a line in its entirety, “Show me your bush!” He suggests saying, “Don’t you get tired of all these horny men with their brain between their legs?” on the same page as, “Don’t you get tired of being around all these drunks and horny men acting like a bunch of idiots?” Most of the other lines are different ways you can shame her and her filthy job.

Don Diebel is absolutely the lonely man in the strip bar earnestly seeking a human relationship. If you asked any stripper to list the cliches this type of man says, she could write, word-for-word, Don Diebel’s chapter on picking up topless dancers. As he went into the year 2000, Don was a 53-year-old man offering sex to sex workers with all the allure of a cockroach feeding on Charlie Sheen’s blood. And things didn’t get much better in the next decade.

The 2000s were a slow time for Diebel’s publishing. His first five books were the dark fantasies of a monster too sheepish to go through with a real kidnapping. He was a second penis on the only panda in a zoo — useless in ways too obvious and depressing to get into.

Dwell magazine did an interview with him, not as a pick-up artist, but as a lamp expert. Apparently, they saw an article on his website about romantic lighting, and thought he would be the perfect expert to review three modern lamps. Each of his reviews were the incoherent ramblings of someone you would only describe as a non-lamp-expert, but that’s not important. What’s important is it revealed Don Diebel had a website, and it’s exactly what you’d expect.

It’s called Getgirls.com, and it sells sex cologne, romance cassettes, and his stupid goddamn books. And these are not products for presentable men looking to enhance their desirability — Getgirls.com is totally banking on you having several crippling emotional disorders and facial defects. His approach to women is 100 percent “You’re barely slime, so why not try groveling and titty-grabbing.” Here’s a screenshot:

Getgirls.com’s products are designed to turn unwilling women into sex partners, which is strange, because it’s the one thing the site’s creator has plainly never done. It sells pheromone perfume for inventive rapists and hypnosis tapes for horny magicians. But selling snake oil for inflatable-doll-scented penises wasn’t as successful as you might imagine, so Don tried one last time to write a book on scoring babes. Let’s talk about 2009’s 200 Guaranteed Ways To Succeed With Women: Everything You Need To Know On How To Meet, Date, And Attract Women.

This book is pathetic, yes, but not like the others. This one mostly focuses on how to deal with the overwhelming depression that comes with being Don Diebel. It’s less a guide to crushing ass and more of a training manual for a crisis hotline volunteer. The entries are self-help mantras like “Cure for the blues (#10)” and “How to be happy (#14),” which take up less than a whole page put together. And #30 is just “How to eat Italian food,” with a couple of tips on table manners. But let me tell you about #29. Oh, holy shitting fuck, #29.

Imagine the erotic memoirs of a 62-year-old virgin who never learned to write and still isn’t sure which of the blobs is the mons pubis. That’s what I’m about to show you. The 29th Guaranteed Way to Succeed with Women is called “My date from hell,” and it’s an un-proofread account of Don Diebel’s greatest sexual triumph:

One of the reasons Diebel’s pick-up lines are so bad is that half-naked women jump on him before he can practice them. And if you’re thinking none of this happened, which of these two scenarios is more likely?

A: A sad man with a history of bad ethics falsifies an unverifiable and unlikely story in which he’s highly motivated to lie.

B: The hottest girl, like, ever gets into a vehicle alone with a non-handsome elderly man as he’s trying to drive over sunbathers.

C: Oh, you weren’t expecting a C, ladies? It was to catch you off-guard so I could subliminally end this sentence with three sexually charged words penis, butt, penis. Hi, I’m Seanbaby, and I’ve read all of Don Diebel’s books. Show me your bush.

Assuming this date really happened (and aren’t we being cute), Don offered to drive Hot Bikini Girl to his place. She agreed, but instead of a wild night of romance, they discovered Don left his dog home alone with no water while he was cruising for hard bodies. It was comatose from dehydration. This means in an imaginary story wherein Diebel controls every detail, he nearly murders his own dog and can’t close the deal with the loose stranger who came to his house for sex. But don’t give up yet. We’re not even close to done.

OK, so Don Diebel killed his dog, but not before it got way more action from his date than he did.

Despite the loss of his best friend, Don was still in the mood for love. Obviously, he could drive back to the beach to find a replacement hot girl, maybe even one who hadn’t watched a dog die on her own mouth that afternoon. But Diebel was going to finish what he started — he took the same girl to dinner, on a helicopter tour of the city, to a nightclub, and then to the pier, his beloved dead companion still lingering on her breath.

None of the date was going well. She flirted with other men, Don picked a fight with her, and she jumped into a lake and nearly died. “I was pissed,” remembers Don. But you don’t get to be America’s #1 Singles Expert by giving up easily. Don took the wet girl he hated back to his house, where he planned to have meaningless sex mere feet from a bag of dog food to go forever uneaten. Instead, this happens:

That was quite an adventure, right? It’s obviously — OBVIOUSLY — not true, but all good lies have elements of truth in them. So, Houston police, there’s a really good chance Don is describing the time he killed his dog, drugged a woman, and threw her body in a lake. The only part of the story I 100 percent believe is that Don couldn’t get laid even with the world’s sluttiest girl over the course of eight location changes.

Don reprinted this story on a self-help(!) website, and I really encourage speculative fiction fans to go read it in its entirety: My Date From Hell. But do that later, because we’re about to enter the 2010s, the decade when Don Diebel truly lost his entire mind.

With the forgettable 200 Guaranteed Whatevers To Disappoint Your Erection behind him, Don had to reach deep into his vulva-haunted brain for an original idea. He didn’t find one. He published 100 Best Places To Take A Date, with ideas like “miniature golf” and “pizza.” It was a dickless shadow of an idea already written by thousands of history’s dumbest, least imaginative writers and made long obsolete by phone books. Diebel’s inspirations were as drained as the balls of a man who seductively screams “Show me your bush!” at topless dancers.

Fun Fact: This is the actual copy of 100 Best Places to Take a Date sent to me by Don Diebel. It came with a homemade label, no case, and an advertisement for a CD on dominating pussy no longer in stock. Wait, out of stock? You’re an old man burning CD-ROMs in his apartment. How does that supply chain get disrupted? Was there some kind of button shortage on your mouse? Did your assisted living nurse throw out the floppy disk that had dom_pu~1.wpd on it? This last one isn’t a joke but a real guess: did you get banned from Radio Shack for attempted rape? I guess my point is, Don Diebel isn’t good at anything.

Destroyed by the soul-crushing realization that he was out of ideas for seducing women, he gave up and wrote what might be the loneliest book title since Single Player Rules for Fallout: The Board Game. Here it is:

Don Diebel was alone in a universe where ass no longer held meaning. The Easy Way To IMPROVE YOUR GOLF WITH S/A GOLF HYPNOTISM took the same self-hypnosis nonsense Don was using 35 years earlier to psych himself up for a poontang hunt and adapted it for golf. For a professional chick hound, it was like finally turning a dead husband’s den into a sewing room. It was like tattooing DO NOT RESUSCITATE on your dick and smothering it with a pillow. It was Don Diebel concluding that he would never learn if the Masters of the Universe Horde Slime Pit Playset actually did feel like a real-life blowjob. Diebel was fucking done.

…

No. Not yet. With a dusty cough, Don Diebel’s groin rose from the grave. There had to be one last thing he could try, one last light to cling to. And then Don realized the secret to pussy was right in front of him all along: the majesty of Jesus Christ. Or as he put it in the intro to his next book:

This would sound a bit absurd coming from anyone else, but if Don Diebel is hearing another voice in his bed, it can only be coming from Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, this idea God gave him for a book sucked, and Don’s newfound lord and savior was an even worse editor. They say He’s infallible, but He couldn’t get through the second sentence of the introduction before missing a this typo. Other philosophers have said this before me, but checkmate, all religion.

This book is desperate groveling on a cosmic, spiritual level. It is a whisper in the darkness pleading for someone, anyone to send Don Diebel a butt to touch. It’s a man complaining to the creator of all things for giving women a choice in their sex partners. Let me show you what I’m talking about:

Nothing is a more perfect Bible quote for Don Diebel’s dating life than one about staying strong in the face of rejection and getting help from your hand.

About a quarter of the book is Bible verses loosely related to rejection and loneliness, but the majority of it is things like this, dating advice rewritten in the form of prayer. Don will call up Jesus and say things like, “Please help me make sure my body language is sexually suggestive and that I have an air of self-assured confidence because ladies love that. In your name I pray, Amen.” So in a way, it’s a very sad Don Diebel typing out his prayers. In another way, it’s a very confident pick-up veteran telling Jesus Himself how to score pussy.

You sad bitch. Your body language advice used to be “point at your dick.” Now it’s “pretend you’re holding a guy’s hand?” Don, you are 70 years old, and you’re still trolling nightclubs for ass? You can’t call any of your countless former lovers to see if their self-esteem is still low enough to watch your partial erection flutter? I’m starting to think it was shortsighted to introduce yourself to every woman by offering to lick the pool water off her feet.

As sad as this prayer is, it gets sadder. It’s reprinted one page later in the exact same section, word for word. At this point, Don has given up on Jesus sending him single women and would be fine with Jesus sending him the tools to cope with depression. Don, you’re a septuagenarian sex book author who never learned where commas or penises go. How about you stop nagging Jesus for the impossible and thank Him for inspiring you to fill that puppet’s mouth with anal lubricant?

For decades, this man has destroyed every relationship he’s had by immediately checking if she’s the legendary woman who gives out free sex to everyone brave enough to ask. And here is what it led to: Don Diebel, after authoring ten books on scoring chicks, is begging Jesus for a girl in a prayer that sounds like it was written by a third-year third-grader. Failure isn’t a big enough word, and Hitlerfailure hasn’t been invented yet. Don’t feel sorry for Don, though. This is, without exception, the future every woman he’s met starting in 1980 has warned him about. The tragic story of Don Diebel is only surprising because we’re not used to such obvious, twistless endings.

I’ve learned a lot by reading Don Diebel’s books. I’ve learned that you can’t shove your nuts into the night and call it “meeting women.” Now and always, you have to treat women with respect, and loop your thumbs in your belt so your fingers point at your own dick, creating a subliminal message those confused drunk sluts can’t resist. And if that doesn’t work, Plan B is Jesus.

With this victory, Seanbaby is the new America’s #1 Singles Expert. You can follow him on Twitter and play his hit mobile game Calculords.

Ladies, if you encounter a Don Diebel out there, here’s a link to some pepper spray.

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