#it is ok to take responsibility for the experiences in your life

[teethbomb]

mob psycho(logical horror) 100

[bbqhooligan]

"you cant be a self aware asshole you gotta stop being an asshole" by burnham continues to claim assholes who just cant change everything about them, 17 more dead, 32 in critical condition

[mikajunie]

rediscovering shame and giving yourself compassion (how to deal with shame as someone with ADHD)

this is directed towards my fellow ADHDers who have trouble with reoccuring shame while leads to hindered productivity.

signs that your productivity is hindered by shame (compiled by my own experiences):

you feel negative physical symptoms when you think about your responsibilities

you find ways to avoid the responsibilities

every time you make progress, you feel like you don't ever wanna touch it again

when you present your progress, you feel ashamed of yourself because it's not finished (on time & according to ur standards).

you feel like you are a constant failure. you never win, despite achieving good things here and there.

you are a walking ball of anxiety

you have a fear of being perceived

there's probably more, but eh those are just from my own experiences

below i will write down what y'all should remember, what you can do to help yourself, etc. this is compiled from dr k, my own journaling time, and my firsthand experience from having shame 24/7

some things u gotta remember

shame is what exists in the gap between your ideal self and where you are currently.

your ideal self doesn't have to be unrealistic, it can be yourself when you were at your peak or someone who is very similar to you.

shame brings negative thoughts, because it makes you see progress as a negative thing.

instead of being happy that u made progress, u grumble to urself and ask "why didnt i just do it sooner? im so stupid". it's a reminder of your failures, so u avoid progress altogether.

shame can become a part of you, to the point where you feel uneasy or vulnerable if you dont feel ashamed at yourself

shame doesn't do anything to ADHDers in the long run except self-loathing and hindered productivity.

what should u do?

basically self-therapy, but instead of stopping at why, i try to solve my shame one-by-one.

examine past moments where you felt a LOT of shame. this can go back to elementary. the stronger the emotions, the better. now, write them down. you're probably cringing, but that is good. feel all the cringiness running through ur veins.

why did you feel shame? why did it happen? what did you feel?

reframe your thoughts. instead of immediately running away from it, accept it and justify it. give it compassion. give it a hug. was it your 7 year old self? hug yourself. it's okay to fuck up and do silly things sometimes, and it's okay to have ADHD. it's not our fault.

remember that ADHD is a lifelong nerudivergency, you can't just push it away. coping mechanisms and tools help, but give yourself some grace when you screw up. it's our first time living anyway.

calm your body down. make sure your physical body is doing okay.

now... think of one thing you want to do but can't because of shame and do these steps carefully. think of the reasons why you might be ashamed, and reframe your thoughts.

WARNING!! TAKE IT ONE PRESENT ACTION AT A TIME. don't do this for every action you want to take, let your body slowly learn that it's okay to make progress despite the shame you feel, and you are allowed to feel compassion for yourself.

train your body to accept compassion slowly. life is tough with ADHD but it's even tougher knowing that shame will get in your way. give yourself a break, it's fine to fuck up, we all go through different things anyway. even if it's not fine, you will learn and make those mistakes a lil bit lesser in the future.

ok hope this helps.

[fictoculus]

౨ৎ nightmares.

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SYNOPSIS... sumeru has undergone a lot of changes, and adults can now dream. this new capability was welcomed with open arms by people all across the region, however some slumber-induced fantasies were more welcome than others... - aka; comforting your husband, alhaitham, after he experiences his first nightmare

"haitham!!!"

you cry out to him, desperation heavy in your eyes as you hold firm eye contact with your beloved. it was no use; you were falling, and he couldn't do anything to help you. further and further, it seems to alhaitham like your body is shrinking, and in all honesty, you wish it was. you wish you could fly, or at least slow down the fall by even a second, and take in as much of him as you can before you inevitably meet your demise. you wanted to remember every last part of him, to love him in life and in death, just like you promised.

you knew you were going to die, you knew this was the end, but in your last moment, you smile. you didn't want to face the love of your life with anything other than joy plastered on your face; you wanted so badly for alhaitham's last memory of you to be a happy one, but how could he possibly be happy when the person he would take lives for loses their own?

before he knew it, it was all over as fast as it had started. you were gone, and he couldn't do anything about it, you weren't coming back. just like that, you were nothing but a memory.

he didn't want to believe it. he wouldn't. how could he possibly admit that he'd lost you?

he wants to cry, to scream, to yell and curse at the cruel world that had taken you from him, but he couldn't. it was as if something had been lodged deep inside his throat, a lump he couldn't possibly push out no matter how hard he tried. perhaps it was the love he had for you, or the knowledge that no matter how close you felt, you'd always be just out of reach.

that's when it hits him, a soaring pain slamming into his back and flowing through his veins; the cruel poison of fate. he tries to put up a fight, archons he tries, but his mind is elsewhere, and he can't seem to pull his eyes away from the speck that is your lifeless body laying hundreds of metres below him. this is it, it's all over, everything he's lived for, coming to an end at the hands of a measly -

"NO!"

the bed shakes as alhaitham shoots up from under the covers, eyes wide and breath heavy, clawing at the fabric of his sleeping shirt as he attempts to ground himself. what in teyvat was that?

it's dark. he can't see, he can't breathe. he's overcome by pure panic as he tries desperately to regain his senses, but to no avail.

"mmm... 'haitham? you ok?"

your scratchy voice breaks through the pounding in his chest, calling out to him in a hushed whisper as you run a hand up and down his arm. he feels clammy. a thin sheen of sweat covers his arms, reflecting the soft moonlight off his toned figure.

"love?"

no response. the poor man is so shaken up, and i mean that quite literally; he can't seem to keep still. you feel the mattress tremble beneath you as his chest heaves, taking in as much air as he possibly can. it's futile. he's scared.

he knows what nightmares are. he knows how they work, where they come from, how they can affect you, but never in his life has he ever had one. in fact, it's been years since he's even dreamt.

with alhaitham sat up rigid beside on the edge of the bed, you try to rack your brain, taking yourself back to the times you had woken up distressed, and how your beloved boyfriend had cradled you in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings in you ear while rocking the two of you back and forth.

"c'mere..."

you smile up at him with open arms, yet nothing could hide the concern in your eyes as you noticed the glisten on his cheeks.

"oh, love..."

with you're right hand, you reach up to cup his face, catching the salty droplets with the soft padding of your thumb. his cheeks are rosy, from stress or embarrassment you'll never know, but the faint pink hue makes him look oh so pretty.

"was it a nightmare?"

he nods sheepishly into your chest, nuzzling his face further into your shirt as he inhales deeply and lets out a shaky sigh. you feel his hands clutching onto the back of your shirt, as if he was scared he'd lose you, as if he was scared you'd fall out of his grasp once more.

it's almost endearing how he clings to you, though you're completely clueless as to the reason why. nevertheless, you hold him tightly against you, encircling him in your warmth and your scent as you gently begin to sway from side to side, lifting up his chin and peppering tender kisses all over his face and down his neck. it's grounding, the feeing of you. no matter what, you never fail to calm him, to comfort him in his times of need, and he is more than willing to return the favour.

an hour passes and alhaitham still insists on being wrapped in your arms, refusing to give in to sleep, no matter how enticing it may be as the night moves forward. he feels the need to watch over you, and you're more than happy to comply; in your eyes, it just means the two of you get to spend more time together.

it's a known fact that the scholar doesn't like to dwell, and so the two of you completely disregard the elephant in the room, instead focusing on mundane topics like what to have for dinner the next day, or your schedules for the week: typical married couple stuff.

finally, while listening to you defend his old roommate and close friend, kaveh, after 20 minutes worth of ruthless criticism, your husband slips into a deep slumber, his features finally relaxed as he lies beside you.

you have to admit, he makes you worry. always being so uptight and serious can't possibly be good for him, though in this moment, despite what he endured earlier that night, you think this is the most at peace you've ever seen him...

A/N... sorry if the ending seemed kinda sudden,, i couldn't come up with anything elseee sighh

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you’d like me to write next!

TAGLIST…@maopll . @nyxmainex . @avensuersa . @moondrop-gummies. @lacunaanonymoused ➛ apply here

© FICTOCULUS 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[ariaste]

I made a post a few days ago about how dire the hits-to-comments ratio is in this fandom and since then I have tried an experiment, got great results, and I am back to explain how we solve this problem as a community.

Several people made disheartened comments on the previous post about how consumer culture has finally made it to fandom (that is, people don't comment on fics as much any more because they're passive consumers of content rather than equal participants in fandom) but... I kind of think that part of this might be our responsibility as fic authors as well, and something that we as can do something about and take agency over. Because yeah, it's correct that commenting has gone down, but you know what I also don't see very much anymore??? People adding a note at the end of the fic saying "Comments give me life!" or "If you liked this fic, please let me know, a nice comment makes me smile all day" or "Comments keep me energized to write more, please let me know if you enjoyed this!" or "I would love to hear what you thought of this! :)"

The culture of a community is not something that people just know instinctively. It's something that has to be taught, just like manners and etiquette in any other context (you don't know the fish fork from the entree fork from the dessert fork until someone shows you, for example). The venn diagram of "the good old days of fandom when lots of people were in the habit of leaving comments" and "the bad old days when we had to humbly ask people to please comment if they liked it at the end of fics" is probably almost a circle. Yes, it's true that we are living in a society where we are being encouraged to be passive consumers of content and that this is probably leaking into fandom spaces. But the way that we start course-correct is to simply communicate clearly in public about what your needs and preferences are. Not in posts like this, because not everyone is going to see it and it will eventually disappear into the ether, and because one big essay isn't going to affect much change. Just... in small spaces where people will see it immediately when it's relevant, like in the end notes of your fic, or in the caption/description under your fanart post. It is not a bad thing to tell people that you like comments. You are not vain or arrogant for wanting engagement and appreciation for something you made out of love and enthusiasm, you are HUMAN. It is not a bad thing to communicate your needs. And oftentimes it is way more effective than you realize until you have actual data to back it up, like the data I'm looking at right now for this fic.

I made one change on the most recent chapter, and that was to put this at the end:

LISTEN TO ME REAL QUICK HERE, WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT SOMETHING. This fandom has the worst comments-to-hits ratios on fics that I've ever seen. That sucks. Comments are part of a healthy fandom ecosystem, and I can't tell you how many unexpected friends I've made just by telling them I liked their fic. If you don't feel like leaving a comment on this fic, that's okay with me. But you have to PROMISE that you'll leave one on the next three IWTV fics you read, ok? Give our authors some love so they'll keep writing. It'd be a really, really long hiatus until s3 without them.

Since posting this, I can only describe the state of my inbox as, "Oh, THAT'S more like it, there we go, much better!" So... try it out? Tell people that their thoughts and comments are welcome? Remind them that this is a good thing to be doing? It's not going to make everyone comment, but I bet it'll make at least a little bit of a positive difference, and the more people start doing it, the faster we'll inch ourselves back to a thriving and healthy fandom ecology. :)

Rome wasn't built in a day, and culture has to be taught, and the best and happiest kinds of communities grow when the participants are aware and intentional about it.

[vixensbrainrotts]

Lipgloss lover — Ken <Draken> Ryuguji

Content: fluffy imagine

Warnings: too much fluff

Tropes: established relationship, whipped! Draken

Summary: You really thought that he wouldn’t notice?

Vixen’s two cents: Hi! Here’s something based of a real life experience i had (i couldn’t figure out what the flavor of one of my friend’s lipglosses was after borrowing). I love Draken so much, so let’s celebrate my first Draken post together! Lmk if you like this, and if you have ideas for more little scenarios, my requests are OPEN!! Also, im currently on the hunt for moots to proofread and triangulate with! If you’re interested, please contact me <3. Now enjoy!

Ken furrows his brows after you’ve pulled away from the kiss and were now walking towards the refrigerator. He licks his lips precariously and smacks them a few times for good measure. Something is off about this.

“Babe!” He calls out to you, voice gruff and serious. You turn around a little startled and try to hide a smile when you see the frown on his face. “Everything all right?”

He shakes his head in response. “Mmh I don’t know. Something’s weird.” He waves you over expectantly, his wrist flicking fast to convey his urgency.

With a giggle you go over to him and stand between his legs where he was sitting at the table. “Yes handsome?” Your hand glides over both his shoulders, coming to scratch over his nape and up his scalp.

Draken hums in response, both hands sliding up your thighs and coming to rest on your hips, and tilts his head up to look at you. “Kiss me again.”

“Your wish is my command.” You whisper and lean down to meet him in the middle, and you feel his arms slither and tighten around your hips, his fingers tickling your stomach a little.

When you pull away again Draken’s eyebrows are still furrowed, lips still puckered to a pout. “You did something. What the hell is on your lips?” You laugh a little “What do you mean?”

“You taste different, normally you’ve got this whole cherry-coconut wombo-combo going on but now? Fuck me girl, kiss me again and lemme try ‘n figure out what you taste like.”

Your heart flutters a little and your smile widens a little, and you’re very happy to kiss him again. This time he pulls away “Gimme a tip, love. Do I know the taste? Have you had it before?” You smile and nod. “You know the taste yes, but I haven’t worn it before.”

“Fuck.” He mumbles and licks his lips, looking around the kitchen as if that would help. “You want me to tell you?” You ask him and his eyes snap towards you again immediately. “No. One more kiss and if I can’t figure it out then, sure.”

“Ok.” You Kiss him once more, and when you go to pull away this time, his lips chase yours and his arms tighten around your waist.

“Damn it Baby i don’t know. Hit me.” His eyes are still closed from the kiss and he lays his head on your stomach with a sigh. Lovingly, you card your hands through his hair. “Why would I hit you?!” You giggle.

“Hit me with the cold, hard truth.” Your smile widens knowingly at that, and you take a moment to soak in the comfortable silence with him in your arms.

“Green tea.” You state.

“Fucking what?!” His head moves away from your stomach to throw you a bewildered look, and he look almost offended. “How the fuck could I have known that? Green tea? Fucking cracky ass flavor no wonder I didnt guess it!” He complains whiningly, and you offer him a kiss to the forehead as consolation.

“So you dont like it?” You ask with a smile, fingers coming to caress his cheek bones. “Never said that, c’mere Girl.” You kiss him again, and again, and again…

[oxydiane]

sns is so fucking unhinged and nobody will ever be them i’m sorry. you start the series and it’s like oh haha look at these goofy angsty rivals! they hate each other! then sasuke dies for naruto thirty chapters in giving up his dream of revenge and naruto goes batshit insane. now you’re like ah they’re friends i guess that’s cute! and sasuke is trying to kill naruto because he’s the most important person in his life which is . ok and it becomes the driving force of everything or something. sasuke leaves and naruto dedicates the rest of his life to bringing him back and you’re still a casual fan so ur like he’s doing it for the promise right? then orochimaru says sasuke is his and naruto goes batshit insane feral homicidal (again) and after that sasuke reappears and they have ??? like five different panels dedicated to them staring at each other??? and he jumps off a mountain and hugs naruto for some reasons just to whisper some gay shit in his ear kishimoto frankly needs to be jailed drawing this and keep that best friend nonsense going. anyways. you have sasuke become a convicted terrorist to which the normal people response is “ok we need to hunt him down” and when naruto learns they’re gonna hunt him down he starts screaming crying throwing up he has a panic attack he can’t breathe he’s falling in the snow he gets on his knees and begs them to spare his BFF. after having a meltdown over the thought of sasuke dying what may possibly be the natural coping mechanism any stable person would adapt? of course realising that if sasuke dies he can die too. so he sees sasuke again and after he attempts murdering sakura twice and expresses the intent to murder kakashi he’s like. i will bear the burden of your hatred and die with you hehe and if we both die you won’t be an uchiha and i won’t be the jinchuuriki to the nine tails and we’ll be able to understand each other better in a different lifetime! WE’LL MEET AGAIN IN THE AFTERLIFE BECAUSE NOT EVEN DEATH CAN DO US PART! and sasuke (just as insane as him) doesn’t even flinch he’s like what the fuck is wrong with you but then ok let’s fuckingggf die together on my god i will kill your first anyways . then they find out they are soulmates and get cute matching tattoos on their hands and decide to fight to the death once more because sasuke is back on his i will shoulder all the hatred of the world alone and i need to kill you because i love you more than anyone else in the world actually you’re the only person i love so you need to DIE and naruto is like I WILL NOT LET YOU SHOULDER THAT HATRED ALONE I WILL FREE YOU FROM THE PAIN and they fight and despite all the whatever weapons used in the war it’s a fuckinggg fistfight in which just as sasuke is about to inflict what he thinks is the last blow says “farewell… my one and only…………………. (very long pause to accentuate how heteronormative this next word is gonna be) FRIEND” and fucking stops using his sharingan because not even then he can record the image of naruto dying especially by his hand but naruto STOPS HIM LIKE A f cHAMP and they end up blowing each other’s arms off (rip the matchies) and as they’re bleeding to the fucking death sasuke is like you’re the only person that has never tried to severe their ties with me why do you go so far for me and naruto from the depths of comphet hell is like because you’re my FRIEND and sasuke being absolutely done with this bullshit is like ok what the fuck does that mean to you then and this is where it gets even gayer and relatable because naruto is like i don’t KNOW i just know that when you hurt i hurt and i just can’t take it and isn’t that the most gay experience thing ever? naruto knows what it feels like to have friends but what he feels for sasuke is so bone deep and unconventional that he cannot make sense of it and can only describe the pain it brings. after that sasuke CRIES LIKE THEYVE GOT ME SOOO FUCKED UP but you know what got me even more fucked up?

naruto waking up bloodied and battered and half alive with one arm missing but still wondering if that was heaven because sasuke was next to him. sasuke looking so happy and peaceful when saying “i lost” as a stark contrast to him looking and feeling like half of his body was being torn apart when he “won” against naruto in vote1 and left him. the bitterness of victory vs the sweetness of losing if you will. AND HIM COMPARING WHAT HE FEELS FOR NARUTO TO PRAYING MY GODD. did i forget to mention that then we learn that Ohhh it was never a stupid shallow rivalry as we all thought! they have actually been watching each other from afar since they were little freshly traumatised children and have longed to hold each other’s hands since then! what was it sasukeeee you felt warm and fuzzy when you saw naruto to thought of it as a weakness? these two are so astronomically hopelessly desperately obsessed in love with each other it’s ridiculous i’ve had ENOUGH free me from this mental prison

[slayfics]

Muichiro comforts you after you over hear some gossip.

You were out buying food and supplies for the mansion when you heard a whisper from across the way.

"Hey isn't that the other corps member from our final selection?"

You looked up to see a few demon slayers that you had completed final selection with huddled together whispering and buying supplies as well.

You tried to quickly finish up your transaction with the salesperson to go over and say hi when you overheard the rest of their conversation.

"Yeah, she's gotten super big headed ever since she became the Mist Hashira's Tsuguko and started hanging out with other Hashira's."

You felt your smile completely fall off of your face and felt as though you shrunk inside of yourself. Is that really what the other corps members thought of you? You decided to quickly gather the stuff you bought and head back to the mansion, avoiding them entirely.

Walking back you couldn't help but feel your shoulders slump and you looked down at the floor the whole way home. Being in the demon slayer corps made it hard to have typical friendships, relationships, and human experiences. You often felt saddened by this wanting to have some normal moments in your life outside of slaying demons.

When you saw the group standing across the way you felt excited to run up to them and hi, maybe even shop together but overhearing the gossip felt like a nichirin sword pierced your heart, and the loneliness you already felt amplified.

You made it inside the mansion to see Muichiro already sitting down to eat.

"Hello." He greeted you.

You didn't say anything but set aside the supplies and sat down to join him. You served yourself some food as Muichiro eyed you curiously. It wasn't like you to be the quiet one. Usually that was his job. He noticed your affect was considerably different, slumped shoulders, no eye contact. Something was wrong.

"What is the matter?" He asked.

"Do you think I have a big head?" You asked not looking up but taking small bites of your food.

"No. You have an average size head." Muichiro said, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. You sighed heavily.

"Not like that... It's an expression. I ran into some other corps members I did final selection with and they said I got big headed ever since I became your Tsuguko and started to become friends with other Hashira's."

"I don't think their statements are important." Muichiro said and continued to eat.

"Ok.." You said but you still didn't feel any better. Muichiro noticed your composure stayed small and your usual vibrant energy did not return with his response. He placed down his food and reached over to gently lift your chin up forcing you to look at him.

"I think those demon slayer's are jealous of your progress. You've finished final selection at the same time but have far surpassed their abilities, and they won't ever get stronger if they occupy themselves with trivial matters like gossip. Never hang your head down because of someone's else's opinions. You've trained so hard and you deserve to be proud." He said and brought his hand back down to his lap.

"Thank you Tokito." You said blinking away tears. You felt your shoulders lighten and a smile spread across your face again.

"Now tell me... you're friends with other Hashira's?? Who??" Muichiro asked curiously.

"Don't you go get jealous on my too." You said giggling. "I’m friends with Miss Kanroji of course... and I suppose Iguro since he's always with Kanroji when I see her. Although he'd never admit we're friends."

Muichiro just eyed you as he continued to eat.

"But of course there is no other Hashira I'd rather be spending time with then you." You said smiling. Muichiro looked down at his food but you could have sworn you saw the slightest smile flash on his face.

[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 3]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

5.4k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, sexually themes, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

It was clear Daryl was near a breaking point. With the unsafe camp and your near death experience mixed with his missing brother you couldn't blame him. You knew he didn't have a healthy way of processing emotions. So he was on a war path this morning. You knew the only way he dealt with big emotions was through angry. He of course never directed it at you. In fact while you had laid next to him in the morning he was proud that you handled yourself. He was contemplating most of the time staring off to the top of the tent. You thought he was still stressing himself in that already anxious head of his. But after he told you he was proud you saw that maybe he was just enjoying the fact you were in his arms and not dead.

It was when you all decided to go to the CDC and you were sitting in Daryl's truck that you said something that made him feel the true weight of his responsibility. "I'll follow you." He looked over to you before turning his attention to the caravan in front of him. He was confused but you went on, "Any choice and decision. I'll stand with you unquestioned, my life and are child's is under your protection." His heart slowly dropped into the pit of his stomach.

Worry and a sense of responsibility he's never had before felt crushing. But another feeling he didn't expect sat within him. To be wanted and trusted in such a way burned his heart into a fire. He was determined. He was already willing to give his life for you and his... his kid. It was something he didn't question. You inhaled deeply before speaking again,

"Don't you dare think that gives you permission to go and die on me... I can't do this without you."

He slowly slid one of his hands off the wheel and into your own. He brushed his thumb back and forth, "As long as m' still breathin' so will you." You smiled at the implication, moving your other hand to rest on the hand he had on you. He wants to stay alive to make sure you'll both be ok. You nodded in thought, "Then you agree that your life also rests under my protection?" He turned to you with a lifted brow, his face giving a 'really' expression. He didn't like the thought of you risking your life for him but, he guess he understands you don't like the fact he would do the same. Being cared for was something he never got, until you. He watched as your hand move to rest on your stomach. Now that is something both of you would protect together. He bites his lip knowing you started this conversation to make him realize this wasn’t all on him. His eyes move to the road watching the RV roll to a stop.

The honking sound telling them the RV must have died just like Dale said it would. It had but also Jim just couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve never been around someone who’s been bitten before. So to see how it was killing him was gut wrenching. He seemed at peace with it. Sitting in the wind under a tree. You and quickly stated a ‘rest as well’ before excusing your way back to Daryl’s truck. You were bound to get emotional over it and didn’t want to be a wreck in front of everyone. You had reached the door of the truck, tears streaming down your face. Something felt like this would be something that often happened… losing people.

You manage to pull yourself together before Daryl got back to the truck. The ride on the road made you drift asleep. You were in a weird position crumpled into the door with an arm thrown over your head. Daryl found it funny but not before questioning how you could possibly find it comfortable. He knows you are always tired nowadays and he worry's its due to a lack of nutrition. But he lets you sleep only waking you a few miles away from the CDC. You stretch from your odd position. A crack releasing from your neck with a sigh of relief. You rub your eyes looking around. Daryl almost spoke quietly close to a whisper, “We are close, wanted ta’ make sure you were fully awake in case we have to run.”

You hum still stretching a hand moving to your breast. They have been irritating you recently. One of the many wonders of pregnancy. Daryl had caught you with a displeased look on your face. He gave you a questioning look with a smirk, “They look bigger…” You look to him with shock and then back down. He childishly snickered as you swatted at him. You tilt your head while still looking down, “Are they really?” He gave a mischievous smirk causing you to roll your eyes. You had not thought that maybe you would have to get a bigger bra. Not that you could just go buy one anymore. The playful mood in the car would soon turn sour at the arrival of the CDC. Empty, bodys lay scattered and not a soul to be seen.

Standing at the closed doors hoping for the safety it once thought it provided. It almost seemed fleeting until Rick noticed a camera move. Daryl was hearing none of it. He was mad at the decision made and him going alone with it. Your safety now compromised because he didn’t make the right call. Even just after your admission to trusting him he felt like a dumbass. He pulled you to him and felt one of your arms pull around him. The grip you held onto him telling him of your fear. Just before he could try and pull you away to safety, back to the truck, a bright light came pouring out of the newly open door.

One lone man sat in the whole building. You thought it was strange and somewhat eerie. But he did offer assistance so he couldn’t be that bad. A few of the group ran back to collect some things. Daryl gave you that look of, ‘please don’t’ so you understood he would get your things. The price of entry was a blood test. This doctor wanting to make sure none were infected. Which was fair but god did you not like getting blood drawn. Shots you are fine with but having your blood taking from your body disgusted you for some odd reason. Blood itself was not the issue. The thought of having your blood taken still rolled into your mind, a thing that made your heart race. You went after Daryl but he stood next to you waiting for you to finish. The man you now know as Dr Jenner started the process. You caught his eyes flick to your stomach.

He seemed to maybe suspect something but you were at that stage in pregnancy where someone might not speak on it, just in case you weren’t pregnant they didn’t want to call you fat. When he placed the needle in your arm you quickly moved your eyes anywhere else. Heart racing with discomfort. Your eyes focusing on Daryl which he didn’t like the plain fear he could see on your face. You seemed to ease out after it was over, but trying to stand your vision spin. Daryl managed to keep your balance for you. It wasn’t until Jacqui almost collapsed that the doctor learned that you all were a little undernourished. So now here you all are going down an elevator at the promise of food.

It was cramped going down farther than you thought. Daryl getting you out of your thoughts by pressing you back into him. I’m sure he saw your body rigid. But he didn’t really, he moved you into him subconsciously. Eyein the new person trying to determine whether he was a threat or not. The gun slung around him not really helping in his case, “Doctors always packing heat like that?” His awkward response eased him no less. You however at the mention of spaghetti threw caution to the wind. Following the group in a small hallway Daryl right behind you. He saw your happy bouncing at the promise of a carb filled meal. Most of your complaints to him in your pregnancy was the cravings driving you mad. Saying something along the lines of ‘when undead situation is handled your getting me any food I ask for no matter the time!’ Another thing to get you excited was the doctor mention a hot shower.

You smiled at him giddily practically dragging him off to a room. He dropped both of there bags by the door and just watched you be happy. You popped in the bathroom while struggling to kick off your pants in a hurry. Daryl chuckled, ‘Slow down would ya, thought you wanted to eat.’ He could hear you ruffle with your clothes still. Your voice echoed in the bathroom out to where he sat himself down, “There still time while their making it!” He leaned back smiling to himself at your antics. The light through the door got dimmer causing him to look up. You stood in your underwear and bra, hands behind your back trying to unclip it. You gave him a look he hasn’t seen for a while, “Well you just going to sit there or join me?”

He was stunned for a second. He leaned forward looking dumbfounded for some reason. You tilted your head to the side slowly turning back to start the shower. He was stood now hesitating for a second before slowly approaching, maybe it was the fact you both haven’t done anything for a while, mostly due to lack of privacy and him always off around the camp. Perhaps the stress still swarming around him from this place. Despite that he wasn't going to give up this opportunity so he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself. He saw you finally manage to get free of all your clothes. He started to unbutton his shirt when he saw you looking in the mirror at your belly. The first you are probably seeing it in a reflection. Your eyes swirling with thought but soon landed on him with a smile.

You then elected yourself to help him with getting his closes off because he was to slow. You replaced his hands with yours and started undoing the remaining buttons. He smiled down at you, "I don't know, last time we showered together we broke your curtain." He got you to laugh at the memory and you gave your own snarky remark, "Well, if you slip this time try not to take me down with you again." He cringed remembering how he landed with you on top of him. Merle had made a comment about the huge bruise he had on is back, how 'you must have gotten your ass kicked!’ He just ignored him not wanting to say he fell while having shower sex. Releasing the thought he then realized you said 'again'. As be pushed his shirt off while you started on his jeans he gave you a smirk you yourself hadn't seen in a while, "Again huh?"

You smile bashfully back to him, "I'm a hormonal mess, and I can't say that you having been looking extra hot as of late." He scoffed thinking you were kidding. But then you looked up at him seriously causing him to mumble and small... "oh." He smiled raising his hand to move your hair off your shoulder. He pushed it away from your face while you undid the clasp to his jeans. Your hair was noticeably longer since the beginning of this shit show. Finally freeing him of his clothes you bounced back over to the shower. He rolls his eyes and follows you knowing you ran to be under the water before him.

He watched as water ran down you and it sparked a sudden calm from him. To see you doing something that used to be so normal felt crushing. He walks up behind you wrapping his arm around your waist. He knows he hasn’t been exactly himself lately but here he is holding the soon to be mother of his child. He just hopes that you know that even if he has never said it out loud, he loves you. You knew it perfectly well while enjoying the warm water of the shower and him leaning into you. You had thought maybe you both would take this chance to clean yourselves in a shower for the first time in months but his hands were telling you something else.

He was leant forward kissing you down your neck. Causing you to sigh and lean back tilting your head to the side. His hands moving across your body causing you to giggle. You turned around looping your arms around his neck and seeing him smirking down at you. Months of not having a proper shower only to not use the time for one to actually clean yourself. Instead it was spent with a man seemingly remembering how much he wanted to touch you. Back at the camp he was unwilling to throw you around to teach you self defense. It wasn’t until you were pushed back to the wall of the shower in a flurry of harsh kisses did he seem to freeze. He was a gentle lover but could have times where he got excited and went a little rougher then normal. Which you never had any complaints with but in this moment of pause he was a little unwilling to do what he would have. For example again, your shower curtain. Ya not really a great thing for when your prego.

He was pleased with himself by the end of there shower. Like all the bruting was because he was sexually frustrated. Maybe you should have made an effort sooner if you knew he would be walking away with such a pep in his step. Granted you remember why you haven’t done much because if you thought you were tired before, then you were sure to look like you were in a daze. Maybe that look another factor to Daryl walking around so prideful. You would be lying if you haven’t been wanting to jump him for the last month. So maybe you were a little sedated. You wrap your hair up into a towel after getting everything but pants on. You sat there thinking while just holding them about to go on. Lost in space at something Daryl grunted into your ear a few moments ago. The thought sparking a nice warm fuzzy feeling.

‘M’ baby is the one you got in yeah. M’ girl with my baby~’

Daryl watched you sit there with one pant leg in while you stared at a spot in the carpet with your mouth slightly open. Thoughts clear as day, “You done drooling over there? Or you want’n to see if foods done?” Your mouth snapped closed as you took a moment to process what he had just said. Then you proceeded to jump into your pants while jumping to the door. To think he had made you forget about the food inflated his ego he got going. He followed you taking the towel out of your hair and opening the door while you shuffled forward looking down to clasp your pant button.

This was not only a big meal but big morale boost. Stepping into the kitchen to take a seat at the table you waste no time digging into the spaghetti before you. A blessing for a craving you’ve had. One point alcohol was being passed around the doctor took clear notice of you not drinking any or being offered any. You were too busy trying to convince Daryl to just drink already. All those times at the bar he always used the excuse of having to drive home. So you’ve never seen him drunk because and I quote, “I’m a mean drunk… don’t wanna do that to ya.” But you incurred him to let loose because this was probably the only time he would be able to for a long time,

“Come on hun! Drink because I can’t!”

He had definitely eased since the shower so he finally caved and excepted this opportunity. He still didn’t want to get to drunk but he wouldn’t mind being a little tipsy. The fun antics going on in the room was swiftly crushed by Shane. You sat uncomfortably as Shane pushed Dr. Jenner for answers, “So when are you gonna tell us what the Hell happened here, Doc?” His random aggressive outburst caused the room to fill with awkward silence. Rick cutting in saying what everyone else thought, “Come on man, not now.” Shane snapped to Rick, “It’s why we’re here right! This was your call. I want to know why we came here to just one man, why?” Shane’s words to Rick sending red flags in your mind. Then the depressing story of what happened at the CDC dragged the once happy mood back to reality. Felt by all if Glenn stating, “Your such a mood killer dude.’ to Shane didn’t say it all.

It was eased back into a happier state with a pouting Shane in his corner of shame. You payed no mind to it anymore. Daryl was acting more like himself while getting himself and Glenn drunk. Daryl was having to much fun getting Glenn to drink that he himself had way more then he was wanting. It was fun to watch him stumble while he tried to stand. Your laughing getting his attention causing him to point a finger at you, “I don’t wanna hear it from you “miss tipsy”.” The nickname making you giggle. After a while he leaned over the back of your chair as you talked to Dale. He didn’t even put his arms around you just laid them out over your shoulders. He wanted to go, a nonverbal action you have learned he did. So you excused yourself wishing everyone a goodnight. Daryl had an arm over your shoulder while you walked down the hall. “You drunk off your ass?” He sighed leaning into you more, “More than I would have liked to be.” He sure walked like he was.

“Let’s get ready for bed then.”

The room you had claimed had a small couch and cot. Daryl had already started to wrestle with his shirt before you had the door open. Now shirtless he sat down and leaned back slumped. You snicker to yourself while going to take your damp hair up out of your face. He sat there watching you before saying, “Your so pretty.” He was still slumped with his head tilted to the side looking at you. You walked over to him and he held is hands out for you to come sit on his lap. But you grabbed his hands and looked down at him, “Come lay down with me.” You pulled at his arms before he got up and trapped you against him. He shuffled back until flopping on the bed with you. You were lying on your side with him behind you. His hands moving under your shirt onto your baby belly. He curled into you from behind tucking his head down into your neck. You heard him mumbling but couldn’t understand him. But you caught a bit of it to put in context.

“-lucky. I made my pretty girl a mama.”

You smile at his drunk rambling. Reaching to his hands to your stomach and lightly drifting your nails up and down his arms. So much for being a ‘mean drunk’. Then he started on another tangent but this time lifting his face for you to hear him “An I only thought love was something that you would either kill for or die for. But for you? I’d live for. You’re something to live for.” His hands move across your stomach and he whispered, “You both.” Your heart raced at this, you would classify that as a confession. He has never said verbally ‘I love you’ but this in so many words was just that. He damn near was about to make you cry. But instead you shuffled back into him feeling that he was so relaxed he might have fallen asleep already in your silence. That didn’t stop you from whispering back to him.

“I’ll live for you too.”

That morning started with a hungover and grumpy Daryl. You were also grumpy. Daryl had thrown up earlier that morning and that got you to throw up. Now your stomach felt like a loop of acid reflux. You elected to stay in bed because you also were experiencing vertigo, so maybe Daryl wasn’t the only reason you threw up. You may have gone to make sure he was ok but the spinning feeling and noises he was making set you off. Daryl was off to the kitchen to get you a plate of breakfast. When he came back to the room he laughed telling you how fucked up Glenn looked, “He is swearing off alcohol, so may have over did it with him.” You smile at him while you sit in bed eating the food he brought back.

He then paused before he started biting his nails, “Hope I didn’t cause you trouble while drunk…” You chuckle shaking your head still chewing. Swallowing you looked up to where he now leaned on the wall, “Oh please, ‘mean drunk’ my ass! You were just being a sweetie!” Now you were teasing him about it, “After all I’m so pretty remember?” He looked relieved but also grunted before move for the door, “Doc gonna show us something. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.” You hummed in agreement going back to eating. Sitting up you felt like you were on a boat, so dealing with whatever Jenner was going to nerd out about wasn’t worth getting up for. Before Daryl went out the door he called out from behind him, “Be right back, ‘pretty girl’.”

Now even 20 minutes later did Daryl walk back in with a broken look. He sat down on the bed near you and stared at the wall. You would wait for him to gather his thoughts. Something bad happened, or he learned something he didn’t want to either way it didn’t look good. He moved to sit with you on the bed against the wall. He slowly put a hand on your stomach, “Everything’s gone.” You link your fingers with his and lean onto his shoulder. He went on, “It’s lookin like these dead assholes aren’t going anywhere.” You clench your teeth at the thought. You understood what he was saying. If the world was to ever be fixed, it wouldn’t happen in a long time. So your fantasy of a hospital could be kissed goodbye. You had a foolish hope that eased the fear for your child… and yourself. Childbirth before technology had a high fatality rate, for mom and baby.

So your brain was on overdrive after the rug was pulled out from you. Daryl had leant his head on top of yours which got a small sniff out of you. His arm now going to pull you into his side. You struggled with not bursting into tears while asking him something, “We’ll be ok, right?” He turned to you wiping away a tear that slipped out, “We got this.” He explained to you more what he found out. Like the scan of how the infection killed the host then took over the body. Relieving a fear that these people were conscious while doing this. They weren’t people so that made it easier to justify killing them. You both sat there talking until the air flow seemed to still. Daryl perked up feeling uneasy. Then people started to gather into the halls also noticing the lack of air flow.

Daryl had stood behind you in the door way but when Dr. Jenner walked by ignoring peoples questions, Daryl pushed past you slinging words his way in worry now. You followed behind the growing group of worried people. Stepping into a very open panel room with a red clock on the wall. The group stood in the middle when Jenner finally started to explain, “The system is dropping all the nonessential uses of power. It’s designed to keep the computers running to the last possible second. That started as we approached the half-hour mark. Right on schedule.” You look over to the clock that was counting down.

A wave of uneasiness fell over you. You move closer to Daryl while he started yelling to the Doctor, “Air seems pretty ‘essential’ to me!” He took notice of your closer proximity and how you looked around cautiously. Jenner pauses at the steps that lead up to the work stations in the big room. Everyone has followed and is grouped around. Everyone turned to Jenner for answers. "It was the French." Andrea clicked her tounge at him, "What?" Jenner sighed sitting down in a chair at a computer, "They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know. While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs till the end. They thought they were close to a solution." Jacqui now voicing her confusion, "What happened?" Jenner turned to her, "The same thing that’s happening here. No power grid. Ran out of juice. The world runs on fossil fuel.  I mean, how stupid is that?" Shane was about to start but was cut off by Rick, "To Hell with it, Shane. I don’t even care. Lori, grab our things. Everybody, get your stuff. We’re getting out of here now!" But before anyone could move a alarm started. Carl said with a nervous tone, "What is that?" A voice spoke through the speakers,

‘30 minutes to decontamination.’

You were now grabbing Daryl's arm in fear causing Daryl to speak up, "Doc what's going on here!" Jenner scans his badge and enters code into a security pad. Rick yelled turning to everyone, "Get your stuff and lets go! Go!" Then the doors all started to closed. Glenn yelled in anger, "No. Did he just lock us in!? He locked us in!" The kids started to cry in panic to there moms. Daryl makes a run at Jenner, "You son of a bitch!" Rick grab Daryl while yelling for Shane to help him. You sat there in shock with a hand over your mouth. Daryl continued to yell while being restrained, "You locked us in here!" T-Dog now joining in to stop Daryl, "No, stop! Don’t!" When Daryl was pushed back he made his was back to you and pulled you into him at the sight of your eyes becoming glassy. Rick now spoke to Jenner, "Open the doors." Jenner sat there calm, "There’s no point. Everything topside is locked down. The emergency exits are sealed." Dale now taking the chance to speak, "Then just open the damn things." Jenner just shook his head.

You saw Rick stare at the clock that was now 28 minutes. You watched as he slowly turned to Jenner, "What happens after 28 minutes...?" Jenner sat up straighter, “In the event of a catastrophic power failure... in a terrorist attack, for example... H.I.T.s are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out.” Rick shuffled from foot to foot in concern, “H.I.T.s?” Jenner sighed putting his hands on his hips, “Vi define.” A robotic voice of a women filled the room through speakers, “H.I.T.s - high-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives consists of a two-stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive except nuclear. The vacuum-pressure effect ignites the oxygen between 5,000 and 6,000 degrees and is used when the greatest loss of life and damage to structures is desired.”

Everyone was stunned. Jenner speaking immediately after Vi, “It sets the air on fire. No pain. An end to sorrow, grief... Regret. Everything.” He said it like this somehow made everything better?! You felt Daryl squeeze you and you held him back. This crazy prick was going to kill you all! You felt the deep vibration in Daryl's chest as he roughly spoke, "Open the door." T-dog used the axe he had to start hitting the door, Daryl went to try and open the door to. Jenner just look defeated, "You should’ve left well enough alone it would have been so much easier." Lori now spoke up while holding her panicked son, "Easier for who." You felt that sinking feeling again. Jenner's voice fading out in the back at you felt blood rush your ears. 'All of you. You know what’s out there. A short brutal life and an agonizing death.' Memories of your aunt killed, being near the edge of the water and almost getting killed by two walkers. You moved your hand to your stomach. You had just talked to Daryl about the future. Asking if now in the changed world could you be enough for this child. Sound of Daryl's voice bring you back from thought, "BUT YOUR HEAD ANI'T!"

He was pulled back before being able to hit Dr. Jenner with the axe in his hand. Jenner once again not fazed and he turned to you, "What do you not get by everything is GONE! There is no world for that baby of yours." Daryl again tried to get to him but was held back by four people. You looked down with tears in your eyes, but also anger burned in you. Taking two steps closer to him you quickly punched him in the face. Everyone gasped in surprise but you continued by grabbing him by his lab coat collar. "That is not your choice to make for me!" Rick had gently grabbed you by the shoulder pushing you back. Rick now with hands on his hips spoke calmly to Jenner, "She's right. You’re lying about no hope. If that were true, you’d have bolted with the rest or taken the easy way out. You didn’t. You chose the hard path. Why?" He huffed, "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. It always matters. You stayed when others ran. Why?"

Jenner looked down in thought, "Not because I wanted to. I made a promise." He looks back up and points to the screen, "To her. My wife." Lori glanced to the screen, "Test subject 19 was your wife?" Jenner slowly nods, "She begged me to keep going as long as I could. How could I say no?" Something felt like it was shifting. The clock was now ticking closer to its end. You had pushed everyone off Daryl while Rick spoke. You replaced everyone's hands on him by wrapping your arms around his middle, leaning into his chest. "I told you topside’s locked down. I can’t open those." Jenner walks back to the security pad and unlocks the door. Daryl went straight to action grabbing your hand and pushing you to the exit, "Move it! Move it!" You heard others feet behind you. Making your way down the hall you swiftly grabbed all your bags. In the lobby there was another problem of getting out again. T-dog and Daryl tried breaking the window with axes but it was bullet proof. Some how Carol had a grenade she found off Rick. Taking cover the window exploded, finally freeing you of this ticking time bomb.

Everyone rushed out killing the walkers who took interest in the noise. You made it to Daryl's truck with Daryl opening the door for you while jumping in himself. He leaned over you seconds later a wave of heat rushed over you. The explosion was loud and shook the truck. Once Daryl rose off you, you looked up to the now demolished building. You and Daryl then looking back to each other, tears filled your eyes while staring into his. You sobbed in relief, adrenalin slowly leaving your body causing you to shake. Daryl moved to hold you while breathing a sigh of relief himself, "See? We're ok." You sniffle while Daryl start moving to drive away from this walker magnet of a building.

This was now officially the end of the world.

Part 4

Feedback welcome and requests open! (Next chapter is so much angst mahaha)

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[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey sex witch, you’ve talked a lot about porn addiction on here but I have some other questions if that’s ok.

I go to Christian highschool and we often have discussions about porn addiction.

my teacher says that most addicted people start consuming porn at around 9. And that even seeing one naked person or one porn or whatever on the internet can put you at higher risk of developing an addiction to porn.

does absolutely any of this have a base in science? Or is this all fear mongering and what not?

hi anon,

first of all, I just want to say that I think it rules that you're seeking information outside of what's being taught at your school. learning how to question what you're told and seek out answers from other sources is a really important skill that can be VERY hard to even begin if you aren't given the resources to easily go looking for information, and I think it's great that you're taking the initiative of seeking out other perspectives :)

now, let's break this down: the concept of "porn addiction" is one largely discredited by psychologists. while people can certainly develop maladaptive coping mechanisms around sexuality, porn, and/or masturbation, this isn't strictly the same as addiction, and several studies have found that the people who are most likely to identify themselves as porn addicts are people who harbor religious or cultural shame about sexuality and porn use, rather than people who use porn more than the average person. it is, largely, a matter of perception.

while access to smartphones means that many people first encounter pornography at a young age - the current average age is somewhere between 9 and 13, depending on the study - and that can be confusing to a child who isn't given the proper framework to understand what they're seeing, it's also not a new phenomenon. in my role as a sex educator I also get to talk with a lot of parents about their early sexual experiences, and many of them recall encountering printed pornography as children when they find it in gutters, the woods, the bedroom of parents or friends' parents, or even stowed in farm equipment. these adults tend to remember being intrigued and excited along with a little confused or alarmed by this first brush with sexuality, but crucially it did not define them as people. as evidence by the fact that they've grown up to send their children to queer-friendly, sex positive, nonjudgmental sex ed classes, early exposure to porn did not stop them from growing into curious, thoughtful, and supportive parents who want to encourage healthy attitudes toward sexuality for their children. porn alone does not have the power to determine the direction of someone's life.

just seeing a naked person or pornography on the internet also cannot immediately make you an "addict." as you've already guessed, this is what we call fear mongering, using information in a way that's exaggerated to make people nervous to even engage with a topic. fear mongering about sex is common among adults and education systems that don't want to young people to be curious about their bodies; another common one is "teaching" young people about sexually transmitted infections by only showing them pictures of untreated cases that have become drastic and painful while insisting that no STI can ever be treated, which is definitely not the case. but the facts don't matter; the priority is trying to make sure teenagers are too scared to have sex until they're adults and the school system is no longer responsible for them.

(and it doesn't even work; states with higher rates of abstinence only education are CONSISTENTLY among those with the highest rates of teen pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections.)

when presented with absolutist statements like this, it's worth poking holes in the logic. for instance, if seeing any naked figure is bad, what about classical art? do nude marble statues put you at risk of being a porn addict? what about other artistic depictions of nudity? or anatomical illustrations? what about real people just changing clothes in a locker room, or young siblings bathing together? does it not count for people who are nearly or partially nude, like someone wearing a bathing suit or athletic clothes? people changing in a locker room together? what about young children being bathed together? and what about all of those depictions about Jesus on the cross wearing nothing but a loincloth? what's the line between "good" and "bad" nudity, and who's deciding where that line is? can such a line even really exist at all?

the truth is that people are undressed or partially undressed in all kinds of situations, and none of them are a corrosive influence on your brain. just looking at something is not enough to completely rewire your brain and permanently change your behavior. ultimately, you are responsible for your own actions.

I hope this has been a helpful answer, and that you stay curious about what you're being taught.

[nicromancytarot]

WHAT DO YOU NEED TO FOCUS ON RIGHT NOW?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD TAROT READING

I asked my spirit guides what you need to focus on right now, pick a picture and find out what they had to say!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

Pile 4 ———> Pile 5 ———> Pile 6

PILE 1

Maintaining relationships and friendships is the most important thing for you guys right now. It’s been proven hard for people to hold up friendships and relationships of those who they are about, as lots of people are becoming less tolerant towards bullshit. Perhaps you’re not being the best version of yourself towards your friends right now. I’d recommend taking a look inside yourself and figuring out what is making you act out in possibly not the best ways, and how can you help yourself, and make up with others in the process?

PILE 2

You guys need to focus on your money and how you are treating it, I don’t know if you’re being too lenient, or too stubborn with your spending, some of you will fit into their of these. Make sure you spend responsibly. For those of who who have the money and are scared to spend it because you fear you will lose it, you won’t - you can spend an amount without worrying about not making it back, because you will gain that back. For those of you who are the opposite and spending too much, or too impulsively, take a breather and allow yourself to take a break from spending for this next month, only spend money on necessities.

PILE 3

You guys have a decision that you need to make right now, something in which you are very confused or stuck towards. I’m assuming this decision to be quite life changing for you guys, so get thinking and try to figure out the best choice for you. Not to scare you my pile 3’s, however if you don’t make this decision and choose the direction or path you desire to go down, the universe will do it for you, and they will lead you to that tower moment to get rid of everything and start again.

PILE 4

This is a very specific message, so if it doesn’t resonate, choose another pile. For the ones of you who this does resonate with, you guys seem to currently be struggling on whether or not you want to give your heart to someone. You may have been hurt in the past and now worried about opening yourself up to a person in such a way. Don’t stress so much about this, you will find and make the decision that is right for you.

PILE 5

Focus on your healing journey so those around you who have hurt you and caused you great sadness will be able to feel that of what they made you experience. Your reading is themed heavily around karma that can only be achieved once you heal yourself and accept that these people hurt you. Take your time, not too much, but allow yourself to figure out who these people were and what they did to you. You are so incredibly powerful, the universe wants you to heal so they can have your back and get at those who have hurt you. For a very select few or you, this could theme around legal trouble, gather your evidence and keep it all orderly for when you need to speak about it.

PILE 6

You guys need a breather, take some time to just relax, rest, stop doing so much. You guys are very busy, some of you are really into the whole nightlife scene, and are constantly out partying until early hours of the morning. Take a moment from it and relax, you need to rest instead of working or doing so much constantly. Allow yourself to relax for the love of god. SLEEP.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Trash Magic

Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot

Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear. 

Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?

Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.

Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc

18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!

Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.

When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.

That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.

By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.

By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.

By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.

By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.

By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.

One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.

Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.

You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.

Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.

“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.

“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”

“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.

“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”

“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.

“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.

“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.

“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”

You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”

“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”

“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”

“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”

“And a dog?”

“Yeah.”

“With chili on it?”

“Oh c’mon now-“

“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously

Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”

“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.

“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”

Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.

By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.

Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.

By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.

A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.

In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.

You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.

Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.

“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.

“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”

Just, he had said. Just strip.

Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.

After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.

Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.

You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.

You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”

All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.

“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.

“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.

You do go to the club that night.

You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.

Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”

“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.

He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.

“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”

He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.

You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.

“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.

“Yeah.” you breathed.

“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”

“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”

He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”

The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.

When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.

“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.

He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.

As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.

“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.

But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.

So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.

You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.

Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.

You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.

You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.

“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.

He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”

“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”

He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.

“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.

“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”

“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.

“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”

You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”

He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.

“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.

You turned around.

“Hands on the hood.” he told you.

You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-

Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.

He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.

“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.

“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.

“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”

You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.

You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.

At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.

His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.

You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-

“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.

“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.

“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”

“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.

“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.

“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”

“Yeah.”

“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.

“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“

“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.

The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.

“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.

“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”

“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.

Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”

He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.

Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?

You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.

Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.

Or less.

What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.

But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.

This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.

Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.

Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”

You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.

You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.

You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.

It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.

Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.

“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.

“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.

“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”

“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.

The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.

“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.

“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”

“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.

“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.

It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.

Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.

“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.

“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.

Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.

Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.

But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.

“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.

You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.

His chest hurt.

Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”

You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.

It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.

It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.

This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up

He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.

By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.

When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.

Headlights.

Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.

“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.

It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.

“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.

“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.

He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.

“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.

Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.

When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.

“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.

“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”

“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“

“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“

You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.

“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“

“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.

“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“

“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“

You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic

“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”

“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.

“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.

“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”

You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”

It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.

“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.

“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.

You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.

“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.

“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”

“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.

The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.

“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”

“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”

“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.

Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.

You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.

“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.

“Yeah.”

“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”

“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.

“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.

Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”

“O-ok.” you agreed.

“Clean feet.”

“Okey.”

“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”

It was a trailer, not a house. But:

“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.

“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“

Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”

“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”

He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.

You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.

“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.

It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.

“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.

“Y-yeah.” you gasped.

“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”

Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”

“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.

“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.

“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”

“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.

It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.

He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.

“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.

He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”

Of course. Hygiene.

Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.

He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.

Doilies.

There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.

“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.

“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.

He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.

“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.

“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.

He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”

Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.

What a pervert, you thought, charmed.

It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.

When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.

The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”

He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.

You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.

“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”

His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”

“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”

“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”

You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.

“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”

“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.

“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.

You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.

“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.

“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.

“Five minutes.” he whispered.

It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.

“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.

You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.

“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.

You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.

“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.

“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.

“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.

Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.

“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.

That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.

“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.

“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.

Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.

“No.” you admitted.

He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”

You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.

You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.

“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.

He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.

“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.

“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.

“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”

He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”

Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️

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[iskratempestmadness]

Meeting there first born baby for the first time X3

Baki:

He is happy and in shock. But Baki is now unsure of his abilities. Like, can he handle it? It's a big responsibility to raise a child! Is he sure he can handle it? Just tell him that everything will be fine, that you will raise the child together, that he does not have to take full responsibility for himself and that you can also be relied on and everything will be fine. He just needs words of support and an expression of joy while he holds his child in his arms admiring him. He will be gentle with him and attentive.

Hanayama:

He looks quite calm, but in reality he is overwhelmed with emotions. He already imagines how he will play with his child, how they will spend time together, perform ordinary household chores. But then another thought strikes his head. What if his child fights the same way he does? Moreover, what would happen if he came to the arena in the future? What if he also becomes a yakuza?He doesn't like the idea. He would not want his child to be somehow connected with his field of activity. But looking at your pretty face while he's rocking the baby, he can't even think about it.

Katsumi:

Joy, pure joy. He's really happy. The child is so charming. So cute. But... He has a strange feeling lurking somewhere inside. Anxiety. What will happen when you grow up? Who are you going to talk to? What happens if you contact the wrong company? He has a swarm of questions that have not yet been answered. Distract him, please, he's driving too much. He will probably be an overprotective father in the future. He will always give the child the proper amount of attention, he will never neglect them.

Jack:

He's pretty calm, but that doesn't change the fact that he's happy. To be honest, he already has a lot of plans for the baby. Like he's already thought through his life, what he's going to do, who he's going to grow up to be. He would be glad if his child was also engaged in martial arts, he would be happy in the slaughter if his child would become a successor to his gudo. So he will do his best to make sure that his child grows up exactly like this.

Retsu:

He's happy. Really happy. His baby is so cute, the sweetest bun in the world. He doesn't quite understand how he's going to raise him yet, but he knows for sure that regardless of gender, his child will NEVER practice martial arts. His child will NEVER enter the ring. He will do everything possible to prevent this from happening. In principle, his child should not see cruelty. Perhaps one of those parents who are fixated on the psychological health of the child.

Shibukawa:

He's happy, that's for sure, but he's a little worried about this situation. It means that he has a child. Well, he's seventy-five, it's strange for him to be a "young father." But on the other hand, he will be one of the best parents. He has lived a long life, he has a lot of experience, which helps to avoid many mistakes. He probably coddled his niece when she was little, so it's OK. He has perhaps one problem.This is his fear of not living to see his grandchildren. So he will put pressure on his child regarding the wedding.

[delcakoo]

OMGGG I CANT STOP THINKING ABT JOCK NIKI AND SHY TUTORRRR I NEED MOREEEEEE

WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THE MAKE OUT SESS IN THE LIBRARY I NEED ALL THE DEETS 😍😍

part 1 lol

PAIRING ! jock!niki x tutor!gn!reader

WC ! 800ish

WARNINGS ! smooching and u and riki being so so cute

a/n: I DIDNT THINK ITD BE THAT EFFECTIVE ON ANYONE HELLO?? IM HONORED OK ENJOY !!

niki pulls away from the kiss, chuckling proudly at the string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his. his right hand still rests on the back of your neck while the other grips the library table firmly. “and that one?” he inquires again.

you gulp, nervously glancing around the surrounding shelves of books. “it.. it was good..” as you mumble pathetically, you suddenly remember what you’re supposed to be doing. “..will you at least tell me what’s below the catella?”

he bursts into a disbelieving giggle, eyes crinkling into half-moons at your words. “all that and you’re still focused on tutoring me?” when you send him a warning glare (which he wasn’t phased by in the slightest), niki smirks. “the tibia.”

you nod, affirming that he was correct. “good job.” before he can do anything else, you swiftly stand to your feet and throw your belongings into your bag quicker and messier than you’ve ever done in your life. what made it all worse was that along with the piercing, hungry stare you could feel on your back the whole time, the taste of the boy was still fully on your tongue and lips.

“so thats it? gonna pack up and pretend nothing happened like last time?” he spits. you thought the jock was just playing with you — finding ways to make his ‘tutor sessions’ a bit more exciting — but you swear a hint of genuine frustration could be heard coating his sharp accusations.

you grit your teeth either way. “niki, this session ended ten minutes ago.”

tonguing the side of his cheek, he stands up himself while running strong fingers through his bangs. “and? fuck the session, i only care about you anyway.” you freeze. niki seems equally shocked, only realising his confession after another moment of silence passes.

“i..”

“look, i know your standards are too high for some fuck up like me so just- just pretend i didn’t say shit.”

it takes you a few blinks to process niki walking away, textbook and pencilcase tucked securely under his arm for you to hurrily chase after him. you pull the back of his navy hoodie with vigor, not taking another moment of hesitation before smashing your lips on his as soon as he stumbles around to face you.

he was the one to pull away first (which, for the record, had never happened before). “wh.. what- y/n?” niki questioningly stares down at you, a shimmer of hope reflecting in his pupils.

“i care about you too. i mean i- i think i like you, too,” you rush out.

his expression morphs instantly, a small beginning of a smirk forming as he leans against the nearest bookshelf. “i never said i liked you, did i?”

you frown, sending him a harsh glare. “niki.”

“sorry.” it was clear the male didn’t have much experience with such conversation judging by the way he scratched the nape of his neck, glancing off into space shyly. “so like.. i have a basketball game friday..”

“mhm..” you try not to laugh at his sudden change of attitude, edging him on with a nod.

“and if you wanna like- i don’t know, wearmyjerseyandcomewatchme or something.. i wouldn’t mind. and- and we can go eat somewhere after if you’re okay with taking the bus.”

you never imagined nishimura riki could be so cute, but somehow it brings butterflies to your stomach. “yeah, sure. that sounds good, text me the details?”

his eyes widen, mouth stammering as he takes in your response. "oh, uh- yeah, yeah i will.” pushing off the wall, niki only begins to walk away before he's quickly swivelling towards you again, rushing to plant a kiss on your forehead before taking off with promises of a text.

you nearly fail to miss the giddy smile on his face as he exits the library — not that you were any better with cheeks as red as your swollen lips.

one chance niki !!!!!!! ++ reblogs n comments r always appreciated if u enjoyed n want more pspsps

[theambitiouswoman]

Signs you’re dating a high-value guy:

He cares about seeing you play at your best

A great guy has no interest in seeing you scale back your ambitions so that he can feel good about himself.

On the contrary, he loves to see you flourish. For him, supporting your success only means more excitement and adventure. He loves seeing what you make of your life and cares about protecting your dreams.

In short, the high-value guy lives to see you playing at an extraordinary level.

He isn’t afraid of you over-taking him

Guys worth dating aren’t fussed about out-earning you or worried about who is further ahead in their career.

He won’t get insecure because you happen to be a lawyer or have a PhD, nor will he fret about your substantial paycheck. He doesn’t measure his life in competition with yours, because (would you believe it?) he has self-esteem and measures his life on more than just achievement.

He wants to provide for you

This one might seem like it immediately invalidates the previous point, but it doesn’t.

Here’s why: Even though he’s fine with you over-taking him financially, a high-value guy still wants to be someone who can provide for you in all kinds of ways.

This doesn’t mean he wants to pay for everything, but he’ll work hard to be the kind of man who can protect and serve you, whether by being emotionally strong, financially independent, or by being able to treat you to incredible experiences and indulgent surprises.

He’s turned on by your independence

“Damsel in constant distress” is not sexy to a high-value guy.

A man worth being with delights in seeing you handle your own life (even if he loves to help now and then), and will want to encourage anything that promotes your autonomy and independence.

While every man loves to feel needed, only insecure daddy-type guys seek to acquire importance by seeing you helpless and entirely dependent on them.

He’s responsive to your needs, even if he doesn’t always get them right first time

Ok, he might not know the *exact* words that turn you on most right away, or he might not realise that “quality time” is your love language, or he may not know that handwritten birthday cards make you melt.

But he learns. And responds when he drops the ball and gets it wrong.

The best guy isn’t a mind-reader, but he is an expert at following the signs if you make them clear enough.

Just enjoy it (and for god’s sake let him know how happy his effort makes you ­– positive reinforcement works!). Showing him that you notice and appreciate his listening skills is the best way to get more of it.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice to come and help you out of a bind

You’re in trouble? You need help with your university paper and want someone to come and read it at 4am the night before submission? You need to be saved from your family?

He’ll jump out of bed and into his car to come and save you before you’ve even put down the phone. He might not like the “damsel in constant distress”, but the “damsel having an occasional freak out” will make him drive all night like a knight riding to save a princess.

He won’t take your crap

Be warned: high-value guys have high expectations. If you’re ok with that, this will only raise your game.

He’s strong, and that means he doesn’t put up with draining people in his life.

He has no interest in indulging complaining and doesn’t have time to waste endlessly going over old problems or moaning about the past.

If you’re being unreasonable, he’ll tell you. To your face. Like a man. In other words, be ready for a guy who will stand up for himself and won’t stand for being walked over.

He takes care of his life with minimal fuss

High value guys limit the amount of time they spend wallowing in self-pity after a setback. They are responsive in the face of failure and spring into action at the sight of problems rather than falling apart.

Of course, he’s still human. And vulnerable. Which is a good thing. So sometimes he’ll need love and reassurance that everything will be ok. But then he’ll be back on his feet and fighting to get a grip again.

When the castle crumbles, he’s the one who starts stacking bricks to rebuild the fortress.

He cares about keeping small promises

In the book The Road by Cormac McCarthy, the son tells his father: “If you break little promises, you’ll break big ones.”

This is essentially the philosophy of a high value guy. It’s his code. He doesn’t feel ok simply shrugging his shoulders when he promised to pick up your shopping on the way home and just forgot. He kicks himself when he promised he’d book that restaurant and it totally slipped his mind.

The idea of not living up to his word is death to him. As it should be for all of us.

Speaking of which…

He chooses his words carefully

A guy who is great relationship material says nothing idly. He doesn’t make empty proclamations of love that he doesn’t feel in his heart.

He won’t say trite phrases or go through the motions if he thinks he’s just using cheap sentiment to soothe you without addressing the real problem.

If he says he adores you, he means it.

He’ll comfort you. He’ll stroke your hair and tell you you’re incredible. But he won’t make everything sound easy or simple when it’s not. Because he cares about big ideas like Truth and Honesty.

He wants to improve without needing to be asked

Great guys are always looking for ways to be better.

He doesn’t want to get healthy because you asked him to, he wants to do it because he takes pride in caring about his body.

He reads books not to show off, but because he takes education seriously.

He seeks adventure not to impress you, but because he wants to grab life and suck up experiences while he’s on this earth.

He seeks success because he wants to fulfil his potential, not because he arbitrarily wants a bigger paycheck.

At his core, he’s self-motivated. That might sometimes mean he tries a bit harder than he needs to, but that’s a much better problem to have than having a lazy man who never makes an effort.

He’ll “grasp nettles”

I stole this one from advertising genius David Ogilvy, who wrote “leaders grasp nettles”.

What Ogilvy meant by this is that leaders in life are willing to do the difficult action that no-one else will. This is the same of any high-value guy. He doesn’t run from the difficult or sensitive conversation. He confronts problems. He makes the difficult phone call.

He doesn’t put off troubles hoping they’ll just blow over. Which is why others respect him and look up to him.

He’ll invest in the relationship without losing himself in it

Maybe it sounds romantic to think of the Edward Cullen obsessive-love type boyfriend, but in the real world a high-value guy is capable of falling loving without obsessing (he can still be passionate and intense, just not in the creepy stalker-esque way vampire romance novels portray it).

Guys who are well-balanced have multiple sources of joy in their world. Friends. Family. Fulfilling work. Because they’ve learnt how to be happy being single first (as I’ve spoken about before).

All of these are important to him, even if eventually you become the most important thing to him.

He listens to what you tell him and responds

As mentioned earlier, high value guys want to make you happy. And this means they listen. They look for clues. They are endlessly curious about you as their partner and want to understand your mind.

You’ll usually see this in the amount of thought he puts into gifts and trips, particularly if it involves things he’s clearly decided based on your previous conversations.

Of course, that does NOT mean he’ll always get it right. Even high-value guys will sometimes get it completely wrong and screw up badly (we have to be realistic, after all). But crucially, he’ll keep trying to fulfil your needs. He’ll remember when he messed up and adjust his behaviour. And if you communicate your standards well, he’ll strive to live up to them.

He has unique pairings

High value guys, like high value women, don’t rely on a single personality trait.

He can be intellectual and deep, but he can also be exciting and totally silly. He’s comfortable being sexual, but he’s also a gentleman and has class. He’s fiercely loyal, but ready to double-down on his principles when his view differs from everyone else’s.

The best people always embody both sides of the coin.

He builds a future with you

The high-value guy who is serious about you will want to make you the strongest team in the world. He’s loyal and wants to find ways to bring you closer together, which means he thinks about the future with you and discusses it openly.

That doesn’t mean he’ll necessarily move quickly, but it does mean he wants to invest in the relationship and make your emotional connection stronger so that he can share his world with you.

[neos127]

a park sunghoon smau ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ | she loves me not…?

— in which y/n has to hide her hatred for the man who nearly ruined her reputation while the two mc together on music bank.

chapter nine. taking it slow

as soon as sunghoon opened his door, he smiled. a comforting smile that made your insides melt.

“come in.” he nodded his head towards the inside of his room, stepping aside to let you walk in. as soon as he closed the door, you let out a breath. you felt extremely awkward as if you hadn’t been making out with the man in his room only hours prior.

“i need to say something” you spoke first, avoiding the man’s eyes. he had already been dressed for the tiffany event and looked amazing as always. you felt flustered, you stomach doing backflips as the words of what you wanted to say died on your tongue.

“i’m listening.” sunghoon spoke up in a teasing tone, standing in front of you with his hands on his hips. you sighed, letting a nervous giggle slip from your lips.

“um…i don’t regret coming here last night. i think kissing you really made me realize that i don’t wanna be apart from you. i tried to hate you and push you away, despite you putting in the effort to get to know me. i apologize for that, it wasn’t fair to you.” you explained, your heart beating a bit faster at your apology. sunghoon smiled softly before hesitantly stepping closer to you.

“it’s okay, i never held it against you. it was my fault your hatred began anyways and i’m sorry for that.” sunghoon replied, taking your hands in his. you looked up at his pretty eyes, feeling comfortable in his presence. it was something you noticed when sunghoon had taken you out to lunch for your birthday. simply being in his presence made you feel safe and that was one of the many reasons why you couldn’t keep yourself from him anymore.

“sunghoon…i…i really want to be with you. i like being around you. but im not exactly sure if im ready for a serious relationship yet.” you admitted, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for his response. fortunately, sunghoon didn’t seem disappointed.

“that’s okay. but um, what do you mean by that? like friends with benefits?” sunghoon joked, causing you to giggle. he always managed to make the tension drain from your body instantly…damn him.

“no, i would just like to go on a few dates first if that’s ok.” you shrugged. sunghoon smiled, a wide toothy grin that showed off his fangs that you loved so much. he was on cloud nine, simply hearing that you were willing to give him a chance was enough to make the man want to skip with glee.

“prepared to be wowed— y/n y/l/n is going to experience the best dates of her life.” sunghoon said dramatically, causing you to playfully roll your eyes.

“can i still kiss you though?” sunghoon asked timidly after a beat of silence, a sudden shy look appearing on his face. you giggled, not saying a word before leaning up to place your lips onto his.

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— ky’s notes; sorry AGAIN for disappearing but y/n and sunghoon are back! this smau honestly might be shorter than i thought so we shall see

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