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charcoallbaby · 4 months

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the chase

smutty asf. 18+

wrote this last night while i was half asleep enjoy!

matt sturniolo was the biggest slut ever. if he wasn’t too busy with college work or being the hockey teams captain, a girl was definitely getting dicked down by him.

i was a sophomore, he was a junior so we never crossed paths until my best friend started to date one of his brothers nick. my best friend, sam was head over heelings for nick, it was annoying to be around but i was happy for him, he seemed to be really happy.

his brother matt sturniolo could never get his eyes off me when i was around him, it made me pissed off. i knew what his thoughts were, even if he was a cool guy, which he is. he’s nice and pretty and would never dare try to do something with me since sam and nick warned him that im off limits. but i think matt liked the chase, he liked the fact that he couldn’t have me. so all he did was eye fuck me across the room with a solo cup in his hand talking to some blonde who was practically begging for him. he could smile and girls would be throwing themselves at him.

i sighed before making my way over to sam and nick. “can we go?” “im getting tired,” i exhaled. “girllllll, come on!!!!” “the party is just getting started!” sam cheered. i rolled my eyes at him. nick touched my arm, “matt’s going home soon, he has a project to work on, i’m sure he’ll have no problem dropping you off.” “yeah-um sure, i’ll ask him.”

my eyes darted over to where matt was. no where to be found.

3 months later.

“it’s so fucking hot god!” i groaned. “don’t worry y/n, it’s because im here.” matt joked. i angrily rolled my eyes. “matt, what?” nick cringed. “it’s too hot in this car and i’m gonna die if we don’t get there soon.” i whined. “stop whining and be happy!” sam patted my head like a dog. “wait is there a pool or hot tub there?” chris asked nick. “hot tub chris, it’s a cabin in the middle of the woods!” “but we can just get the hot tub in while it’s cold.”

the second matt parked the car in the garage, i grabbed my bag, hopped out and ran towards the door inside. i needed to get into minimal clothing, i was wearing sweats for some reason.

“here she is!” “here she is!” sam sang out. a smile formed onto my face.

i wore a baby blue bikini set. it made my girls look amazing which rarely happens while having a heavy chest, bikini cup sizes always do me dirty.

i pulled myself up onto one of the kitchen island stools. “care to make me one?” i asked matt who was on the opposite side of the island cutting himself limes to put into his bottles of corona. “yeah sure,” he flashed me a small smile. he could be really sweet sometimes, it didn’t suit his slutty alter ego that he had. he had no shirt on. he looked really fucking good. small beads of sweat were around his neck, i wish i could lick them off. what. no. y/n stop. my eyes shifted down to his tattoos covering his right arm, it made him more attractive if that was even possible. i shook myself out of the heart-eyeing gaze i was in and turn my stool around to sam, chris and nick playing mario kart.

something cold touched my back making me jerk away from it and turn around. “here.” matt nodded his head. “thanks,” i took the bottle off him, our hands quickly touching. he had nice hands. matt made his way over to the boys in the open-planned living room joining them on the couch. “i’m just gonna go tanning!” i called out to the boys. “okay!”

i placed my headphones into my ears, pressing shuffle onto my playlist. the first song playing was “we are the people.” by empire of the sun.

i opened my eyes, something was blocking the sun. all the 4 boys standing in front of me. i ripped my headphones out of my ears. “excuse me?” i pull my sunglasses down from my head to cover my eyes. “we’re going to the store do you need anything?” sam asked. “oh-em,” “get me more tanning oil i’m out,” i propped myself up with my elbows. “girl, we meant food,” nick sighed. “oh, im good.” i smiled before laying back down. “can i have the keys?” sam asked. “oh yeah here,” i hear matt’s keys jingle. “wait,” i sat up. “who’s going?” i asked. “just me, nick and chris why?” sam pushing his hair out of his eyes. “oh no, just wondering.”

great. i’m gonna be here alone with matt.

the boys walked back inside. i picked my headphones up to put them back in my ear until i hear the door re-open. “thought i’d join you,” matt’s voice became louder.

i mentally groaned. i moved my head to my left and looked at him. “i’m not going to be doing a lot of talking, i’m tanning as you can see you,” i looked back up at the sky. a husky chuckle left matt’s mouth. “i was gonna turn on the hot tub and make the water cold for us,” i sat up for the 3rd time in the space of 2 minutes and looked at him. “nice glasses.” he teased. “thanks.” i gave him a fake smile.

i couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not they were the iconic simple black raybans.

i walked over to the hot tub, taking off the covering. “do your job.” i crossed my arms. matt laughed. “such a pretty attitude.” he walked past me and turn the hot tub on. i rolled my eyes and looked out at the view infront of us while matt did his job.

“should be good to get in.” matt picked up his bottle of beer, taking a gulp. “alright.” i dipped my foot in.

“ohhhhhhh fuck,” i moaned putting my head back in pleasure. the cold water hitting my skin felt so good against my boiling body. matt followed in after me. “so,” i clicked my tongue. matt looked at me while licking his teeth. his teeth and lips were so perfect fuck. “what’s your body count so far?” i crossed my arms. he shot me a glare.“i’m not as bad as you think i am y/n, i just like to feel good,” he put a wet hand through his dry hair. “yeah sure matt, does that mean by being inside every girl that you make eye contact with?” i tilted my head and smirked. “i’d bet you’d love it.” he raised his eyebrows and shot me a smile. “yeah, no thank you.”

i layed down on the couch in my bikini scrolling through different social media’s on my phone.

matt drained me in the hot tub. all he did was try to flirt with me and try to get me to accept to let him fuck me, so i left. it was way cooler inside from the blaring AC.

“we’re backkkkk!” nick sang while walking upstairs from the garage. i put my phone down and sat up. “did you get bottled water?” “i’m dying,” i followed nick into the kitchen. “yeah, sam and chris are bringing the groceries up now, i didn’t want to carry anything!” he chimed. i let out a small laugh before nick asked, “where’s matt?” “he’s in the hot tub,” i looked outside at him. “oooooo, i wanna get in the hot tub, “please tell me he’s not a psychopath and it’s cold?” “it’s freezing don’t worry.”

it was around 9pm. everyone was tired from the sun. all of us were in the living room, me laying on the cold floor, nick and sam sharing a arm chair, chris and matt both sprawled out on the big couch. my arm draped over my eyes while we talked while chris’ playlist while lowly playing on the tv.

“we’re off!” nick yawned. i pulled myself to sit up. “don’t go to bed too late y/n!” sam called out.

“i won’t thanks mom!” i called back.

after awhile of chris yapping to me and matt, i decided to head upstairs and going to bed.

it was 4am, i went to use my bathroom until i noticed there was no toilet paper. i groaned and made my way to my bed to grab a t-shirt to put on.

i threw on a baggy t-shirt before opening my door and making my to the bathroom. i rubbed my eyes and pushed open the half-closed door infront of me.

"fuckkkkk,” i heard a deep groan. i rubbed my eyes again. matt standing in the shower touching himself. he didn’t notice me. i quickly turned around before i heard him moan my name. no. no. no. i needed to leave. i quietly shut the door and ran back to my room.

i anxiously sat on the side of my bed biting my acrylic nails. that fucker was thinking of me while jerking off. i sighed before waiting until i could hear matt’s footsteps.

i walked out of my room to matt with a towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair and water droplets all over his body. i gulped. “showering at 4am?” i questioned. “i like night showers y/n,” he stopped. “oh yeah, i bet you do matt,” i jokingly winked. “wha-” i cut him off. “it’s okay matt, you get off to me,” i crossed my arms. “n-no, no i don’t how would you know?” his face was covered with confusion. “i have ears, anyway im going to use the bathroom,” i walked past him. he quickly grabbed my arm. “no, no,” “y/n tell me what you heard?” he quirked his eye brows up. “matt i’m going piss myself.” “i’ll see you in the morning then.”

i made way back into my room. i jumped seeing matt sitting on my bed with shorts on. his phone screen lighting up his face. “what the fuck are you doing in my room matt!” i whisper-yelled.

he smirked. “i think we should recreate what you suppose heard in the shower,” i rolled my eyes. “matt,” i sighed. “go please, i’m tired and i don’t want to fuck you sorry if that bruises your massive ego, but your probably a walking form of chlamydia,” i made my way to the opposite of my bed.

he turned and looked at me. “come on baby, i’m clean i get tested im not stupid,” he layed down on my bed, resting his hands behind his head. i layed down beside him. “i’m going asleep matthew,” i placed my head down onto the pillow behind me. “mhm,” he mumbled. he leaned down to me his lips hovering over mine, they looked so kissable. “you don’t know how bad i want to fuck you, you make it so hard when all i want to do is bury myself inbetween those thighs y/n,” he groaned. i clenched my thighs together which made his eyes shift down. a smirk now planted onto his face. “i bet your panties are soaked, can i check?” his fingers trailed down my under my shirt. i nodded my head. god what am i doing. 2 minutes ago i didn’t want him anywhere near me, now i want him everywhere.

he pulled my underwear down slowly making me impatient. i groaned and leaned my forehead against his bicep.

matt slid his fingers down my soaking pussy that was begging for his touch. “oh my fuck, “your soaking,” he groaned before slipping two fingers into me. a low moan left my mouth. “look at me,” he spoke. i quickly pulled my head up and looked at him. he picked the pace up hitting my g-spot making me moan loudly. “there it is,” matt whispered. all he did was hit my g-spot making me on the verge of my orgasm. “come on sweetheart, finish on my fingers.” his thumb met my clit making my orgasm come quicker. i clenched around his fingers and shivered while coming down from my high.

matt’s fingers were in his mouth tasting me. “you taste so sweet,” his lips finally meeting mine. i hungrily kissed him, i didn’t know i had this much energy from just coming down from my high. his right hand met my waist slowly pulling my shirt up. “take it off,” he mumbled. i quickly took my shirt off before placing my lips back onto his. his hands met my nipples. he pulled his lips away from me before placing his warm mouth onto my nipple slowing sucking it. “matt,” i moaned eyes rolling back from the pleasure. he pulled away from me. “that’s all i wanted to hear from the moment, i met you.” he grunted. “fuck me, please.” “as you wish.”

he was massive. i didn’t know if he would be able to fit inside of me.

he lined himself up with my entrance. “ready?” his chain hanging over me. i nodded my head. his head slowly entered me before pushing his whole self into me. “ohhhhh,” i let slip out. “you ready baby?” he asked again before kissing me. “mhm.” i mumbled.

matt was pounding into me roughly and i wouldn’t want it any other way. god he felt so good inside of me. i have been missing out.

he slowly pulled out of me finishing all over my stomach. his load tripping down my hips. i quickly picked it up with my fingers and placing my fingers into my mouth. the salty-sweet taste entering my mouth. “i think you were made for me y/n, you feel way too good.” matt mumbled into my neck.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #smut #pov #imagine

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ayeyolooo · 4 months

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Memory lane

This is part 2 part one is here!

Please excuse any grammatical errors 😥!

—

"MAN ION LIKE BOYS BUT who was that fine ass boy you was talking to at the mall yesterday n/n?" London asked. "Oh he's someone from middle school." You shrugged and smiled.

"One of them kids that made you leave?" You nodded. You clacked your nails together as london mugged you. "No no he was the one who made them stop." You said defending armin.

"Ohhh okay." She said. "I'm happy that you found someone my love." She said smiling and wrapping you into a hug. Paris was sleeping cuddling with your dog kody who was also sleeping.

"I wanna see how they look now." You mumbled and laid on your stomach before opening instagram and clicking armin's page. You scrolled on his page.

"But maybe imma see them later." You said. "Girl you over there worried bout them,youn got nothing to be worried bout." London said. "Okay?" London asked. "Okay." You said clicking your phone off. "Now let's go do summm." She said smiling and getting off of your bed. She grabbed your beats pill speaker and grabbed your phone. She unlocked it and clicked shuffle on your playlist.

'Run tha streetz.' By Tupac started to play as you both of you starting singing. "YOU COULD RUN THE STREETS WITH YOUR THUGS ILL BE WAITING FOR YOUUUUUU." The both of you began singing outloud and laughing.

London went on her Instagram and began to go live.

User1: ouuuu who is thaaaat?

3rennn joined.

Mi.mikasa joined.

Meelasplayhouse: ouuuuu she reall prettyy.

"I know right!" London said bringing your face into the camera. You just smiled and lip synced to the song.

Armin.alert joined.

"Ohhh y/n there go your mannnnn." She said as you jerked your head back before looking closer to the phone and seeing that armin joined. Your face went hot as you just sucked your teeth."Girl that's not my mannnn." You said. "Yet." She whispered.

Niseyuserlol: whoooooo!?

^gossipqueennn: that basketball player armin alert.

Jaecomments: no way she talks to armin alert.

"That's cause I don't." You said throwing some hair over your shoulder.

You pulled your pants up and buckled them finally after jumping just to get them up. You took a breath out and just laid on your bed out of breath. "Lord have mercy." You sighed out and stood up before you walked to your dresser and grabbed a shirt and slid it on.

You walked to your closet and grabbed your jordan 4's before abusing your finger trying to put your shoe on.

You grabbed your bookbag and threw some blank journals, a binder,some mechanical pencils pens and some paper in it. You grabbed your France fragrance perfume by Victoria secret and sprayed some on you before placing it into your bookbag.

You grabbed a hoodie and made your way downstairs. You seen your mom throwing last minute things into her purse before looking up and seeing you.

"Oh hey baby you look beautiful as always." She said kissing your forehead. "Thank you ma." You said cheesing. Your mom grabbed her phone and held it up. "I need my pictures,this your last year mama." She said.

You groaned. "Maaaaaaaaa." She shook her head. "Ion wanna hear it,now pose." You did a pose with a fake smile and she clicked the button making the flash shine bright in your eye. Your eyes watered as she took a thousand more pictures.

"Okay ma. It's getting late." You said looking at your Apple Watch. "Okay fine."she said smiling at the pictures she did get. "Ahhhh my baby got so big." She said. You sat in the front with her as she started the car and backed out of the driveway. "Okay here's your schedule,just ask around and someone would point to where you have to go okay?" Your mom said handing you your schedule. You nodded before taking it from her.

You looked at it and scanned for your first class. "Psychology." You read outloud. You walked around asking for directions as everyone pointed to where your class was. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you knocked on the door.

Someone opened it as your heart was beating out of its chest as you walked to the teachers desk. She had glasses with a ponytail and a green suit on.

"Hello." She greeted as she took your schedule. She scanned it and nodded. "Okay you can sit in this group right here." She pointed to a group that had one seat missing. You nodded "thank you ms...." You trailed off you her name. "Oh it's hanji! Don't worry students always have a hard time pronouncing my name." She said smiling.

You just gave her a little smile before you turned and made your way to the back where you sat down in the seat drawing attention to yourself. "My goodness she's so pretty." One of the girls whispered to the other who just nodded in agreement.

"Y/n?" You heard someone call you. "You looked around and seen the familiar blonde. "Armin?" You asked scooting over to him and hugging him.

"Wait your name is y/n? As in y/n l/n?"the boy with a buzz cut asked as you nodded hesitantly. All of their eyes widened and their jaws dropped.

"Pick ya jaw up off the floor before someone step on it." Armin said mugging them. "How do you know that?" You asked them tracing your forearm tattoo. "Um I'm Connie,that's mikasa,Jean,Sasha and eren." Your body went hot as your eyes widened.

"My bad man we didn't mean to run you away." Connie apologized. You just shooed it off. "You good,I just hope that we're passed that point." Everyone eagerly nodded as you just chuckled. "You're so fine." Jean said as you just smiled. "Thank you." You said. Armin just chew on his inside cheek.

"Okay class so we're going to be talking about the mind responds to different things." Hanji said titling the board. "Make sure you take good notes and use a pen,do not write with a pencil in my class." Hanji said pushing her glasses up and turning around.

"Y/n." Armin lightly nudged you. "Hm?" You asked looking at him. "You're left handed?" He asked looking at you holding your pen. You just chuckled and nodded yes. "That's so cool." He said with a pearly smile.

His pink plumped lips looked so kissable right now. "Wanna go catch up wit you." He said. You nodded "yeah when?" You said bouncing your leg up and down. "Today after school." You nodded. "Yeah but you gotta come get me cause ion gotta car yet." He nodded his head. "Ight imma come get you around what? 5:30?" He asked. You nodded. "Bett." He smiled.

My kitty kitty meow meow is not meowing right now. It's growling,barking and waterfalling. Heyyy do you like hello kitty cause my kitty wanna say hi to you lollll.

His nose is so rideable. I can see his abs though his shirt. I should ask him what size shoe he wear for research purposes..

"Y/n you good?" He asked you "I'm good." You cleared your throat and continued to write the notes down.

"Okay so now that we're done with the notes! Please review with your partner what you've taken down. And exchange some information between the two. After that please give me two examples of the different types of responses and stimulus's" hanji said writing on the Promethean board.

You were sitting beside Sasha and armin. "Hiiii." She exitedly waved as you smiled and returned her wave. "Okay so I'm just going to let you know nowww,I'm INLOVE with you." She said. You just laughed and covered your mouth. "Thank you." You said barring your false eyelashes at her.

"Girl I'm so serious." She said with a serious expression before the both of you buses out laughing. "Na I'm just playing but wanna work with me?" She asked. "Yeah sure." You said.

Both you and Sasha exchanged socials and phone numbers before getting to know eachother. Hanji had to ask you two to quiet down more than once,which was horrible due to the both of you laughing out loud.

"So what's something you've been interested in?" Sasha asked you as the wrote down the answers "I've learned how to do hair." You replied as you worked.

"Ohhh that's niceee,I know how to do nails." She said showing you. You gasped and grabbed her hand as you looked at her nails. "Girllll these are so cuteeeeeee." You said looking at her short nails that were black French tipped with little planets on it.

"These $45 for you ma." She said with a little wink. "Ouuuuuuu." You covered your mouth from being excited. "So y/n..." Connie drew attention to you as they all started asking you questions until class was over with.

You placed your things in your bookbag and you looked up to see Sasha waiting for you at the door. You just smiled as you walked next to her. "I didn't think you was going to wait for me." You took your beats out and placed them around your neck. "Why?" She giggled out. "Becauseeeee." You trialed off.

"Listen I'm truly sorry for how we all treated you in middle school,but I promise you that we aren't like that anymore." You just played with your lanyard that held your id in it. "Okay." You said with a small smile.

She wrapped her arm in with yours and walked with you to where everyone was. "Y/nnnnnn!" Connie said running up to you.

This was honestly so weird. "Yes?" You asked looking for Armin.

#ayeyolooo #black y/n #aot x black reader #aot x reader #eren x black reader #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x chubby reader #x black fem reader #aot x black y/n #black reader

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megamindsecretlair · 2 months

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Could you do a one shot with mob boss Tyrone?

A/N: My sweet Anon, you asked for one and I present to you seven. Why am I like this?

Blackbird, Part 1: Lust

Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory.

Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. Will love truly conquer all?

Word Count: 10,810k

Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.

A/N: Listen, I know. I couldn't get this idea out of my head and just kept writing. I'm trying something new here, so any feedback is welcome! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui @ms-angiealsina @satoruya @hopefulromantic1 @itsbackwoodsbby

Moodboard by the sweestes person ever, planetblaque 🥹🥹🥹

You looked at your watch on your delicate wrist. Night chased the afternoon out of the sky, taking over in their delicate push and pull. Night was safer for confessions. For reflection.

The sun’s rays slanted through the blinds and you blinked against the bitter light. “My apologies, would you like me to close them?” Your lawyer, Mr. Gates, asked you.

“Please,” you said. You sighed and adjusted your neat teal dress across your knees. There was nothing to fix, but you supposed you were nervous. After all these years, you thought that you would carry these secrets to the grave. Everything was different now.

Mr. Gates moved to the window and shut the blinds more fully, draping you in the safe comfort of his office. Mr. Gates had been part of the family for years now, a profession he took seriously. It was refreshing to speak to someone who couldn’t be bought. Who would never fold, not even under threat of death.

The office had been cleared especially for you, per your request. People liked to gossip. Busybodies, your grandmother called them. The only sound was the low hum of the AC blowing cool air into the room and Mr. Gates shuffling around.

He finally sat down at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He pulled out a small recorder and showed it to you, the exact model you requested. You dipped your chin in acknowledgement. He took out a notebook, new and clean of any writing. You hoped he had enough pens.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

You adjusted your dress once more, running your hands along the fine, silken material. You licked your lips and looked back up at him. “I don’t wanna die without marking the occasion first,” you said with a clipped smile.

Each day it drew closer to the date, you got used to the idea of dying. You had a good run. It could have been better. But you weren’t one to be greedy.

Mr. Gates smiled softly, perhaps a little sad. It was nice to know someone would miss you. There would be one person on this earth who’d care if you were gone. That was something.

Mr. Gates wrote down something on his notepad and pressed a button on the recorder. He cleared his throat and introduced himself, the date, and the time. He asked you to state your name for the record.

“...of sound mind and body do declare this to be read as my last will and testament.”

“Goddammit!” You yelled. Your fists thumped against the rough wood of the door as it finished slamming into your face. The asshole on the other side was just as faceless as the long stream of dance companies that tossed you out on your ass. There were plenty more, sure, but this one had been reputable. Fair.

They took one look at your raggedy dance clothes, worn from too many times around the washer. At your hair, styled high above your head in braids they didn’t understand but were obsessed with. You didn’t have the time or the money to go to a salon. Just once, you’d like someone else to bother with your thick hair and its maintenance. You couldn’t be bothered.

You’d shave it all off but you didn’t want to deal with the mean and hurtful comments about you looking like a boy. Your knuckles were just getting over being bruised and tender from the last mu’fucka that tried to talk out the side of their neck.

“Asshole!” You screamed. It was open auditions. Open. Auditions. That meant that anyone could come in and try their hand. You had killed the routine. You only needed to watch something once to get it down. To feel it move through your body like a live wire and your muscles respond. To mimic it to near perfection and add your spin on it. Nothing fancy, just an extra oomph that these companies seemed to lack.

You had waited to the side with the other girls, all wispy, wafer thin girls who took one look at your curves and deemed you less than. A joke. That you couldn’t possibly move your body like they could.

One had the audacity to allude to that, calling it doing you a favor. Next thing you knew, your fist was flying and she was crying foul, blood running down her aristocratic nose. You just gave her a little more character, honest.

You cursed under your breath and moved away from the building. To hell with them. You shifted your dance bag over your shoulder and walked backwards. The marquee above the door announced an upcoming performance. Below it, there was the name of the headliner, Gabriella Greywood.

One day, and one day soon, your name would be up there. In bright lights. And no amount of racist, fatphobic fucks were going to stop you.

You turned and headed down the street, running head first into a person, solidly built by the feel of them.

“My bad, sweetheart,” a deep, rumbling voice greeted you.

Your mouth was already fixing to give him hell for not watching where he was going and that you were nobody’s “sweetheart”. The words dried on your tongue as you looked up into a deep set of brown eyes that crinkled a bit in the corner when he smiled.

He had a low fade and short beard, shaved close to his strong jaw. Pretty, long eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks whenever he blinked. He smirked, checking you out while you ogled him.

“S’okay,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He took in your tights and oversized gray sweatshirt.

“You heading inside?” He asked.

“Away from it. Those fucks wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the ass,” you said.

The man chuckled and nodded, like he liked your honesty. Your words. “Fuck ‘em,” he said, gifting you with another smirk. You wondered what he’d look like when he really smiled. When he let it take up his whole face.

Too bad you didn’t have time for men. You may be behind most of your friends in that department. Their heads were full of getting married and popping out babies while they were still young. Like they were checking off boxes handed down to them through the generations. Grow up, learn just enough, get married, pop out babies, and then your real life starts once they are grown up with babies of their own. Fuuuck that.

“Where you headed then?” He asked. A noise to his left made you look up and see an entire other man standing next to him. He was a bit taller, broader around the shoulders, with a narrow face and a mischievous look in his eye.

“Home, I guess. Until I find the next studio giving out auditions,” you said. Your attention was solely fixated on the man in front of you. His friend grinned and moved away, lighting up a joint. He put a foot on top of a fire hydrant and pretended to ignore you both.

“Let me give you a ride,” he said. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. He was magnetic. Like he commanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not.

You giggled, stomach doing tiny flips. “I don’t know you,” you said, giving him a hint of the attitude you’re famous for. None of this, giggly, braid around your finger nonsense.

“Get to know me. Let me take you to Scarlet Lounge,” he said. His voice was smooth. Too smooth.

You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “That’s a gangster bar,” you said.

“What you got against gangstas?” He asked.

“They’re mean, amoral, kill for no reason, run drugs, and turn out little girls. They’re nothing but bad news,” you said.

“Damn, amoral. That’s a big one,” he said. He chuckled and licked his lips, calling attention to his mouth once more. Your body heated instantly, wanting to know what they taste like. What they feel like on your skin. What his hands would feel like on your skin.

“Not all gangstas are the same. Maybe some just wanna get over in a life hellbent on kicking them in the teeth,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets and you finally noticed what he was wearing. Simple jeans and a black hoodie, faded from too many washes like your clothes. You felt a sudden kinship with him, an understanding passed between you in being in similar situations. Just two mu’fuckas trying to make it.

“Are you saying you’re a gangsta?” You asked.

“If I say yes, you gon’ hold it against me?” Oh, he was dangerous. Absolutely dangerous.

You had gone on entire tirades about the level of crime in LA. It was insidious. The dangerous, hopeless underbelly that all kids from the hood grew up with was like a giant dome that prevented anyone from truly getting out. Truly making something of yourself. You either joined a gang, married into a gang, or rode the struggle bus ‘till God called you home.

You could leave. You could find some area where the people would treat you like a freak or like you didn’t belong but you would be safe. None of them would look like you. Or understand you. Change had to start in the hood. There had to be hope some-fucking-where.

“Probably,” you said.

He smirked and shook his head. “Cold game. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked.

You should walk away. There was no way you could entertain someone like him. No way. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, unwilling to walk away from him or this moment. The more you looked at him, the more you felt connected to him. That each minute you spent in his presence, you felt tiny stitches being woven in between you.

“I’ll tell you what gangsta boy. We bump into each other again and I’ll tell you my name,” you said. You turned on the balls of your feet, walking backwards away from him.

“You gon’ do me like that? Forreal?” He asked. The corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted higher. It was almost worth staying to see if you could get a real smile out of him.

“Byeee,” you sang. You giggled, heading towards the train station. You turned around and gave your hips a little extra swish.

“I’m Fontaine!” He called after you. It took all of your strength not to turn back around. You waved your fingers high in the air but kept walking. You didn’t really think you’d bump into him again. You couldn’t afford the distraction even if you did. You’d head back home to your shitty apartment that you shared with your best friend and regroup.

You needed to keep your eyes on the prize. You had a future to secure. And it did not involve pretty corner boys who talked smooth.

You finished doing your makeup in the vanity, touching up the bright red lipstick one more time and checked over your outfit. Muted music and cheers reached you into the backroom, from the set before yours.

Other dancers were touching up their outfits as well, skimpy little things that barely qualified as a costume. The leotards were black with thin stripes, sparkly silver edges that dug into your groin and under your arms. The designer, an evil little bitch with too much hair and a permanent sour expression, thought she was so damn important. Half the time, it was clear that she thought she was too good to design clothes en masse for a dance club.

You wore fishnet stockings like the others, black leather heeled boots, and a tiny black hat in your hair. You had sparkly glitter dusted across your cheeks so that your eyes would pop. Not that anyone would see you. You were relegated to the back in every single fucking number.

Everyone here had the same dream as you. It just came down to who was hungrier. Who was going to stick it out. You had been dancing your whole life and you’d be damned to let some wide-eyed, bushy tail ho from Minnesota steal your dream. You’d put in the work, you’d put in your dues, and soon, you’d be headlining your own show. Working with top directors and choreographers. Maybe even get into dancing on TV.

“One minute!” One of the stagehands called into the room. Kimmy approached you and looked at you in the mirror.

“Another day?” She asked.

“Another dollar,” you said back.

You both grinned and stood up, heading out of the dressing room and into the chaos backstage. Stagehands moved in a dance all their own, carefully moving around each other with headsets squawking with directions you couldn’t hear. Coordinating the lights and music, curtains, and set decorations.

The previous music was coming to a close, ending on a loud roaring beat that you felt down to your toes. Adrenaline thumped through you. Despite whatever else you went through, this made sense. This was the time that your mind finally shut up. That your focus on your dreams drifted to the back and all you had to do was feel the music. The euphoria that came with losing all sense of identity while dancing.

You stood on the stairs on the left side of the stage, too far away to see the current set; you’d seen the performance so many times you had it memorized. The group before you had done a circus themed dance, full of contortionists, flips, and tumbles. The performers worked hard to make it look so seamless, you were in awe every time.

They were due to exit on the right, to not interrupt your group. Their song ended, the curtains closing and claps echoing throughout the club. You were shuffled on stage, getting into position in the far back. Haters. Whatever.

Stagehands used pulleys to change the scenery behind you, to an alleyway facade. There was a fake brick wall beside you getting rolled in. The announcer, the sleazeball Rusty, was on stage and getting everyone pumped up.

You looked at Kimmy and made a face and she giggled, waving you off. The music for your number started to play, a slow and sexy jam. You were supposed to be a lady mafia, punishing men in a cold dark alley.

Once the curtains were open and the spotlight hit you in the face, you were gone. There was only the part you played, filling in the background while the lead dazzled the audience. You told yourself not to care, but deep down you did. It was disheartening to know that in your heart of hearts, you were more talented. You were a better dancer. You just refused to suck Rusty’s dick to get to the top.

So you focused on the music, on the dance, and executed it flawlessly. You were in the back now, but you weren’t going to stay there. You didn’t see the audience, you didn’t see the idiots at the bar, and you didn’t see any of the VIPs in the back, scoping out the dancers to see which ones they wanted to bring to the private backrooms for a “dance”.

You didn’t play that shit. You were too spiteful, too hateful, too outspoken. And you’d continue to do so. You had to take a pay cut to not be involved with that shit. It was illegal and unfair, but it beat spreading your legs for dirty cops and gangstas.

As you danced, your mind was partially split between what you were doing and the man you met the other day. Fontaine. You couldn’t stop saying his name. It rolled so well off of the tongue. Fontaaaine.

You nearly missed a step and mentally slapped yourself. You focused on the dance, lots of gyrating and popping your hips. Lots of slow glides down to the floor and rolling your back. Invisible prop assistants threw you all fake uzis and you ended the dance facing away from the crowd. You jerked your hand to pretend like you were shooting a gun into the alleyway while a group of male dancers pretended to die.

The crowd cheered behind you but your mind was already beating yourself up. Already going over what you could have done better. It’d help if your performances were recorded but for the “privacy of its patrons”, Rusty wouldn’t let anyone record inside. Phones had to be off or silent and there were plenty of bouncers willing to break expensive phones to ensure everyone’s “safety”.

Among the last to leave the stage, you turned to walk back to the dressing room. It didn’t feel like thirty minutes went by. You were sweating buckets though. Fat little droplets soaking your leotard and dripping from your temples.

“Aye!” You turned to the sound. “Over here!”

You knew better than to follow some strange sound around backstage, but the voice sounded familiar. Like warm caramel. You looked towards the front, where a bouncer stood to ensure that no one slipped past the curtain.

“Over here!” You walked towards the darkened back, following the sound. There stood Fontaine, standing behind a storage door. He smirked when he saw you.

“What are you doing back here?” You rushed over to him, pushing him into the storage room. You looked for people behind you. This area was where dancers left so it was hardly used for anything else. There were old decorations here, forgotten sets that needed to be stripped and repainted.

Fontaine’s callused hands pulled you into the storage room. Somehow, he found the lone lamp that worked and the soft light filled the room. It was junky. Full of chairs, tables, tablecloths. The overflow supplies.

“You said if we bumped into each other again, you’d tell me your name,” he said.

“This isn’t bumping into each other,” you pointed out. Your hands were still around his arms and his hands had relocated your hips.

“Sheeit, this is better,” he said.

You shook your head. “What are you doing here, gangsta boy?” You asked.

“Tell me your name first,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, letting you get a glimpse of his dark eyes.

A deal was a deal, you guessed. You told him your name and he rolled it around his tongue like cotton candy. “I like that, suits you,” he said.

“Your turn,” you said.

“Scarlets run this place, you ain’t know?” He asked.

“You work for Porter Sommer?” You asked. Porter Sommer was a ruthless drug kingpin that ran all of South Central. There wasn’t shit that went down in the hood that he didn’t have a fat little finger in. You’d only seen him once and it was enough to turn your stomach. He had dead eyes like a shark.

“He ain’t all that, I swear,” Fontaine said, shaking his head. “He the only nigga that give back ‘round here.”

“Give back? He got kids doing drugs in the parking lot before their parents pick them up. He shake niggas down for every last nickel they got,” you said.

“That ain’t us. That’s that bitch Shayne,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. “I ain’t come here for all that. I saw you on stage and I had to tell you that you were amazing.”

Now that you knew who he worked for, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue dealing with him. You hadn’t given much thought to which side of the street he fell on. The Crips and the Bloods thought they were the top bosses in LA, aggressively defending square blocks they didn't own.

Porter Sommer and Shayne Blandford were the real OGs. They actually bought up the houses and stores on the blocks, doing their hardest to outbid each other at every opportunity. They both preyed on the weak and didn’t care who got caught in their crossfires.

Fontaine looked at you with such admiration though. Like he saw you. Like you weren’t just another dancer on stage. That he saw you with the same lights shining on you that you pictured in your head.

You stepped away from him to try to get some clarity. Obviously, touching him and getting that close to him was addling your brain. You were seriously thinking about entertaining a bad boy. One of the worst.

“What do you do for Porter then?” You asked. You crossed your arms.

Fontaine sighed and leaned back against an old desk. It wobbled under his weight and he looked down at it but then turned his attention back to you. “Do it matter? You gon’ judge me for it anyway,” he said.

“I’m not judging that you’re a corner boy. I’m judging that you work for Porter. That man is…scary,” you said.

“He a’ight,” Fontaine said with a shrug. “And I ain’t no corner boy no mo. Ya boy moved up and shit,” he said. He smirked and you could see him puffing his chest out. You giggled. He looked so proud of that fact.

You wanted to keep up your defenses against him. You wanted to walk out of the room and tell him to get lost. You could not get your head turned out by a gangsta. You didn’t have the heart for that kind of life. Why did you have to meet someone like him and he was bad news?

“Moved up how?” You asked.

“Protection services,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t fight the grin that ran across your face. Whether he was outside or in this dingy ass room, he carried the same level of magnetism. Charisma.

“I cannot with you,” you said.

Fontaine stood up and slowly walked over to you. He had a mean ass lean to it that caused your stomach to flip in response. He was the total package, both in looks and wit. But, but, but.

He stood before you and clasped his hands behind his back. “I feel something. And I know you feel something too. I’d like to get to know you, sweetheart. Let me change your mind about gangstas,” he said.

“I don’t pay attention to words, gangsta boy. Your world is dangerous,” you said.

“You watch too many movies. Real gangstas talk and shit,” he said. He smirked and swayed from side to side. He was hypnotic. You swayed with him like he casted a spell on your body. Each word he spoke wove magic through your veins.

“Oh, really? Bunch of backroom deals and offers people can’t refuse?” You asked. You began to back towards the door. The only way to survive Fontaine was to escape. To remove yourself from the situation. With his voice and the way he spun words, he’d be liable to talk you right off of the City Hall building.

“Let me find out you like gangsta movies and you just giving me a hard time,” he said. He looked at you and slowly began to approach you. You had nowhere left to go. Your back was against the door.

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time,” you said. You moved your hand behind you until your hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob. Fontaine’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile. Dammit, you wanted to see him smile.

His minty breath fanned across your face as he leaned closer. You bit your lip. “I’on know if you heard me, but I’m in the protection game now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again, I’m gon’ give you the world,” he said.

You smiled, letting his words fill up your head like fresh, doughy clouds after a storm. Plenty of people talked a good game. There was a long line of disappointing men who talked and talked but never backed it up. Starting with your daddy. Fontaine’s voice had the deep rumble of conviction behind it. He meant every single word. And you had no doubt that he could back it up.

But, but, but.

“I can’t be bought, Fontaine. I never asked for the world,” you said.

“I know. I’m gon’ give it to you anyway. With a matching moon,” he said.

You dropped your eyes from his intense gaze. The light didn’t quite reach this far, so you two practically stood in shadow. He blended into the shadow. Welcomed it. Like he lived and breathed in it.

“I’m a man of action. And I’ll prove it.” He dropped his head and kissed you. Electricity zapped your lips. His kiss was languid. Slow. Tongue already working its way inside your mouth like it owned it. Your hands came around his neck to pull him closer.

The kiss was intense, disconcerting. He knew exactly what to do too, alternating kisses and little nibbles. Your wet lips smacked against his and your pussy throbbed. He pushed you into the door, hands gripping onto your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

If he was magnetic before, it paled in comparison to touching him. Feeling him. You felt him everywhere. Each kiss sucked you further down into the shadows with him and you never wanted to taste the light again.

You paused here and took a deep breath. Mr. Gates cleared his throat and paused the recorder. “Do you want to skip this part?” He asked.

So kind. Mr. Gates was always so kind. He was a rare breed compared to all the men in your life. Especially when compared to Fontaine. However, Fontaine had no equal. There was no one who came close.

That first kiss ought to have been where you drew the line. You knew better than to sit in storage rooms with strange men and let them kiss you. Let them feel on your booty. Just remembering it, brought heat to your cheeks and to your core. You felt the ghost of Fontaine’s hands on your legs, on your hips. That playful smirk tickling your neck.

You shook your head. “I just need a minute. I-I need him to know that it was always real for me. That I went into it with both eyes open,” you said.

Mr. Gates nodded and got up, leaving his office for a moment. Your mind wandered, thinking back to those early days. From bumping into Fontaine to everything that followed after. Like the Hand of God tripped you over Fontaine’s feet so that you would meet. Would know. So that you would know each other and know what it was like to love with your entire body.

Moments later, you collected yourself. Mr. Gates seemed to know exactly when. He came back into the office without any prodding from you. You smiled at his kind, grandfatherly face. He had white hair sticking out the sides of his head. You bet he was a player when he was younger.

“Would you like to continue?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “Yes, where was I? Um…so, Fontaine did exactly that. He proved with more than his words that we had something songs got written about…”

Fontaine attended every performance every night you worked. You were still in the background and he looked at you as if the spotlight was on you. He didn’t help your ego at all.

After every night, he’d somehow sneak backstage with a single red rose to tell you that you were the best dancer up there. He stole kisses after each one too. At this point, you didn’t know why you were still resisting him. You weren’t some prude waiting for a man to drop to one knee; you didn’t believe in that shit.

There was something a little hot about making him sweat it out. Something a little erotic about heavy petting and making out and living in the moment spent with your lips colliding and tongues exploring. With his hands around your ass and your hand rubbing him over his jeans.

You hadn’t had many occasions to lust after someone. Sometimes guys made you crane your neck, but you had a single minded focus that saw you through your shitty childhood, through your awkward teenage years, through screaming matches, and slammed doors. You got what you needed from guys, the only things they were really good for, and you left them high and dry. You left them while spit flew from their mouths as they called you bitches, hos, and anything else their little brains could think of.

Funny how once you treated boys how they treated you, you were suddenly the devil incarnate.

But you lusted. Every dip of Fontaine’s hips made your body respond in kind. Like he had a direct line to your pussy and constantly tugged on it to drive you crazy. He knew the effect he had on you too.

He always made sure to blow you a kiss while you were on stage. When he smirked, he liked to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. He made sure to grab your ass while making out, squeezing them like trying to get juice from a lemon. Oh and when he got to rubbing his stubble along your neck, your eyes would roll back and he’d tell you to quit being so cute before he dicked you down.

Fontaine made you hot and bothered. In more ways than one. As much as you were interested in him, you still hated what he had to do to survive. You understood the game, but it didn’t mean you had to love it.

When you weren’t on stage and you were taking your break, waiting for the next set, you would sneak out to the front of the house so that you could see the performances, see what worked and what didn’t. Sometimes you’d grab a drink and wait for Fontaine to sneak away to kiss you.

And sometimes you’d see him heading to the private rooms, escorting your fellow dancers and whichever powerful men wanted to use them for the night. Rusty was always there with a grin on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. It was disgusting.

Rusty never touched anyone but your best friend Kimmy. He took one look at her and fell ass over teakettle for your sweet friend who had a kid to look after. On top of paying her a little more, Rusty rented an apartment for Kimmy and her kid. She didn’t think anything of the little bargain. One man was better than a revolving door.

Sometimes anger boiled in your veins at the mere thought. You wanted to burn this place to the ground. It was true that you chose to come here, night after night. However, dancing was the only thing that kept the anger at bay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true anymore.

As Fontaine walked around the tables on his way to you, you found unexpectedly that his presence tamed the wildness of your anger. It wasn’t completely gone. The slightest thing would set you off. Until you bubbled over like a volcanic eruption, burning everything and everyone in your path. You weren’t like that with Fontaine. You didn’t want to be like that with Fontaine. And all it took was a few dozen roses and sweet stolen kisses.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. He was starting to grow his hair out. Since he moved to protection, he started dressing a little fancier. Dickies instead of jeans, plain T-shirts instead of whatever graphic tee caught his fancy.

Fontaine dressed all in black did things to your libido that wasn’t fit for mixed company. The short sleeved black tee seemed like he bought a size down on purpose, to emphasize his muscles.

“Hey you,” you said.

“Isaac was telling me about the Fair. We should go,” he said.

“The Fair? What we gonna do there?” You asked.

“I’on know. Fair shit,” he said, that damn smirk. You were going to get him to smile if it was going to be the last thing you did on this earth.

“You gon’ win me a teddy bear?” The question popped out before you could think about it and snatch it right back. You wished you could swallow the words, unring the bell, and ask him something different. Something that wasn’t a little too close to home. You always wanted someone to win you a teddy bear from one of those Fair games, carry it around for you.

But that shit was for other, softer girls and men who actually gave a damn. For TV movies and shows with people who didn’t look like you.

“I’m gon’ win the biggest one. So Friday night?” He asked.

“Friday night,” you agreed, little butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

“It’s a date sweetheart,” he said. He kissed your cheek and you watched his generous backside as he went back to the backrooms, making sure your friends were safe. As much as they could be.

When he approached the door, Issac came out of it looking self satisfied. The corner of your mouth lifted in a grimace. Isaac was attractive but something was throwing you off about him. Whether it was his vibe or the oily way he looked at everybody, Fontaine included, you made a mental note to get the full story behind them.

It was obvious that they were close and did next to everything together. Issac said something to Fontaine who shook his head but bumped fists with Isaac. It’d have to be none of your business for now.

Friday night rolled around and Fontaine was punctual in his champagne colored 90s Cadillac. You didn’t know much about cars, but you knew enough to appreciate the craftsmanship and that Fontaine lovingly took care of it.

It was shined to gleaming, silver chrome glinting from the streetlamps. Night was fast approaching and you had a long drive to Pomona, to the Fairgrounds. It was the first time in his car and you had to admit, you were a little nervous.

Fontaine got out of the car and you had to whistle at him. He wore black jeans, black boots, and a red flannel buttoned up. The top two buttons were out, giving you a peek of a black tank underneath. He wore his signature jacket, the same one he wore when you met. You had half a mind to say fuck the Fair and invite him inside.

“I know where yo nasty ass mind is at,” he said as he came around to the street to greet you with a kiss on your cheek. He handed you a single red rose.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” You asked.

“I know I look good,” he said. He smirked and stepped out, showing you his outfit. He dusted invisible lint from the front of his shirt and you laughed.

“You really do look good,” you said.

“But you look good enough to lick on,” he said. He bit his lip and eyed your outfit, a spaghetti strap dress with a modestly low neckline and blue and red ombre colors. It started out royal blue at the top until it began to lighten around the hips, turning into a jam red at the bottom.

“And you call me nasty,” you said. You tapped his shoulder and his cheeks puffed up. You half thought you were going to get a smile but he stopped himself at the last minute.

“Just telling the truth. Matter of fact, you look too damn good. I’on wanna spend the night catching bodies behind yo cute ass,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. Fontaine said the cutest shit sometimes. Threatening murder behind you was not sexy, but when it dropped from his lips it was. It was a type of possession you didn’t think you craved, but you did. You wanted to belong to him in every sense of the word.

Fontaine escorted you into the street and opened the door for you. You slid inside his car, smoothing your dress over the leather seats. It smelled clean, like some type of mountain scent laced with the particular smell of weed. Fontaine closed the door and walked around the front, climbing in himself.

Low, thumping hip hop music was on in his car and you looked at him. This was different. He was different. And you only wanted to see where the night took you.

As Fontaine got onto the 10 freeway, he got comfortable and leaned back in his seat. The seat was further back still and you got the sense that it stayed a little too far back on purpose. He kept his left hand on the wheel and dropped his other hand to your knee.

You looked at it and it felt right. His hand was warm across your knee and you sunk into the seat, placing your hand over his. The corner of his mouth lifted as you began to speak and get to know each other beyond just his kisses.

“How long you think you gon’ be a gangsta?” You asked.

“Damn girl. Not even gon’ ask me what my favorite color is?” He asked. The red lights from the cars in front of you lit up his face and you found that red suited him well. The starkness of the color played across his features in a way that made him seem timeless.

“I already know what yo favorite color is,” you said.

“What?” He asked. He rubbed this thumb across your knee and you lost the ability to think for a minute.

Everybody Loves the Sunshine played on his stereo and you shook your thoughts loose finally. “It’s purple,” you said.

Fontaine chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, you been paying attention to a nigga, huh?” He asked.

“Whatever, Fontaine,” you said.

“Love it when you say my name. You draw it out and shit,” he said.

“I do not! Just answer my question!”

Fontaine was silent for a moment, weaving in and out of crazy LA traffic. Every year it got worse and worse. To the point that you almost didn’t want to leave the house most days. It was why you started taking the train more. It sucked, but it beat dealing with the mu’fuckas that continued to flock here chasing their paper dreams.

“I’on know how to do anything else. That 9-5 ain’t me,” he finally said, his voice smooth and low. “I need to know if that’s ever going to be a problem. If you can ever accept that this is the life I’m in.”

He slanted his eyes towards you. This was the most serious you’d ever seen him. And Fontaine was a pretty serious person more often than not. He got this look in his eyes, like he saw the world burning before him and didn’t want to bother grabbing a bucket of water to help. Like he liked it.

“I won’t promise to never speak on it. I’m…scared to lose you,” you said. You were surprised it was true. You made him sweat for a month, turning down his date ideas just to see what he would do. Testing him, you supposed. If he was in it for you or for what you had between your legs. Usually you could tell the difference with perfect accuracy.

When it came to Fontaine, nothing was certain. And you didn’t know if that scared you to the point of attraction, or turned you on to the point of fear.

Fontaine squeezed your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that, sweetheart. It’s me and you,” he said.

Me and you. Those three little words planted themselves inside you, taking root and growing vines around your bones. Sprouting leaves in your lungs and stretched towards your brain, filling it with the oxygen you needed to breathe. Three little words. The wonder of it brought unexpected tears to your eyes.

You grinned at Fontaine. For the rest of the car ride, you got to know more about him. More about his little brother who was killed and why he joined the Scarlets. Why he took up a gun and was never putting it down again.

It made more sense in context. The circumstances were always fucked in the hood. And the tender heart you tried so hard to guard against all evil only broke more for Fontaine. He told you about how his mother retreated into herself. Only got herself together long enough to fake the funk at work and then disappeared into her room.

With mounting bills and not wanting to live off anyone, Fontaine did what any other Black male did in his situation. He grew up.

You told him about your toxic childhood. How your parents alternated between fighting and fucking. That when your dad was lost to the drink, he’d look at you like you were a stranger. And when he sobered up, he looked at you like you were a princess atop a castle. You never knew which side you were going to wake up to.

You told him about your mother and how she always seemed to be jealous of you. Like there was some aspect about how she raised you that she didn’t like. That it was your fault for taking her instruction to heart and not giving a fuck about what anyone said. You wanted something, you went after it.

There was no love in your house so you got out when you were 17 and never looked back. Fuck them. You didn’t want to stay in that house anyway.

Reaching the Fairgrounds, you and Fontaine turned to lighter subjects. How or why you got into dancing. Your favorite dancer was Debbie Allen. You wanted to be her so badly that you studied every move she ever made. That you went for ballet because that was where she started.

She was able to get into TV but that wasn’t really where you wanted to be. Maybe when you got older and your knees started to rebel. For right now, you just wanted to dance. To be free.

You held hands with Fontaine, talking and laughing while you pulled each other around the Fairgrounds. You’d only been once, when you were younger, and hadn’t bothered since then.

There were rides and the sizzling smells of meat that made your mouth water. Desserts, weird food combinations like a Krispy Kreme donut burger, and the sounds of children’s laughter. The ground was littered with wrappers, coupons, and papers.

Fontaine paid for your play cards, dropping a wad of money that made your eyes bug out. He kissed your cheek and told you to go nuts. Anything you wanted to do or try. There was no limit. You told him that he was crazy.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. You grinned and dragged him everywhere. On the ferris wheel, on the spinning ride, and on the zero gravity one until your stomach hurt so badly that you had to sit down. Your head spun painfully and Fontaine rubbed your hand while you giggled about it.

You went into the funhouse with its crazy mirrors. Fontaine only had one request, that you go on the haunted ride with him. You were determined to stay far away from it. You hated the feeling of being scared. He peppered your cheeks with kisses until you relented and got on with him.

You suspected that was his plan all along. To have you clutch onto him for dear life. He chuckled at your theatrics but didn’t make you feel bad.

“Come on, girl, I got you,” he said. He kissed your cheek and pulled you into the safe embrace of his arms. You giggled. You was gon’ have his babies if he kept doing cute shit like this.

After that ride, you settled on Pink’s for dinner. The smoke from the truck was whipped into the sky by a bitter breeze. You should have brought a jacket. You forgot how fucking cold it got at night out here.

Without saying a word, Fontaine made you wear his jacket. You attempted to tell him that it was okay, if nothing else yo mama ain’t raise no bitch, but he refused to take it back. “I’m hot anyway,” he said.

You grinned, looking up at him. He winked at you and ordered you food. You ate and laughed and talked about nothing in particular. Shit you found on TV. Movies you happened across. Books you’ve read. Music you listened to.

You yawned and leaned your head against him after another round of rides and dessert. A huge funnel cake topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. Fontaine had to help you finish it in the end.

“You gon’ have to roll me out of here after all this,” you said, licking your spoon for every wayward swipe of chocolate and smacking your lips with a loud pop. When Fontaine didn’t say anything, you turned towards him. His gaze was fixed on your mouth.

“Fontaine?” You asked.

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you closer. He licked the corner of your mouth and you moaned, feeling his hot tongue on your cold face. He hummed in the back of his throat.

“Delicious,” he said.

He pulled back with a smirk, rubbed your chin, and pulled back. Your whole body heated. Cascading down your body in waves. You rubbed your thighs together, wetness starting to pool in your panties.

“We got a little more to spend before we dip. Let’s get you that teddy bear,” he said.

“I was just joking about that,” you said. You gulped around the tension. So thick, it stuck in your throat.

“I wasn’t,” he said. He stood up from the bench and held out his hand. You took it, hand fitting his like a glove. He threw out the plate you finished up and tucked you into his side while he walked.

In the middle of the grounds, there was a row of carnival games like ring toss and popping balloons. There was also a basketball hoop. Fontaine made a beeline for it, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. A staff member scanned the play card and loaded up the basketballs for Fontaine.

He tested the balls and soon, started sinking ball after ball. Your mouth dropped open. He could’ve been a basketball player with that lethal game! The staff member told you to pick out a small teddy bear. Fontaine stopped you.

“One game is a small teddy bear, but three mediums is a big one right?” Fontaine asked.

The staff member, some pimply kid, popped his gum and nodded. Fontaine loaded up more games, winning each and every one until you had three medium ones and exchanged it for a giant fuzzy teddy bear. It was so big! You squealed when the staff member handed it to Fontaine. He chuckled at your reaction.

You squeezed one of the arms and couldn’t help jumping up and down. You were happy to take the small teddy bear. But the fact that he kept going made your heart soar. “Worth it just to see your face,” he said. You kissed his cheek a hundred times and he finally smiled.

It felt like your world narrowed to that expression on his face. Watching his whole face light up and eyes crinkle. He had a wide smile that took up his whole face. His smile was infectious but you were too dumbstruck to smile back.

“Come on,” you said. You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

“Where we going?” He asked.

“I wanna remember tonight. And you better smile!” He chuckled while you pulled him to the nearest photobooth. You probably should have done this before winning the bear, but fuck it. Tonight had been nothing short of perfect and you wanted to capture this moment the best way you could think of. Like those shows and movies did. With something real. Not just something captured on your phone.

You wanted it in your hands. You wanted to slide it into a binder so that you could look at it over and over while in class. Daydream about him in between lockers and free time. Glance at him from across the way on the courtyard. Dance with him at Homecoming. He made you feel young, like you were back in high school with your first crush. Fontaine was everything. Absolutely everything.

The teddy did fit, and you scooted in first. Fontaine chuckled and sat down next to you. He swiped the card and it began to give you instructions. Fontaine was serious the first go around, mean mugging the camera.

“Forreal this time!” You giggled.

Fontaine sighed and rubbed his head. “A’ight, a’ight,” he said. He loaded it up once more. He kissed you in the first picture. Then you did a few silly ones. He tickled you for one of them. On the last one, you couldn’t think of what to do next. So you just looked at him. He looked at you. The camera flashed and you saw it reflected in his beautiful eyes.

You continued staring at each other until the booth buzzed, wanting to know how many copies you wanted. You printed two and finally scooted out. Fontaine scooped up the two cards and you placed your head on his shoulder to look at them.

“Thank you, Fontaine. For everything,” you said. He just…he had no fucking clue what tonight meant to you.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart. You ain’t gotta thank me for this,” he said.

“Yes, I do. And I know just how to thank you,” you said. Your voice turned a little flirty and you lifted your head to look at him. He looked down at you and smirked.

“Is that right?” He asked, licking his lips.

“Yup. We better get back to my place before my roommate gets home,” you said.

Fontaine took your hand and tugged you towards the entrance. You giggled the entire way, feeling giddy and light in a way you hadn’t in a really long time. Fontaine gave you that. Gave you that freeing feeling back. You thought you’d lost it when you accepted that your parents didn’t know how to love you.

His Cadiallac sped down the open freeway, too late for the out of town mu’fuckas to fuck it up for everyone else. The windows were down and the wind rushed through the car with wild abandon. He drove safely, but fast towards your place, hand on your knee the whole way.

The tension was back with a vengeance. Like you were both standing on top of a cliff somewhere ready to dive off. Heat pooled along with your arousal between your thighs and you couldn’t stop clenching them.

Lust. Lust was a powerful thing. Detonating bombs in your core until you were practically drunk on them. Looking forward to them. Until there was only the dirty thoughts running through your mind and the feel of his callused hand on your knee.

Fontaine managed to find a spot on your street. You were on the wrong side of Stocker, where you had to get to the spot faster than your neighbor. Fontaine got out first and then opened the door for you. He even grabbed the teddy for you so he didn’t have to come back outside for it.

You pulled him into your crappy apartment that you shared with Kimmy. Considering Rusty was paying for it, it could have been worse. You still owed rent to him and had to clear out when he wanted to ditch his wife and come mess with Kimmy. She was out with her son and likely wouldn’t be back until sometime Sunday. You didn’t tell Fontaine this. You didn’t want him to think that you were plotting on him.

But you were. You weren’t sure if he was the type to stay after sex, or once he got off, he was already looking for his pants. You wouldn’t really bring him upstairs if it was the latter. You got the feeling that he was a little clingy under that hard facade.

You only turned on enough light to get across the living room and into your room. You turned on the lamp. Both of you were breathing heavily. Bodies preparing to experience an unparalleled pleasure.

Fontaine gripped your hips and you giggled, accepting the kiss he laid on you. The ones before had been tame. He had been holding himself back. These were wilder. Crazier. Lips smashing into yours with a desperate plea to get closer and stay closer.

He pushed his jacket off of your shoulders and you worked on the buttons of his flannel. He helped you pull it off of him and you licked your lips at your first real look at his body. At the tattoos down both sides of his arms. You didn’t have time to catalog them all, but you would eventually. You were going to lick and trace every single one of them.

He was thick in all the right places. A hard stomach and big arms. His stubble tickled your chin while he started to kiss your cheeks and your neck. You were a twisting mess of flailing arms and legs trying to get out of your sandals, his shoes, and his pants while working your way over to the bed.

You pushed him to sit on it and he bounced with a small chuckle. You dropped to your knees, tugging at the zipper of his jeans. “Yo, what you doin’? Ladies first,” he said.

You leaned up and kissed him. “I appreciate that, but I said I wanted to thank you proper,” you said.

“Sheeit, don’t let me stop you then,” he said. He grinned, gifting you with another rare smile from him. It fueled your desire.

You tore desperately at his pants and briefs, freeing his long, thick dick. You moaned at the sight of it. The tip already weeped, precum beading. You swiped your tongue at it and Fontaine moaned, rolling his neck.

You continued to please him, licking him in certain spots trying to learn what turned him on. What made his dick twitch in your hands or his balls jerk. You wrapped your lips around his thick head and sucked him down.

“Fuck! Just like that!” Fontaine groaned. His hands disappeared into your braids, tugging on it. You groaned around his dick and he hissed in return. You batted your eyes at him and sucked him for real this time. No more teasing. No more games. No more tests.

You drooled on his dick, growing wetter at the act. You could practically feel him inside you already, ruining you for any other man. You used both of your hands to please him where your mouth couldn’t reach.

Sputtered words and soft commands filled your ears on top of you gulping him down. “Mm, suck that shit down, sweetheart,” he groaned.

That spurred you on, that you were doing a good job. You gripped his thighs and leaned up to take more of him. “Gah damn,” he said and licked his lips.

You took him in deeper, as far as you were able without using your hands. You breathed where you could. The only thing that mattered was letting him know what this night meant to you. What he meant to you.

You slurped on his dick, letting the spit lube up more of his dick for you to slide on him. His moans grew louder, fingers clutching your braids harder. “I’m finna bust,” he groaned.

You kept going. As if that was supposed to stop you? That was the goal! You wanted him to bust. You wanted to empty his balls into your mouth. You wanted to taste every ounce of his cum in the back of your throat.

He gasped and he was unleashing himself inside you, filling your mouth with him. You swallowed him down and moaned, arousal leaking from you. Pussy throbbing.

Fontaine grabbed his dick and pulled him from your mouth, tapping the head against your lips. You kissed him and he smirked. “You a bad one, ain’t you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Oh? You a good girl?” He asked.

You nodded. He hummed, the low vibration sending signals down to your pussy. “Good girls get rewards don’t they?”

You nodded, too struck dumb by him to say anything else. What was there to say? If you opened your mouth, all kinds of sticky, gooey, lovey dovey shit would fall out and you’d never been good at that.

Fontaine stood up and helped you to stand, he kissed you, not caring that he just finished in your mouth. You loved a nasty nigga. He unzipped your dress and kissed your shoulders while it fell from your body.

He unhooked your strapless bra, freeing your titties and licking his lips at the look of you. “Like two little chocolate kisses for me,” he said. His lips descended on them, suckling each one and learning the shape and feel of them in his mouth.

His hands worked your panties off, pushing them off your legs. He kissed on your chest as he laid you down and now it was his turn to get on his knees. His turn to push his head between your legs and suckle his way past your pussy lips.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. His tongue was a gift from the gods. Long and big, he flattened it against your pussy and moved his head in circles. Your breaths shuddered and your body twisted, legs shaking.

He pulled the orgasm from you like it was his divine right and you screamed out, lungs burning with the effort. Fontaine kissed your thighs and your belly, wiping your essence off on you.

“Let me taste,” you begged. Fontaine chuckled and climbed up your body and kissed you, letting you taste just how wild he made you. You scratched up and down his chest and back, pulling him closer.

“Let me feed you this dick,” he said.

“Feed it to me, baby,” you moaned.

He gifted you with another grin. Wide smile and crinkly eyes that you wanted to swim in. He pushed his jeans completely off and next went his black tank. He didn’t have any tattoos across his spacious chest and you ran your hands over him, learning every mole or scratch on him.

He had a faint scar across his shoulder and you traced it with your thumb. You didn’t have time to ask him about it before his dick was pushing at your entrance.

You hissed and pushed on his chest. You were sure you were wet enough, but he was still massive. “Slow! Slow!” You cried.

He tilted his head and moved his hips, pushing deeper into you. Once the tip was in, he shoved all the way in with one hard thrust. You gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he stretched you out with a bite of pain.

You slapped at his shoulder. “I said slow!”

He chuckled and kissed you, trying to ease the sting. “I can’t help it. You so fuckin’ wet. I need you,” he moaned. He fed you long, deep strokes touching a deep, sweet place inside of you that might’ve been your soul. Like he wanted to write his name in the very fabric of you and never lose you.

You gasped as he delivered these strokes, hissing when he hit that deep spot again and again. Your legs began to shake in earnest. “Mhm, don’t hold it, sweetheart. Let that shit go and lemme feel it.”

“Fon-tai–” you moaned.

“Shhh, I know you wanna call my name. I know you do. But all you gotta do is focus on that nut. Focus on my voice,” he asked.

He stretched you perfectly. And from how much arousal there was, it was staining your sheets. You were sliding up and down on his dick now, titties flapping from the strength of his strokes.

He moaned, watching the expressions play out over your face. He cupped one of your titties, pushing down to hold you in place while he fucked you. “Mhm, doing so good, sweetheart. So good, focusing on you. Focusing on what I’m giving you.”

“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Shit, just like that baby. Grip it just like that,” he moaned.

Your cries turned wild, keening, and loud while you gripped onto him and shook and twitched through your orgasm. He hummed while you did so. Satisfied with himself.

“You-you didn’t…”

“I know, turn over,” he said. His deep voice let you know that he wasn’t playing. Somehow, you found the strength to flip over. He smacked your ass, watching it jiggle.

He entered you once more and you cried out. You would never get used to his size. Never get used to him slamming and stroking inside of you.

“Fuck!” You moaned.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. Hear how he knew exactly what you needed.

He gripped big chunks of your ass and used it like handles to slam you down on his dick, faster, and harder. Your elbows ached from trying to brace yourself against him. You slammed back, giving as much as you were taking.

“Ouue, that’s my good girl. You show me what you got,” he encouraged.

You continued to throw it back, craning your neck in time to see him throw his head back, surrendering to your pussy. It was enough to make you cry out, back bowing to another powerful, earth-shattering, world-altering orgasm.

“Take that shit, baby,” he moaned and then finally climaxed, pumping you full of his delicious cum.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I need it, baby,” you moaned.

“I know you do,” he grunted as his dick stopped pulsing. His cum leaked out of you as he pulled out. He spread your ass cheeks to watch. He slapped your ass when you were sure no more would come out. You were thoroughly stuffed like a twinkie.

Fontaine left the room and you collapsed forward onto the bed, strength leaving you. A bit of nervousness crept in its place though. You wanted to ask him to stay. You wanted to roll over and be all sexy and enticing. As much game as you talked, sometimes you had moments where you couldn’t make your mouth move.

Fontaine came back into the room with a warm rag to clean you off. You moaned and he rubbed your ass as he cleaned off your thighs as well. You sluggishly rolled over and smiled at him.

“You’re so damn cute,” he said.

“You are,” you said and smiled.

“When yo roommate getting home?” He asked.

You shrugged and looked away from him. “Um, I think she said she doing something this weekend,” you said.

“So you gon’ be home alone?” He asked.

You shrugged again and played with the edge of a pillow. “Yeah, I think so.”

The bed dipped as Fontaine sat down on it. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. You didn’t want to. You tried to fight him. But he only smirked and held on. You looked at him and he tilted his head.

“Do you want me to stay, sweetheart?” He asked.

“Only if you want to,” you said.

He shook his head and pecked your lips. “Be a good girl for me and tell me you want me to stay,” he said.

He smiled and you rolled your eyes. He got on your damn nerves. But you couldn’t quit him.

“I want you to stay, please.”

He nodded and kissed you. Then he pulled you further onto the bed and tucked you under the covers. He defied any expectation you had of his gender. He really was killing it for anyone else.

Though, as sweet as he was being, you knew that there would never be anyone else.

Me and you.

You stopped here and wiped a runaway tear sliding down your cheek. You sniffled. You were both a couple of fools. Two fools in love. In a love that blinded you to anything else.

You should have told him to go. Should have told him that one night was all you could have. Even thinking that, your chest seized like your heart was being compressed under a massive weight.

There was no you without Fontaine. And there was no Fontaine without you, you hoped.

Check out the Tyrone masterlist if you need more in your life! The Secret Tyrone Files

Graphics by saradika-graphics

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gougarfem · 5 months

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how was the process of getting a dumbphone!

oh my god this is something i'm so excited to talk about, sorry it took me so many months to respond!

getting a dumbphone improved my quality of life so so much. i knew my screentime was high, but didn't realise it was a genuine psychological addiction until i quit. the first few days were extremely rough. time seemed to pass about ten times slower, and i was forced to fill the hours with various hobbies and activities. i know we all love to tell people to touch grass, but i really did have to connect with nature and it did wonders for my mental health.

i think for the first three days i was constantly restless and horribly irritable, looked around for my phone every few minutes, felt intense boredom and even cried a few times lol. your addiction may not be as extreme as mine was and this varies from person to person. however, after about a week i realised i remembered everything i'd done each day, because it was filled with intentional activities and little moments of peace rather than a blur of scrolling. i also wasn't on adhd meds yet, which is something i'll talk about in another post.

not having everything at your fingertips is uncomfortable, but (and it's a cliche) you really start to appreciate the world around you more. i looked forward to spending time with my family, because it filled time and i wasn't half-involved in my phone the entire time. i use an mp3 player to listen to music, and uploading music to it is a meaningful and interesting activity, rather than just shuffling a playlist. i listen to whole albums instead of being flooded with dopamine from spotify firing recommended songs at me. i appreciate music more, i make CDs for friends, i have to be intentional in discovering new artists and music. if i'm having an interesting conversation online, i look forward to going home and logging onto my laptop to continue it. i don't spend my commute, time in class, or time with friends texting somebody else. everything feels more intentional, spaced out, and interesting, even the things i do online.

i also found i stopped performing in every activity i did. i stopped thinking about whether i could post it to instagram or instantly send a picture in a discord server. i started picking up new hobbies for myself, not for an online audience, and living in the moment more. this is really important in the modern age, although again uncomfortable.

the best part was how my connections with others increased through having a dumbphone. i started calling friends rather than messaging on five platforms at once, and they started reciprocating. my message threads are continuous, coherent conversations, rather than sending memes. people realised they have to intentionally reach out to me, and i lost relationships with people who weren't interested in that, but strengthened connections with people who did put in the effort (many of whom i barely talked to in the past). i give people my phone number, not my social media handle, and they actually start conversations with me rather than hitting follow. i get to hear my friends' voices when they have drama to share and realise it takes me forever to type on my flip phone keyboard. again, everything is intentional, takes time, and richer than when i had a smartphone.

i genuinely would recommend it to absolutely everyone (i've kind of become like a crossfit guy in telling people to get a dumbphone lol). i won't pretend it's easy, and most people make excuses - for the first few months of having a dumbphone, i was bedbound or in hospital, and truly relied on online connections to pass time and communicate. it still hugely improved my life. however, no matter your situation there are always, always better options than scrolling an app, and you deserve to pass your time in a memorable way. i think most people don't realise they're addicted/reliant on smartphones, and the idea of quitting is horribly uncomfortable, but at least for me, the benefits were worth it.

i'm happy to answer any questions, i literally could talk about this topic for hours (even if it's stuff like "how would i use x app" "how would i replace x smartphone function").

ditch your smartphone babe, u deserve better <33

#asks #hystericelle #dumbphone #phone addiction

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harrisonarchive · 1 year

Photo

George Harrison, backstage in Philadelphia, PA, on August 16, 1966; photo by Bob Bonis.

“[George showed us] his music room, which has one wall covered with the famous Harrison guitars, his collection of Indian instruments and a small jukebox standing just by the door. I looked at the titles on the jukebox and there were very few Beatle songs amongst them. The Beach Boys, Mamas and Papas, Lovin’ Spoonful, the Stones were all well represented.” - The Beatles Monthly, January 1967

“George Harrison’s Fab Forty… George — like all the Beatles, incidentally — has his own juke box at his Esher home. It’s in his ‘den.’ Along with tape recorder, radio and record player. […] But back to the juke box. It’s a KB. Maybe you saw it in the film ‘Help’? Says George: ‘It’s so much easier to have all my favorite records on the juke box at once. It saves me going through piles of records to find the ones I want. Then when I get sick of them, I just throw them out and put some new ones in.” - Tony Hall, Record Mirror, January 1, 1966

George’s Top Ten… 1 “Harlem Shuffle” — Bob and Earl 2 “Good Things Come To Those Who Wait” — Chuck Jackson 3 “Be My Lady”/“Red Beans and Rice” — Booker T and the MGs 4 “Please Crawl Out Your Window” — Bob Dylan 5 “Baby, You’re My Everything” — Little Jerry Williams 6 “Back Street” — Edwin Starr 7 “Work, Work, Work” — Lee Dorsey 8 “The Little Girl I Once Knew” — The Beach Boys 9 “My Girl Has Gone” — The Miracles 10 “I Don’t Know What You’ve Got /But It’s Got Me)” — Little Richard (“[P]arts one and two — the second is George’s favorite.”)

The rest… 11 “I Can’t Turn You Loose” — Otis Redding 12 “My Girl” — Otis Redding 13 “I Believe I’ll Love On” — Jackie Wilson 14 “Plum Nellie” — Booker T and the MGs 15 “Everything Is Gonna Be Alright” — Willie Mitchell 16 “A Sweet Woman Like You” — Joe Tex 17 “Something About You” — The Four Tops 18 “I Got You” — James Brown 19 “Ain’t That Peculiar” — Marvin Gaye 20 “Turn, Turn, Turn” — The Byrds 21 “See Saw” — Don Covay 22 “I’m Comin’ Through” — Sounds Incorporated 23 “Don’t Fight It” — Wilson Pickett 24 “Bootleg” — Booker T and the MGs 25 “I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore” — The Young Rascals 26 “Respect” — Otis Redding 27 “Try Me”/“Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag” — James Brown (“instrumentals”) 28 “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long” — Otis Redding 29 “All Or Nothing” — Patty Labelle and her Belles 30 “Pretty Little Baby” — Marvin Gaye 31 “Oowee Baby, I Love You” — Fred Hughes 32 “The Tracks of My Tears” — The Miracles 33 “Yum Yum” — Joe Tex 34 “Agent 00 Soul” — Edwin Starr 35 “Money” — Barrett Strong 36 “Some Other Guy” — Ritchie Barrett (“George’s ‘Revived 45’ list — he’s dug these since they first came out.”) 37 “It Wasn’t Me” — Chuck Berry 38 “Mohair Sam” — Charlie Rich 39 “Let Him Run Wild” — The Beach Boys 40 “Do You Believe In Magic” — The Lovin’ Spoonful

“George really knows his records. It’s always a pleasure to talk to him about them.” - Tony Hall, Record Mirror, January 1, 1966 (x)

George's "Fab Forty" playlist: on YouTube, and on Spotify.

#George Harrison #quote #quotes about George #quotes by George #Kinfauns #George's jukebox #1966 #1960s #1967 #George's jukebox feature #fits queue like a glove

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garbinge · 8 months

Text

Foldin' Clothes

Steve Murphy x F!Reader For the @narcosfandomdiscord October Prompts. Day 2 - Day of Music: Put your favorite playlist on shuffle and whatever song comes up first, that’s your prompt. Summary: Song Inspo - Foldin Clothes - J.Cole // Steve makes a surprise visit home, but things aren't as picture perfect as either of you would like them to be. Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, regardless of content. Angsty. Mentions of illness, sickle cell disease, blood transfusions, etc. Fighting, arguing, not a happy ending, but not like too too harsh. Slight mentions of smut like blink and you'll miss it type stuff. A/N: First off shout out to Tay's fic inspo playlist for this one!!! Second, it doesn't exactly follow the tone of the song buuuuut it def takes from things said within it!

Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini

The sun from the window hit Steve’s eyes and stirred him awake. It took him a minute to come to, taking a few seconds to wipe his eyes with his watched hand and sit up to take in where he was. It wasn’t home, he wasn’t really sure if he had a real home these days, he technically lived in Colombia, in a small apartment building that he shared with other DEA agents, it was the furthest thing from home. He sold his house in Miami before leaving for Bogata, but that never felt like home either. This, where he was waking up, wasn’t home, but it was the closest he ever got to it.

He rolled over to find himself on the edge of the couch. Funny how it was probably the most comfortable night of sleep he had gotten in a while. You were pushed up against the backrest of the couch, looking completely at peace as light snores left your mouth. He smirked as he got up, taking a moment to look at the clock. 6:17AM. There was no way he was going to wake you up this early, no matter how much you would argue his ear off when you did wake up. Every minute was valuable since he was set to go back to Colombia tomorrow.

He didn’t think he was going to come visit you, but the minute he landed in Miami he was telling the taxi driver your address.

“Hey, can I use your phone? I need to tell my parents I won’t be able to come visit them on my break.”

Those were his first words to you. Of course you let him in, and he did just what he asked. Said something came up and that he wasn’t able to come home. And then ensued your night of catching up. You did what two people who were stupidly in love with each other would do, you had sex, you talked, you ate copious amounts of food, from all of Steve’s favorite Miami spots, you watched movies, but to say you really watched them was a stretch. Most of the time you were doing the previously mentioned items. You drank a lot of wine, Steve mentioned how it felt like forever since he had a glass of wine, his thirst was generally quenched by some sort of amber alcohol that was hidden in someone's drawer.

It was a great night, but a late one, which is why Steve was going to let you rest. He moved over to the pile of discarded clothes from the both of you and scooped them into his arms. His head moved back to make sure he didn’t miss anything before making his way to your laundry room. He knew his way around here, it helped that he stayed here pretty much daily for a year before he got pulled away to Colombia. Each room had a memory, some good, some bad. The laundry room’s memory wasn’t the best, the first thought that came to his head was his first kill on the job. It was a kid. He came home, and you were quick to meet him at the garage door and grab his things, tell him to disrobe and throw his dirty, bloody, clothes into the washing machine. It was your attempt at erasing every memory of the day that you could but it was too late. His words echoed in his head.

“That was the first person I ever shot, a teenager not even old enough to buy a 6-pack.”

This room was permanently tainted with it. But this time, after the initial thought, it felt lighter, it felt different, like things could be different.

Steve was tossing the clothes in the wash, grabbing the detergent and putting the machine to the right setting and then making his way back out to the kitchen. He saw you still on the couch, but now you were sprawled out completely taking up the entire space. It made him smile to himself, waking up with you, to the sight of you, it was something he’d never take advantage of again. As he entered the kitchen, he began to put together something for breakfast. He was careful in what he chose, wanting to keep the noise level low so as not to wake you. As he opened the cabinet above the fridge, he was met with an array of cereals, he laughed as the memory of you begging him to eat the raisin bran for once over the honeycomb came to his head. Something about the sugar.

As he looked around the rest of the kitchen, he noticed the slight mess of things, dishes in the sink, pots and pans uncleaned on the stove, bags of groceries still on the counter not put away. It would have been nothing if he didn’t know you, how you normally kept things around the house, but the real telling factor was the calendar on the fridge. It was filled with tasks and meetings, but what caught his eye was the amount of doctors appointments. It was constant, phlebotomy appointments, nutritionists, general practitioners, the list went on and on.

The bowl was now empty, just a little bit of milk and the remnants of honey comb still floating in the liquid. It was his third bowl, between the first and second he had made his way back into the wash room so he could switch over the laundry, it’s what caused him to stop focusing on the calendar on the wall trying to figure out what was happening. Now he was sitting there, windows open, looking out the backyard, seeing the palm trees sway from the wind, the clouds were rolling in, which meant there was a likely chance for a drizzle later, typical for Florida. To be honest he missed it, not the rain, or the palm trees, or even Miami even, but this yard, this house. Waking up like this, calm, being able to enjoy these mundane tasks, that was what he missed.

The ding from the dryer had brought him out of his thoughts, he was making his way to the wash room, taking a quick peak at you still to make sure the dryer bell didn’t wake you. You were back squished up against the backrest of the couch, the sight of it made him smile.

Folding clothes. Another thing that brought him back to that night. Folding the clothes that used to be soaked in blood, how easy it was to wash away the evidence of it, but yet somehow the memory was still so permanently in his mind. If he saw a therapist, they’d likely connect it to how that was the jumping off point to everything he’d gotten himself into since then. Colombia. Escobar. The whole thing. But that was the thing he didn’t see a therapist, the closest he got to it was a bottle of whiskey and a few mumbled words to Javier Peña, his DEA partner.

“My dad volunteered to fight in World War 2 because of Pearl Harbor. He laced up his army boots and went to fight. It was his duty. Cocaine in Miami? Kilos in Colombia? This is my war. This is my duty.”

Those were the words he spoke to you when he told you his assignment, where he was going. Before he could think of your response, your voice said something else, but this time in the present moment.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” The sound of your groggy voice brought Steve’s attention onto you as you leaned on the frame of the doorway.

“It was a late night, figured you needed rest.” Steve smiled at you as he was folding the last of the clothes.

“So this is what you came here for? To do my laundry.” You crossed your arms and got comfortable in the standing position you were in.

“Was trying to keep busy.” Steve chuckled as he tossed the last of the clothes in the basket above the dryer.

“Yea, you should have woke me up.” You kicked off the doorway and approached him, wrapping your arms around his middle and bringing him closer to you.

Steve fell into the embrace easily, his arms encasing you, his head resting on yours.

“When’s your flight?” You mumbled, not ready to break the embrace.

“8AM tomorrow.” His mouth was speaking just over your head before he placed a quick kiss there.

“24 hours.” You inhaled deeply as you accepted the fact. You pulled away from him, took a few seconds to look into his eyes, try and puzzle together what he was thinking that he wasn’t telling you.

“A lot can happen in 24 hours.” Steve spoke up, the comment was meant as a tease, as a flirtatious comment, and that’s how you took it, at first.

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips touched yours and his hands moved to cup your face. It was an attempt to bring you closer to him, for him to soak in every kiss, every touch, every feeling. You smelled the honeycomb on his breath and it made you laugh into the kiss.

“If you’re gonna sneak the sugary cereal you should learn how to hide the evidence.” You whispered to him in between kisses.

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps them in the house. Can’t blame me there.” He spoke back to you, his head resting on your forehead.

“Maybe I kept them there for you, you ever think of that?.” Your eyebrows raised and you could see his face change. It was slight, but you picked up on it immediately.

Steve however, pushed right by it and was immediately kissing you. You were propped up on top of the dryer and he was starting to move his hands under your clothes.

Before you even could realize it, he was inside you. Your hand was gripping the back tuff of his hair as he entered in and out of you, your head fell back as you felt every emotion ever get sent into overdrive. This was Steve, your Steve, he was back, he was here, and he was inside you and nothing could beat that emotion right now. Both of you didn’t last long, despite the countless times you went at it the night before, but it had been a long time for the both of you.

Steve had thrown his clothes back on and you were in the process of putting your shirt back on. He was quick to grab the shirt, bringing it down your body and situating it on correctly. He went back to resting his head against yours once you both were settled. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion come back over you.

“Tell me not to go.” Between Steve’s voice and what he said, it jolted you awake.

“What?” You didn’t need the clarification, but you did need another couple seconds to get your thoughts together.

“Tell me not to go.” He repeated himself, same tone, same voice.

“Steve.” You slipped by him now, breaking the closeness you had and made your way to the kitchen to grab breakfast for yourself.

He was behind you immediately.

“I’m being serious. Tell me not to go. I won’t go.” He said now with more firmness in his voice, putting that pressure on you.

“You know I can’t do that.” You said as you reached in the cabinet for a bowl.

“You can, just say it and I won’t leave for my flight tomorrow.” Steve was practically begging now. “I’ll stay here and we can eat take out from wherever, and I’ll do the laundry, fold the clothes for you, I’ll eat the fuckin’ raisin bran like you want me to.” His voice was pleading now.

“Steve. You can’t come here, unexpected, and then just throw this decision on me.” The sentence was true, but harsh, which is why you spoke it in a way that didn’t come out mean or strong.

“I’m not an idiot. I see what’s happening around here.” Steve raised his voice now. Your face twisted up and that was just more fuel for him. “You’re fucking sick. You told me that shit wasn’t serious, you let me leave when you knew what it was, you lied to me.”

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You were sick, you did tell him it wasn’t serious. But you did that for his own good, he needed to go to Colombia, staying back to take care of you would have meant resentment and stress, and fighting. You were never the couple that fought, you didn’t want to become that. The irony.

“But whatever, I don’t care about that. It’s clear you have a lot on your plate and I wanna help. I miss this. I miss waking up calm, I miss the fuckin’ palm trees, doing laundry.” In a quick instant he was back to pleading.

“Steve.” It was the only thing you could think to say at this moment.

“I wanna do the right thing.” His voice was soft and he had tears building up in his eyes.

You approached him, taking his head to rest on your shoulder as he cried. Standing there together you rubbed your hand up and down Steve’s back.

After a few moments of standing there in eachothers arms, you spoke up.

“You are doing the right thing.”

Steve didn’t speak, although you knew if he was going to say anything he was going to argue with you or deflect.

“I miss you.” Deflection.

You weren’t sure which was better of the two, at least with arguing there was a chance of getting down to an agreement or to some type of closure, deflection just buried things deeper. But instead of trying to pull at deeply rooted weeds, you decided to bring a new argument to him. For his own good.

“Can I be blunt?” You asked him, hand still tangled in his hair as you pulled away to look at him.

Steve just gave you a look, one that meant, ‘even if I say no you’re still going to say whatever it is.’ It made you smile, but you didn’t want to chuckle too much because you knew the next statement was going to sting.

“You don’t miss me. You miss normalcy. You miss home.” It was now that you fully pulled away and crossed your arms. There wasn’t anything angry about what you did, because you weren’t angry, you were just being honest. It didn’t hurt you, whatever Steve had going on in Colombia was bigger than anything you could understand. The things he’d probably seen, the things he’d probably done, it made this situation entirely different.

Before Steve got the chance to open his mouth, likely to now argue, you cut him off.

“You didn’t say you missed me once, until two seconds ago. You said you missed this,” you waved your hand around, “that you missed waking up calm, the palm trees, laundry.” Your head dipped to look directly into Steve’s eyes which were now staring at the floor as he knew you had made your point. “I’m not mad.” You added quickly to let him know, taking your hand to move his chin up to look at you. “I get it, I can’t even imagine what it’s like down there, how the lines blur, how heavy the days must feel, but you’re doing the right thing.”

There was something in Steve’s eyes, maybe it was sadness, maybe it was desperation, maybe it was a mix of both. But regardless you knew the question out of his mouth was coming sooner or later.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?” His hand was coming up to caress your face now.

“You wouldn’t have gone. I can’t be the reason you stay behind.” It was a easy answer, as hard as it was to get out.

“I would’ve wanted to stay.” He argued.

“You would have resented me, even if it wasn’t obvious.” You were doing a good job avoiding talking about being sick.

Steve scoffed and lowered his head before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “How bad is it?”

“It looks worse on paper than it is.” You turned around now, filling up a glass of water. “I’m at the doctor a lot to monitor my reactions to some new pain meds, sometimes I need the occasional blood transfusion, it’s normal for someone with sickle cell disease. But I haven’t needed one in a while.” You explained.

“You lying to me?” Steve asked, knowing this wasn’t a topic you wanted to stay on much longer.

“Through my teeth.” You smiled and caved. “I’m a part of a clinical study for sickle cell disease, it’s a genetic therapy thing. I know you hated the trials mentioned back–”

“No, no, it’s a good thing. I’m glad.” He was also lying through his teeth, you knew he hated the unsureness of a trial, but you also knew that he was aware he wasn’t in the position to make judgments on your choices.

“I’m okay, Steve.”

He nodded at that. “Can we just forget about the last 30 minutes and just enjoy the time we got?” He said, clearly trying hard to swallow the pain of the last half an hour.

“I’d love nothing more.” You agreed with him.

The next day was like nothing happened, like those 30 minutes of tension and arguing never existed, you weren’t sure if it was a good or bad thing in the long run, but for both of your mental states in this moment, you were glad it happened that way. You spent the day dancing around the house to music, going to the beach for a bit, walking the boardwalk, but your favorite part of the night was the couch cushion fort you two created. You christened the fort, multiple times, before the night was over, you shared laughs, you shared kisses, new memories and old ones until the both of you fell asleep.

Steve woke up, like clockwork at 6AM, and in typical Steve fashion, he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. He didn’t want a repeat of the morning prior, which he knew it would be. He would have asked you to tell him to stay and you would have said no. He would have said that you needed his help since you were sick, and you wouldn’t have been as nice as the day prior. It wasn’t the way he wanted to leave things, so even if this was a dick move, it was the better move.

He gathered his belongings, and was out the front door, looking back once through the blinds, he saw you still asleep through the front of the couch fort. He smiled and took one deep sigh before stepping towards the taxi waiting for him on the road. Maybe one day he could come back here and fold laundry with you, but he knew today wasn’t that day.

#Narcos #Narcos Netflix #narcoctober #day of music #Steve Murphy #Steve Murphy x Reader

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