#saturday: [has never had a job before and had spent every day of his life prior to meeting me doing fuck all] that is strange.

[saturdays--sun]

actually, since the iteration of me that's with saturday is just. Me with no additives. i'm adding in whatever the hell happened today with the job i was applying for into her lore. that was the catalyst for her moving + getting her silly little bookstore job that eventually led to us meeting. dodged a bullet and a blessing in disguise all in one <3

[adore-laur]

DADRRY: PART ONE

— just harry being a doting dad & husband 🍓

——

Saturday nights haven't been this peaceful in a while. Harry and your daughter left home about an hour ago to attend a father-daughter dinner organized by a group of parents at the daycare, so you're left by your lonesome to enjoy a relaxing time without your child's newly developed and daily tantrums. She's two-and-a-half years old, meaning it's out with the newborn bliss and in with the "Terrible Twos" phase every mom has warned you about. 

She was always an easy baby; she never cried for too long or was fussy too often. There's no doubt that she's still the sweetest little thing, but some days, it can be a nightmare to deal with her. You're thankful for her otherwise reserved nature, but even then, a toddler will do anything to get what they want, and your daughter is no exception. 

Nonetheless, you and Harry handle it as a team. Both of you choose to deal with her sudden outbursts by using a calm and understanding approach. She listens most of the time. If she got one trait from her father, it's the ability to be an annoyingly good listener and hang on to every word you speak. With Harry, it's always complete eye contact, well-placed affirmations, and asking all the right questions. You suppose it's because of his job, but he claims he was just naturally born with it. 

Having been together for seven years, you and Harry have lived a beautifully intimate life on the coast of southern California, consisting of no neighbors, a secluded beach, and your little family of three. Harry works as a sous chef at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. He used to be the head chef before your daughter came into the world, but the wearisome hours he worked then would have never worked out with being a new father. He still hasn't accepted his old title back, much to your secret dismay. When he decided to demote himself, he suffered from a salary decrease and disappointed comments from co-workers. He didn't care, though. He told you that if it meant he had more time to spend with you and the baby, he would selflessly accept the consequences. 

During your postpartum days, he promised never to have a shift that had him arriving home after five in the evening unless necessary. It was a promise to always be with you for dinner, to watch the sun dip down the horizon, and to fall asleep next to you. He sometimes comes home in a palpable mood of frustration after a hectic shift, but as soon as he walks through the door and sees his girls, it's like magic the way his visibly tense shoulders sag with relief. 

There are instances when both of you need an independent getaway, but most of the time, it's the three of you together in your domestic bubble of love. You've never known a man quite like Harry. Nothing compares to his heart or drive to be the best possible husband, dad, and son. Also, you appreciate how he's so attentive and gentle with every part of your lives and how he'd go against that gentleness if needed to fight tooth and nail for his family. You've built a life worth living with him. He's yours entirely. 

And yes, his daughter has stolen some of that love, but each night before you fall asleep, it's like he can transfer every ounce of love in his precious heart to you with a simple touch. Or a single glance topped off with the softest kiss. 

As you sit alone by the blazing fire, you realize that nights spent by yourself no longer appeal to you. You want your family next to you all the time. You want your daughter to ask a million questions, mostly incomprehensible blabbering, but it melts your heart anyway. You want to watch Harry cook dinner, always putting on his actual chef coat and reading a recipe in a terrible French accent, just to make your daughter laugh. You want to watch him put a spaghetti noodle below his nose to act as a mustache, or watch him keep your daughter on his hip while letting her add an ingredient to a dish. Then, when she does, he looks at her with faux surprise and tells her she's better at his job than he is. 

Yet when your chef husband isn't home to make delicious food, you're stuck making frozen pizza. You considered having a glass of wine with it but decided not to because waking up on a Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a cranky toddler at the breakfast table is not something you want to deal with. 

With a reminiscent glint in your eyes, you finish the last slice and think about what they could be doing now. It's a little after seven, so you assume they're done eating dinner and socializing with the other dads and kids. Harry had said the restaurant was connected to a botanical garden, so they might be walking through it. Your daughter is probably exhausted. She woke up at five this morning and has been hyper all day, asking if she could go to dinner now, even if it wasn't lunchtime. 

You decide to text him and ask if he could take some pictures in the garden. Your and Harry's camera roles are filled with images of your daughter. 

I hope you guys are having fun! Please take some pictures of you both at the botanical garden. Miss and love you. Get home safe. 

You shut your phone off and stare at the moonlit water, waiting for your favorite people to come home. 

—— 

Harry is waiting for the check when he gets your text message. His phone screen lights up, displaying his lock screen, which is a photo of him and his baby girl on a hotel bed in Italy. They're both wearing fluffy white robes and are passed out from a long day of swimming under the sun and eating a boatload of food. 

That family vacation was six months ago. It was her second birthday, so he wanted to go somewhere special. Let's just say that being a chef at a nice restaurant has its perks. He had saved a lot of money after he started working more hours. Then, one day, he secretly bought three plane tickets to the Amalfi Coast.

Harry wants to go back more than anything. He has never felt more content and full of love (and carbs) anywhere else except for Italy. He swears he gained ten pounds from that trip alone, and he blames it on his daughter, who begged for raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread every chance she got. He had wanted to go back to the gym to lose weight, but you changed his mind when you told him on the last day in Italy that you found his new body attractive. You had also whispered in his ear that his thighs were thickening, and it was making you hot in the face. 

So, naturally, he took you into the shower, had you ride his thigh, and then made you come twice in twenty minutes. 

But that's beside the point. 

Harry reads your text, smiles, and then types out a response. Of course, love. We'll be home soon. We're full of spaghetti and love you very much. 

It's getting late, so he settles on taking the little rascal for a stroll through the gardens before she zonks out. He untucks his black shirt from his trousers, leans back against the chair, and rubs his hands over his stomach. It was a spaghetti dinner with seemingly endless garlic bread, so they are both now feeling the after-effects. 

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh that catches his daughter's attention. "Are you full?"

She mimics his position while nodding with a pout on her face. He laughs and starts folding his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, which he wore before it started getting dark out. He pushes their dirty dishes toward the middle of the table to make things easier for the busser. He then leaves a fifty-dollar bill as a tip. 

Reclaiming his credit card from the checkbook and putting it between his teeth, he grabs the coloring sheet the restaurant supplied and tucks it under his arm. He knows she'll want it on the fridge. 

He returns his credit card to his wallet and asks, "Ready to see the pretty flowers before we leave?" She hums a yes, and he can't help but reach across the table to pinch her cheek fondly before standing. "Let's go, sleepy girl." 

She lifts her arms in a request to be carried, and Harry picks her up with a groan. He's only thirty-one, so he really shouldn't be struggling to carry his daughter, who weighs the same as a sack of potatoes. He supposes that working in a kitchen and hunching over counters all day for the past decade might have something to do with it.

He hikes her up on his hip while she snakes her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. She'll be asleep in a matter of minutes. 

After he pushes their chairs in, he waves goodbye to the other daycare fathers before making a beeline for the commercial kitchen to bid adieu to the staff. He's friendly with some of them since he's a local chef himself, and he always tries to show his appreciation to chefs. He knows firsthand the hard work and stress of successfully running a restaurant behind the scenes.

Harry pushes the door open using his elbow and quickly catches the gaze of the head chef, whom he has talked to a few times at past culinary conventions and events. He takes his free hand and covers his daughter's exposed ear since it's noisy in the kitchen, with metal clanging and orders being shouted.

"Hi," he says, smiling politely at the head chef. "We're heading home, so I just wanted to give my thanks. The food and service were excellent." 

"Harry, it was good seeing you!" he replies cheerfully, reaching under a stainless steel countertop. "Stop by again soon. We love having your family here." 

"Will do, man. I'll bring my missus next time." 

Harry plans date nights every other week, usually finding restaurants he's never visited in the SoCal region. You've told him he gets endearingly talkative when explaining certain establishments' different cuisines and recipes. The restaurant he's at tonight has always been a favorite because he's taken you there a handful of times when the both of you were still in the early stages of dating. He even worked there as an assistant chef for two years. 

On the third date he took you on, if he remembers correctly, he may or may not have convinced his boss at the time to let him take you back to the kitchen so he could show you how to make chocolate-covered strawberries. You'd told him you had made them before, and he blushed while mentally facepalming himself; he thought he was being clever. That didn't stop him, though, because he ended up pulling something out of thin air. Turn up his charm, so to speak, by saying that his version of the classic recipe was extra special. 

Well, he had lied. 

They were just regular chocolate-covered strawberries, but he pushed up his sleeves (metaphorically and literally) and used fancy chef jargon to try to impress you. It worked—at least he thought so. Later, you admitted that you were actually just ogling his biceps every time he dipped the fruit into the melted chocolate. 

Once the strawberries were finished, Harry wrapped them up nicely and drove you home from the date. He fed you one before you got out of his beat-up Subaru, the only thing he could afford as a broke assistant chef. He will never forget you walking to your front door, half the strawberry still in hand, and then seeing you suddenly turn around to return to his window to feed him the last half. He had taken it in his mouth, chewing after taking a strangely erotic bite. He smirked at you and glanced down at your lips, which were stained a glistening red from the tart juices. 

"You're something else," he'd said sincerely, his voice raspy from work. 

"And you just scored another date with me."

From that moment on, he was gone for you. 

After shaking hands with the other chefs, Harry leaves the restaurant and walks to his Bentley. He rationally decides to skip out on the botanical garden tonight because he wants her to be fully awake to see the blossoming flowers. 

He unlocks the back door and gently straps her in, tucking her favorite blankie under her chin as she sleepily blinks at him. His heart melts into a puddle. "Let's go home to Mama, okay?" he murmurs, brushing her wispy hair back with a delicate sweep of his fingers. "I had such a fun time with you tonight." 

She yawns as ferociously as a toddler physically can, then lunges her arms forward for a hug. Harry hugs her the best he can with her in the car seat. He inhales her apple-scented shampoo while pressing kisses to the side of her head and then pulls away, poking her button nose with his thumb. 

"I love you this big," he says, spreading his arms as wide as possible. 

She giggles and copies his gesture. "Love big too," she replies brokenly with her sweet voice. 

Harry puckers his lips and kisses the air before sliding into the driver's seat. He takes out his phone to send you a quick update: She's in a spaghetti coma, so we're coming home now. We can go to the garden as a family next weekend. 

Pressing send, he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot and drives along the coastal highway with slightly cracked windows. He listens to his daughter's soft snores and thinks of you the entire way home with a dreamy smile.

—— 

You're still sitting by the fire, its flames dying with flickering embers, when you hear the garage door grinding open. You grin, immediately feeling warmer now that they're back home.

You had briefly gone inside to get a juice pouch for your daughter, just in case she came back awake. You also spontaneously decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries since you felt sentimental while reminiscing about the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Harry. 

The sound of footsteps sifting through the sand makes you turn your head. You find your husband with a sleeping angel clung to his side, his shirt untucked, and no shoes or socks on; he probably didn't want sand in his loafers. The shadow of scruff on his face is more noticeable, and the orange light from the campfire dances off his features. He looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he carefully treads through the beach grass to reach you.

"I've got a delivery," he whispers, sitting next to you on the blanket you spread out. "She's unconscious and full of spaghetti, so I don't think she'll be useful to you." 

You laugh quietly and stare at your baby, who is sleeping peacefully. Your knuckles stroke her round cheeks as you ask, "How was it?"

"Good. I ate my weight in pasta and bread, but it was worth it. We had fun." 

You sling your arm around his waist and pat his stomach. "I'm glad you guys spent some time together." 

He hums thoughtfully, unbuttoning his trousers to release the strain. "I need to start watching what I eat and cut down on the carbs. Otherwise, I'll look like Santa in five years." 

He says it like he's joking, but you know he's been insecure about his weight since you were pregnant. He naturally put on sympathy weight during the nine months you carried the baby, and then afterward, it simply reached a point where he never had time to work out, whether being too busy working or spending his free time with you and the baby. He ate healthily, but some nights, he caved and ate carbs like there was no tomorrow. Plus, he's a chef, so you can't necessarily blame him for enjoying food.

When you met him seven years ago, he was twenty-four and had skinny legs and a slim torso. But if one thing hasn't changed about his body, it's his strong arms. They've held you through several situations — hugging you whenever you needed a companion, feeling the natural warmth radiating from him. Or holding your baby girl for the first time, his black tattoos beautifully contrasting the precious pink blanket that swaddled her. He could easily cradle her in one arm, fitting perfectly in the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She still does. 

Or, arguably, your favorite, which is when he holds your body up, your back pressed against his chest, as he fucks you like no one else can. His bicep across your collarbones, his hand gripping your shoulder like he's physically claiming you, and his other hand gripping your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach...

You're getting carried away. 

The point is that his body is lovely. He still has abs from being generally fit and strong thighs that can chase after your daughter during playtime. His back muscles are masterfully sculpted from the physical exertion that goes into being a chef. His flawless face, too, but that goes without saying.

"I love your body," you say, wanting him to feel good about himself. "No matter the changes it's gone through, I adore all of your soft parts." 

He looks at you, trying to hold back a smirk. Of course, his mind immediately went to a dirty place. 

"I'm being serious. You're allowed to have insecurities. Remember when you felt bad eating all those carbs in Italy? What did I tell you?" 

Harry gazes at the ocean tide. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. When I saw my lock screen, I thought about that trip." He sighs and adds, "I don't know why I'm insecure when you're the only one I try to impress." 

You stare at him with nothing but adoration swimming in your eyes. "Are you feeling these insecurities because of the dinner? With all the dads there?"

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Why are you so fuckin' smart? I swear you're too good for me," he says with a breathtaking smile.

"I just want you to talk through these things," you explain, touching his neck. "I know how miserable it can be to keep those thoughts bottled up until the bottle breaks." 

Your thumb strokes along his jaw as you continue, "You're thirty-one. It's never too late to realize those insecurities and either come to peace with them or work on them. You know I'll always help you with whatever you decide." 

Harry exhales through his nose and settles his forehead on your shoulder. "Never stop talking to me," he says sincerely, kissing your skin tenderly.

You pinch his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. He moves his head to gently nip the pad of your thumb before kissing it. "I love you." 

"I know it," he whispers. "I just compare myself to rich, douchebag dads that own literal corporations and would probably ask me to be their personal chef in their ridiculous mansions if they knew what I did for a living." 

You offer him a sympathetic smile. He shouldn't look down on his career. It pays well, but it's nothing compared to the So-Cal dads who own Lamborghinis and have a million different job titles. 

"Harry, don't make me use my mom voice," "you say in a scolding tone. 

He grins delightedly. "I don't mind." 

"I've been with you for seven years. I was your girlfriend, married you, and pushed out a baby because I wanted a family with you. Your job doesn't matter to me in the way you're thinking. I love that you're a chef. When you first told me, I told my friends how hot I thought it was. I still find it hot." 

He's full-on blushing now. You continue, "You come home and are in such a good mood most days. Do you know why? Because you love what you do. You love the people, the food you make, and the environment, which matters most. Not money or how many cars you own. Without hesitation, you made the difficult decision to step down from being in charge so we could start a family together. You have no idea how much that meant to me. Now you have a daughter who watches you cook her favorite meals and loves you insanely. That's what you should be proud of. And that's what all those other dads should be jealous of." 

Harry's gaze flicks between your eyes before he kisses you with so much passion that you feel dizzy. You kiss him back, and he inhales like he's breathing you in. Your daughter is still asleep, so you pull away before it escalates. 

He finishes with a big kiss on your cheek, then rests his cheek against yours. "I love you so much," he whispers into your ear for only you to hear. "I'm pretty sure you just gave me a love boner." 

You laugh, feeling his dimple form against your cheek. He leans back to look at you and shakes his head. "No joke," he says, infectious laughter crawling up his throat. "You just made me hard by telling me how much you love me." 

You roll your eyes playfully before standing and stretching your back. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get her to bed." 

Harry stands and hikes up your daughter a little. With a frown, he glances down at his pants when he realizes they're still unbuttoned. He obviously can't button them with one arm preoccupied with sleeping beauty, so you help him. You lift his shirt an inch to kiss his soft stomach first, then rest your chin on it and look up at him with a smile. After admiring his handsome face for a moment, you button his pants.

Your daughter is carefully passed from his arms to yours for a brief cuddle session before she has to be tucked into bed. Harry throws an arm around your shoulders and guides you inside the house. His steps falter when he retrieves a coloring sheet and gives it to you. It's a simple one that restaurants provide, and this particular one has a scene of two bunnies frolicking in the grass. It is what it is for a toddler with no concept of artistry, and you smile proudly when you take it from him. You'll hang it on the fridge with her other scribbled creations. 

Harry opens the porch door and lets you inside first before locking it. He turns on the lamp in the living room. Then, as if reading your mind, he grabs tape from the junk drawer and attaches the drawing to the fridge. While he tidies the kitchen, you head in the opposite direction toward her bedroom.

After a few minutes, you see Harry in your peripheral vision and pat the floor in invitation. He kneels beside you, his knees cracking. He dramatically lets out a fake cry of pain, and you silently laugh while flicking his chest. He opens his mouth in offense, acting as if you just insulted him, to which you just shake your head and gesture zipping his mouth shut. He slyly smacks your ass, and you give him a warning glare before standing and kissing your daughter goodnight. 

Before you leave the room, you get revenge by tickling Harry's sides from behind and then quickly running out of the room. You know how much he hates being tickled, but you were feeling the mutual playfulness that always trickles around bedtime. You reach the bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps down the hallway. He pokes his head past the doorway to the master bedroom. You look at him with wide eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his next move. 

Harry saunters through the doorway while looking around and nonchalantly whistling a tune with his arms behind his back. He walks to the connected master bathroom, your eyes trained on him the entire time. He turns around to close the sliding door just enough so that you still have a partial view of him.

"What?" he asks innocently, catching your eyes in the bathroom mirror. He's messing with you. And making you sweat.

"What are you doing?" you retort, crossing your legs partly to act unaffected and to ease the ache between your legs. 

He casually leans against the jamb. "Let's see... someone left me with quite a problem, so I thought I'd take care of it before bedtime like the gentleman I am," he says smugly, maintaining a stellar poker face. 

"What do you suppose I do while I wait?" you reply, confident enough to play his game. 

He deeply hums while standing straight and removing his trousers. With his thighs on display, you admire the tattoos there—a tiger on one and your name on the other. "I suppose you could get some sleep. Perhaps read. Whatever you'd like, darling, I'm not picky." He now stands in black boxers and a loose T-shirt. So cocky. 

"And what will you be doing if I decide to sleep or read?" you challenge, sliding up on the bed to lean against the headboard. 

Harry lets a smirk take over his face as he says, "What would you like me to do, honey?" 

"I'd like you to not be in there alone." 

"Will you be a good girl while I take care of the little problem you gave me?" 

"Of course, baby. You know I always am." 

One side of his mouth tugs up as he slowly nods, seemingly agreeing with you. "Always so good," he whispers, just loud enough to hear. He inhales deeply before turning around frustratingly slowly, finally pulling his shirt and boxers off. He's tan from the daily sunshine, and his back muscles flex with each subtle movement. Your mouth quickly goes dry. 

He disappears to turn the shower on but leaves the door open, which you know is an invitation. You had already changed into your silk pajama shorts and a tank top while he was in the kitchen, so you shut your bedroom door before entering the bathroom. 

Oh. 

The sight has your breath hitching. Harry's silhouette is behind the steamed, see-through shower door. One hand on the wall, the other... well, he didn't even wait for you. He has already started. You hear his quiet groans being stifled by his mouth buried in his arm, causing hot and bothered tingles to prickle your skin. 

You don't think he sees you yet, so you take your pajamas off and quietly close the bathroom door. For some reason, you suddenly remember you have chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. You leave him to his fun and quickly grab a towel to wrap around you before walking to the kitchen. You open the refrigerator, grab two strawberries, and then shuffle back into the bathroom. As you drop the towel, you realize he's still going. You didn't think you got him worked up that much just by talking about how good of a person he is. Each to their own. 

After hastily eating one of the strawberries, you gently knock on the glass. Harry stops abruptly and rests his face on his arm. He slightly cracks open the door to see and hear you. It takes everything in you to not look down. 

"Hi," you say quietly. "I'm here." 

He's breathing heavily, water dripping down his slick body. Wet strands of hair fall over his forehead as his eyes bore into yours. "You are, aren't you?"

You subtly glance down at the problem you gave him; it's throbbing and needs assistance. You're sure he will disapprove of you interrupting his session with a dessert offering. 

With your eyes focused on the floor, you absentmindedly draw a heart in the steam evaporating on the glass shower door and say, "I made dessert when you guys were gone." When spoken out loud, your sentimental baking idea seems stupid. "I almost forgot about them and then remembered they were in the fridge, so I brought you one. I was reminiscing about when we started dating and thought about the strawberries. Anyway..."

You're rambling too much. He was pleasing himself, and here you come, waltzing in with dessert while stumbling over words like you just met him. You need to get it together. 

Harry is still looking at you with his chest heaving, his left arm taut, and his large hand pressed against the shower wall, while his other hand still grips his cock. His piercing eyes have become darker, and they peer down at your hand holding the strawberry. The chocolate at the tip is gradually melting. His eyes travel even further down to your bare legs, then to the heart you drew. His lips twitch. 

When his gaze meets yours again, his tongue presses into his cheek before he straightens his posture. He steps toward the crack in the door and leans slanted against the shower wall, his naked body shamelessly in full view. 

You wait for him to interact with the Strawberry of Nostalgia, but he just looks at you smugly. Jutting your hand further, you indicate that he should take it again. It feels like he's secretly judging you. He's barely said anything, and now he's gazing at you like he wants to eat you for dessert. 

"The chocolate might melt off since it's pretty steamy in here," you mention with a nervous and breathy giggle. 

Harry regards the strawberry again before moving his head toward you. "Yeah?" he says with a wicked smirk. 

"Yeah," you reply, refusing to look into his eyes. "They haven't been in the fridge for very long." 

He laughs huskily, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm waiting right here, darling. I'm not a huge fan of melted and mushy chocolate-covered strawberries." 

So, he wants you to feed it to him. Like you did all those years ago when you first realized you were so gone for him. Good lord.

The steam in the bathroom is not helping your feverish body temperature. You take a few deep breaths before touching Harry's swollen lips, which you assume he's been biting on to suppress his noises. He maintains intense eye contact with you as he slightly opens his mouth. You guide the strawberry into it, and he bares his teeth while sensually biting the fleshy fruit. 

Once half of it is in his mouth, he tilts his head and chews slowly. He groans, his eyes rolling back. "So fuckin' good." 

You eat the other half to move the tension along, then throw the leafy stem on the ground. On trembling legs, you step away and admire the water droplets on Harry's lips that turn pink from the juices. 

His thumb and pointer finger wipe the creases near his mouth. He then reaches through the door's crack and brushes his slick thumb across yours before sucking on it. In desperate need of relief, you clench your thighs and shakily exhale. 

"I'll be good," you plead, utilizing your angelic eyes to get him to give in. "I won't touch you, but please let me watch." 

Harry tuts. "Are you sure you'll just watch? Or are you going to be a brat like you were with that little stunt you pulled earlier?" 

It's no surprise he's still hung up on the tickling. His ego can't take what he dishes out. God forbid he teases you because you know his precious pride will be crushed as soon as you do it back.

You bite your tongue and promise yourself to be good for him. "I'm sorry for doing that. I didn't mean to be a brat. I swear I'll behave this time." 

He beckons you by curling his fingers inward. "Come here, then."

You slide open the door further until you can squeeze through, then shut it tightly before standing across from him. The shower is spacious with a built-in bench--both of you have done your fair share of indecent activities on it. 

"Hey," Harry says lowly. "Be my good girl and sit. No talking or touching, okay? Watch me until I finish."

Nodding, you obediently sit on the bench and cross your legs to relieve the subtle pressure growing between them. You glance at Harry with innocent eyes that you know will weaken him. He gives in for a split second when he leans down and places his hands on either side of your thighs, nudging his nose against your cheek before kissing it roughly. You try not to smile at his momentary infirmity. 

"Stay put, or I'll walk out of here and go straight to bed," he warns, resuming the position you walked in on, except this time he's right in front of you. His palm on the shower wall is closest to you, with his other hand gripping his cock. 

This is going to be torture.

——

[archermind]

seen your post abt suggestions for a spencer reid fic, this has been marinating in my brain so pls bare with me. <3

spencer reid x aarons daughter! reader

maybe he forgets his lunch, and his daughter brings it in? or something along the lines of needing a tutor? ill take ANYTHING. bonus points if its fluffy and smutty

feel free to change anything!!!

-🃏

Arousal Theory

Spencer Reid x Aarons daughter!reader

Description: You are Aaron Hotchner’s only daughter. It is safe to say he is a little over protective of you. You have never been able to bring a guy friend home without your dad profiling them and scaring them away. The one guy he never thought to profile was his own co-worker, Spencer Reid. 

Word count: 2,500 approx.

Content Warning: fluff and light smut, light choking, hair pulling, fingering, small age gap.

y/n/n = your nickname

Author note: omgomg! I'm so glad someone sent this request in! Don't worry anonymous, I too have had this scenario brewing in my head. I loved your suggestion, thank you for submitting it! I hope i have done your idea justice <3

You hated your dads job. Mainly because he was too good at it. Every boy you were ever remotely friends with, you weren't anymore. All because of Aaron Hotchner. Each time you invited a guy to your house, your dad kicked into his professional shoes and took it upon himself to profile the poor boy. No guy was ever good enough for you or some of their characteristics unnerved Hotch.

This was the reason why at 22 years old, you still had never had any romantic relationship. The most romance you received lately was with a $20 lovehoney sex toy you bought in a valentines sale. Now that is romance. Your days were spent scrolling through tumblr, ao3 and erotic ebooks - yet every time after finishing the romance novel that piqued your current interest, you felt like sleeping on the highway. You couldn't help but think… ‘If this is my life at 22, I'm going to be the lonely old cat lady by the age of 25’.

It was a casual Saturday, you stood within the kitchen as your cat purred lapping in and out of your legs as you prepared her food. You weren’t really a sociable person. You mainly spent your days studying, preparing late dinners for your dad and caring for your cat - cookie. It was the main reason you didn't stay in dorms for college, you couldn't stand others. Other people your age were out drinking or hooking up. You just simply didn’t have the energy to go out to a party every week. 

Your feet padded along the tiled floor as you made your way to the fridge. Opening the door, you let out a gasp. Your dad had forgotten his lunch. The BAU day can get pretty long and you know your dad often gets so caught up in a case he forgets to eat. You grabbed the tub, a basic lunch packed inside of it. You lightly stifled a laugh, seeing your fathers poor excuse of a ‘nutritious’ lunch. Opening the tub you pulled out an apple, some crackers and cheese, along with a small sandwich. Enough to fill a five year old… not a hardworking, criminal catching 43 year old man. 

Luckily, you had cooked too much cheesy spinach pasta for lunch. You packed Hotch a generous amount. Before putting it into a lunch bag, grabbing your keys and heading out of the door. After two tries of twisting the ignition key for your car, it suddenly kicked into motion. With winter approaching, your old beat up car was struggling. The drive wasn’t too long fortunately. Getting a space in the small Quantico parking lot was your greatest problem.

You made your way through the reception area of the building, confidently walking towards the elevator. However, you were abruptly stopped in your tracks after seeing the ‘out of order’ sign. You sighed making your way over to the stairwell. You saw someone entering through the stairwell door and realized the doors to the stairs were key card accessed.

“HOLD THE DOOR PLEASE!” you yelled, running towards the boy who held the door. 

“Sorry, but you have to have an access card to be allowed through” the boy spoke, gesturing to his key card. 

You squint your eyes to read his name before responding with a coy smile. 

“Well actually… spencer.” you smiled at him, “i have to just quickly drop off my dads lunch, so could you be a sweetheart and just let me through?”

He shifted anxiously as you battered your eyelashes at him, trying your hardest to persuade the older boy. 

“I guess so..” he responded, looking your impatient demeanor up and down “what floor are you heading to?” 

“Floor four” you stated quickly as you rushed toward the steps, spencer hot on your trail

“That's good because I actually am too!” Spencer gleefully responded as you hummed in surprise. 

You were slightly short of breath by the time you reached the fourth floor. Spencer however was still just as energetic as before. All throughout the walk up the stairs, he rambled about which tourist attraction has the most steps in the U.S after you made a single complaint about the elevator being out of order. 

“Here we are,” spencer opened the door “who is your da-”

“Y/N/N?” Hotch exclaimed, coming up to you with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Hey dad, I came here to bring you lunch… you forgot yours” you pointed out with a laugh

“Oh? I didn't realize” he gratefully took the tub from your grasp, “i see you have met Dr. Spencer Reid” 

You and Spencer both looked toward each other. You gave him a polite smile and then nodded sweetly to your dad. 

“I was just talking to Spencer this morning about how you could use his extensive knowledge to support you in your studies” he spoke confidently, yet.. You found yourself on the verge of protesting. As you opened your mouth, Hotch began again…

“He already said yes.”

Great.

You anxiously bit your nails and paced just behind the front door, awaiting the moment Spencer would knock. From the moment you both met, you thought he was handsome. The way his brown soft looking curls were all laid messy. The way his honey brown eyes stared focused on every point of your face, as you spoke. It made you want to know him more. Everything about Dr Spencer Reid intrigued you. 

A knock broke your train of thought- or more like your fantasy imagination about your dads Co-worker. It sent a shock through you. You shook your arms attempting to get rid of your nerves. It is just a 26 year old man coming to help you study. Nothing else… nothing more. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror to check if you looked good - to study of course

You death gripped the handle of the front door and pulled it open to see Spencer stood there. He wore a hat, gloves and scarf to help protect him from the cold brittle air. It made you feel terrible for leaving him that extra few minutes in the cold. You smiled at him, motioning him to come into your home. 

“Hotch told me you were studying psychology” he questioned, walking into the dining room. 

“Uh… yea i am” you followed him through to the dining room, “would you like a hot chocolate?” you questioned him.

“I actually don't like hot chocolate” Spencer stated, giving a soft smile to lessen the harsh deny of your polite gesture.

“Neither do i…” you bit your bottom lip as you looked at him blushing. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Spencer smiled. 

As you added the sugars into the coffees, you heard cookie meowing from the dining room. You grasped the coffees, making your way back to spencer. To your surprise Cookie had jumped onto Spencer's knee and began kneading his leg, purring. You placed the coffees down and laughed at her kitten-like attitude for Spencer, a random stranger. Until you saw how uncomfortable Reid was. You quickly shoo’d her off of him. 

Time passed, the studying was long and quite boring . Spencer helped you create numerous flash cards to help you study and you both went through them. While studying, small talk was going on - you enjoyed getting to know Spencer. He was such an interesting person that you wished to know him more and more, deeper and deeper. 

“I have an idea, for each question on these cards i guess right you get to ask me a question?” spencer suggested

You smirked in response, it was a good trade. He got to tutor me and I got to question him.

“Okay” you grinned

The questions were basic. ‘What is your favorite part of your job?’, ‘Who is your favorite co-worker?’, ‘what is your favorite book?’. You were actually making an effort in answering these silly little cards. However, you were never asking the questions you really wanted to ask… more about his personal life. 

“What is the arousal theory?” Reid asked

“to be the physiological state of being aware, alert, awake or attentive” you spoke confidently

“Correct!” he shouted

“Okay…” you spoke slowly and playfully

you thought long and hard about what you wanted to know about Spencer, your mind immediately going to the one and only thing you were desperate to know. Although it was wildly inappropriate to ask your dad’s co-worker, you just couldn't help yourself.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you spoke mumbled and shy. 

“No.” he answered sharply, “do you- uh… have a boyfriend?” he blushed.

It was new year's eve and you were currently dressed in a silver satin dress. You felt confident but nervous as you stood beside your dad, hugging a tub of home baked cookies on the doorstep of Rossi’s house. He had invited hotch and you over to his annual new year party. You knew Spencer was going to be there hence why you dressed at your best.

Little to your fathers knowledge, you and Spence had grown closer and closer. Although you both were nothing serious. You could feel the tension between you both with every brush of your hands, sip of coffee and longing stare. You couldn't be more grateful for your weekly study sessions, you were gaining more marks on each essay and exam - all thanks to spencer. 

Walking into the party, you were engulfed in hugs from Hotch’s co-workers. Everyone was so kind. You listened to the group of friends laugh and joke. Yet, you couldn’t help but notice Spencer was missing from the large tight-knit group. You glanced around the room, in search of the man you were obsessed with. You couldn’t help but worry that he wasn't here at all. 

“I'm going to go grab a drink” you informed hotch before rushing off into the crowd. You were in search of a beverage and a smartass man who took up every inch of your thoughts. You pushed past small crowds making your way to the drinks table. Your eyes scanned the room, still no sign of Reid.

“You look beautiful Y/N” a voice whispered in your ear.

You jumped slightly at the hot breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. You smiled instantly knowing exactly who it was behind you. You quickly spun around and threw your arms around his neck, giving him the tightest hug. He smelled good and you found yourself sinking further into his arms for longer. 

“Should we get away from the crowds” you asked him, looking up at him, remembering a discussion you had about his hate for big crowds during a study session. 

He nodded and swiftly guided you through Rossi’s home and up the stairs to a bathroom. You giggled as he closed and locked the door. You loved sneaking around to have some privacy for whatever it was going on between you both. It made you feel special and giddy for the tall boy who you had grown so close to. Spencer now towered over you as he stepped closer, placing his hands on your waist and lifting you onto the giant bathroom counter. 

The room was silent but the tension was thick. You licked your lips as they went dry from anticipation for anything to happen. You stared up at him as Spencer tucked a stray strand of hair that fell in front of your face behind your ear. You have never wanted a man more and it was a lot for you to admit. You felt vulnerable under his touch and gaze. You and Spencer searched in eachothers eyes, looking for any indication in each other's stare if you both felt the same way. 

You found yourself leaning into the temptation and to him. Spencer was quick to close the gap. You both kissed passionately and slowly, enjoying the moment that had been a long time coming. You smiled as he pulled away.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long Y/N” he blushed at his confession

“I wish you didn’t wait so long Spence”

You kissed him again and felt his hand go to your neck, applying light pressure. You moaned at the contact. Slowly Spencer began to pepper kisses along your jawline. You hummed at his actions. You felt yourself grow with more need for him. Both of your breathing became heavy as your lust and want for each other grew stronger. You felt Spencer's hand trail up your thigh as his tongue played with yours in a heated make out. You pulled away and looked down as his hand grazed your clothed pussy. You were soaked for him and ready for his touch but so hesitant. You didn’t want this to be a one time thing, no matter how much you wanted this. 

“Is this okay Y/N?” Spencer questioned you concerned for the worried look you held in your expression.

“Yes Spencer p-please” you whined needy, pushing the negative thoughts away. 

Quickly Spencer pushed your panties aside, you gasped at the sudden touch of his cold fingers against your heat. He began stroking small circles on your clit causing your head to fall back from the pleasure. He bit back a smirk at the reaction you had for his touch. You whined as you felt a finger brush near your entrance.

“You have to be quiet baby” he spoke gently, shushing you before plunging his fingers into you.

You moaned in response and then Spencer clasped his spare hand over your mouth to try and muffle the reaction coming from you, not wanting your father and his boss to know what you both were getting up to in his co-workers bathroom. He kept the pumping of his fingers at a steady rhythm as his thumb massaged circles on your clit. Spencer's hot mouth went to your neck biting and sucking at the skin. It seemed your entire body was sensitive for him. Every touch, kiss, and word from him caused an elicit reaction. 

You began to ride his hand and fingers faster as you grew closer to your finish. While he sped up the thrusts of his fingers, you could hear the countdown to new year about to start. Spencer knew you were about to cum and instantly knew what he wanted from you.

“You only cum when i want you to” spencer growled his order into your ear 

 your legs and body began to shake from the overwhelming knot of pleasure in your stomach. Your body writhed and wriggled against the counter as his thumb applied pressure to your sensitive overstimulated clit. You were a mess, dripping with arousal. 

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3…

“Hold it Y/N!” Spencer grunted

2..

“Look at you such a good girl Y/N” he praised, stroking your hair out of your face but grabbing a fistful and pulling your head back to look at him….

1…

“Cum for me!” Spencer begged as he watched you come undone from his touch.

You whined from your climax. Trying your hardest to gain the full ability of your mind as it was going wild from your overstimulation. Spencer kissed your forehead as your chest heaved up and down. You smiled letting out a light laugh.

“Happy new year Spence” you smiled into his kiss

“What a way to come into the new year Y/N”

[space-invading-pigeon]

A little continuation of my roommates au from the other day

Eddie adores his roommate, Steve. He's a sweetheart to everyone, almost: Eddie has seen the guy wake up out of a dead sleep because a specific ringtone plays on his phone, and then proceed to talk whoever is on the other end down from what sounds like a pretty nasty panic attack. He talks constantly about "the kids," a group of twenty-year-olds that have apparently been in Steve's life since they were eleven, and they way he speaks about them is closer to a proud parent than it is a family friend or (as Steve claims) babysitter.

Steve is also the perfect house spouse. The guy works a full-time job (whatever it is, he won't tell Eddie) and still insists that he does all the cooking and most of the cleaning. Eddie mentioned once that his favorite way to relax was to listen to heavy metal, and any time Steve is home before Eddie, that's what's playing through the apartment. And Steve KNITS, too. Just sits in their living room, wearing sinfully short shorts, a soft yellow sweater, and his glasses (these stupid FUCKING frames that make Eddie want to do awful, awful things to Steve before marrying him), knitting blankets and sweaters. Once, Eddie saw him crocheting a crop top using the colors of the lesbian flag, and he almost proposed right then.

But Steve, perfect, beautiful Steve, is the definition of a himbo. He's broad and strong, but it's like talking to a puppy. He tilts his head to the side and gets this adorable little expression on his face, like there's nothing going on behind those pretty brown eyes. He smiles and blushes such a pretty shade of red whenever Eddie calls him pet names, and Eddie desperately wants to see just how far he can make that blush spread.

But there's something about Steve that he can't figure out. The guy sleeps with a knife under his pillow and a bat with these long, jagged nails sticking out of the end propped against his bedframe. He wakes up from awful night terrors he won't talk about at least twice a week, and never brings any of his friends or his kids around the apartment. He gets shifty whenever Eddie brings it up.

In fact, the only thing Eddie DOES know for sure about his roommate is that he gets a visitor once a month: a police officer from Bumfuck, Indiana named Hopper. Hopper shows up on the first Saturday of every month like clockwork, and spends the day with Steve in the apartment. Eddie knows something weird's going on, because Steve calls the cop "Dad" and asks for updates on everything happening in his hometown. One memorable June, Hopper had brought news that Richard and Karen Harrington died in a fiery car crash, and Steve spent the entire rest of the visit with misty eyes, but once Hopper left it was like a heavy burden was gone.

Eddie has no idea what's going on with his roommate Steve, but he's too infatuated to not find out.

[loliwrites]

September: Beast of Burden

part two of fountain of sorrow

⇢ pairing: javier peña x f!reader  ⇢ rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  ⇢ chapter warnings/tags: set between s2 & s3, early/mid ‘90s, single mother [reader has a young daughter][child won’t play a massive role], SMUT, oral [m&f receiving], unprotected p in v sex, blink and you’ll miss it anal play, choking, hair pulling, brief cum eating, one single solitary spank, cigarettes [are bad for you], post-sex photos, terms of endearment [querida], female reader, no physical description, protective!javi, no use of y/n. ⇢ word count: 5.0k ⇢ series masterlist ⇢ a/n: javi fully in his slut era. but the slut to girl dad pipeline is impending ❤️

The final month of summer was punctuated by more than Labor Day and fading heat. This year was marked by the bruises of fresh hickeys on your neck and chest, and the scratches you’d carved down Javier’s back. Emphasized by the lazy mornings that followed; all strong black coffee and subdued yearnings for lust that never went unanswered. You had come to learn that the rumors that trickled through The Tack Room about him – the ones that hung heavy and muggy in the air, like the inside of your car, steaming up the windows – were all true. A good time guy. Hung like a horse. Insatiable. The best goddamn lay ever.

Truthfully, you hadn’t had the wherewithal to pay much attention to the rumors before sleeping with him. There wasn’t the time to. In a world consumed with a day job that led into a weekend job and virtually single handedly raising a child, you weren’t afforded to pay too close attention to the local gossip about the playboy man-child. It seemed every other woman in town was talking about it enough for the whole lot. And though you were certainly hearing of the whispers at The Tack Room, it still didn’t dawn on you to pay close attention. Javier Peña, despite being the son of a cherished and valued member of Laredo, didn’t have the same distinction. He’d come back into town like a hurricane, whipping up the wind and rain, leaving broken windows and hearts in his path. And hell, a guy willing to fill the early hours of your weekend mornings and not take up any of your other already limited free time, was welcome. Especially the guy who was giving you the orgasms all these other women were reminiscing about. 

“I haven’t seen him. He keeps giving me excuses. Working on his dad’s ranch or something.”

The last bit of gossip you needed before clocking out that Friday night. A little dagger you could take and sink in between Javier’s ribs. Twist and turn, nicking arteries on the way. See, Javier could have any woman he so much breathed in the direction of. The line stretching through town seemed unending, all trying to get a glimpse of his attention. A glimmer of love for the night. What these women didn’t know, and why you only pursed your lips and smiled to yourself, was you knew why they weren’t hearing from him anymore. It hadn’t been intentional. There wasn’t some grand plan to get him off the market. In fact, there generally wasn’t too much meaningful conversation. But he spent most days of the week working in the sun, doing hard manual labor that was a far cry from his previous life in the DEA (not that he ever spoke about it to you), and his Friday night, Saturdays, and Sundays had been spent balls deep in you, knocking your head into the headboard. At least for the last month it had been.

You pushed through the heavy metal back door of The Tack Room and slung your purse over your shoulder. Hooking a left outside the door, the first thing you saw was the orange glow of his cigarette. The smoke wafted upward, curling around his nose and cheeks, obscuring the rest of his head like a shroud for the dead. He was leaned back against the brick wall in a relaxed posture. If only the women inside knew the man they were fawning over was just a handful of yards away from them. Better than that, you knew he had been for nearly an hour. While there wasn’t any intention in keeping him to yourself, you felt it important to know he was wrapped around your finger. And for him to know it, too. 

“Thought you were quitting,” you smirked, plucking the cigarette out from between his fingers. You brought it up to your lips for a puff. When he stepped closer, you blew the smoke out in his direction.

“You too,” he snatched it back and set it back between his lips. “Also thought you said you were off at eleven.”

You didn’t need to look at a clock to know you were an hour late. Wrapped around your finger. “I like things that are bad for me. And I thought I was,”

Turning for your car, you heard his boots clicking on the pavement behind you. Always in tow. You didn’t have to look behind you to know he was taking one last, long puff from the cigarette, holding onto the smoke and nicotine; one last hit of this drug before moving onto the next. He threw it to the ground in front of him and smothered it out with his boot on his next step forward. He stood close behind you, waiting for you to unlock the car door. You turned on your heels once you pulled it open. Not much could be said for Javier’s virtues but once he had something, or rather someone, he wanted in his sights, his patience was unwavering.

He slung his forearm over the top of your car door. A slanted smirk crossing over his lips, eyes glinting in the moonlight. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know the smug thoughts going through his head. For as much as you had him wrapped around your finger, he knew you were wrapped around his too. Not too many women turned down Javier fucking Peña.

“I’m exhausted so you better make it quick tonight,” you cocked your head to the side, giving your best attempt at disinterest, knowing it wasn’t very convincing.

The smirk on his face broadened, fully aware of your blatant lie. If he’d learned anything over the past month, it was that you were never too tired for him. Never told him no in four weeks. He raised his hand and caressed your chin between his thumb and index finger, “sure, querida.” Those deft fingers stroked down to its point before dropping back to his waist.

Well, shit. You were no better than all those other women in the bar. Reminiscing about his touch, knowing they’d melt with the gentlest of acts. The warmth that spread through your stomach, inching down to your most inner parts was a testament to that. Another unconvincing glare in his direction was the last thing you did before you ducked into your car. He shut the door behind you and took a step back when you all but peeled out of the parking lot, in a race back to your home. But he waited until you were out of sight before he reached into his back pocket, grabbed his carton of cigarettes, and pulled a new one from it. Took his time lighting the damn thing before he spun and made back for his car. If only you’d known the lengths he was going to, to make you wait.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

As much as you figured Javi was ruining other men for you, you knew you were ruining other women for him. However long this lasted (his reputation was evidence enough that this wasn’t someone meant for long term monogamy), you were taking up as much of his free time as he was taking up yours. Cocooned in this false sense of security. Bathed in a rush of dopamine and oxytocin. The last five weekends had all gone pretty much the same. Only a little variation in the order of events… positions… the absolute filth Javi whispered in your ear.

“You like having this tight, little pussy filled up, huh?”

“Look at me when you come,”

“Can you feel it, querida? My cock all the way up here,”

That last one was paired with his large hand wrapping around your stomach, fingers pressing in just below your belly button. What was even more astonishing was that yes, you could.

The nights always started with some form of pleasure for you. Long makeout sessions that had once been lost to adolescence were renewed with fervor. Lingering touches over the expanse of your body. Heavy handed things that ensured you felt the weight of his fingers long after they’d moved on. Along with the rumors of his exploits here in Laredo, there’d also been rumblings of what he’d gotten up to in Colombia. Not the nature or details of his job. But the details of his… extracurricular activities. And every night you found yourself in bed with Javi, those rumors started to sound more and more plausible.

And after the makeout sessions, Javi always oh so willingly dragged his mouth lower; lips giving attention to the skin his fingers had previously been responsible for. Never had to ask. Never had to convince him. He’d work down your body until he got to the apex of your thighs which had already spread to accommodate him. Hook those arms around your legs. Clutch those hands around your hips. And without fail – every single time – he’d take a long, deep inhale through his nose before his mouth set forth. First with his tongue broad and flat to your clit, rolling over it to warm you up (as if you needed it) before he gently closed his lips around it. He never questioned it. Never searched your eyes for reassurance that he was doing it to your satisfaction. He knew he was. Probably perfecting the move for the past fifteen plus years. If there was ever any anxiety about whether or not he was doing it well, that all vanquished by the time he migrated down further, to your entrance, lips and tongue working together to keep you on edge. The squeaks and moans that left your lungs didn’t leave anything up for debate. Worse, more than once, you noted the smug smirk he wore when he heard the noises from you. Face buried deep between your legs, tongue lapping and probing for entrance, and that fucking smirk was still obvious.

Like every man, he wasn’t one to turn down a blowjob. His eyes always seemed to light up when you started to inch your way down to his manhood. Eyes affixed to each of your movements. The way you started with soft kisses to the head of his cock. Always followed up by the tracing of the crown with your tongue before you let your lips kiss down his shaft. You were willing to take this slow – far slower than he probably would’ve preferred – but given the sheer amount of women he’d been with, his stamina was something else entirely. Raising a child didn’t exactly allow you the time or opportunity to get your stamina to the same level. But he never rushed you. Never pushed on the back of your head and forced you to stay with him down your throat. His hands were always present somewhere. Brushing your hair away from your face so he had a better view of the way his cock filled your mouth. Holding your hair in a ponytail to help set a rhythm whenever you started to veer off the path. Cupped beneath your chin, praising you. Look at you, champ. That mouth feels amazing, querida.

Going down on you was a standard occurrence. Whether or not he did it until you climaxed depended on the night. Most nights he was happy to stay there as long as he needed. Sometimes it was all that happened. Over and over again until your body couldn’t take anymore. Until your hand shot down and pressed back on the top of his head, trying to get some reprieve. Sometimes you couldn’t wait for him to be inside you, and though you appreciated his dedication, had to beg him to give you what you needed. It was something you’d learned quickly about Javier: with enough begging with the right amount of eyelash batting and pouting, you could get him to do just about anything you wanted. 

He was always slow with you to start. Never pressing too far too quickly. Always giving you the time to adjust to him; the cocky bastard knew genetics had heartily endowed him. Perhaps he did it just to get you to beg more. To fill you up. Harder. Deeper. And when he teased (or tortured) you enough and sunk fully into you, you always strained your ears for the sigh he released. It didn’t matter what position he had you in. There was always a steady exhale of pure contentment. A longing to remain just where he was, nestled deep in your heat. But he always managed to rile himself out of it. To get himself back on task. And only then would he allow himself to get lost in ecstasy. Tenderness wasn’t something you’d say was in Javi’s repertoire. Perhaps gentleness was reserved for someone else. He was there with one objective in mind: you get you both off. And if nothing else, Javier was very efficient at it.

On this night, like the others, he was quick hands and lips, and the pace he set once he was inside you made you really reconsider taking up a religion. You were face down on the bed, chest making contact with the mattress too. The only thing held up was your ass, thanks to Javier’s arm. Wrapped tightly around your hips to keep you up at an angle conducive for the debauchery he was committing. His other hand groped your fleshy backside, tugging and squeezing each time your anatomy fluttered around his length.

“Javi,” you whined breathlessly. Sweat beaded at your hairline, matting the strands to your face, making you feel even warmer.

He smiled to himself, thankful you weren’t in a position to see it. Normally that expression on him resulted in your hands flying at him to slap it off. “Yeah, querida,”

“You’re so good,”

“I know,” he grinned even harder to himself. And when that response had you pushing up on your arms to snap your gaze back to him, he released your ass and pushed your head back down to the mattress. Another smile passed over his lips; this one holding space for much more fondness. For he could get you, full of spice and vigor, to submit to him so easily. Willingly. “So good for me, querida. Get your hands back here, let me see how good you are.”

Without a moment of contemplation you reached back, more pressure on your chest and cheek as your hands went to obey him. Fingers latched onto your ass, replacing where his had just been, and you tugged softly to yourself, giving Javi the view he wanted. Unobstructed to watch his cock slide in and out of you, each thrust coating him a little bit more in your arousal and stretching you out. With his length filling one hole he set his thumb at the other. You choked on your breath at the feeling. Though he added no real pressure to push the digit in, there was just enough force that let you know he could. 

“Javi, m’gonna…”

You were being hauled up to your knees before you could catch your bearings. One moment you’re face down on the mattress and the next you were pulled up, your back pressed tightly to his chest. Your head tilted back and rested on his shoulders. Javier wrapped one arm around your waist to hold you down on him while the other snaked up over your breasts until his fingers found purchase around your throat. He squeezed tightly, smirking at the noise you let out.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna come already,” he mocked, leaning in closer to nibble on your jaw. Knowing you were too blissed out to answer, he snapped his hips forward with a particularly hard thrust, “just like the way I fill you up, huh?”

Nodding wildly, digging your nails into his forearm around your waist was all you could manage for a moment before, “love it.”

He growled in your ear. “Yeah? Show me. Show me how much you love my cock,” he kept his pace steady despite his own breaths getting more labored. He wouldn’t be long behind you. “Come all over me, querida. Let me feel it,”

The command became your ultimate undoing. Your body shivered, tensed, and a cry tore through your throat. The muscles in your core squeezed and released his shaft in perfect rhythm, though it didn’t slow him at all. He fucked you through the orgasm that overtook you until you crumbled out of his arms and back to the bed. Javier followed you down, never fully slipping out of you before you were pinned between him and the bed. Each thrust forced a little more of your release out until you could feel the wetness it left behind each time your skin met his again.

“Javi,” you moaned with pure lust.

One of his hands planted on the bed beside you to give him enough space and leverage to keep up his ministrations, while the other went to the back of your head and grabbed a fistful of hair. He tugged your head back, catching the sexed out sight of you. Jaw slack, skin tacky with sweat. He almost lost it there without warning. Choked out a groan and furrowed his eyebrows as he held on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he spat. His game plan was to pull out and come over your ass. But then the feeling of your hand gripping into his hip, clutching into him and tugging to keep him forward on you, let him know you had other plans.

“Inside,” you gasped, pressing backward to keep your core as far down on his length as possible. “I want it inside,”

The muscles in his stomach and chest flexed. He bowed his head, “you’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,”

It was just one more snap forward. One last squeeze of your muscles to make the fit even tighter. He didn’t even have time to stick to his game plan even if he’d been so inclined. He buried himself as deep as he possibly could, coming inside you with an animalistic groan. Stuttered thrusts shot his load and then pumped it further into you. A bite landed on your neck as he finished, his length throbbing inside you, laying heavy. Still. The rest of his body laid heavy on you, too. Weight nearly suffocating on top of you, blocking out the rest of the world that wasn’t the feel of him and the scent of sex.

“Peña. Off,”

“Give me a goddamn second,” he huffed. There was no real anger or annoyance in his tone. Just the playful animosity for the use of his last name.

“I can’t breathe,”

“Got enough air to speak,” he exhaled. But he was quick to rouse when you clenched your core around his shaft, “okay, okay.” He backed himself up and looked down to watch as he pulled his length out of you, taking some of your shared release with him.

A whimper floated past your lips when he was completely unsheathed. The emptiness felt nearly unbearable. As if he could read your mind, he brought a hand to your center; nimble fingers collected the come that had leaked out of your spent hole. Then his middle and ring fingers pushed forward, spearing you yet again. Your legs shifted open to accommodate them. Another moan resulted from him curling the digits inside you, inching his come back inside you.

But his fingers left your gaping hole just as quickly as they’d entered it. And your eyes only opened from their comfortable rest when you felt his wet fingers on your lips. He was leaning over you again, eyes fixed on your mouth, waiting for you to obey him. You both knew you would. Keeping your gaze on him, you opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around his long, thick fingers. Tongue danced over them, licking away the come he’d collected. But he couldn’t let tenderness win, and instead of removing his fingers once you’d swallowed his offering, he pushed his fingers to the back of your mouth until you gagged on them.

You yanked on his wrist until he relented and pulled his fingers out of your mouth. “You’re an ass,”

He laughed and pushed himself off the bed. With a brief search, he located his boxer briefs and picked them up off the floor. But there was a pause. A moment where he just stood by the bed and stared at the form of your body. Stretched out on your stomach, laid out on display like some real-life work of art. But then you turned your head and spotted him, and all he could do was clear his throat and smack his hand down on your ass. “Best pussy I’ve had in awhile,”

You rolled your eyes and turned over just in time for him to throw his underwear at you before he left the room. Now left alone, with Javier walking naked through your home, you slid his underwear up your legs and settled the waistband around your hips. And as clothed as you were willing to get for now, you reached over for the nightstand and pulled the drawer open. Produced from it, the Polaroid camera.

Javier was already heading back down the hallway to your bedroom by the time you lifted the camera up and peered through the viewfinder. He had no time to conceal himself before you snapped the photo the moment he passed through the threshold. One hand held a glass of water up to his mouth. The other arm hung at his side. His manhood swinging between his legs. The photo printed and you set the camera aside. A disgruntled groan clued you in to the fact that he wasn’t particularly pleased you were taking another photo of him, but he no longer truly voiced his displeasure with it like he had the first time. For as much as the routine of your sex escapades became commonplace to you. This had become commonplace to him. Every single night you’d been together had resulted in you snapping at least one photo of him. Sometimes more, if you were lucky. Before sex, after sex… during sex. The collection you’d started of Javier Peña, DEA, would be something legends were made of.

He came back to bed and flopped down beside you, handing the glass of water over. You exchanged it for the new photo of him and took a sip of water while he admired the photo of himself. Never short on ego.

“What do you do with these?” He used the advantage of you having turned onto your side to set the glass on the nightstand to sidle up behind you. With his chest pressed tightly to your back, he held the photo out in front of you until you took it from him.

“I’m creating a mural in the women’s bathroom at The Tack Room,” then looking over your shoulder and offering him a wink, “the many faces of Javier Peña.”

“Don’t think anyone’s looking at my face,” his hold on your hip tightened.

You looked back at the photo – this one unfortunately had most of his face obscured by the glass of water. Feeling his teeth at the soft skin on your neck, you reached forward and tugged the nightstand drawer open again, “I am.”

He lifted his head again, but finding you’d already averted your gaze, followed the outstretch of your arm to where it dug through the drawer. It didn’t take long for you to find what you were looking for. It was placed in a spot all of its own; not mixed into the ever-growing pile of salacious portraits of him. “This one’s my favorite,” you rotated on your back and held the picture up so you could both gaze upon it.

You knew he’d question it. Going through the rolodex in your mind, you could pinpoint a handful of other pictures where he was objectively more handsome or more mysterious looking. Could think of any number where his manhood looked larger. Because this photo? It was simple. You’d left the room to retrieve the camera from your purse and had come back to him in this state. Snapped the picture before he could protest (like usual). And it was just so real.

Javi laid back on your bed, naked. A sheen of sweat over his face, neck, chest… hair skewed and wild. His member laid back against his stomach, no longer at its fully hard length, and he had one hand limply cupped over his balls. His other hand was splayed on his chest, fingers outstretched. Just prior to snapping the photo, you had noticed how he seemed zoned out. His eyes, unblinking and unfocused, staring off at nothing. Whatever he was seeing was no longer physically in front of him. You’d managed to get the photo in the same moment he looked up at you. His eyes, while now focused, were still heavy. Eyes that you had only ever seen as ravenously lust-filled, or overtly enigmatic, had given up their act. Forgotten they weren’t alone and had fallen to their true state. 

“M’not even smilin’ in that one,”

“S’why I like it,” you glanced over at him for the quickest of acknowledgement before returning your attention back to the photo. You ran your fingertip over the photographed version of his face, “your eyes look sad.” He traded in answering for pursing his lips together and you twisted over again to set the photo back in its rightful place. 

When you turned back, Javi was already getting out of bed. Done with his dutiful minutes of what could hardly be called cuddling, and was yet again looking for more of his clothes. You sat up too, familiar with this part of your dance. Rather impersonal sex, followed by rather impersonal and lackluster aftercare, completed by the awkwardness of him leaving though you knew you’d see him tomorrow night for the same song and dance.

“Can you do me a favor?” You asked, gaining confidence when he instantly looked at you, “if I ask you a question, can you answer me honestly?” He nodded, waited just a second before he snatched his jeans off the floor and worked them up his legs. The whole act caught you flustered. Those tight jeans worked up his thick thighs, over the swell of his ass. And the way they cradled his bulge… it had you salivating. “What’d you do for the DEA in South America?”

Javi sucked in a deep breath through his nose and held it. He wondered how much you’d overheard his dad share at different points… or how much his dad had blatantly told you. He adjusted himself in his jeans and then rested that hand on his hip. “Chased Pablo Escobar,”

It was a name you’d heard in the news here and there in mentions of the war on drugs. But all things considered, Pablo Escobar seemed like a character from fairy tales. His name, while known, held no bearing in Laredo.

“Did you catch him?”

“No,”

“Then why’d you come home?”

Javi ignored the question and bent back down to pick his shirt up off the floor. “That’s more than one question,”

“Then answer one more for me,” you cocked your head to the side. He flicked his eyes back to you. “Are you fucking me for information?”

He cocked his head to match yours, “do you have information?”

“No,”

“Then no, I’m not.” He slid his shirt over his hand. Eyebrows furrowed when he looked back at you, “what’d you hear?”

“Surprisingly not the moans of every prostitute in Colombia,” you snickered, though Javi looked less than impressed.

He shook his head and ran a hand over his mouth. “Look, every woman wants to know what I do– what I did for work, and truth is, it doesn’t matter. Not to this. And whatever you think you’ve heard,” he rounded the bed with shoes in hand and came up upon your side, making you feel smaller than you ever had before. “I paid those women for information, not for sex. The money was always exchanged afterward,”

“That doesn’t matter,”

“It does if you’re a prostitute,” he sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled to put his shoes on. 

You crawled up behind him and wrapped your arms over his shoulders. Buried your face in his neck and gave him soft kisses there. “I’m just trying to get to know you. You know, since you’re at my house every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night; the nights my kid’s conveniently with her grandmother, and you’re fucking me three ways to Sunday, so I just thought…”

“Well don’t,” he looked over his shoulder. The coldness of his gaze had you inching back off him. “Don’t complicate this by bringing up DEA stuff. I’m enjoying sleeping with you. I think you’re enjoying it, too. And I’d like to continue enjoying it with you instead of the other women in town… fuckin’ insufferable.”

“That’s not nice,” you tried to hide your grin. The other women were… rough. All hoping to get dicked down by the infamous Javier Peña but lacked all real substance.

“You think we can keep doing this without talking about Colombia?”

You nodded, relenting. He had his walls up. Tall, strong, and fortified. You figured they’d never been let down for anyone. Or worse… they had and it had gone terribly wrong. Javi pulled you out of your thoughts with a peck to your lips. Very noncommittal, and stood up from the bed, heading for your door.

“What time are you off tomorrow?”

Your eyes followed him, still reeling, “eleven.”

“Actually eleven, or are you lyin’ to me again?”

“Actually eleven,”

Satisfied, he turned his back to you and headed off down the hallway. You’d follow after him in a couple minutes, long after he was gone, to lock your front door again. But right now, he walked down the hallway alone, “see you tomorrow, querida.”

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER FIVE (part one): YOU'RE IN A CULT

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Five Warnings (spoilers): mild sexual exhibitionism (fondling an exposed breast) in front of an unwilling person, being unknowingly drugged

[link to chapter index]

The familiar scent of pine soothed her worried soul as she stepped through the threshold of her home. 

Their little, brown cabin, with its sturdy fireplace of stacked, gray stones, and pine needle covered roof gave off the illusion of a safe haven. She might be back in her guild’s territory but this was her house. Her home. Here, she could find respite. 

It was quiet as she stood in her cozy living room. Everything was still. By mid day, her mother would have been in the communal kitchen preparing meals for anyone who might want to stop by for a free lunch. Their guild supported their members and made sure no one would ever go hungry. They functioned as a bunch of tiny parts all moving in unison to form a single, powerful behemoth. They worked on the bartering system and the good will of their neighbors. If something was taken, something else would always need to be given. 

Mrs. Harkner, down the road, gave her time to teach the children academics, in return, the children would pick the crops from her garden so her focus could be spent on lesson planning. Mr. Jacobson, at the other end of town, couldn’t aim a gun to save his life, but was an expert in construction and could fix any housing issue that arose. In return, the hunters would make sure he was always provided with fresh game and a well stocked freezer. Eight year old Christopher Lennings would sell freshly made apple juice from the apple tree in his front yard every Saturday morning and all it would cost was the coolest looking rock you could find. Everyone had a job and everyone was taken care of. 

As long as they followed the rules. 

Aylin had formulated a plan during her five mile hike back home. She knew she would have the house to herself at this time. If she could quickly pack her car full of gear, staying out of sight, then she could head back to Peter for the next few days. During that time, she would get every bit of information she could about Kat’s pack. When she finally returned back to the guild, she could trade that information as an apology for not completing her ritual to become a full time hunter. Trading was how their guild functioned. Information could be traded for a lighter sentencing. Sergei would be more focused on taking action against an entire pack than dealing out punishments for her defiance. She could right all the wrongs before the situation got too out of hand. 

It wasn’t a perfect plan but it would have to do.

The old floorboards creaked under foot to alert the only available member of the household to her presence. Her large, sleek black cat lazily rose his head off the sofa to see who dared to disturb his nap. When he caught sight of Aylin, his ears perked up and he gracefully leapt to the floor to greet her by weaving between her legs. He gave a piercing whine, begging for attention. 

“Yes, yes. I missed you, too, Kedi.” Aylin bent down to scoop him into her arms where he proceeded to be carried like a baby up the stairs to her bedroom loft. “Has mom been worried about me? Have you been looking after her?” 

Kedi purred, his golden eyes squinting up at her. It was a rarity to find him inside their cabin. He preferred to be out hunting for his next meal or clawing his way up the highest tree. Finding him willingly behind walls meant that he knew something was wrong. He had probably spent the night curled up next to Nesrin. Sometimes Aylin swore that he was actually a person trapped inside the body of a cat. She imagined him to be a grumpy, old man who would yell at innocent children to get off his lawn but secretly loved the attention they gave him. He was fearless, tenacious, and a ferocious serial killer of all rodents. 

A family of killers. Is that all they were?

Peter’s words from this morning still buzzed around her thoughts like an annoying gnat that refused to leave her personal space. 

“We’re not in a cult, right? I’d know if I was in a cult,” she mused down at the cat in her arms. 

He responded with a deep, guttural purr that vibrated his entire body. 

“Sergei isn’t Jim Jones or Charles Manson. He has a reason behind what we’re doing. There���s a purpose. A meaning. We’re helping people. We’re…” She paused and gave a long sigh. “My father wouldn’t have been best friends with a cult leader. He was smarter than that. He was a good man. Peter’s wrong. He doesn’t know us, does he, Keds? He’s a stupid, low life, pathetic, disgusting werewolf. He’s-” 

She stopped to listen to the words falling from her lips. No one was around to hear them and she was still holding deep prejustice for a man who had done nothing but show her kindness and grace despite her attitude. 

Lycans. That’s what Peter referred to himself as. Not a werewolf. A lycan. A person with the ability to shift into a wolf. 

A person. Not a monster.

Good and bad people. That’s what Peter had said. There were always good and bad people regardless where you stood in the world. 

Which one was she? 

Aylin carefully dropped Kedi onto her bed so she could pack a bag, trying to pull her thoughts away from Peter’s grasp and focus them back onto the task at hand. Some extra clothes, camping supplies, her crossbow, and more food would be on her list of needed items. She quickly changed out of her dress and into something more practical for forest living. She began tossing clothes out of her drawer and into the waiting duffle bag. As she turned around to pack them more neatly, she stopped to see Kedi curled up under the growing pile. 

“You’re not helping, Ked. You’ll suffocate under there if I zip it up,” she smiled softly down at the stubborn cat who merely squinted back at her. He was always able to lift her mood. “Okay fine, you can stay but I’m going to keep packing around you.” 

She grabbed an unopened pack of spare toothbrushes and ripped it apart. Carefully, she glanced over the colors, selecting a red and blue striped one for Peter. She felt like he would suit those colors…and he really needed to brush his teeth. It had probably been a while since he had a toothbrush of his own. 

With some basic grooming items taken care of and a duffle full of spare clothes, Aylin shooed Kedi out of the way to finish her getaway bag. He followed as she made a handful of trips from the house to her car, filling the trunk with everything her and Peter might need to survive for the next few days. She slammed the full trunk closed, tucking her keys into her pocket, and put her hands on her hips. A sense of determination settled over her. 

“There! We have a camping stove, some canned food, extra water…I think we should be all set for a couple days,” she spoke down to the cat waiting patiently at her feet. “If you would like to come with me, Keds, I would be more than happy to bring you. I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.” 

Kedi’s fur raised along his back, his ears flattening, and he gave a long hiss before darting to the safety of the darkness under her car. 

“Wha- he’s not that bad, jeeze,” she frowned at his sudden change of attitude, wondering what had set him off, when she heard the crunching of footsteps making their way up her dirt driveway. 

“Going somewhere, Aylin?” The familiar baritone voice caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps. Her heart leapt into her throat as a wave of nausea overtook her. She suddenly felt faint.

She wasn’t fast enough.

The only other time she had seen Kedi display fear like that was when a black bear broke through their screened in porch one afternoon to try and grab a bite of his cat food. Even then, he had darted back out from under the safety of a chair to claw the bear across the snout before running away again. Today, he stayed hidden. 

Aylin straightened her back, attempting to fix a warm smile onto her lips, and turned around to face Sergei standing in the middle of her driveway. He was dawning his signature werewolf pelt draped over his shoulders and giving her a grin that was stretched far too thin to be anything but forced. The sight of the pelt made her sick to her stomach when she thought about the person who it once was ripped from. Barbaric. He might as well be wearing a pelt of human flesh.

Where was she going? She tried to steady her fluttering heart as a million potential answers swirled around her panicked thoughts. 

“I’m planning on going to the Catskills to hike along the Devil’s Path like I do every year,” she lied, thinking quickly. With the way her trunk was currently packed, it easily resembled a hiking trip. She could fake this scenario. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” He raised his scraggly brow at her. He was starting to get flecks of silver among his dark hair. The silver stood out more prominently against the midday sun and made him look closer than usual to his age. It was rare to catch signs of him aging. He seemed to always be in his prime despite how many years have passed. “Don’t you typically do that hike closer to the summer?” 

Aylin shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, “Last summer was too hot. Thought I’d go early this year.” 

“In the rainy season, I imagine parts of the hike would be really dangerous?”

She held firmly onto her bluff, knowing he was trying to break her, and kept her eyes locked with his to help sell the lie, “Sure, but isn’t that part of our training? To overcome difficult feats despite the challenges that face us? Besides, it’s not called the Devil’s Path for nothing. It’s meant to keep you on your toes. I think I could use a good challenge. ” 

Sergei squinted at her with a hard glare, “Yes. About that. I think we need to have a talk about exactly what challenges are facing you. Something seemed to bother you the other night, did it not?” 

She could tell from his tone that he was carefully keeping his voice steady. Under the surface, he was boiling. He wanted her to pay for the other night. There had to be consequences. Aylin had not only gone against his direct orders but, in her defiance, belittled his authority in front of the guild. If there’s one thing to never do to Sergei, it would be to embarrass him. She was now caught in an unwanted game of cat and mouse and she was terrified of losing. 

She widened her eyes like it was a shock to hear that and not a conversation she had been dreading, “Oh? You mean when I ran from the ceremony? I’m so sorry about that. Really. I must have eaten something weird. Probably undercooked meat. I got really sick. I spent the night on the toilet. I had to run before I had an accident in front of everyone. You know how it is. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

He took a step closer, a dreadful smile flicked at the corner of his lips, “Really? I stopped by your house to check on you later that night. I wanted to make sure you were okay after that shameful display you pulled in front of everyone. Your mother told me you weren’t home. Poor woman was worried sick about you. She thought you might have run off and done something stupid.” He paused, closing the gap between them. The cold metal of her car door pushed against her back as he towered over her. He propped an arm against the roof of her car to pin her in place. “Well? Did you? Do something stupid, I mean.” 

Her stomach flipped with nerves as she shook her head. She was going to lose this game. The cat was ready to pounce and she had nowhere to hide, caught in place, forced to face her demise. Sergei went in for the kill, sensing he was gaining the upper hand in their silent standoff, and threw a heavy arm around her shoulders. He had her locked tightly in place against his side and gave a loud, dark laugh as if that would expel the thick tension between them. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. He had her exactly where he wanted. 

“Why don’t you come take a walk with me, Aylin?” He started to drag her down the driveway. “Cal made rabbit stew earlier. We can have some tea and lunch and discuss our futures. I have a proposition for you. What do you say, kid?” 

Despite his question, there was no choice to be had. She was going to be coming with him even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her there. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s okay. I should go leave a note for my mom so she knows where I’m at when she gets back…” Aylin tried to dig her heels into the dirt but got shuffled along like she weighed nothing. Any resistance would be futile. She had lost the game. The cat had caught the mouse and was now boastfully parading her squirming body down the road as he carried it proudly between his salivating jaws. 

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll inform her exactly where you are should she come asking. There’s nothin’ to worry about. You’re safe with me. You know that.” The weight of his words hung over her like a rapidly approaching storm. There wasn’t a single ounce of truth behind anything he said. 

It was only a matter of time before the cat clamped down, piercing her flesh with his razor sharp teeth. 

The Kravinoff residence was the largest house in their town. A two story cabin with breathtaking floor to ceiling windows to let in all the natural light. The eaves of the red gabled roof were decorated with ornate wooden details. They had been handcarved by Sergei Sr. when he rebuilt the Kravinoff home many years ago before his passing; his final gift to his spoiled son.

Their kitchen was larger than the floor plan of her entire house with brightly painted, red cabinets to match the color of their roof. A pot of yellow sunflowers brightened up the room to soften the red and create an inviting atmosphere. Calypso lounged against the double wide, walnut island wearing nothing more than a skimpy, silk robe. Her dark, tight curly hair haloed around her head and she flashed Aylin her infamous, pointy toothed grin. 

“Ah, the weakling has returned, I see,” she slinked over to the younger woman, standing tall in front of her. “Such a disappointment you gave the guild last night, was it not? I don’t know why Sergei holds you in such high regards. You don’t look like much to me.” 

Sergei placed a possessive hand over Aylin’s shoulder, “Now, now, Cal. Enough teasing. Everyone makes mistakes. She says she wasn’t feeling well. Ate some bad meat. Happens to the best of us. Aylin is our guest and should be treated as such. She’s here for a chat over drinks. Why don’t you make us some of your special tea?” His eyes flashed into his wife, giving her a silent command. “The kind we save for our very important guests. Aylin needs to be reminded how much her community values her.” 

Calypso smiled and bowed her head, “Of course, dear.” 

Aylin was led into the dining room with the sounds of Calypso rustling through the cabinets following her out the door. A long, black cherry dining table, lined with tall chairs, greeted them. At the head of the table was a throne, carved out of the trunk of a tree and adorned with giant wolf claws at the end of the legs. Kraven sank down onto the pelt covered seat. He looked like a true king of his castle. He waved a large hand for her to sit in one of the normal chairs beside him. 

She took a hesitant seat, having stayed quiet this whole time, terrified that speaking the wrong words would get her further into trouble. It was better to play defense with Sergei. Let him take the lead so she could match his energy. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve been in our home,” he mused, lazily scratching at his beard. “You used to visit all the time with your father. I believe the last time you stepped foot inside these walls was when you were merely 16 years of age.” 

After Samuel and Emir’s funeral. 

Sergei had held a repast at his home after the burial service. Everyone in town had attended, each bringing a dish of food or drinks, to show their support for the fallen members. Nesrin was too busy weeping in the bathroom to know her daughter was getting wasted off some stolen liquor. Aylin had snuck away from the guests with her bottle in hand to hide in one of Segei’s guest rooms. The rest of the night was a blur but she distantly remembered him finding her tucked away in the corner behind a bed and holding her while she cried. Everything after that was dark. That entire year had been dark.��

She remembered a time when she felt protected in his arms. His presence used to come with a warm safety. Now, it came with a foreboding sense of danger, like stumbling upon a sleeping rattlesnake. If she was careful enough, she might get away without a fight. If she took one wrong step, all it would take was a mere second for the snake to strike. 

“Things got bad after-” She stopped. She didn’t need to say anything else. 

Sergei gave a solemn nod, “Yes. I can imagine. Sam was my good friend. He was an important, valuable member of our guild. It was hard for everyone.” 

He was studying her face, trying to read every micro expression she held, but she kept her features stiff. She should have left sooner. Maybe if she hadn't spent so much time doting on Kedi, she would have escaped before Sergei arrived. She wished she was already back with Peter and wondered how long he would stay in her trailer before he started to wonder if she’d ever return. 

“Who’s Peter?” Sergei asked with an air of innocence, as if he had directly read her mind, but kept a close eye on how she responded. He was carefully studying her every move. 

Aylin’s eyes widened in shock for only a split second before she softened her face but there was no doubt that Sergei had caught it. Had he read her mind? There was no other way he could possibly know about Peter…was there? Her stomach churned with nerves at the question but she raised her eyebrows in feigned confusion, “What do you mean?” 

He shifted on his throne, leaning towards her, and placing his arm on the table, “When I came to pick you up, I heard you say ‘I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.’ So, who’s Peter?”

That’s what she got for speaking out loud to a cat. She should have kept her mouth shut. 

“He’s my friend,” she lied, thinking on her feet. “Works at the gas station a few miles out. He works nights. I’ve met him a few times and we got to talking. He enjoys hiking as much as me. He was planning a trip of his own so I invited him on mine. I thought we could both use the company.” 

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sergei’s tone was light but his tense shoulders gave off the impression of a possessive, jealous lover. Aylin was beginning to see him as an overgrown child who refused to share his toys with others. She felt like she was nothing more than his property. 

She repressed a gulp, refusing to let her eyes wander from his, “No. He’s a friend.” 

He ignored her statement. “After Leah Rivera, I thought you might not be not interested in men. It’s good to know you appreciate both sides,” Sergei leaned back to give off the illusion of someone who was casually lounging instead of someone fishing for information. They were both playing a difficult game of chess, each crafting their next move, while simultaneously trying to find their opponents weakness to exploit.  “Cal swings both ways, too.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone who enjoys hiking as much as me,” Aylin’s jaw tightened, giving him a stiff reply. She desperately hoped the heat burning behind her cheeks wasn’t outwardly noticeable. Her racing heart spiked at the mention of Leah. That was a name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. “I don’t swing any way. Leah was nothing more than a friend, too.” 

Liar. Leah was more than a friend. She was Aylin’s childhood best friend, her favorite person, her first crush, her first love. Leah used to be her everything. 

Until she was nothing. 

“Right, right,” he chuckled. “Cal and I were just friends once. I get it. But, Aylin, you know how this guild feels about outsiders. You can not trust them. It’s best you let that friendship drift away before it’s too late. I don’t want you going on a trip with that boy. It’s too dangerous. Cancel it. Stop seeing him. There’s more than enough eligible men here for you to attach yourself to. I can think of at least three off the top of my head who would love a chance. Stay within the guild.” 

She had tried to stay within the guild until Sergei caught on about her and Leah’s relationship. She remembered his eyes flaring with hatred when he saw them share a quick kiss behind the school house one afternoon. Neither of the girls could understand why he would care what a couple of sixteen year olds got up to. It wasn’t long after that Leah’s entire family disappeared in the middle of the night. One day they were there, the next they were gone. Banished. No explanations given. No goodbyes said. Their empty house was demolished, as per tradition, whenever someone leaves the guild. Erase everything and build back up from scratch without the tainted memories. They were to never speak about the Rivera’s again. Every ounce of Leah’s existence in Aylin’s life was gone overnight until it was almost as if she never existed at all. If it wasn’t for the pictures hidden in a shoebox in the back of her closet, sometime’s Aylin might wonder if she dreamed up the entire thing. First, her best friend disappeared, then, her father and brother were slaughtered by wolves. Sixteen had not been kind to her. 

But that was years ago. Leah was gone and so was the person Aylin used to be. She didn’t want Peter to become another pained memory added to the ever growing pile of forgotten people. She would protect this one. She wouldn’t let him be another soul for Sergei to steal from her. 

Even if that made her a traitor. 

She fixed a pleasant smile onto her face, “You’re probably right. I don’t know him that well anyway. I was just looking for a hiking buddy. Not a big deal and I’d better be safe than sorry. You never really know what those outsiders are like. Although, I do think I would be able to overtake him if it ever came to that. I’ve taken down werewolves. I think I can manage to get the upper hand on a random gas station employee. You’ve trained us well.” She threw Sergie her best attempt at a cheeky wink despite the anxious tightening of her throat. Her desperation for him to believe her was suffocating. 

Outsiders. Traitors. Banishment. 

Maybe Peter was right. She might be in a cult. 

The truth hit her hard. She forced a smile onto her face despite wanting to slide under the table and crawl away. 

Canceling fake plans with an imaginary boyfriend was easier than the truth of her deception. Outsider Peter was better than Werewolf Peter. One was a simple mistake at the hands of a lovestruck young woman. The other was direct treason against everything she ever knew. 

He didn’t look impressed with her response.

Earthy, herbal smells wafted out from the kitchen door. She caught notes of lavender and chamomile mixed with some kind of sharp spice she was unfamiliar with. Sergei noticed her analyzing the scent. 

“It’s not something we grow here in the mountains,” he remarked, blatantly ignoring her attempts to butter him up. “Calypso has family in Haiti. They send her all sorts of home grown products she can’t get here. She likes to think of herself as a bit of an alchemist when she’s in the kitchen. She makes the most wonderful tea. You’ll love it.”

As if on cue, Calypso burst through the doorway with a tray in hand. A clear teapot was placed on the table in front of them. Bits of loose herbs floated around inside the amber liquid. Skinny, swirling trails of hypnotizing white steam rose from the spout. She lifted the pot to pour out the delicious smelling tea into the delicate china cups. Aylin was handed the first one. 

“For our guest,” Calypso smirked. “Made with love.” 

Aylin ignored the snarky edge to her words and gave a polite smile. She took a small sip, happy for the distraction. It burned her tongue but slid smoothly down her throat. It was like nothing she’d ever had before. Warm and cozy with a sharp tang of spice as a lingering aftertaste. She took another big gulp as it gave her something to do with her fidgety hands. 

Calypso perched on the thick arm of Sergei’s throne as she watched her guest drink, “How is it?” 

“It’s wonderful. Thank you,” she feigned a smile. She wasn’t lying. It was delicious. She just struggled to make her voice sound genuine when her and Peter’s lives hung on her every word. 

“Pleased to hear it.” 

Sergei patted his wife’s thigh, “Aylin was just telling me about her gas station boyfriend. An outsider. They’re already planning a trip together.” 

Calypso leaned against him, running her fingers through his hair, “A gas station boyfriend? Even she can do better than that.” 

“He’s not my bo-” She was cut off by Sergei. 

“I already told her that it would be best to let that relationship fade away. I think we could find her someone better. One of us. I would be doing Sam a disservice if I let his daughter run away with an outsider.” 

Aylin bit her tongue and refused to mention that her mother was once an outsider. The longer they stayed on the topic of her lie, the more anxious she became. She didn’t want to have to keep thinking on her feet. It was exhausting her psyche. 

“I said I would. It’s not a big deal,” she huffed, taking another sip of her tea. “He means nothing to me. I just thought it might be fun to have someone to hike with but I prefer being on my own anyway.” 

Calypso smirked, “That’s what I like to hear. Outsiders are nothing. They don’t deserve your time of day. You have everything you need right here.” She shifted her body to lean forward, her deep brown eyes penetrating into Aylin’s very soul. “We’re all you need.” 

She was most definitely in a cult. How could she have ever been so oblivious? 

She might be the stupidest person alive. 

This would be her downfall. The people she loved and fought to protect were the one’s holding the knife. They would be the ones to fatally stab her. Not the Lycans. 

Before the realization could overtake her, Calypso’s loose robe had fallen open when she moved and her right breast had pushed its way out from the silky material. The sight of the woman’s freshly exposed skin caused her spiraling mind to halt. Sergei’s arm wrapped around his wife to grasp onto her breast, absentmindedly flicking her dark nipple with his thumb, as they both stared in her direction. Aylin’s ears heated up with a mixture of disbelief and horrific embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze to the table. She got uncomfortable watching people kiss in public. Watching someone blatantly fondle his wife in front of her made her want to claw out of her own skin. They had always been overly affectionate with each other but it had never been as in her face as it was now. This was different. New. It was like they were challenging her. Like this was some kind of sick test she’d have to pass. From the moment Sergei showed up behind her, she was being tested. Her every move was stuck under a microscope and picked apart with a watchful eye. 

These were not the people she once thought they were.  

A new found hatred wrapped around her like a warm blanket. They were toying with her. Teasing her. Playing with her. They were getting off on watching her squirm. They liked this. 

This was who they really were. 

Aylin focused on her tea to keep herself distracted. She heard Calypso stifle a laugh under her breath. They were getting off on her discomfort. Her head was starting to feel dizzy and her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears. She suddenly felt very sweaty like there was a fire igniting in her stomach and spreading up her chest towards her throat. She hated them. That much was clear to her now. The guild was not a safe place. It never was. It had only felt that way because she was drinking the Kool Aid along with everyone else just like Peter said. Her whole life she had been fed a lie which she happily lapped down. Her world was crumbling down around her. Piece by piece it fell with deafening crashes and she was beginning to suffocate on the smokey rubble filling her lungs. 

A headache was rapidly growing and her vision blurred for a millisecond before she blinked it back into focus. 

“Ms. Aylin was just about to tell me what happened last night,” Sergei spoke, still massaging Calypso without any hint of embarrassment. His tone had flipped, losing the fake lightheartedness from earlier. He was serious. There was no more time for games. “She was going to explain exactly why she refused to kill a wolf in front of her entire guild.” 

She was?

“For someone who claims to have killed two on her own, without any proof, you’d think a malnourished, caged bitch would be easy,” Calypso remarked. “It sounds to me like there might be a little white lie hiding somewhere in your story, dear girl. Don’t worry, darling, you can tell us. We won’t judge. We just want the truth.”  

She took another sip of the tea to avoid having to answer them right away. Was she the only one drinking? Neither of them had touched the stuff. 

Aylin didn’t want to look in their direction to check. She didn't want to watch what they were doing. They were making her uncomfortable on purpose. A power play. A way to prove that she was nothing but inferior to them. She didn’t want to be here. Her head felt like it was swimming with a million thoughts but none of them were making it to her lips. Her body was refusing to function. She couldn’t make her mouth and brain work as one. 

“I, uh,” she stuttered over her words. “I…” 

Her mind was starting to feel like it was slowly filling with sand. An hourglass at the verge of tipping. Her mouth felt dry so she downed the rest of her cup. 

“That girl- she…she…was just…so…so young…” Aylin gave a slow blink, her chin bobbing down to her chest before quickly steadying her head back upright. “I…feel…”

She was suddenly exhausted. The empty tea cup slipped from her hand to shatter into pieces across the floor. She finally turned her attention to the couple, fearing that she was coming down with an illness. She was seeing double. Their forms wavered like rain in a puddle. 

“Something’s not right,” she whispered.

“That would be the tea,” Sergei spoke, his voice steady. “Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be fine.” 

He pushed himself up from his throne to walk over to her. Aylin slumped into his arms, feeling paralyzed, as he easily lifted her to his chest. He cradled her there while he moved through his house, each room flashing slowly before her lagging eyes, until he stopped in front of a large bookcase. 

“Wha-” she tried to speak but words were useless to her. 

Sergei kicked his foot at something hidden against the side of the bookcase, tucked away from view, where the wall meets the floor. 

With a low grumble, the bookcase slid slowly to the right to reveal a set of wooden steps leading underground. They creaked underfoot as he carried deeper into the abyss. 

The musty smell of mildew and copper hit her nose. 

“No…” Aylin managed to whisper, in a last ditch effort to protect herself before the drugs completely captured her mind. 

“Sleep now,” Calypso purred over Sergei’s shoulder. “We have some important business to discuss. You’ll need your strength. Shh, drift off, little one. We’ll keep watch over you. Sleep.” 

[CHAPTER FIVE (part two)]

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Tag List: @theorgansarerotting @lxinesux @lazyxsquirrel @sincericida @pfannkuchen07 @amethyst-silk @thisloserlovespeterparker @its-crystalli @moonyslove78 @liz-allyn @dreamsarecloserwithyou @fav-fanficssss

A/N: Please remember that writers love to listen to every tiny, little thought you've had about their work. If you liked a certain line or enjoyed a particular part, let us know! We're desperate attention whores who crave your feedback. It's what keep us writing. It makes us happy and feel appreciated for sharing our work.

[daddypriceugh]

Dog tags

***********************

It's currently 11:40 pm and my brain is still working lol.

This will be the last fic for today, but i hope that i'll be able to post again tomorrow or on tuesday :)

Tw: character death

************************

The day began quite normal.

It was Saturday, which meant that you didn't have work. You spent the day cleaning the house and buying groceries. It was the same routine that happened every Saturday. But this time there was an exception.

You loving husband was supposed to come home today. He's been gone for 3 months now and you two weren't able to phone each other, because of him being busy.

You hated to admit it but it was hard without him. The house felt empty. It was only you and your thoughts. His pillow has stopped smelling like him a month ago. You cried yourself to sleep every night, without someone telling you that everything would be ok.

John and you had fought a lot about his job. Him saying that you shouldn't be so dramatic about him having to leave. Moments like these made you realise that he's just a man. A man that sometimes -more often than you wished- loved his job more than anything else. Tho of course he would never say that out loud. His team was like a second family, so it wasn't hard for him to leave. But it was for you.

You had met his team before, in a pub to be more specific. John had asked you to meet them and you obviously couldn't say no to his puppy eyes.

You trusted his team to bring him back home. Alive. That had always worked, at least until now.

You were now standing in the kitchen preparing John's favourite meal. It was a receipt from his mother. A simple, yet delicious dish.

You stirred the bacon in the pan while listening to a song that was on the radio. The atmosphere was calming down your nerves, as you were excited to see your husband again.

While humming the song, you heard the door bell ringing. You turned off the stove and half sprinted towards the door.

You opened it with a smile, but you weren't greeted with John. No, his team was standing on the porch, faces formed into frowns.

Your smile faltered a bit, but you recovered quickly. "Hey nice to see you again! I didn't know we will have dinner guests over" you laughed slightly. Seeing them not returning the gesture made you nervous. And only then did you realise, that John wasn't there.

You looked around confused only to see something metallic laying in Gaz's hand. Dog tags.

"W-what...?"

Your weary smile fell. A shiver ran down your spine. No, that couldn't be his.

A feeling of hurt engulfed your body, and you could hear your heart beating in your ears.

It seemed that Gaz saw the change of demeanour, because he stepped forward and handed you the dog tags.

His hand took a hold of your shaky one as you examined the object.

Your eyes were glossy as you read the gravure. Captain John Price.

That was the moment your world fell apart. You let out a sob as your knees buckled, making you fall to the ground.

Gaz caught you and sank to the floor with you in his arms. He clinged onto you as if he was afraid to let go.

Your body went hysterical as you cried into his shoulder, clutching the dog tags. Your husbands dog tags.

"H-he promised! He fucking promised to come back" you cried out. Sadness mixing with anger directed at your husband for breaking his promise.

Soap and Ghost were still standing on the same spot, watching the scene unfold. Sadness was still a prominent feeling in their body.

They knew that Price wanted them to tell you that he died. To tell you that he loved you more than anything.

But that didn't make the situation easier as they felt your pain. Your usual bubbly personality was gone and grief took over.

Minutes went by with you still crying for your dead husband, while hugging the dear life out of Gaz.

Soap watched them with sympathy as something caught his eyes. It was the small but prominent bump of your stomach. His heart dropped when he realised that you were pregnant. You probably wanted to tell Price the good news after he came home.

Soap took a deep breath and starred up to the sky, wishing that it had been him dying instead of his Captain.

***********************

Critique and tips for improvements are always welcome <3

I really have to stop posting angsty fics haha.

Have a nice day/ evening :)

(English isn't my first language so please excuse minor grammar mistakes <3)

[astral-athame]

((Life for me has pretty much been: Wake up at 8am. Desperately try to get more sleep until 9 (usually I doze off for, like, 2 or 3 minutes at a time and that's it). Get ready for work. Leave between 9:30 and 9:45. Work from 10-1:30-ish (it's supposed to be until 1:15 but I'm never out of there on time). Get home around 1:45. Leave for work part 2 around 2:30. That goes from at least 3-7, usually closer to 7:20 when I finally leave (sometimes stay until 8 or 9). Get home between 7:30 and 7:45. Make a quick dinner, shower, etc. Around 8:30, watch Ba.tt.le.st.ar Gal.act.ica with a couple of friends (if things work out, this couple may eventually be more than just my friends, but we'll see how that goes ^^;) until about 10:30, then chat with them for a bit after that, usually until almost 11. Bedtime routine (wash face, brush teeth, etc etc). Then stare at drafts until midnight when I realize I need to get to bed because I know I'll be up earlier than I need to be. Then the weekends have consisted a lot of babysitting, running errands, and trying to finish unpacking here and there because it's been 4 months and finding time to unpack has been a pain in the ass with everything that's constantly going on. Also, I spent 3 hours on Saturday putting together a kitchen cabinet- thankfully we have extra screwdrivers because the phillip's-head screwdriver they included was such bad quality that it was messed up and unusable less than half an hour in because the metal of it was so soft -_-

ANYWAY- Work both shifts the rest of the week (except Friday, but only because I don't have to do the second shift, still have the first). Saturday we're going out for my dad's birthday (which was actually last week, but we couldn't make things work for going out last weekend like we'd wanted to). Saturday night is also game night, as usual. Then Sunday I *should* have some free time, but I also desperately need to get some cleaning done that's being semi-neglected throughout the week. So what I'm saying is Sundays are chore days.

If things go well, I should, soon, only be working the first shift in another week or two (with the second shift just being Fridays and when absolutely needed)? Right now both my sister and I are stuck doing the second shift every night (and have been since before mid-winter break last month) because the custodial staff is down two people (one girl broke her leg and has been out since October, I think? And the other has been on temporary (paid) probation since early February while they consider whether or not to fire him and go through all the legal jargon of all of that). But they should be coming to a decision about that soon, I would hope, which would mean that if he gets to come back, then we won't be working nights unless someone calls out. And if he doesn't come back, then they should be hiring someone to fill his place so we'll just have to wait until someone snags the job (hopefully, in that case, they'll offer it to my sister first because usually they try to offer it to substitutes and she really wants it, but we'll see). They're also slowly running out of budget for substitutes, so, that's something to consider, too.

ANYWAY- TL;DR: I've basically had no writing time / personal time and that's why I've not been around. Hopefully work stuff will calm down soon because leaving the house around 9:30am and not really getting to be home until usually after 7:30pm (sometimes 8:30pm or 9:30pm) has been exhausting ^^;

I'll try to be around on Sunday (probably focus on Rogue's blog because I've been writing the fic in my head at work most nights so I have a lot of muse for her AND her blog has been sorely neglected for at least a few months now WHICH MAKES ME SO MAD AT MYSELF). If I can even get one or two asks done, then I'll consider that an accomplishment at this point!

I'm so sorry about the long absence. I'm sorry to everyone for neglecting replies. I'm sorry to everyone I was writing with and haven't had the time / social and physical energy / emotional capacity to reach back out to in a while. That's on me. I dropped the ball on that. I've never been good at ooc communication anyway, tbh. I was really hoping things would be a little bit calmer after I moved, but instead they went in exactly the opposite direction and haven't really slowed down any since November. In fact, they've just gotten more hectic over the last few months ^^;

I adore you all so much and I really do hope that I can get back to writing soon. I've been missing it (and all of you) terribly.

Take care and I'll try to be around soon <3))

[sammypersaud]

THE BASICS

Name: Samar Persaud.

Nicknames: Sammy, Sam.

Gender: cis Male, He/Him.

Occupation: Sanitation Worker (Garbage Man), Junk Builder.

Age: Thirty-Two.

Birthday: December 15th, 1992.

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius.

Location: Bighorn Hills, Providence Peak, Colorado.

Birthplace: Providence Peak, Colorado.

Orientation: Bisexual, Biromantic.

THE PHYSIQUE

Eye Color: Brown.

Natural Hair Color: Black.

Height: 6′ 0″.

Body Type: Muscular.

Allergies: None.

Dominant Hand: Right.

Tattoos: Probably some kind of dumb tattoo for @ingridlczano (still pending tho).

Piercings: None.

THE INTRODUCTION

Samar Persaud was lucky early in life; born to two loving parents in a single family home in a quiet neighborhood, with a tall tree overlooking their backyard where he spent hot summer evenings pretending to be a rock climber or a knight or an astronaut, feeling free to go as far as his dreams would take him, forever supported by his family. That luck, however, was short-lived when his dad found himself without a job when Sammy was just five years old. Suddenly, the tree that had held his dreams when he couldn’t carry them all turned into his reprieve from a household, spending every moment he could sitting up in its branches so he wouldn't have to be at home, a home broken by a system that had been a set up from the very start. Hours that passed by in the day soon became something he counted with the number of beer cans stacked up in the kitchen, able to spell michelob before he could even spell his own name. His mom attempted to pick the family back up with a part-time job, but it wasn’t enough to stop the once loving home from falling into disrepair, both emotionally and physically. When Samar was old enough, he learned how to use a hammer and a drill and fixed the things his father was too drunk to fix. His fixes weren't perfect and often cobbled together by other things he found laying around, materials he got for free after putting in some work under the table for local hardware stores, and items he found on the side of the road on trash day. Growing up with Ingrid Lozano was enough to keep his sanity. She was his safe place to land when his home grew too much to handle, she was the rock that never budged in his life, the stability he craved from a family that would never be able to give that to him again. They found exactly what they needed in each other, a semblance of a home they never had. Their friendship eventually bled into more and inevitably, they found themselves bouncing from on to off and back again over most arguments that never really meant a thing when it came down to it, yet both were too stubborn to knock it off. They knew a fight never meant forever though, their comfort in one another running far too deep to call their friendship quits. With her support and unsolicited opinions, he eventually purchased a few acres of land in Bighorn Hills with a house that needed more fixes than his childhood home did and a barn that was empty and full of promise, eventually something he filled with the treasures he would find on the side of the street, sitting out for free, during his early morning garbage shifts. He'd take anything he could find home, storing it until he found the right pieces to fit together, and creating something new out of it. He taught himself how to built, weld, and put together the tiniest, most confusing parts of virtually any machine. On Saturdays in the summer, he can be found at the farmer's market with a stall proudly displaying these secondhand pieces he managed to give a new life to.

THE HEADCANONS

Sam has one cat, a giant orange tabby named Poppy, who enjoys roaming his acres of land, will typically live inside during the winter, and will come and go through an open window in the summer. She enjoys lounging in the barn in her cat bed that he made for her while he's working on new furniture pieces. Unsure of what to do with acres of land and having no intention of becoming a farmer (yet), Samar planted a boatload of flowers across an acre and allows whoever to come pick their own flowers, offering a u-pick option or prepicked bouquets in a little stand near the entrance to the field. The only rule is to leave flowers for others and don't harm the bees that may be around the flowers. He still drives a messy, beaten up pick up truck from the early 2000s that used to be his dad's before the man became too far gone to drive it. He repairs it when it needs to be repaired, but it's generally been trusty for most of his life. This man collects vintage Coleman camping items like his life depends on it. Anytime he sees some on the side of the street, it's the holy grail for him. Sam cleans it up, restores whatever is necessary, and it gets to continue to live on during his camping trips. He plays the banjo. 100% serious. He found one on the side of street once with a bunch of free stuff, repaired and refurbished it, and now it's a gorgeous instrument that he plays around campfires and whenever someone asks to hear it (or doesn't, he's a unsolicited banjo player sorry in advance).

[duchesschameleon]

saturdays in the office (interlude #1) - a kazansky for america fic

summary: the call came in at 7am

rating: G for everyone

warnings: none

read this fic on ao3

The thing about politics is it’s a twenty-four hour job. Bradley’s used to this, one could argue he grew up with it. Aside from a few snippets of memories of his dad in the Navy, Bradley’s whole life has been filled with various offices and positions, election cycles and random Saturdays spent in the office.

So it’s not unusual to him that he’s walking into his office on Saturday morning. It actually feels comfortable, routine almost, to walk into the White House in jeans and an old Naval Academy sweatshirt of his dad’s.

The call had come at 7am, waking him up from a dream, Mav on the other end of the phone and apologizing for the call, for making him come in.

“We’ll make it up to you with dinner,” he promised, smile evident in his voice. “Your mom’s the next call, we can make it a family affair, Saturday dinner after an extra day in the office. What do you say kid?”

Bradley sighs heavily, overdramatically even. “Yeah, just let me call and cancel my hot date for tonight.”

“Oh good call, invite Jake over for family dinner instead,” Mav shoots back.

“Good-bye, Mav,” Bradley emphasizes as he hangs up.

Half an hour later, he’s in his car and heading to the White House, where he spends the day walking between his desk and the Oval Office, stopping every once in a while to take it all in, still pinching himself that they’re actually here, they made it to the White House and got Ice elected president.

“You good, Bradshaw?”

Bradley shakes his head, clearing the memories out before turning to smile at Jake. “Never better, Seresin.” He walks over to Jake, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We’re in the White House, life is pretty great, huh?”

“Yeah, being at work on a Saturday is just great, Bradshaw.” Jake shoves him, rolls his eyes as he walks into his office in the communications bullpen. “Some of us did actually have plans today before we got called in.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry you had to cancel your plans with your couch and college football.” Jake raises an eyebrow at him, eyes more than a little shocked. “Longhorns sweatshirt gave it away. You’re the only one brave enough to wear that ugly-ass shade of orange.”

“Hey,” Jake scoffs, “at least I went to the college on my shirt.”

Bradley looks at his sweatshirt, more than a little worn and faded from time, and shrugs. “It was my dad’s. Mom’s got one already, so she let me have this one. Naval academy was my dream at one point,” he explains, the sting from a dream unrealized softened by the passage of time.

Jake’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“S’alright. A lot of us here talk about him after his Navy career. I have more memories of him out of the Navy than in it.”

“Is it weird, working with so many people who knew him back then?” Jake asks, leaning against his desk.

“Only in the sense that working here feels like a family business. Slider, Mav, Ice, Warlock, even Cyclone, they’ve been part of my life for as long as I can remember. Hell, half the time I forget to not use their old callsigns. They’ve just…always been there.”

“And your mom?”

“She’s always loved working for Ice and Mav. They’ve been a team for…god, forever it seems.” Bradley runs a hand through his hair as he tumbles through memories. “There were a few years she didn’t work with them, when Ice was out here in the House at first, but we moved here for his second term. Mom ran the offices, ran Ice’s life basically. It’s never felt weird, just normal. I grew up around all of this. Why went into politics. It’s all I’ve ever known, really.”

Jake nods, absorbing all of it, this extended view at Bradley’s life.

He looks up after a moment, a smirk lighting his face. “Sounds like you enjoy working in the family business, with your mom.”

“Hell yeah I do, my mom’s the best.”

“Not that I disagree with the sentiment,” Tom says, stepping into the office, “but I do think we have some actual work on agenda and not just social hour?”

Bradley and Jake quickly stand straight, giving Tom the respect his position demands even as he waves them off, too aware of the casual nature of the office on Saturdays in his own jeans and sweatshirt.

“Yes, Mr. President,” Jake says, shuffling some papers on his desk, “Bradshaw and I were just going to start looking over that bill, see who we can lean on to get it through.”

“Good, good,” Tom says. “When you’re through with that, grab Carole and come to the residence. Dinner’s here tonight, for everyone. Apologies for making you come in on a Saturday. We’ll have football on the tv, Jake, don’t worry.”

“Sounds good, Ice,” Bradley says, as Jake stands there speechless, “we’ll get that list started and I’ll email it over to Callie, Neil, and Fritz so we can jump on it first thing Monday. At least that’ll be the plan until something else comes up.”

Tom chuckles at that and nods, turning back towards the Oval. “Sounds about right, Rooster. Don’t take too long, alright? I’m telling your mom, too. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

He walks out of the bullpen, hears Jake muttering to Bradley and smiles to himself. Saturdays in the office, some things really never change.

Tom can picture Goose walking around the White House, he’d probably be the one gathering everyone up from their offices for dinner. He had a knack for bringing people together and making them leave the politics behind.

There are days he misses his friend so much, but then he looks at Bradley and knows that there’s a piece of Goose still with them.

And sure enough, not even forty-five minutes later, Bradley’s strolling into the residence with Carol on his arm, Jake and Natasha in tow. The group joins him, Pete, Slider, and Hollywood and soon enough, they’re all yelling and arguing over their food, laughing at each other and genuinely having a good time. Tom catches Pete’s eye amidst the chaos and they smile at each other, grateful for this moment and this family.

[litgwritersroom]

Can I get some Gary smut with maybe a proposal to the MC?

Darling, You're the One That I Want

S2 | Gary/MC | 4500+ words | @tammyisobsessedwith

Before Gary gets down on one knee, he has to get down on two.

Bridget turned slightly in her sleep, the bright morning light that peeked through patches where the curtains didn’t totally cover the windows causing her to stir a little. She turned away and settled on her side, yet as she stretched her arm reflexively her hand brushed against the warm body next to her. She fluttered her eyes open, her lips forming a lazy smile as she blinked a few times at the sight before her.

Gary had his face half buried in the pillow, one arm under it and the other bent at the elbow, thrown haphazardly over his head as he also laid on his side, facing her. His lips were just slightly parted and she resisted the urge to press herself against him and kiss him senseless, choosing instead to just lay there and watch him sleep for a while.

Mornings together like this were a luxury, since Gary would usually wake up early to get ready for work as she slept in after getting back late after closing the pub. Her schedule didn’t always align with his regular Monday to Friday 9-to-5 job, but it was a happy coincidence that she had the previous night off and they were able to enjoy a regular Saturday night out followed by a lazy Sunday in bed, as she wouldn’t need to go to the pub until later that afternoon.

After their night out dining, drinking and dancing she thought she would’ve slept like a log until noon at the very least, but now that she was awake Bridget didn’t feel the least bit tired. She spent quite a while just laying in bed with a quiet smile playing on her lips as she admired her boyfriend, her dark brown eyes tracing the curves and edges of his features, her mind suddenly taking her back to when she’d first seen his charming smile and disarming blue eyes. She’d never been one for such sappy sentimentality, but it was one of the many things Gary just brought out of her.

Things between them had progressed so easily and naturally, she couldn’t believe they actually only knew each other for a year and a half now. In a weird way, it felt both like it was so long ago and just yesterday that he’d come into her pub on a random Thursday, sitting down on a stool and flirting all night long as she took care of the bar. In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from wondering who that stranger was to having him in her life ever since. It was like she’d known him her whole life at the same time as she kept finding new, exciting things about him every day.

With her thoughts wandering mindlessly and sleep getting further and further away, she decided to get up and take a shower to start the day and wash off the smell of the club that still clung to her hair from the night before. She quietly rummaged through the drawer of things she kept at his place before slipping out towards the bathroom.

Sometime later, Bridget walked out barefoot into his flat wearing nothing but underwear and one of Gary’s large t-shirts that she’d swiped from his closet, her long hair still mostly wet from the shower, causing the light brown highlights at the tips to look dark and form wet spots on her back. She hummed a tune quietly to herself as she went into the kitchen and perused through his fridge and pantry for food.

She wasn’t exactly master chef material (she still had a long way to go to be even close to Gary’s nan’s cooking), but breakfast was probably her favourite meal of the day and she could do a few things quite well, if she did say so herself. The early summer atmosphere put her in a good mood and she decided some breakfast in bed was in order.

She got the pot of tea ready at the table with a bowl of cut-up fruit as she mixed and cooked a batch of pancakes, quickly forming a pile big enough for the two of them. She was working on the scrambled eggs while still keeping an eye on the strips of bacon that were in the oven (as she knew Gary liked them crispy) when she heard footsteps approaching from behind and a pair of familiar, strong arms wrapped around her waist.

Gary hummed as he buried his nose in her neck, causing her to giggle a little. “Minty. You used my shower gel?” He asked, still holding her in his embrace as he laid his head on her shoulder.

“Yep. Thought I’d smell like you for the day.” She said, laughter in her voice as she continued stirring the scrambled eggs. “And what are you doing up? I was gonna get us breakfast in bed.”

“Can’t help it. Your cooking was calling out to me.” He murmured against her neck, his lips brushing against her skin and causing a light shiver to run down her back. “Damn, you smell so good.”

“That’s the bacon, babe.” She said with a smirk.

“That, too.” He agreed with a chuckle as he brought his lips back to her skin, sucking lightly on a point where her neck met her shoulder.

“Stop distracting me.” She chided him, a playful whine to her voice, but she didn’t actually make any move to stop him. “I need to finish cooking our breakfast.”

“Well, what do you expect when I come out here to see you standing in my kitchen wearing nothing but my t-shirt, like something out of my dirty dreams?” He asked rhetorically, his hands squeezing her middle and pressing her back to his bare chest.

She let out a breathy chuckle that turned to a moan as his hands started roaming over her body, tracing the shapes of her curves over the fabric covering her upper half. Gary continued to nuzzle her neck and plant kisses up and down her shoulders. His fingertips made a path downwards and under the hem of the t-shirt, finally touching her skin and making tantalising trails as he caressed the curve of her hip to her asscheek and his other hand went up over her stomach to cup her breast.

As his fingers expertly drove her to distraction, Bridget decided to give up on breakfast for the moment as she deftly turned off the stovetop and turned around in Gary’s arms. Weaving her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his messy hair as she kissed him, her lips parted so that their tongues could tangle together, stoking the fire that was building and burning under her skin.

Gary groaned in approval as he pressed her body against his and he turned them around, shuffling their feet until she had her back pressed against the kitchen counter. She made a surprised sound in the back of her throat and broke their kiss as he suddenly hoisted her up so that she was sitting on the counter, her legs parted as he stood between them.

“Counter seems a little too high,” she said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk beginning to tug at the corners of her lips, bracing her hands against the edge of the counter and leaning forward a little, noting how she was sitting at a level a few inches above his waistline.

“Not for what I had in mind,” he replied with a wink before he leaned in and kissed her with such passion that it literally took her breath away.

She gasped as his lips left hers and made a wet trail down the column of her throat towards her collarbone. His hands never stopped moving over her skin, skimming over her thighs, circling her hips and grabbing her ass, or heading upwards so that he could tease her hardening nipples with his fingers.

Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and muscular back as she fairly held on to him while his touch continued to ignite her whole body. She hooked her legs over his and leaned back a little as he tugged the t-shirt up and away, her back littered with goosebumps as it got suddenly exposed to her still slightly damp hair.

Gary wasted no time as he leaned down to capture one of her pert nipples, rolling it into his mouth. She let out a moan as his tongue flicked at the sensitive nub in cadence with his fingers pinching the nipple that wasn’t occupied by his mouth. His other hand ran trails up her thigh until he was teasing his finger over her centre, feeling how wet she was through the flimsy, lone piece of fabric that still covered her.

He hooked his fingers on the side, pulling her underwear down almost impatiently and Bridget giggled a little, lifting her hips and balancing her weight on her hands as he dragged it down her legs, bundling the panties and putting it away in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms. She sat on the counter again and opened her legs further as he lowered down, one knee touching the floor and the other bent forward under the counter, his fingers squeezing her hips and backside as his tongue went up her inner thigh.

A deep moan was dragged out of her throat when his tongue made one long stroke from her slit to her clit, her hands bracing her back against the counter as her hips moved almost uncontrollably. He used his mouth on her in just the way she loved, his tongue darting in and out of her entrance and circling her clit so exquisitely, it was almost a little embarrassing how turned on she got just by watching him so enthusiastically eating her out. He saw her looking down directly at him and made an appreciative sound, the vibrations from his lips pressing to her pussy only adding to her pleasure.

Gary threw her legs over his shoulders to give him better access and he brought a finger to her entrance as he focused his mouth on her clit. He was ridiculously talented at what he was doing, because she felt like in no time at all he’d wound her up to a peak, especially when he added a second finger and curled them inside at just the right angle.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she breathed out, her mouth half open and her eyes closing as she felt the pressure building and building and building.

He almost smiled at seeing the pleasure painted across her face, her breath coming in and out sharply past her parted lips, her hips moving in tandem with his rhythm as he kept stroking, licking and kissing her until her thighs pressed hard around his head and she came with a shudder, throwing her head back and her resounding moan cutting off abruptly as if someone had sucked all the air out of her lungs.

He slowed his strokes a little as she came down from her high and she pushed him away with one foot on his shoulder. He grinned as he got back up to his feet and a breathy laugh escaped her as their eyes met, her arms wounding around his back then running up to his hair as she leaned in for a kiss.

They traded a few languid kisses until his tongue tangled with hers with a kind of urgency that had her locking her legs around his waist, almost begging him to take her there and then. Gary wrapped his arms around her back and held her securely against his chest as he lifted her up and carried her across the room.

“Bedroom?” He asked in between kisses.

“Too far,” she murmured against his lips. “Right here.”

“Bossy.” He chuckled.

“You love it.” She smirked.

“That I do.” He smiled, his blue eyes sparkling.

She unwrapped her legs from around his waist and he put her down, her feet touching the shaggy carpet in front of the couch and in no time she had pulled down his bottoms, Gary stepping out and kicking them aside. Bridget pressed the palms of her hands against his chest and forced him to walk backwards until his legs came up against the couch and she pushed him until he was sitting down and she straddled his lap.

“So bossy.” He smirked as he placed his large hands around her hips and squeezed her thighs as she started rubbing up and down against him.

“Your fault.” She replied with a raised eyebrow and smile tugging at her lips. “I was perfectly fine cooking breakfast on my own and then you come around to distract and tease me like that.”

“I was hungry.” He said with a cheeky grin.

She was sure he was about to make a very crass innuendo involving the word ‘eating’ when she angled her hips a little, causing her entrance to slide around the sensitive head of his cock and his words got drowned out in the groan she dragged out of his throat. She used one hand to guide him in as his cock slid into her folds in one smooth motion, his hands gripping her ass tightly as he pushed up. She braced her hands on his shoulders as he bottomed out and they just stayed still for a few moments with their arms wrapped around each other, her lips brushing against his neck as one of his hands trailed up her back.

They started moving, finding a rhythm as easily as if they’d done this for a lifetime already, his lips capturing hers in a searing, passionate kiss, their tongues and breaths mingling together as she slid up and down on his cock. The heat built up between them, making their skins glisten with a thin sheen of sweat as they continued moving together.

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good,” he whispered in between grunts, moving his lips down her neck, pressing a soft bite on her shoulder.

“Oh yes,” she gasped, throwing her head to the side to give him better access, spreading her legs a little further apart, desperate for more of him. She leaned back, supporting her hands against his legs, but it still wasn’t enough. “Fuck, I need you on top of me.”

She pulled up and away, letting out a hiss that turned into a moan at the sudden loss of him between her legs, but they quickly changed positions with her lying down with her back on the carpet. He followed her, aligning his cock to her entrance once more before he leaned forward over her, encasing his arms around her head as his hips pushed against her, causing her legs to wrap around his waist.

“Put your weight on me,” she gasped, trying to pull him closer, her nails running down his back and leaving light scratches in its wake. “I want to feel you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, lifting his head a little to look her in the eyes, still holding his weight on his arms.

“You won’t,” she assured him, one hand reaching up into his hair, pressing his head down until their foreheads were touching. “Please. I need you so much.” She breathed, her lips just brushing up against his lips.

He responded with a half-strangled groan, shifting to press his whole body down on hers, his hips moving urgently as his lips sucked on a point just under her ear. She gasped at the sensations taking over her, lifting her hips to meet his movements but then his cock was hitting her just where she needed him and she was rendered almost incapable of any coherent thought or move.

She could feel another high building up within, her body wound up so tight it was a wonder that any oxygen at all reached her lungs. Her heart was ready to burst out and everything else faded away, there was just Bridget and Gary in that moment and she could feel all of him igniting all of her. He never faltered as he practically pounded into her and the feeling kept magnifying until the crescendo couldn’t build anymore, her orgasm washing over her whole being, her body shuddering and trembling under his, a silent scream falling from her parted lips as her voice disappeared in breathless gasps.

He held his movements for as long as he could as she rode her wave. He felt his own pleasure overtake him as her walls pulsed around his cock and squeezed him as if he were supposed to stay forever wrapped in her warmth. His release followed a few stuttered movements from his hips and he buried his face in the crook of her neck as aftershocks ran over their bodies.

Gary shifted a little so that they were lying on their sides facing each other, their legs still tangled together as his lips pressed against her forehead. “Fuck, I love you.” The words came stumbling out of his mouth as he still struggled to catch his breath.

“And I love you.” She told him with a smile, running her fingers delicately over the muscles of his arm.

They stayed wrapped up in each other for a while as they cooled off and their breathing normalised. Eventually they got back to their feet and located their discarded clothing, getting back to the kitchen and their breakfast, as their morning activity definitely contributed to open up their appetites.

After reheating the pancakes, eggs and bacon in the oven, they sat at the breakfast nook together. Bridget had her legs over his lap as she sat on the chair next to his, a smile still playing around her lips as she brought her cup of tea up for a sip. Gary had one elbow pressed against the table, his chin resting on his palm as he gazed back at her, his other hand running distractedly up and down her leg.

“What?” She asked after a moment, putting her cup down.

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, a rather stupid grin stretching on his lips. “I’m happy, ‘s all. Wish all our days could be like this.”

“Yeah, me too.” She grinned back at him.

He just looked back at her, his eyes roaming over her face and sparkling a little in excitement. “Why don’t we?” He asked softly then. “You should move in. We could have this every morning.”

“That sounds amazing,” she said with a smile. “But you forget that usually you have to wake up too early for us to enjoy any morning fucking and lazy breakfasts.”

“So? We’d just need to get an earlier start.” He said with a smirk and waggling eyebrows, causing her to laugh a little. His eyes softened as he kept looking at her. “Seriously, move in with me.” He said, trailing his hand up her leg until he could grasp one of her hands.

“You really want me here all the time?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. “All my clothes, my stuff, my mess?”

“I don’t care about any of that, I just want to be with you as much as I can.” He said, leaning towards her and reaching a hand up, running his thumb against her cheek. “I hate it when you’re away and I can’t think of one reason why we shouldn’t do this.”

“Oh babe,” she said, making a show of fanning one hand as she blinked her eyes rapidly. “Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Don’t mock me, I’m serious here,” he said, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

She stopped with the act and gave him an impish smile back, quietly contemplating him for a beat. It wasn’t the first time they talked about it, as he had brought up the subject a few months ago, but back then she’d still thought it was too soon, they’d only been dating for a little over a year. She kept thinking the excitement was going to fade or some big issue was going to come up, but it never did, she felt exactly as he did. It was the easiest and yet most exciting relationship she’d ever had.

“Alright,” she said at last, giving him a nod. “Let’s do this. Let’s move in together.”

“Oh, this is gonna be great! I can’t wait.” He said, the excitement practically radiating off of him. “I can’t think of anything better. Actually…” He trailed off, a pensive look overtaking his features as he seemed to gaze out at nothing for a moment before he focused back on her face. “Yeah, I can.”

She watched him with a somewhat confused expression, a cross between a frown and a smile that still existed in the shape of her lips. Her face then was overcome with shock as he suddenly pushed away from the chair and kneeled on the floor before her. “Gary? What are you doing?”

“I love you so fucking much, Bridge.” He said, his voice soft as his eyes sparkled with so many emotions in the depths of his blues. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before and you still make me feel like this ever since we met, day after day. And yeah, I can’t wait for us to live together, but it’s more than that. I want a whole life with you. So Bridget Attwood, I’d like to ask if you would marry me.”

She just sat there, her mouth gaping a little as his words registered in her brain. And for someone who had pondered the question of moving in together for a while it felt somewhat strange, but she found that as he asked her to marry him there was no hesitation to be found within her. Because once again she felt exactly as he did. Her voice seemed to falter just then, too many feelings running through her and getting caught in her throat, and she could only nod vigorously in response.

A bright grin formed on his face. “You will?”

She answered with one of her own, finally finding her words. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

He swept her up in his arms again and kissed her like his life depended on it. She could somehow feel all the love and affection he felt for her in that gesture, his soft lips pressing against hers, making her just a little dizzy and as if her heart could burst all over again.

After what seemed like a lifetime of kissing, he pulled back and they just grinned stupidly at each other. “Oh fuck”, he said, his face falling suddenly. “I don’t have a ring.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Oh babe, don’t worry. You know I don’t care about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, but when my sister hears about it I’m never gonna hear the end of it,” he said, rolling his eyes a little.

“Your sister?” She retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Please, I’m more worried about your mum.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Gary agreed with a grimace, rubbing one hand on the back of his head and getting back up to his feet, looking around as if an engagement ring would be just lying around somewhere in his flat.

“Babe, it’s fine,” Bridget said with a chuckle, also getting up and wrapping one arm around his back. “We can deal with all of that later. It doesn’t really matter.”

“No, wait, I can─” He said, looking this way and that, his expression clearing as he suddenly saw something on the kitchen counter. “Aha!”

Bridget watched with a furrowed brow as he messed with something in the kitchen and then returned to her with a grin on his face, holding one hand behind his back. “What d’you got there, Gare?”

He made a motion for her to sit back down on the chair and she complied, still giving him a funny look. He kneeled down before her once more and cleared his throat. “Yes, I know you don’t care about this stuff, but I am gonna get you a proper engagement ring. But meanwhile, darling, would you accept this as a placeholder?”

She looked down and saw he had one of those plastic tie thingies that held closed the bread package, shaped like a tiny circle in his palm. She couldn’t hold back the laughter that burst out at that, shaking her head delightedly at him as she extended her hand. He grinned at her as he slid the makeshift ring up her finger.

“I love you, you big dork.” She told him with a bright smile, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“And I love you.” Gary said, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that was so warm and caring, it made her feel like she was already the luckiest girl in the world.

[indigolover97]

We’re Dripping In It

Chapter 4: Stay Alive

Jungkook woke up dreading his Monday classes, he groaned as he rolled off the mattress into the bathroom. His phone pinged with a message as he brushed his teeth, he nearly choked on his toothpaste at the good morning message from Namjoon. He spat into the sink and hurried to reply with shaking thumbs.

Jungkook still felt a bit nervous talking to Namjoon. The early ‘getting to know you’ jitters filled him despite the fact they had spent the entire day yesterday chatting back and forth. His stomach rumbled as he pulled a black t-shirt over his head. Jungkook debated with himself on whether he should bother Yoongi-hyung for some breakfast or if he should head to the small cafe on his way to class.

His stomach twisted at the thought of waking his hyung before 8AM, so the cafe it would be. He laced his boots up, slipped Namjoon’s jacket over his shoulders, and grabbed his backpack before silently heading out the door. He patted himself on the back at his silent escape when Namjoon sends him a text asking about his plans for the day.

He spends the journey to the cafe just outside campus making light conversation with Namjoon. The nerves he felt from this morning slowly eases into giddiness the longer he talks to him. Namjoon has an easy way of speaking, even through text, that instantly puts Jungkook at ease. It makes him look forward to getting to know the man more.

The line at the cafe is moderate when he arrives, he checks the time of his first class of the day and breathes a sigh of relief at seeing that it’s been moved to 9:30 AM instead of the usual 9AM time. He orders himself an iced americano and a breakfast sandwich and steps off to the side to wait for it. He starts to send a text to Jimin only to catch sight of the man entering the cafe.

“Jimin-ssi!” Jungkook calls to him, earning a wide grin as the man waves enthusiastically as he enters the line to order.

“Jungkook-ah!” Jimin greets, sliding up next to him as he waits for his own order. “Ready for Photography class this morning?”

Jungkook groaned, taking a long sip of his coffee when it slid to him, “No, the homework was so tedious to get done. Why do all my classes suck this semester?”

Jimin chuckled, grabbing his own drink and food, ushering Jungkook out the door with him. “Just think, one more year and you are out of here.”

Jungkook sighed, “I guess that’s the dream, isn’t it? Finish college, get the degree, then go fight for a job in that field.”

Jimin paused on his sip of caramel latte, “Isn’t that why you went to college? I know working for Yoongi-hyung at D-Town isn’t where you want to stay forever, didn’t you want to become a film director?”

“I don’t know what I want to do anymore.” Jungkook answered honestly, taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich.

“It’s okay not to know, you know.” Jimin assured him, patting his shoulder. “Life can take you on a journey you never expected. Who knows, maybe by next week you’ll know what you’ve always wanted to do and it’ll fall right in your lap.”

Jungkook pondered this with a hum of thought. What did he always want to be? What did he want to do for the rest of his life? He had no idea, but maybe Jimin was right. Maybe it would come to him sooner than he thought, he would just have to wait for it.

“Now, I held back at Yoongi-hyung’s house last night, so I need you to give me all the juicy details of your hot date on Saturday night!” Jimin probed with an eyebrow wiggle. “Rumor has it he carried you to bed that night, so scandalous Jungkook-ah!”

Jungkook groaned at his friend’s teasing tone but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face at the memories of Namjoon’s eyes on him as he performed. It had been electric to have his dark eyes follow his every movement on the stage. And when their eyes met across the club, the feeling still sent a shiver down his spine.

Jimin kept poking his side as they walked to class, pestering him as they went until Jungkook finally told him the details of his meet up with Namjoon. Jimin listened with rapt attention as he finished his coffee and croissant.

“Sounds like you found yourself quite the man Kook-ah, where did you meet him again?” Jimin asks, opening the door for them to step into class.

“Bumped into him when I was late for class.” Jungkook answers as close to the truth as he dares. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his friends, but he really doesn’t want them to be suspicious of Namjoon before Jungkook can even be sure how much he trusts him.

So far all the interactions with Namjoon after the alleyway have just done more to confuse him. How can the man write such beautiful lyrics and beat up random dudes in a back alley? He was a complete enigma to Jungkook at the moment, but it sent a thrill down his spine to discover more about him.

In the middle of class, Jungkook got a message from Yoongi to stop by his studio when he could. Saying that he wanted to work on another one of Jungkook’s songs. Jungkook sent an enthusiastic reply and checked over his schedule for an opening. It just so happened that his BioChem class was canceled, Professor Chan caught a cold, so he could head to the studio immediately.

Jimin offered to walk him over to Yoongi’s studio but Jungkook declined, knowing that he had a night class and would be late if he walked him across town. He waved to Jimin as they parted at the campus green, making his way to the streets outside the campus.

He arrived at D-Town just as the city of Seoul was starting to get out of work. He entered through the back entrance that led directly to the personal floors of Yoongi’s building. Jungkook took the elevator to the sixth floor, where the music studio resided.

“Yoongi-hyung!” Jungkook called as he stepped off the elevator, tossing his backpack onto the floor at the entrance way, hung his jacket up, and slipped his shoes off. He wandered into the studio space, passing the rows of instruments as he made his way towards the back room where the recording booth sat. He knocked at the closed door and waited for his hyung’s voice to allow him entry.

“Ah Jungkook-ah, good you’re right on time.” Yoongi greeted, turning to look at the young man as he entered and then froze in the doorway, staring at the man sitting next to him. “Don’t mind Namjoon, he just came to bother me about some work. How was class today?”

“You didn’t say you two know each other so well hyung,” Jungkook squeaked, staring at Namjoon with wide eyes as the man in question just smiled at him. “You made it sound like he was just a random customer.”

“Unfortunately not,” Yoongi groaned rolling his eyes, huffing when Namjoon smacks his shoulder lightly. “Namjoon-ah helped Taehyung and I get D-Town started. Helped us find this place, remodel it, and bring in our first customers.”

“I just threw money at you, hyung, it’s not that big of a deal.” Namjoon dismissed, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Ignoring Yoongi’s scoff he smiled at Jungkook softly, “Hey Jungkook-ah, long time no see.”

“Hey Namjoon,” Jungkook greeted with a small wave, finally entering the room and letting the door shut behind him. He shook himself from his stupor and walked over to peer over Yoongi’s shoulder, “What are we working on today hyung?”

“You know that little demo you started about a week ago, ‘Stay Alive’,” Yoongi asked, pulling up the song on his files as he spoke. “I tweaked the melody on it and added some back-up vocals. I’d like you to sing through the song with the improved music and see if it feels better. Do you want to listen to it before stepping into the booth?”

Jungkook nodded as he looked at his hyung’s creation on the screen, just from the look of it he could tell it was going to sound amazing and it did. It sounded beautiful, so soft and soothing. After listening to the whole instrumental, Jungkook knew exactly how he was going to sing the song.

Without even glancing at Yoongi or Namjoon, he flittered over to the sound booth that stood in front of Yoongi’s desk behind a wall of glass. He pulled the headphones over his ears before powering the ipad Yoongi had set up on the music stand. He flicked through the documents of songs until he came to the one he wanted.

“Do I need to kick Namjoon-ah out, Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi asked through the booth speakers as Jungkook skimmed over the lyrics of his song.

He glanced up at both men behind the glass looking at him over the top of Yoongi’s computer screens. He shakes his head and smiles, “Nah, he can stay if he wants.”

Namjoon smiles and gives a thumbs up, it makes Jungkook giggle before looking back at his lyrics. He reads over the words and starts doing a few vocal warm-ups until he feels read to sing.

“You ready, Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi asks, getting a thumbs up in reply. “Alright, music playing and recording beginning in three… two… one…”

The soft piano and gentle backup vocals comes through the headphones, Jungkook closes his eyes as he leaned into the booth mic.

“Please stay alive,” he sang softly. As the song flowed through his ears, Jungkook sang to the rhythm that Yoongi had created. The emotion that he poured into the song came from a place deep inside his heart. The lyrics spoke to an old pain of his past that was only beginning to mend.

“Please you stay alive,” he sang as the song came to an end. There were light tears in his eyes as he opened them to see Yoongi and Namjoon staring at him in open mouthed shock.

He blinked at them, “Was that good? Do you need me to run through it again?”

Yoongi gaped at him, “If you could sing that song any better Jungkook-ah, you’d put the entire music industry out of business.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook whined in embarrassment, laughing self consciously as he pulled the headphones off and placed them back on the music stand. He turned the ipad off and stepped out of the recording booth.

“You know I’d never lie to you Jungkook,” Yoongi told him sternly, patting his shoulder before turning to the recording and adjusting it with expert hands. “You ever want to perform again, my stage is yours.”

Jungkook smirked at him, “Would you pay me more to be a regular performer?”

“I would have the contract written before Taehyung could tell me ‘I told you so’,” Yoongi states with a nod. “He’s been on my case for years to put you under contract as a stage presence at the club. I’ll never hear the end of it if it actually happens.”

Jungkook pulled a spare chair from a corner and placed it between the two men, sitting down on it backwards he looked at his hyung with interest. “Why haven’t you asked then hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs as he continues to mess with the recording, “I didn’t want to put any pressure on you to do something you weren’t ready for yet. You needed to come to me about performing first, then I’d approach you about it after you realized it was something you’d want to do. I can get plenty of bartenders, but a talent like yours only comes once in a blue moon.”

“Hyungie!” Jungkook whined, burying his burning face into his hands. Groaning when Yoongi just chuckles and pats his shoulder.

“Is that something you’d be interested in, Kook-ah?” Yoongi asks, Jungkook peeks at him through his fingers and nods. Yoongi smiles, “Then I’ll get the contract started as soon as I finish with the last touches on your song.”

Jungkook jerks up at a sudden thought and looks at his hyung with wide eyes. “You're not gonna tell Tae right now, are you?”

Yoongi freezes in his chair for a moment before going back to his work. Jungkook stares hard at Yoongi’s tense back, then hears a bang from behind him.

“Hyung…” Jungkook starts to say only to jerk in surprise when the door to the studio room is flung open. Not even questioning how Yoongi told his husband so quickly, those two had a form of telepathy that was beyond understanding.

“My baby is going to be on stage!” Taehyung screams as he enters the room, throwing himself on top of Jungkook’s back. Jungkook grunts at the impact and huffs when Taehyung’s arms circle his neck tightly.

“Tae!” Jungkook groans as the man bounces with excitement making his hair become a puff ball on top of his head. “Tae, get off!”

Jungkook stands from his chair and steps away from the recording equipment, fighting Taehyung to get off of his back. But the man just wrapped his legs around Jungkook’s waist and clung to him like a koala.

“Please don’t rough house in my studio,” Yoongi grunted, not even turning to look at the pair as Jungkook tried to wiggle Taehyung off of him. Namjoon watched the exchange in amusement, trying to keep his laughter quiet as he watched Jungkook tug at Taehyung’s arms around his neck.

After a moment of fruitless struggle, Jungkook threw himself backwards onto the floor. Taehyung wheezed as his back hit the hardwoods and Jungkook’s weight crushed him into the floor. He tapped Jungkook’s arm as he coughed and the younger man rolled off of him.

“I don’t know how Jiminie rough houses with you all the time,” Taehyung moaned as his breath came back to him, he sat up and rubbed his back. Jungkook chuckled at his place on the floor as Taehyung glared down at him. He placed his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles, getting completely comfortable across the cool floor.

“Why are you still on the floor, Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi asked, looking over his shoulder to see the young man and his husband chilling on the ground behind his chair. “And why are you joining him Taehyung-ah?”

Both men just shrugged in response as they got more comfortable, Taehyung leaning his head against Jungkook’s shoulder and throwing a leg over his waist. Yoongi rolled his eyes at them, muttering under his breath as he turned back to his screens.

“Yoons! Play Kookie’s song for me!” Taehyung whined, stretching his leg to kick his husband’s chair with his foot. Yoongi gave a long suffering sigh before tapping away at his keyboard and allowing the song to filter through the speakers.

Jungkook closed his eyes as he listened, he never could get used to the feeling of hearing a song he had created come to life for the first time. He felt Taehyung gently rub his stomach as the lyrics echoed through the room. Taehyung knew better than anyone what this song meant to him. He beat the negative thoughts out of his mind as he tried to focus on the beautiful melody he and Yoongi had created together.

“That was beautiful, Jungkook-ah.” Taehyung sighed after the song ended, he tightened his grip around Jungkook’s left rib cage. “Are you going to perform that on stage?”

Jungkook shook his head slightly, “No, I don’t think so. I think that one can be just for us.”

Taehyung hummed in agreement then sprang up to his feet, Jungkook blinked up at him as he stretched his arms above his head. “Come on, Kookie, let's go make some dinner. Are you staying, Namjoonie?”

Jungkook took Taehyung’s offered hand to pull him off the floor and tried to quell the disappointment when Namjoon shook his head.

“Sorry Tae, I’m already late for a meeting.” Namjoon explained, standing from his chair and patting Yoongi’s shoulder as he passed. He followed the pair out of the room and into the elevator.

“You really should take more time off Joon,” Taehyung scolded, pressing the button for the seventh floor and the lobby. The elevator rose up first and the doors slid open to reveal the penthouse apartment.

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “Jungkook-ah,” he called as Jungkook stepped off the elevator, Taehyung didn’t stop his stride into the kitchen as Jungkook turned to look at Namjoon. “I didn’t get to say this earlier, but your song was beautiful, it truly left me speechless.”

Jungkook blushed, “Thank you.”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he caught the elevator doors from closing, “I’d like to take you out on a date sometime, would that be agreeable to you?”

Jungkook smiled widely and nodded, “I’d like that Namjoon-ssi.”

Namjoon waved a hand, “No need for formalities. Would tomorrow be too soon?”

Jungkook chuckled and shook his head, “I have a short day tomorrow, you can pick me up after my dance class with Hobi-hyung.”

“It’s a date then,” Namjoon smiled, his dimples popping before he released the elevator doors. He sent Jungkook a wink just as the doors closed in front of him and the elevator started its descent.

Jungkook felt like he was floating as he entered the kitchen. He sighed happily as he joined Taehyung at the kitchen counter and started chopping some vegetables with him. The pair quietly worked next to each other, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Why haven’t you guys mentioned Namjoon before, hyung? You guys seem close.” Jungkook asked as he diced a carrot.

Taehyung didn’t falter as he continued to slice the beef into strips, “Honestly, he’s been traveling a lot lately and he’s always so busy with his job. It just never came up in conversation. Namjoonie wanted to keep it on the down low about how much he’s helped us over the years.”

Jungkook nodded and moved to start chopping an onion, “You and hyung have always been a bit private, I suppose.”

Taehyung paused and placed a hand on Jungkook's shoulder, making him look over at him. “We’d never hide anything from you, Jungkook-ah, unless we thought it was necessary. Lying to you is the last thing we ever want to do, I want you to understand that.”

Jungkook nodded at Taehyung’s serious tone, more than used to Yoongi and Taehyung saying something so cryptic to him. After all these years being friends with the couple, he’s learned not to press too hard on things that just didn’t make sense. It used to bother him when he was younger and first came to live with them, but over the years he’s learned they’ve never been malicious in what they haven’t told him. And there was always an undertone in their conversations that one day they would be completely honest with him. Jungkook looked forward to that day.

“I understand hyung,” Jungkook said with another nod, smiling at his hyung’s relieved face. “I know you and hyung only want the best for me.”

Taehyung nodded and placed a swift kiss on Jungkook’s cheek, “Always Kook, we always want the best for you.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes at his hyung’s affection but secretly he loved it. Taehyung had always been more physical with his affection than Yoongi, always more expressive. It had taken Jungkook a while to get used to it, to accept it for what it was.

Yoongi’s way of showing affection had always been quiet and subtle; making sure Jungkook had a meal before work, making sure he was on shift with someone he knew at the bar, and always having time for him in his studio. The pair complemented each other in every way and worked together to make Jungkook feel safe in their home.

Words could never express how grateful Jungkook was to his hyungs and he hoped one day he could pay them back for everything they’ve helped him through.

[stevn93]

Not as soon as I anticipated, but we meet yet again old friend. How have you been?? Yeah it's hard to keep up and it's hard to adjust. I saw you are trying to improve though. Me? Let's not talk about that. Fine I can be honest, truth is I still tell people I'm fantastic or it's another day in paradise when the reality is I don't know if I'm OK. So much in my head... I...my wife I'm pretty sure she's joking when she calls me gay, but sometimes I'm not sure, I know I'm not totally straight. I spent 2 years on the down low with a guy and only 2 people that weren't me or him know and one is my wife and that telling was far from great, anyway we were both from religious homes and had to keep everything hidden. And on the note of religion I think it has led to some of my issues. I don't know what I believe, I know what I have been told to believe my whole life, but I don't know what I believe. I was raised in a Seventh Day Adventist home, as was my mother, and her parents and I know my great grandparents were so it's a long standing thing in my family. My friend was from a equally long line of deep south Baptist beliefs. The SDA beliefs are much more strict and holds to the old mosaic law. I was 30 at my first sampling of bacon. Now crazy as it sounds I work for a Christian based non-profit and have been there 4 years now. I am a maintenance technician and also do grounds care. I am on call and we rotate weekends so I work some Saturdays and Fridays after sunset which is a ticket to the bad place. Not that having had relationships with another guy wouldn't also be a reason for that,but sometimes I still have a desire for it. I still have to keep things hidden because it could be grounds for dismissal from my job. My job is super flexible with days off and hours so I can raise my kids and I know nowhere else would be so forgiving to me. I wasn't careful one day and was sighted in the building with my Proud Furry hoodie on(I had gotten diesel fuel on my other it was the one I had in my truck)so that combined with the nail polish has left people suspect. I have to wonder sometimes if my wife believes I'm more gay than straight or if I want something else. She would be the one to know as she knows more about me and my past than my parents, a therapist would have a field day but until then I will have to settle with emptying my mind here. Have spent the last several nights after she goes to sleep sitting on the shower floor for an hour or two and just letting the water rain down. I don't know if it helps but the rain is still too cold for such things. There is so much I don't understand like pronouns and transjender, I was never exposed to things largely due to religious sheltered life. I have finally encountered a person who is non-binary and it's hard to remember to use they/them and people call you out for you and tell you you don't care about others or you would just change, but I was programed to think, act and talk this way for 30 years! Ask a smoker who has smoked 5 years to quit cold turkey. My grandfather on my Dad's side used the N word and did so openly, but his best friend was an old colored gentleman Mr.Milton and every day before he ate his dinner rain shine or hurricane he would take him a hot plate of food. If you didn't know and didn't see you'd thought him a racist white supremacist, but it wasn't the case. People talk about care but are so quick to judge or tell you how you should feel... That's part of why my wife knows things my parents don't. I won't elaborate much but I took a problem to people you were supposed to trust and it went just as I was told it would. So I made changes and because I was young and of such a light build I likely stunted my growth a smidgen and damaged my joints. I don't know why my wife stays when I'm so damaged. I wish I could see what she does or did see. She still spends a lot of time on her phone and I asked her to talk to me yesterday and she didn't put down her phone. Some days are so much more a struggle than others. I'll see you later old friend. Thanks for being here.

[starlingsrps]

saturdays are for the boys.

helen and the rest of the club mobile girls are down with the flu but gail apparently has escaped the plague and made her way into the clubhouse 

david is a small enough man at this point to know easy pickings. all things being equal, he’s sure she thinks the same of him.

she’s not here for the right reasons. she’s pretty and perfectly coifed no matter the time of day or task. she doesn’t bat her eyelashes at anyone under the rank of captain and if she’s after an officer husband, she’s doing a great job. as a red cross volunteer, he knows that she’s breaking helen and mary but he doesn’t give a shit about her organizing abilities - she’s got the best rack he’s seen since he got to this godforsaken island and he’s always been a sucker for a redhead. she probably doesn’t give a shit about flying record - they’d been dumb enough to make him a captain six months ago and that gets him into the officer’s club and a new badge on his collar and that’s enough.

when gail wanders in, there’s a poker game in progress and david’s heart isn’t in it. he lost magnificently and tapped elliot in to save some face. he’s usually alright at poker - respectable but sam’s a fucking shark and sid has gotten good enough that it’s annoying to play him at all - but tonight he’s sucking more than usual. he blames the intensity of the fuck me eyes aimed their way.

indigo and jack are married. elliot has gone blind to any woman that isn’t nell. sid keeps coming back from his mystery trips to milton keynes with a bite mark on his neck and a lazy, self satisfied grin followed by “classified” when david asks what the hell that’s about. it’s just him and sam and he’ll be fucked if it’s anyone else. 

when he looks over his shoulder, she’s got her chin on her hand and a come hither look that could be aimed at any of them. he gets a giggle from her when he winks. it feels like a sure thing and those are the best odds he’s had in months, so to hell with it.

david doesn’t want to marry her. he’s reminded of what one of his frat brothers used to say - when a bear is hungry, he eats. the phrase had always seemed mercenary to him. he’d never call himself a saint but he at least usually enjoyed the chase, a little romancing before ending up in bed.

but fuck it.

“we know if gail’s free?” he asks. he’s already finishing his drink and standing. the question is a formality.

“uh yeah, best of my knowledge,” elliot says slowly. “weren’t you supposed to-“

“i said a lot of things,” david says, tilting his neck from side to side to stretch. as though he’s limbering up to enter a boxing ring and not go hit on a red cross volunteer to get his dick wet. “what nellie doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

elliot rolls his eyes and shakes his head at his cards. “your funeral if she finds out, that’s all i’m saying.”

he’s about to make his way over when manners kick in. he should probably see if any of the rest of the unencumbered had their eye on her. not that he called dibs or anything and she’s a person not a beer but still: probably polite to ask. “any of you call dibs? sid?”

“all you, hatch. warren, you cornfed fuck, you call that a flush?”

jack warren knows every goddamn cow that’s ever walked the earth but doesn’t remember the difference between a spade and an ace for the life of him. david knows this better than anyone else, having spent as much time in the nose of a plane listening to him nervously ramble off bovine facts.

he turns to sam, more out of duty and friendship than anything else. he looks up from his hand, considers, and shakes his head. “i’m off gingers. don’t yell at him - you know he’s a hick.”

“so am i and i know what a fucking spade looks like.”

sid continues from there but david is already making his way over to gail. she’s perched on a stool doing her best veronica lake and based on the look he’s getting, mary and helen haven’t had a chance to scare her off of him yet or she’s chosen to ignore it. 

maybe one of them should be more insulted by how little time it takes before he’s escorting her to a more private hallway but david ignores the voice of shame or modesty or whatever the hell it is in his head and proceeds. it’s fast and by no stretch his best performance. she fakes an orgasm and he feels worse for it. she’s not much of an actress and neither is he. when they part, he knows that he’ll be avoiding the club mobile at all costs for the foreseeable future. not worth it for shit coffee and the omnipresent reminder that when he’d finally gotten back in the saddle, it had been an all around disappointment.

back in the bunks, indigo is stretched out on his bed with a book. there’s an ease to him that david has always envied. he knows who he is and what he’s after in life and david doesn’t think he’s ever had that for a minute.

“worth it?” indigo asks, not looking up.

no, not really. but maybe next time, he won’t feel half as rotten.

“yes.”

[jessblogs]

This is 2024. This is 22.

Lunar New Year is a time when family comes together to wish better for the next year. We wish good health on the elderly and good education upon the young. This year Lunar New Year is on Saturday, which ironically is the only day my family is together every week. While that sounds great in theory, it sucks.

This is 2024. This is 22. This year has secretly sucked as an aftermath of last year.

My parents losing their job was so surreal. They've worked their almost my whole life. It was a norm to see my mom be home by 2:44pm everyday and my dad to get home by 6:00pm. It was a norm for us to eat family dinners together by 6:30pm. It was a norm for everyone to be on the couch by 7:30pm, watching whatever vlog my dad was playing on Youtube and listening to my mom watch her Youtube videos and my dad speaking to my uncle while my brother was on his phone or the game and I was on my own device. There were times when I stayed late at school or went out during these hours, but for the most part that was the norm. I took these norms for granted.

After my mom initially lost her job, the turnaround for her new job was so rapid that I felt like she never began a new job. But little by little I would feel the emptiness. My mom may have never been one to speak a lot during dinner as she is a slow eater, but her presence was always missing. My dad sort of take part of her role; do the dishes, wipe the table and though my mom would never let us cook our own meal even when she wasn't there, it just never felt the same. I would hear her come home at 2:30am when she doesn't know I'm awake, but never see her. It was the only way I knew she was okay, at least physically. As abnormal as this was, at least we still had Friday, Saturday, and Sundays. I would come home on Fridays knowing I would see my family whole again. I would hear her talk to my dad about how much she hates her new coworkers and how hard adjusting to this new job was. This was probably when the guilt started to seep in unknowingly.

A few weeks later, my dad lost his job. Every Sunday became File for Unemployment Day. It was unfortunate, he had too much time on his hands and not enough to do. He spent time trying to fix things, once even falling on a chair and hurting his leg, but at least my family would be all together every evening — it was a fraction of what it used to be, but it was still there.

As weeks went by, he was becoming uneasy and needed a job. Initially my parents planned to work at the same company again, but it just didn't work out. The funds were slowly draining and even though they'd never admit it, it was worrisome to provide for two children with one being in college and the other being a teenage boy who needs all he can get. Right before the holidays, he did find a job. I thought he would be working second shift — the same/similar hours to my mom if not earlier — so things would not shift at once. Boy, was I wrong. His shifts became night shifts, I would never see him. He slept as I woke and woke as I slept. I saw him for 2 hours at most before he left and that was if I was lucky enough to be home on time. He may not have worked Fridays, but my Fridays were still booked. We would have the short hours of Saturday as a family and by Sunday it was back to the weekly routine. I felt like I didn't have my parents anymore. I took our dinners together, their excessive noise in the living from their respective activities, the rants and bickering — I took it all for granted. Now who knows when things will be whole again.

This is when the guilt took its turn. My friends were graduating and getting real jobs. I may have taken an extra year for myself and though not a waste based on the experience I've gained, sure felt like it. I've grown, matured, learned from my mistakes, but at what cost? I had to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life. Because while my parents went to work everyday aiming to provide for their beloved children, little do they know that I spent the first three years of my college career compensating for all the classes I failed, withdrew from, mistakes I made. I was no longer pre-med, barely pre-pa, and switching to a field I never considered in my life. I hated my major, I made mistakes, I inevitably needed more school. But I had to decide. I could no longer bare to see my parents getting older, but still being on the move. It broke my heart to see the dark circles form under my dad's eyes as he made his coffee for the night. I could no longer bare to look at the stress in my mom's eyes when she talked about how she was yelled at the night before at work. I can longer bare to tolerate the bickering as my parents yelled at each other from frustration because they were tired. Time has become torture. I say I need just two, maybe three more years, but what if it isn't enough? I can't hope for longer, the clock is ticking. I need to retire my parents and get my brother through college for them. I had to help pay for that future house in Georgia and their first Lexus. I had to be the solution to all their problems — their one and only daughter, their golden child. I had to do it for them. They are my why, my how, my what, my when.

They've always said that everything they've done is for me. For me to succeed, survive, live, be better. I needed to be better. I needed to succeed and be survive, live, but not just for myself. For them. I need to do everything I can, so they can finally stop moving. I am so tired of watching them move. This is 2024. This is 22.

[katrinayentch]

100 Miles on the Wonderland Trail

Earlier this year, during spring 2022, I signed up for two lotteries that would grant me passes to backpack on either The Wonderland Trail or The Enchantments. The Enchantments is 21 miles. The Wonderland Trail is 100.

Guess which lottery I won?

Regardless of whether I thought I could do it or not, winning that lottery gave me no choice but to say yes. The park grants around 600 reservation-based permits every year.

It’s pretty intimidating to organize because you have to reserve all your campsites in advance, and it feels like waiting on your computer browser to register for the best classes you want. To my advantage and blessing, one of my best friends happens to be a map nerd—yup, they’re out there guys. They are out there and thriving! Thanks to his wisdom (and the handy dandy Nat Geo paper maps), after calculating the elevation and terrain of the land, he patiently sat with me on a Saturday morning in April, MONTHS before the start date, to help me pick out the best spots. And so, with five other people crazy enough to join me on this journey, we spent 9 days in August ditching our jobs, phones, and “real-world problems” to conquer 100 miles around the base of Mount Rainier.

We didn’t do any training beforehand. If anything, it was a chance to carb load as hard as we wanted because we knew that we were going to be eating nothing but dehydrated food and Clif Bars—so might as well enjoy what we had now! We even car camped the night before with friends who weren’t joining, destroying breakfast burritos and sipping on beers.

That being said, it was a late and ROUGH start on trail the next day. With unusually hot temperatures, we scaled nearly 2,000 feet of elevation at three in the afternoon, only to go straight back down at a knee-banging angle. Little did we know that that was going to be the pattern for every single day onward. Mosquitos were flying, sweat was compiling, and we didn’t get to our first campsite till after 9 p.m.

Several of us were definitely wondering what the heck we got ourselves into, but as the next couple days continued, we got our “trail legs” on. We learned to wake up before 7:30 and when it was time to go at our own paces. The heat subsided as we reached the northern side of the mountain, with wildflowers in full bloom and black bears grazing on days 3 and 4. The “wonderland” part of the Wonderland Trail began to settle in, and the further I wanted to escape within it. It became odd to hike on stretches of the trail that were open to the greater public of the park. We walked alongside day visitors covered in dirt with our giant backpacks while families and kids were prancing around with ice cold sodas and clothes that didn’t smell of crusty sweat and dust.

I couldn’t tell you how many running jokes came out of the trip, but I can tell you that I probably lost a couple pounds from how hard I laughed throughout The Wonderland Trail. I couldn’t begin to convey to you just how difficult the trail was, even after we had gotten into better shape. There’s 22,000 feet of elevation gain total, which left us with blisters and knee problems left and right. When I’d finally post up for the night (which is NOT right in front of a great view, for any non-backpackers reading this who see picturesque photos of campsites on social media), I’d knock out as soon as my head hit the pillow—and I’m a pretty light sleeper. Yet, despite all of this, I got to bond so deeply with our group, in a way that we will probably never get to do again. 9 days nonstop with the same people. Half of whom didn’t know each other super well prior to this trail. And yet, here we were by the end of it cracking stupid jokes, using the bathroom in front of each other, and just being plain gross together.

So by the time it got to day 7, when several of us were thinking about finishing the trail a day early, I wasn’t ready to leave. This year has probably been one of the most stressful and anxiety-ridden years of my life since 2015. My search for “the next move” in my career and my life begins to weigh on me harder as inflation continues to pressure everyone to do anything to stay afloat, and I’m constantly doubting what I’ve been doing to get where I am today. Being on this hiking trail, in the best shape I’d ever been by the end of it, without a phone whose emails are blowing up, and with some of the most genuine people I’ve ever met, I wasn’t ready to go back into all of that.

Yet, that’s what we ended up doing on the last day. And boy, did it feel good to sit in a car and drive it 10 miles at a quicker pace than it’d take to hike the same distance. We crawled to the McMenamin’s and ate our burgers and drank our beer, as is customary in post-hike culture. We drove home, and as the cold hardwood floors touched my feet, it felt foreign to stand on compared to the soft dirt of the trail. I avoided turning on my phone for hours, already aching at the thought of what might await me on the other end.

So here we are months later, and reflecting on the experience, I wonder why I only backpacked two trails this year. Life during/after/during-after covid has been so fast-paced, everything all at once. As I get older I realize how much harder it’s going to be to get to do things like this; just disappear for awhile, but with people I love.

I still don’t really know what the future holds, but for now I know that I’m capable of doing something as insane as this. And it may indeed continue to be hard to get out there as often as life continues to speed up, but I can’t wait until the next experience, and I will certainly do whatever I can to make sure I never lose those same feelings of escapism and gratitude when I get out there.