#V writes

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨.

This is a link to ao3 because apparently tumblr doesn't feel like auto-formatting links today.

Her head hurt.

Oh it hurt terribly.

‘I’m getting a bit too old for these, I think,’ she had smirked before tipping back a jagerbomb the night before. 

She’d been saying that for almost a year - every time she knocked back a shot of something sweet and boozy. And every time for almost a year, she ended up waking up in the morning feeling nauseous with a vicious headache and a general feeling of well-deserved malaise.

She was only 25: still young enough to party, but there was no denying that the consequence-free era of staying up until the sun rose and doing it all over again the next night was little more than a fond memory of her late teens. 

Staring up at the ceiling, roused by her 7:10 alarm, she decided there was a distinct possibility she was still slightly drunk. 

She’d woken up with her phone in her hand, her messaging app still open on the last message Emmrich had sent her.

Goodnight, Rook.

It had taken her a hot minute to recall their brief exchange in the early, drunken hours of the morning, and she’d forgotten sending him a selfie all together until she saw it with her own eyes.

“Goddammit…” she hissed at her own traitorous visage, snarling up at her from the phone defiantly, tits squeezed together, and fingers parted in the shape of a peace sign. “‘Thanks for looking after my headphones’ - heart emoji?!” Her stomach twisted on itself and threatened to vacate her body entirely through whichever orifice was most convenient. “Fuck me…” 

She quickly scanned through the rest of the messages again to ensure that she hadn’t said anything else incredibly foolish that she had missed earlier. Blessedly, the blatantly flirtatious selfie appeared to be the only mortifying thing her wasted ass had taken upon itself to send Emmrich the night before. 

Drunk Rook had all the impulse control of a toddler given unsupervised access to unlimited quantities of sugar and then set loose in a toy store. Except instead of sugar, it was liquor and party drugs, and instead of a toy store, it was apparently the repressed and horny corners of her mind. 

Or… or something.

She didn’t have time to try and divine the inebriated reasoning behind her decision to harass Emmrich in the middle of the night: she needed to get ready for work and pray that she could pass herself off as some imitation of a reasonably put together human at work that day. 

She showered and dried her hair, strange little jabs and jolts of adrenaline coursing through her gut whenever her mind wandered back to those words: Goodnight, Rook - which it appeared to be doing a lot. 

Alright, so maybe she had developed a bit of a crush on him, but in her defense, she couldn’t begin to tell where the fuck it had come from.

Truth be told, she had been sort of hoping he’d offer to drive her home the day before, because she was rapidly realizing that once she got over herself and gave him a chance, Emmrich wasn’t terrible to be around.

It wasn’t just his actions, but his energy alone was notably unthreatening despite Rook’s best attempts at talking herself into believing it was: most people that wanted something from her set something off in her mind - triggered a very sensitive and unforgiving defense mechanism to put herself as far away from the person setting her off as she could. 

But… Emmrich didn’t. He might have at first, but everyone did, and she was increasingly finding herself looking forward to their interactions... so much so that apparently when she was hammered, she felt inclined to send him pictures of herself after he texted her exactly one time to kindly let her know that she’d forgotten her headphones in his car.

Am… am I the creep?  

Lovely. Like ‘Professor Volkarin’ hasn’t got enough hot-to-trot raven-haired-death-groupies probably panting after him in his embalming course…

“Fuuuuuck!” She groaned, feeling terrible for her plight as she shrugged on her jacket and wrapped a scarf around her face. She flung open her apartment door and jabbed an accusatory finger at the rather sad potted Norfolk Pine in the corner and snapped, “Perk up!” Before slamming the door behind her. 

He wasn’t scheduled for any arrangements by the time he got in, but he had known from the service schedule released towards the end of the previous day that he was leading a service that morning. He’d done the arrangements with the family - it would be a fairly sizable funeral: services for younger people were always well-attended, with plenty of friends and family and colleagues to make an appearance to support one another through a difficult time.

And a difficult time it was: Helen Gardner had been only 56 when she succumbed to the pancreatic cancer that ravaged her in less than a year, robbing the healthy, active paralegal of her strength and vitality with harrowing efficiency. Her deeply bereaved husband, Todd, explained this to Emmrich at the arrangement meeting. Told him that a year earlier she had completed her fifth triathlon.

All it took was a routine blood test with a handful of abnormalities to start the avalanche of panels and scans and treatments, and despite her hard-fought battle, Helen Gardner was shuffled off the mortal coil with the same cold, uncaring hands of Death that would touch all living things eventually.  

Emmrich wasn’t far off from her age. He was 52.

Having done this work for decades, there were few things that made him uncomfortable anymore, but working with a decedent that was similar in age to him never sat right: it hit too close to home - was too thorough of a reminder that yes, Emmrich Volkarin, this will be you one day too - and that day may come sooner than you think. 

But just because he was unsettled by the reality of his own mortality, that didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do: someone had died, and those who loved and knew her were left behind to pick up the pieces.

So Emmrich did what he’d done for twenty-seven years, and he brushed his own fear and discomfort under the rug, politely dismissing it from his psyche because the Gardner family and their bereavement took precedence over something as silly and unimportant as his own crippling fear of death. 

He set himself up in a free arrangement office, and powered on his laptop, opening the file containing all of the information and details for Mrs. Gardner’s service and sending it to the printer in the main office. 

“Good morning, Rook,” he said brightly, sweeping past her to retrieve the print out of the file. 

He received a dismissive grunt in return and he turned to see her hunched over her desk, head resting heavily on one hand as she scrolled through the bevy of emails that had come in overnight. She didn’t look at him. 

Folding the file in half and tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket, he rounded the desk and picked up the clipboard that held the printed service schedule for the day: he’d forgotten which funeral attendants were scheduled on the Gardner service with him.

It was silent apart from the familiar Tchaikovsky violin concerto playing over the speakers throughout the chapel, and the occasional ‘click’ of Rook tapping the down arrow key to read the next email on the list.

She looked miserable: her eyes were dull and dark circles lingered around them. Her skin was somewhat ashen, even with makeup, and she’d skipped her trademark scarlet lip-stick - the shade she was wearing in the picture she’d sent him.

Still holding the clipboard, Emmrich reached into his pocket and withdrew the blue headphone case, extending it to Rook with a soft clearing of his throat. 

Her eyes flicked from the monitor to his outstretched hand and an unmistakable flush of colour blossomed over the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. She snatched the case from his hand, eyes locked back on the computer screen. “Thanks,” she said distantly, very, very intently reading her emails.

Despite decades of adhering to a high standard of conduct in the workplace, and the fact that he considered himself a consummate professional, that bloom of colour on her face went straight to his cock.

It meant she wasn’t so inebriated that morning that she had no memory of their messages. It meant that she was just as aware of the selfie and their ensuing conversation as he was. It meant that she felt some sort of way about it.

“Did you have a nice evening?” He inquired, genuinely wanting to know.

Her slightly bloodshot eyes remained on the screen and she yanked a tissue from the box on her desk, blowing her nose loudly before sniffling and saying, “Too nice of an evening, if I’m being honest.” She wadded up the tissue and binned it, reaching for another one. 

Emmrich couldn’t keep the wry smile from appearing on his lips: she clearly hadn’t limited herself to drinking if the fountain of snot pouring out of her face was anything to go by.

“It sounded like it: you accidentally pocket-dialed me at one point.”

He could just shut up. He could not mention any of this and go on with his day and rub one out at lunch in an attempt to get this out of his system like a normal person, but no. He kept talking.

“Forgive me for unintentionally eavesdropping, but it sounded like you were on a date.” He flipped to the next page of the schedule, hoping he sounded nonchalant - just a co-worker asking another co-worker about their night in an attempt at making friendly conversation.

“I pocket-dialed you?!” Rook’s eyes widened, panic clear. “When?”

“Around eleven.”

She put her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes. “Fuck. Sorry. You must think I’m a complete fucking loser. My friend’s band was playing last night, and my old roommate Leon met me at the bar and he’s… oh man he’s a bad influence. I got pretty sloppy, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Was he hearing this correctly? Was she apologizing to him instead of leaping down his throat for listening in on her private conversation? And ‘old roommate’? So it wasn’t a date…

Suddenly his whole day seemed better, even with the impending funeral of a woman four years older than himself. 

“No harm done. Nothing wrong with a bit of harmless fun,” he assured her, finally finding the page with the service he was leading, and - oh… interesting. “Were you aware that you’ve been scheduled on the service this morning?” He held up the clipboard, indicating her name on the list of personnel, along with another student named Elijah Frederick, and a part-timer, Jasper Blackwell. 

The clipboard was ripped from his hand. “What?!” She griped, staring at her name. “No one told me I’d be on a service today. I’ve never been scheduled on a service before!”

“Sunday staffing,” Emmrich reminded her. “There probably weren’t enough attendants working today between all the other services, so they put you on. It’ll be good for you to start gaining experience working funerals.” 

The tension in her face was palpable, and the image of her jeering up at the camera the night before waltzed through his mind: so confident and carefree. Something inside of him tugged at the thought of it, and something else simultaneously warned him away from the urge to follow it. 

“You’ll be just fine, Rook - I know it.” He smiled at her, hoping he’d put her mind somewhat at ease: all she had to do was go where he told her: he wasn’t going to put the stress of running the music or the memorial slideshow on her - Elijah had been with them long enough that he was trained and confident on sound, and Jasper was excellent at ushering, so that left the processional, and he'd be there to guide Rook through that. 

She groaned sullenly and took a long drink from the cup of black coffee in front of her. “And here I was hoping for a quiet day…” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “I haven’t seen Jasper or Elijah yet, and the flowers are already here - I saw them when I came in through the garage this morning…” she blew her nose one more time and stood, adjusting her skirt. “Better start setting up, I guess…” 

Hungover and complaining or not, this was what he appreciated about Rook: she may not want to, but she pulled her own weight and took initiative when the occasion called for it rather than hoping someone else would do the work for her. 

He followed her out of the office, through the foyer and into the garage. 

At least a dozen floral arrangements were set on the metal rack against the far wall past the hearse and the lead car - Todd Gardner had purchased the casket spray and two matching bouquets to be displayed at either end of the casket during arrangements, but the rest had been ordered and sent to the chapel by people who knew the Gardners and wished to express their condolences. 

It always warmed Emmrich’s heart to see the myriad ways that people supported and stood with the bereaved. Flowers, home-cooked meals, long embraces, and shared tears… humanity was indeed capable of seemingly depthless cruelty, but on the other side of the coin, the community that sprang up around those in pain was nothing short of awe-inspiring. 

They worked in relative silence, shuttling floral arrangements from the garage into the chapel. Rook had assisted with setting up enough services over the past few months that she required little direction, and the fact that she’d gone to bed around four in the morning seemingly did little to slow her down. 

Once the flowers were all stacked on pedestals of varying heights and freed of their plastic wrapping, they took the stairs to the lower level to bring Mrs. Gardner’s casket up to the visitation room. She was to be cremated after the service, but Mr. Bridges wished for her casket to be present at the funeral itself, and there would be a brief viewing for the immediate family just prior to the service. 

Emmrich held the prep room door open for Rook, allowing her inside first, much like he’d held the door open for her on the day of her interview. His eyes followed her as she passed him by, and the delicate scent of her perfume followed in her wake, diffusing into the air behind her and prompting the photo back into his mind - unbidden once again. 

Have some decency, he chided himself inwardly. The last thing I need is her accusing me of smelling her again…

“I think I’ll have you assist me with the processional, and Elijah can run sound. Jasper will usher and set up the reception.” He flipped on the lights and found Mrs. Bridges’ casket: a very distinguished oak, polished to a gleaming sheen. Expensive… and heavy. He carefully maneuvered it towards himself, mindful not to hit the other occupied caskets on either side. “That way if any other families arrive during the service and require assistance, you’ll be free to help: the processional will only take a few minutes, so once the service starts you can head back to the office and we’ll take it from there. If we need anything else, we’ll be sure to let you know, but I think between the three of us we can handle the rest of the service and the reception.” 

“What about the recessional?” Rook rounded the other side of the casket and placed her hands on the corners.

“The casket will stay in the chapel during the reception. No need to move it again until after the family has left.” Another easy smile. Another effortless reassurance.

Rook nodded, started pushing the casket, and together they guided it out of the room to the elevator. 

“Uh… Emmrich?” She said when the elevator doors closed behind them, something like worry dwelling on her face. 

“Yes, Rook?”

“Sorry for… sorry for being such a bitch over the past few months. You don’t deserve it, and you’ve been so nice and… and helpful since I started.”

The lift emitted a sanitary ‘ding’ to let them know they’d arrived at the main level. Emmrich felt his ears heat up and managed to close his mouth which he knew was slightly agape in reflexive shock at the unexpected and utterly contrite apology.

“Oh. Think nothing of it, Rook - you’re a pleasure to work with,” he willed another smile onto his face.

“I’m not. I’m short, and sarcastic, and mean.” 

They began wheeling the heavy casket towards the visitation room next to the main chapel. 

“You can be a bit… brusque at times, certainly, but I’ve never taken any offense.”

No. If anything her dry wit amused him. This profession was rife with good-hearted, compassionate, well-meaning doormats, and Rook Ingellvar was no such thing. Having worked under the Raffertys for as long as he had, he knew that those who walked through these doors unable to stand up for themselves were usually eaten alive in short order. Rook seemed especially resilient to the back-biting and bus-throwing that many of the established staff resorted to in order to stay on top. She didn’t seem compelled to sink to that level, but instead guarded her peace and stayed well clear of the frequent entanglements of ego that cropped up on a near daily basis amongst the hundred-odd staff.

“If you say so,” she conceded, not sounding convinced. 

They lined the casket up parallel to the wall in the visitation room, and Emmrich opened the upper half of the lid using the casket key he kept on his person. He removed the spread out piece of Kleenex that was covering her face, the lightness in his heart vanishing at the sight of poor Mrs. Gardner.

She was well-prepared - the staff that had embalmed her did an excellent job - but the frail, hollow shell of her corpse looked so unlike the image of the beaming, vivacious woman with sandy blonde hair and a toothy smile that graced the cover of the funeral programs designed and printed by the graphics department. 

To have so much potential… so many stories left waiting in the wings, forever unwritten… a fate so unjust and cruel that he could never quite wrap his head around it…

“‘S’cuse me - just need to fix the wheels…” Rook murmured, jolting Emmrich from his existential spiral as she slipped past him and dropped to her knees at the head end of the casket with all the effortless ease of someone half his age. 

He busied himself with ensuring Mrs. Gardner looked acceptable for the viewing prior to the service, but found himself watching Rook through the gap under his arm.

The corner of the casket nearest to him lifted ever so slightly as Rook braced her upper back against it and straightened slightly, relieving the bier of weight for long enough that she could reposition the wheel so it was facing outwards, aligned with the direction of the casket, then she crawled forward a few inches to do the same on the side closest to the wall.

Emmrich’s mouth went dry: Rook’s rear was inches from him, sticking up in the air as she squirmed under the other corner of the casket. Her skirt had hiked up a few inches and… goodness - was that lace? Black lace halfway up her thigh?

He felt a bit faint when she shifted again and the skirt pulled higher still, clearly revealing the scalloped edge of the black stocking coming to an end and revealing a combination of creamy white skin and the vividly coloured ink that had been injected into it: obscured patterns and designs that he found himself suddenly very curious about.

He became aware of the tightness of his pants in the vicinity of his crotch, and shame hurtled into him as his cock stirred at the sight before him, yet he couldn’t look away: he felt compelled by some depraved need to keep staring at the tight, curvaceous ass of his colleague as she went about her day, utterly ignorant to his lust.

Despite the impropriety of it, he simply couldn’t help but imagining what it would be like to slip his fingertips over the edge of those stockings and slip them down her long, toned legs… lifting her skirt a few more inches and—

“I would actually appreciate it if you stopped drooling over the young lady helping with my funeral like a pig and got on with your job.”

Emmrich started, and turned to face the origin of the voice: the pale, incorporeal specter of Helen Gardner, sitting in one of the armchairs against the wall, her legs crossed primly as she picked at a loose thread on her gray Chanel suit. Her face - thin skin stretched over bone, all fat and muscle stolen by months of cancer treatments - was set in a dubious expression befitting someone who had just caught someone else red-handed.

Him.

Rook didn’t surface from the bier at the sound of the voice: she carried on fussing away with the wheels like she hadn’t heard anything. 

Because she hadn’t. 

Only Emmrich could see and hear Mrs. Gardner.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning his attention back to the dead woman in the casket.

“Hm?” Rook grunted from under the casket.

“Nothing!” Emmrich said quickly.

“And fix my wig please - I never wore it like that: I always tucked some of the hair behind my left ear.” Mrs. Gardner’s ghost had risen from the armchair and joined Emmrich at her casket, resting her ghostly fingers on the edge and peering down into her own face, a strange expression on hers.

Not wanting to give Rook further cause to think there was anything odd going on, Emmrich nodded his understanding and quickly donned a pair of nitrile gloves. 

He tucked a strand of hair behind Mrs. Bridges’ left ear. “There,” he whispered. 

Rook, oblivious to all of this, moved behind them and set to work on the wheels at the foot end of the casket.

“You’re the only one who’s been able to see me,” Helen Bridges said, seemingly unable to remove her eyes from the body she once occupied. 

Emmrich nodded once, slowly, in confirmation. 

Mrs. Bridges let out a long sad sigh, and the temperature in the room dropped almost imperceptibly.

“We were supposed to be in Rivain this week… of course that was before I got sick and all of our plans changed…” She reached out and trailed her insubstantial fingers over her cold, firm cheek. “I was going to retire in the next few years and we - Todd and I… we were going to travel the world together…”

Her voice - distant and distorted like she was speaking through a tin can packed with cotton from the bottom of a swimming pool - wavered. 

“I fought so hard for him… for us… and now he’s alone...”

He isn’t, Emmrich wanted to say, but with Rook right there, he couldn’t, so instead he moved his hand a few inches to the right on the edge of the casket, feeling dreadful cold shock through his nerves as it came to rest on hers - in hers - lending her the closest thing he could to human touch… and comfort. 

“I doubt he’d even believe you if you told him, but… if… if you can find a way… can you… can you tell him I love him? And… that I’ll be waiting for him at the zebras: our first date was to the zoo, and we met by the zebra enclosure.” She finally managed to tear her gaze away from herself to look at Emmrich. “He’ll get it.”

Emmrich nodded again, and warmth flooded his hand as hers vanished. 

She meandered back to the pair of armchairs and sat down again, crossing her legs and lacing her fingers over her knee. “I think I’ll stay here a while longer,” she mused distantly. “Don’t wanna miss my big day…”

For the last time, Emmrich nodded - a cordial tip of the head, and he finished adjusting the casket.

Rook finally surfaced, finished with the wheels. She wriggled her skirt back down her thighs and dusted off her hands. 

“There!” She said cheerfully, grinning for the first time that day. “All done - oh.” Her smile faded at the sight of Emmrich’s rather blanched expression. “You uh… good, Emmrich? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The irony of the observation was not lost on him.

She sat on the bus home after her shift, scarfed wrapped around her face, headphones absolutely fucking cranked, wishing for nothing more than a random, fatal embolism to kill her on the spot.

The rest of the set up and the funeral service itself had gone well.

The processional, set to ‘My Sweet Lord’ by George Harrison was… intense. Rook wasn’t sure if it was the song itself - chosen by Mrs. Gardner’s husband, or the fact that the three-hundred occupant capacity chapel was filled to the brim with friends, family, and loved ones. When the procession began and from the doors of the chapel Emmrich instructed everyone to please stand, and they did, and then they moved that heavy casket down the aisle, Mr. Gardner and the rest of the immediate family in tow…

It was… it was a lot. 

The love in that room was unmistakable: so powerful and tangible that for a moment, it almost seemed like it could be strong enough to reverse the very existence of Death itself, and bring the beloved woman back to life.

She didn’t think she’d ever forget that feeling.

Or maybe due to the combined effect of the cocaine and alcohol hangover, her dopamine starved brain was just reading into things too much.

This suspicion was all but confirmed when (for some reason) she plucked up the nerve after the service to ask Emmrich if he could drive her home instead of waiting - hoping - for him to offer. 

‘Oh dear… I’m terribly sorry, Rook - I can’t today. I’m afraid I have plans, and I need to head straight home.’

He looked truly pained to have to turn her down, and her stupid, blow-blasted brain betrayed her once again as the recent rejection stampeded through her mind and she was suddenly blinking away tears on the bus.

Stop it. Grow up. Holy fuck.

She forced a deep breath through her nose and tried to swallow past the tightness in her throat.

He doesn’t have plans. He thinks you’re a fucking weirdo and you’ve made him uncomfortable with your stupid selfies and heart emojis. You know better than anyone that unwanted attention from someone you work with is gross and awkward.

Idiot.

A tiny sob forced past her lips and she managed to disguise it as some sort of odd hiccup so that the people sitting around her on the bus weren’t subjected to the spectacle of a woman openly weeping as she listened to ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ by Prince because her kind-hearted coworker who was old enough to be her father had politely declined her request for a ride home due to the fact that he was a sentient human being with a life outside of catering to her.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and lifted her phone to read the message that had just come through - if it was Leon trying to get her to go out again tonight, he could shove it up his ass…

But it wasn’t. 

‘I truly feel terrible that I wasn’t able to drive you home tonight. I’m sorry. Please let me know when you get home safely? E.’

Oh.

That’s really nice of him.

He’s really nice…

[biblio-smia]

“warming their hands by slipping them up the other’s shirt and onto their back/stomach” with tasm peter would be soo cute bc hed be like 😑😐must u do this to me jokingly but then would wrap his around around reader and squeeze them to warm them up

there's only dim light left by the time you and peter tuck yourselves into bed - you're not sure the city is capable of ever going completely dark.

you're cold. someone, you or peter, hadn't quite shut the window all the way earlier and the post-sundown chill had crept into your room.

peter's like a radiator with the way he constantly emits heat. he'll tease you sometimes, pressing his warm hands against your already too-warm skin.

but it's you who seeks him out now, hands maneuvering under the cooled duvet and past peter's old midtown shirt until you've reached your target.

peter whines but doesn't recoil, hands quick to come up over yours. he doesn't stop your movement and can't do much to fight the goosebumps you give him, his fingers falling off yours. your touch is icy as you move from his stomach to his sides, chasing the warmth you seem to be driving away.

"c'mere," peter whispers, placing your hands on his back and pulling you in close. his arms wrap around your body, thumbs rubbing your exposed arms. "you're freezing," peter mumbles, pulling the covers up to your chin.

you grumble into his chest, eyelids already getting heavy in peter's hold.

"i've got you," peter might've whispered - but in your hazy state, you couldn't be positive. you're definitely warm now - from the inside out as peter's hands rubbing up and down your arms lull you to sleep.

peter is your own personal heater but he doesn't seem to mind much.

part of v's 1000 follower celebration | main masterlist

[somethingvicked]

Take It Back

An Eddie Munson one-shot.

warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, Eddie being an oblivious idiot, emotional cheating(?), breaking up.

If someone asked Eddie when the new girl, Cathy, had become his first priority instead of his girlfriend, he wouldn’t be able to answer them.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He still loved his girl, more than anything in the world, she was the girl he had planned his future with, and still wanted a future with. And now he had gone and fucked that all up.

He wished he could take it all back.

Just to have another minute with her.

When Cathy was new to Hawkins High, Eddie hadn’t noticed her much. She immediately became popular, joined the cheer squad and had a dozen jocks hanging on to her every move. Just another cheer clone.

But when Cathy came to the picnic table in the woods to buy weed for the first time he noticed that they actually had some things in common.

Despite being a cheerleader she liked metal, she smoked on occasion to relax and she also came from a broken home – she had come to Hawkins to live with her older cousin because her parents split and none of them wanted to be saddled with her.

Not that he and Y/N didn’t have things in common. On the contrary – they had a lot in common. Y/N loved metal, just like he did, she was a member of Hellfire and even though she wasn’t a part of Corroded Coffin she had named herself the stylist of the band, helping them with their outfits for every show.

Y/N was everything he could ever wish for.

And yet he found himself wanting more.

Every time Cathy waved at him, wanted to exhange a mixtape with him or asked if he was free for business, he felt a pang of triumph, when the jocks seemed speechless, that the new, popular girl, spoke to the freak without shame.

Y/N didn’t say anything about it, at first. Not until Cathy started calling him, and talking for hours. When he had to interrupt their date night to take her calls. When he had to go to a party to pick her up because it was boring and she didn’t have a ride home. When Eddie canceled a Hellfire session to go to a game instead, because Cathy had told him that her cousin couldn’t come watch and it would mean so much to her if someone she cared about was there.

”Eddie, you can be friends with whomever you want, but this isn’t okay,” Y/N had told him, ”this isn’t about friendship. She clearly wants you, and is trying to take you away from me. And by not putting up boundaries you are telling her it’s okay to do that – to me, and to our relationship.” ”That’s not true, sweetheart,” Eddie had said. ”She’s just... she just moved here and you know all the cheerleaders and jocks come from perfect white picket fence lives. She doesn’t, and she needs someone that has gone through the same.”

��You’re oblivious to think that,” Y/N had said. ”Just because you’re popular it doesn’t mean you don’t have any problems. But that’s neither here nor there. Do you seriously think it’s okay to cancel date nights with me to be with her? I’m your girlfriend.”

”Exactly,” Eddie had snapped at her, ”you’re my girlfriend. I thought you would trust me enough to know I would never cheat on you.”

Y/N had sighed and hadn’t said anything else. Eddie had felt a bit bad, because he had to admit she had a point. He promised himself that he would be more attentive to Y/N, make it up to her.

Until Cathy told him that she had managed to get tickets to a concert at the next town. Would he like to come with her? She didn’t want to go herself, since there could be a lot of dangers to a lonely girl. She didn’t know anyone else well enough. Of course Eddie said yes.

And canceled another date night with Y/N, without thinking about it. He would make it up to her.

Soon.

He never did. And now it was too late to go back.

When he canceled another date night, this time on their anniversary, because Cathy had called him, asking him to teach her how to play D&D, Y/N had actually become angry.

”You choose to spend our anniversary with another girl? How is that supposed to makes me feel?! Or do you not care about that anymore?” she had said, her voice broken.  

”It’s important that Hellfire grows, you know that,” he had told Y/N when he left. He hadn’t even offered to drop her off at her place, he had been so eager to show Cathy, a popular girl, his life’s passion, another middle finger to the ones calling him freak and satanist.

When he came home Y/N wasn’t there anymore though, and Wayne had been waiting for him, giving him a stern talking to.

”Y/N is a lovely girl, and you’re hurting her,” he had told Eddie. ”If you don’t want to be with her anymore – even if you would be a fool not to – then break up with her and let her move on. Don’t do this, whatever the hell this is, to her.”

Wayne hadn’t said anything else, but the disappointment in his gaze had made Eddie feel like the worst human on the planet.

That had soon turned to fury, though, thinking that Y/N had sold him out to his uncle and had drove to her place the next day, all but cornering her against a wall in her room.

”If you got a problem, take it up with me, like a grown up,” he had said loudly, almost yelling, ”don’t go behind my back and blab to my uncle about it.”

”I haven’t said a word to Wayne,” Y/N said calmly, ”maybe he has just noticed your shitty behavior, since you make no effort to hide it.”

”What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

”It means that you clearly don’t care about me and our relationship anymore. That’s how it feels. I mean it this time, Eddie. I’ve had it. I won’t be your girlfriend if I’m second best. It’s not about if you would cheat, I know you wouldn’t do that. Physically. But you already are cheating emotionally and I won’t take it anymore. You have to pick. Me. Or her.”

Eddie got even more furious, if possible, when she accused him of cheating. That was something his father had done, and Eddie had sworn he would never be like his father. Y/N knew it too, so that she told him this... it was like she had slapped him.

”You’re a fucking idiot,” he growled. ”The fact that you behave like this – maybe that’s why I prefer to hang out with Cathy instead of you, ever thought of that?”

He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he had no chance to apologize because Y/N’s eyes had gone cold like Lover’s Lake in the winter months.

”Get out,” she said.

”Wait, sweetheart, I...”

”Get. Out.”

How he wished he could take those words back. All of it.

Eddie had left, thinking that he should let her cool off and then come back with some flowers and apologize.

He even decided to tell Cathy that they needed to take a little break from each other.

What he hadn’t expected was for her to open the door in nothing but a towel, after he had called her to say he was going to come by, asking him if he liked what he saw.

”What the... no, Cathy, this is all wrong, I’m with Y/N and I love her.”

Cathy snorted. ”You love her? Then why are you so eager to get away from her, spending every waking moment with me? Come on, we’re already a couple in all but name. Y/N is the past.”

When Cathy laid it out for him it had hit him like a bucket of cold water. He had neglected Y/N, he had chosen Cathy over her, he had... except for actually doing what Cathy now tempted him to do, he had cheated on her.

He got hot and cold all over. ”No, she’s not,” he got out, and ran from Cathy’s porch, throwing himself in the van.

He drove back to Y/N’s place and frantically knocked on her door, wanting to tell her how sorry he was, that he would never do this again, that she was his future and he realized that now.

Y/N opened herself, a box in her arms. ”Oh, good,” she said, her voice revealing nothing. ”Here.”

She gave the box to Eddie and he got so surprised he forgot all about the apologies he was supposed to make.

”What’s this?” he wondered, looking down into the box. Once again he got cold all over. It was tapes he had made Y/N, her Hellfire shirt, a stuffed little bat he had won her at the arcade, a necklace he had saved up to to give her on her birthday, one of his Black Sabbath t-shirts...

”What’s... what’s this?” he got out, in a whole different tone.

”Stuff from you,” Y/N answered. ”I started getting it together last week, but I was thinking that if you made the right choice today, I would pack them up again, and we could move on. But you didn’t, so here we are. You’ve both made this harder and easier for me, dragging this out like this. I knew you weren’t going to pick me, but...”

”But I do!” Eddie cried out. ”I was at Cathy’s just now and I was going to tell her... you were right! She was trying to seduce me, but I didn’t... I don’t want her, I want you!”

”Too bad you couldn’t figure that out earlier,” Y/N said. ”You’ve treated me like shit for weeks, Eddie. I never thought you would do that to me. Not you. And I at least thought you would take it serious when I told you how hurt I was, even if you didn’t think Cathy was trying to seduce you. But you said I was an idiot instead.”

”I didn’t mean...”

”I don’t care,” Y/N interrupted. ”I... I can’t believe it has come to this. Why you would do this to us? We had it all planned out. But clearly it wasn’t enough for you. I wasn’t enough for you.”

”You are!” Eddie yelled, tears now streaming down his face, ”baby, please… please, forgive me. I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you!”

”You say that now,” Y/N told him, shaking her head, ”but what happens when next exciting girl comes along? Maybe someone that will offer you a record contract? Or someone that can join the band in ways I can, since I don't play music. What then? Am I going to be second best again then?”

”No!”

”I don’t believe you. And that’s why we can’t be together anymore, Eddie. I won’t spend my life waiting and wondering when I’ll become second best again. I’d rather find someone that treats me right, all the time. It’s over. We’re done.”

”But...”

”We’re done, Eddie. Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Eddie wanted to protest some more, trying to convince her, but it was then he took an actual look at her and noticed that, unlike him, she didn’t cry, her voice didn’t tremble. She was completely emotionless. Had he done this to her?  He had. By making her feel like she wasn’t good enough. By making her feel like the second-choice and breaking her trust.

Despite everything, Eddie still held some crazy hope that Y/N would call him when he got home and  tell him she was willing to give him another chance.

That was, until he saw a box on the couch in the living room and asked Wayne what it was.

”Y/N’s things,” his uncle replied, with the same dull tone that Y/N had used. ”She called me and asked me to collect them and bring them to her.”

She had asked Wayne, and not him...

That’s when Eddie realized that it wouldn’t matter how much he apologized. Some things couldn’t be undone.

Later that night when he cried in his room, Y/N’s Hellfire shirt pressed against his face, inhaling her scent, he remembered what Cathy had said – that Y/N was the past. She had been right. But not because of Cathy, but because of him.

He had ruined the best thing in his life on his own. And he couldn’t take it back.

Some things you just can’t take back.

[bluewatersfairy]

ease my mind (come over) - j.p.

a/n: happy new year! here's the first part of a series that's been sitting in my drafts for months (it'll be about 4 parts, the first two are written).

synopsis: reader is in their first year on the wizard's media team and has a run in with the teams star while working late at the facility.

warnings: none! my first clean nba fic, how far we have come.

word count: 1.8k she's short and cute

•••

Your eyes felt like they were starting to burn with how long you’d been glued to your computer screen.  This was your first year working media for the Wizards and you were determined to prove yourself a worthy hire.  

Having lived in Washington for University, you’d attended several Wizards games over the years – they were a good first date option and you often found yourself cheering for the underdog.  One of the last guys you’d gone with had assumed you were from the area, commenting on how you were so overprotective of a team that has definitely seen better years.  That’s part of the reason why when someone posted the job vacancy on one of your old class pages, you applied.  

Now you were a week in with the media team and today was your first day with the actual team and everything had been blowing by you so quickly, you barely had time to process it.  So far, they’d given you jobs that were difficult to fuck up, but you wanted more than that.  You were above an intern (thank god) so you were actually shooting the camera and editing, but it was all behind-the-scenes shots.  

It was a bit like being a kid at a family event.  You were shadowing a few higher ups and fading into the background as best as possible while they were doing their thing with the players.  Most, if not all, of your shots that you’d been working on all night had included no players' faces.  Barely any faces actually.  But you’d created something of a story out of it and had managed to turn each photo into something you were proud of.  

In your head, it was giving justice-league doing interviews after saving the city.  You had everyone on the roster and could easily make a graphic out of it.  You had that fizzy feeling in your fingers as you switched between your tablet and the computer, mapping out what it could be for your pitch tomorrow.  

Interrupting your stream of thought, your phone lit up on the desk beside you, violently vibrating – making you jump.  It was your roommate calling to see when you were going to be home.  It was gone midnight and they were starting to get worried.  You begrudgingly told them you’d be home by one and started to get ready to go.  You made sure to transfer the pictures you’d spent hours on to your tablet as well as a few video clips you’d taken “just in case”.  It was gonna take 25 minutes for everything to transfer (the wifi was stupidly slow), so you grabbed your camera and phone and figured you’d take a walk around the facility and see if there was anything that caught your attention.  

You weren’t thinking of much, maybe you’d find a fun angle of the courts or something about the building that seemed aesthetically pleasing.  You were all of 3 metres out of your office when you heard the faint echo of basketballs hitting the floor and shoes squeaking.  Not exactly what you were expecting, but you followed it all the same. 

Standing at the doorway to the basketball courts, you were met with the one and only #13, Jordan Poole, shooting mid range jumpers.  He had his earbuds in and was shirtless, glistening in sweat.  He’d clearly been here for a while.  You hadn’t realised you’d been so concentrated that you didn’t hear the only other sound in the building until you were pushed out of your office.  The door was wide open too. 

“Yoo,” Jordan dragged out in surprise when he turned to see you.  His hand instinctively reached up to take one of his earbuds out and he knocked away a ball.  His eyes first scanned over your face, then down your body before they landed on your camera.  He made eye contact with you and stood still for a second before pointing at you.

“You’re the new media girl,” he identified as he started to walk a bit closer to you, a ball now tucked under his arm, “I’m not gonna pretend to know your name but I’m Jordan.”  He held his hand out to you and you slowly took it, staring up at him minorly confused and somewhat dazed.

“I know,” the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.  He smirked briefly and let go of your hand, “I’m Y/N, and yeah.  The new media girl.”  

“I didn’t think anyone else was here,” he said tilting his head to the side, “I would’ve let you know otherwise.  I’ve got a key and all the alarm codes so you don’t have to worry about me getting out if you’re heading home.”  

“Oh, I’m not-” you cut yourself off again and looked behind you at nothing in particular, “I mean, I am about to leave, but I’m not.  Yet.”  Every part of your body was telling you to stop talking, to say goodnight, turn around and leave.  But your feet couldn’t move.  You were stuck in mud under Jordan’s gaze.  He looked tired, really tired.

“You look like you have a question,” he smiled as he took out his other earbud, “or like you're lost.  I can’t really tell.”  He chuckled a little, mostly to himself and turned his eyes to the floor before he started walking to where his stuff was.  

“I’m not that type of media person,” you said, slowly following him, “I just take pictures and videos, I don’t ask questions.”  You stopped about 4 metres away from where he was bent over.  He was putting his earbuds away, you realised.

“You, as a person,” he turned his head to face you, “don’t ask questions?” he raised his eyebrows and again started to smirk.  He was playing with you, teasing you.  You were too tired to properly process any of this. 

“I do, of course!” you exclaimed a little too loudly, your eyes widening at the sound of your voice, “I ask too many actually, but I don't get paid to, y’know?  So you don’t have to do any dodging with me, I just,” you paused and raised your camera, “take pictures.”

“And videos,” he added, pointing at you.  

“And videos.”  You took a deep breath and lowered your hand.  You were realising, right then, that you did in fact have a question for him.  

“Can I ask you a question?”

He smiled, like he was waiting for you to get there and patted the seat beside him, “only if you sit down next to me.”

So you did.  You sat down and pulled your legs up to tuck them under you.  Jordan turned slightly so he was facing you better and for the first time, you caught his scent.  It was mixed with his sweat, but it was rich and smooth, and oh so familiar.  Not that you could put your finger on it.  

“Hit me,” he said, pulling you out of your head again.  He smiled brightly at you and you returned it.

“Is there something about our media team that makes you uncomfortable?” you blurted out, it’d been on the tip of your tongue all day.  “At Golden State, you seemed so warm to the media team, but here, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

His smile slowly faded and he looked down at his lap, biting his bottom lip slightly before pushing his lips together.  He looked at you and pushed his tongue between his teeth. 

“It’s not just with this team, your team,” Jordan said honestly, “there was just a point where I felt like I couldn’t say the right thing so I just,” he paused and leant back in his seat, “pulled back with them.”  

Jordan sat in thought for a moment before turning to look at you to see what you had to say.  You didn’t have much, to be honest.  You’d not known this media team all that long and the only reason you even knew any of this was because you were a fan of the team.  And Jordan.  

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” Jordan broke out of the conversation and leant forward, dropping the look of vulnerability that very briefly crossed his face.  “‘You come to games often?”

You laughed, accepting you were moving on from your once serious conversation.  “I do, it’s sort of my go-to first date idea.”  

Jordan made a face before the two of you shared a quick chuckle, “you like watching your home team lose on a date?”  

“Hey,” you quipped, swatting at his arm, god his arms were solid, “you guys won most of the games I was at.”  

He rolled his eyes and chuckled a little, “no wonder I remember your face then, you must be our good luck charm.”

Before you could respond your phone started buzzing again.  Your roommate was video calling you this time, not a good sign.  So, you declined it and tucked it under your thigh.  

“It’s late,” Jordan said as he glanced at his watch.  He’d watched you decline a call from one ‘loveyyy’ and he decided he wasn’t putting himself in a smart position.  “You must have someone waiting at home for you.”

“Just a roommate who listens to the traffic radar too much,” you stood up, following Jordan and looked up at him for a moment when a thought crossed your mind.

“Did you enjoy doing the mini mic interviews?”  He was caught off guard, it showed in the way his eyebrows shot up and he instantly smiled.

“I did,” he nodded his head, “I dunno why they didn’t try and keep them going here.  They talked about it for a minute last season.”  

That was your entry point, you were sure of it.  Jordan was always stand offish towards everyone but he seemed to like talking to you.  If you could get him a mini mic and a few questions, you were sure you could make something of it.  A season-long series would basically prove your worth, secure you a proper spot on the team and Jordan was their best option for media engagement.  He was charismatic and good looking; the perfect poster boy. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called to him as you started walking off, your brain in quick motion, “hopefully with a mini mic.”

“I look forward to it,” Jordan called out after you.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he’d just set up, but he liked your vibe.  You were easy to talk to and finally stopped the thought that had been spinning in his head all day.  This felt like a do-or-die season.  If he didn’t play his best, he wasn’t sure they’d keep him around come February.  And he wanted to stay here, he wanted to make a name for himself separate from everyone else.   

[love-domme]

Run.

Male Sub x Fem Domme Drabble

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, pet play, begging, degradation, use of restraints, riding, predator/prey, breeding kink, hunting, knife play, cutting, sex in the woods, cnc, male penetration

Freaky stuff under the cut

It was dark, darker than any night should be. The shower that could be heard throughout the house cut off, warmth emanating from the bathroom. She stepped out, wrapping a robe around her freshly washed naked body. Putting slippers on as she walked through the halls of her home until she reached the living room. He was still asleep where she had left him. She couldn’t resist running her hands through his hair. He looked so peaceful like this.

As she walked away the creaking startled him awake. The ropes binding his hands to the chair were so tight he felt them bruising his wrist if he moved. How long had he been here? How long had he been asleep? Why was this house so familiar and warm yet horrifying at the same time? And who was this woman whose lavender scent made him both terrified and…he looked down at his pants. It was the only thing he was wearing. The fabric barely hiding his growing erection.

The lavender scent grows intoxicatingly strong as she reappears, no longer in a robe but rather athletic wear. A tight top and a tennis skirt that showed off her perfect legs so well he almost forgot he should be afraid, so very afraid…

Reality set back in when he realized she was carrying a small bag. It jingled with every step she took. She caught his eyes and smiled. The type of smile you give a lost pet that’s just been found. The memories come flooding back…the woods…the game…the chase… her at the center of it all.

His eyes grow wide as he pushes back against the chair.

“Oh bunny.” She says, caressing his cheek. Her touch so tender he melted in spite of himself.“You were so good yesterday, ran so fast for me. Just not fast enough.” Clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

She set down her bag on a table he hadn’t even noticed until now. Too focused on the situation at hand. Frankly just too focused on her. She was so eerily beautiful. Every movement calculated and poise yet natural. Her touch left him as she reached inside her bag. Re-emerging with a set of carefully wrapped knives. Each one gleaming in what little moonlight was left. His heart stopped as she unwrapped each one. Raking her fingernails over each handle. She finally landed on one in the dead center, small with a black handle that fit perfectly in her hand.

She turned to face him again. Pointing the knife at him with a smile before pressing the tip of the blade right into the center of his chest. Blood quick to drip from the small puncture it made. The cool metal against his bare skin mixing with the pain of the wound caused him to whimper.

She dragged the blade down his torso. The incision just deep enough to sting. A crimson line going down to his waist before landing at the hem of his pants. She smirked removing the knife before straddling his lap. Now holding the blade to his neck she whispered in his ear.

“You’ll do better tonight won’t you bunny?” Before pushing the knife further and sinking down to sit on his hard dick.

He moaned at the sensation of her warmth against him, grinding into him. The knife still digging into his neck turning him on more. He wanted to hate it. To hate her. To hate what she was doing. But he didn’t. He loved it all so much. She knew that.

She harshly rose from his now precum stained lap causing him to groan. Placing the knife back on the table before making quick work of taking off his pants. His cock finally springing free, wet and hard. A shade of desperate red only she could make it have.

She grabbed a different knife, much bigger this time and he felt tears roll down his face as she circled him in ways a predator hunts it prey. Standing behind him now she was silent and then…the ropes loosened.

Only one word was said. A command he knew all too well.

“Run.”

And so he did. Ran as fast as he could. The house a blur as he opened the front door to the surrounding forest. The night air cold and harsh on his skin. Bare feet hitting rough dirt, doing their best to avoid sticks and leaves. He had ten seconds. She always gave him a ten second start. She liked to give him false hope.

He was deep into the forest now, farther than she’d ever let him go. He could hear a stream up ahead. There was plenty of night left. A terrifying realization. Yet his thirst clouded his judgement. As he reached the stream he stopped. Taking small quiet steps before crouching down and cupping his hand to take a sip.

A crunch came from behind him followed by silence. She had been watching him. Waiting. She knew they’d reach the stream. He always ran the same way. Almost like he wanted to be caught. Yet tonight this wasn’t going to end quickly. Tonight, her little bunny was going to play with her all night long.

His whole body tensed, her body emerging from the trees like an ethereal being. Her knife glimmering. He was paralyzed. A deer in head lights had better survival instincts than him in this moment. She stood directly in front of him now. Using the knife to guide his chin to look up at her. His trembling body a beautiful sight in the frightening backdrop of the woods.

“Caught you.” Her velvet tone filling his head leaving him dizzy.

“Please…please give me another chance please. I..I..I’ll do better” his voice a manifestation of need and desperation.

“Aw it’s too late to beg now bunny” Her boot finding his still leaking dick, pressing hard so he could feel every groove of the hard leather sole before kicking him hard. The wind left his body as he felt his back hit the ground. She flipped him over with another kick.

“Ass up pretty boy”

She laughed as he begged for mercy, slowing raising his hips into the air.

“You know the rules. Since the big bad wolf caught the stupid little bunny, she gets to breed it.”

She flipped the knife over in her hand. Delicately holding the blade before ramming the handle into his hole. His screams filled the forest, the pain too much for him to handle as she started pulling it out torturously slow. With each thrust she kissed his tear stricken face, the pain slowly turning into pleasure as his hole took every inch. The sobs turning to moans as he felt so full. So full of her. It didn’t take him long to cum on the dirt beneath him. Slumping to the ground too weak to move.

She slowly pulled the handle out, dropping the knife on the floor before gently turning him over once more. Straddling him yet again. Weak protests fell from his lips quickly silenced by her lifting up her skirt. Giving him a full view of her dripping wet pussy.

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight as his erection slowly returned. She grabbed it. Quick to guide it to her entrance.

“I’ll give you this bunny. You sure know how to put on a show.” Taking him whole.

Their moans filled the forest as she rode him like a wild animal. Biting his neck as she grinded on his spent cock. Draining load after load as she chased nothing but her own pleasure. A mixture of their cum dripping from her pussy covering his hips.

Hours passed until finally she stopped. A weak smile on her face as she fell onto his body, resting her head on his heaving chest. He held her tight. The minutes ticked by before she finally spoke.

“You finally did a good job bunny, let’s head back.”

They stayed like this a little longer before finally rising and walking back holding each other. A blissful haze guiding them home.

[ahyperactivehero]

newest chapter of I (Just) Survived In Your Arms Tonight is up now!

looks like the boys have finally, properly met!

XXX

Charles Rowland doesn't die in that attic. Surprisingly little changes as a result.

X

He didn’t notice when the world went dark. Or when Edwin’s arms around him disappeared as everything faded away. He didn’t notice the sound of one of his teachers coming up the stairs, shoes banging in panic as he searched for Charles.

The only thing he noticed was Edwin’s voice, gently soothing him as he drifted off. “You are going to be alright. Help is here. You are going to be fine, Charles.”

His heart nearly stopped when Edwin’s voice disappeared.

[veephoenix]

✨ A little something with samurai!noah coming this weekend:

Noah shook his head, his expression determined. “No. There has to be a way to do this without hurting you.”

I'm also planning on updating Zutto next week at some point :)

[rain-ghoul-appreciator]

in honor of trans visibility day, i present to you some trans ghouls shenanigans.

they/them transmasc rain, he/him transmasc swiss, she/her transfem mountain, and she/her transfem aurora

under the cut or on AO3

"rory, get me that lipstick, will you?" 

aurora looks up from her nails, seeing rain holding a hand out towards the lipstick. she sighed and looked towards swiss.

"swissy, my nails are still wet, can you get it, pretty please?" she asked, giving him the biggest, saddest, wettest puppy eyes ever. swiss groaned.

"but im not done with mounty's hair," swiss whined, tying off another little braid. mountain looked over her shoulder, shooting swiss a playful glare.

"who are you to deny rain of their wants," she teased, reaching for the lipstick. she tossed it rain's way, a wide smile on her lips. 

"at least someone in this room appreciates me," they muttered, popping the cap of the lipstick off. 

"excuse me? who just bought you those new shoes?" swiss retorted, "and i got you taco bell last night! oh, and don't forget that lotion thing you wanted!" rain laughed, rolling their eyes.

"whatever," they mumbled, turning to face the mirror. aurora watched the two bicker, her brows furrowed.

"so you'll get rainy taco bell but you wont get me chicken nuggets?"

"oh, come on, it was one time," swiss argued, his lips forming a pout. 

"one time to many," aurora countered, checking to see if her nails were dry yet. 

"if you two keep arguing about some damn chicken nuggets i will lace my next batch of brownies with laxatives and hand feed them to you," mountain butted in, a playful smirk on her face. both aurora and swiss instantly went quiet. 

"will you at least make a normal batch for me?" rain asked, looking over at mountain with a pleading look. 

"of course i will," mountain replied, "anything for my little prince." a shit eating grin spread across rain's face as they look at swiss and aurora's betrayed expressions. 

"traitor," aurora mumbled, looking into her little handheld mirror. "also, i meed help with my hair."

"what did i ever do to you?" rain muttered, rolling their eyes and moving to sit behind aurora, their nimble fingers already tangled into her hair before she could even respond. 

"nothing," aurora sighed, lightly powdering blush on her face. rain giggled quietly, grabbing the curling iron from the vanity. 

"im gonna need that soon," swiss said after a while, gesturing to the curling iron. 

"okay, almost... done," rain replied, a smile on their face as they handed the iron off to swiss. aurora smiled at her reflection, messing with her freshly curled hair. 

"thanks rainy-" her and swiss said in unison before turning and glaring at each other. 

"jinx! fuck! jinx again!" they, again, said in unison. mountain giggled, poking swiss to make him stop. 

"im serious about the laxatives," mountain warned, leaning her head back against swiss's chest. 

"right, sorry, mi amor," swiss mumbled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to mountain's forehead. she smiled, reaching back to tug swiss down for a proper kiss. rain rolled their eyes playfully.

"i thought we were gonna celebrate swiss's dick, not your marriage." rain looked over at the two, trying their best to hold back a giggle. 

"aww, are you jealous that i have a dick and a hot wife?" swiss teased, getting up and wrapping his arms around rain.

"no," rain lied, busying himself with putting away the unused makeup stuff.

"i'd give you my dick if i could," aurora teased, leaning her head back against rain's stomach. rain giggled and leaned back against swiss. 

"mountain, help! im being bullied," rain whined, reaching out for mountain. mountain laughed and shook her head before standing up. 

"what do you want me to do about it?" mountain teased, leaning against swiss's back. rain pouted, trying their best to look back at mountain. 

"anything, just get me out of this dick sandwich," rain begged. both swiss and aurora broke out into a fit of laughter.

"a dick- a dick sandwich?" aurora wheezed, leaning back further against rain. 

"what the hell is a dick sandwich," swiss questioned, his voice broken up by giggles. 

"i don't know," rain whined, giggling quietly. "mountain- ahh!" they yelped as aurora leaned to far back in the chair, sending them all toppling backwards. they were all silent for a second before bursting out into laughter. 

upon hearing the loud thump, aether poked his head into the room, surprised (and a little unsettled) to see all 4 ghouls tangled together on the ground, staring at him like a bunch of deer in headlights. he blinked once before slowly backing away, shutting the door quietly.

"why am i never invited to these things," he murmured, flopping back down on the couch next to a sleeping cumulus. 

"cause you're gay!" aurora jokingly shouted from the room before being consumed by the giggles again. 

legend says aether never recovered after that. 

[lvsifer]

my dearest Feini @sauron-kraut tagged me on 7-sentence wip and general wip game so here we go 💞

sequel wip to this lil rhaenicent modern au:

More people push onto the dancefloor until Rhaenyra is barely a hand’s length away from Alicent, crowded in from all sides, everyone moving to the same rhythm, bodies together like drops of water in a thundering river, and Alicent thinks of the dark woods in which she spent so many hours of her childhood, wonders if there too centuries ago, humans were dancing dancing dancing to a drum beat. With a rush she feels part of the long line stretching back six million years into the human past. Dancing from the beginning. In a haze she smiles at Rhaenyra. Incredible that humanity has always done this, always loved, danced—Rhaenrya smiles back—connected.

Alicent swans her arms around Rhaenyra’s neck and Rhaenyra steps closer, hands on Alicent’s hips. It feels so good.

tagging @jamlocked @theskeletonprior and any and all moots who want to do this (esp my dune and hotd moots!)

[v-thinks-on]

“Professor, are you okay?”

“Just hang tight, and we’ll be there to rescue you as soon as we can!”

“Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

“Troublesome students.” Magneto remarked, lying back against the cushions of an absurdly luxurious couch.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Professor Xavier said with a sigh. “I wouldn’t mind a hand with the school, you know.”

Erik gave Charles a pointed look, and instead focused his powers on pouring a glass of wine. “A drink, Charles?”

“Please, but not too much or they’ll think you’ve done something truly horrible to me.”

Erik smirked.

[butch-buckley]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for the tag, @carlos-in-glasses! here’s a little snippet from a tarlos breakup era WIP (my first real tarlos fic!)

There he is.

There he is, with his kind eyes, and his wide smile, and his beautiful, grown-out curls.

There he is, sending that smile in the direction of someone at the bar. Someone crowding into his space, someone who doesn’t deserve to be there.

TK needs to go. Get out of this memory. Get out of this awful dive bar. Get back to reality; to his cramped room at his dad’s house; to his cold, empty bed.

He stares, for a moment. Watches the way he gestures, laughs, leans into the stranger’s ear to whisper something. Indulges himself in the privilege of just being able to gaze at what isn’t his anymore.

And then Carlos looks back.

And it’s nothing but him.

open tag to anyone! keep an eye out for this one later :)

[heylittleriotact]

𝐸𝓂𝒷𝒶𝓁𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝒾𝒹:

Used to preserve deceased individuals, sometimes only until the funeral, other times indefinitely.

(for @emmg who was thirsty for Emmrich porn avec whiskey dick and I am nothing if not accommodating)

Under the cut and on ao3

Hours had passed since they first set foot in the high-class cocktail lounge tucked behind a secret entrance down an unsuspecting alleyway in Minrathous.

That should have been his first clue that this night was going to end up wildly out of hand. This was no humble tavern with a starving bard strumming their lute in the corner, singing about some woman named Sera while a harried barmaid slung pints of warm ale and unidentified meat to patrons, warding off the occasional pinch to her rear with quick fingers that told just how long she’d been tending bar in the city.

No, instead of a bard, there was a somber, balding man at a harpsichord in the corner, dispensing sophisticated chamber music, and there was no barmaid in sight: only a portly middle-aged Orlesian man who introduced himself to Emmrich and Amina as ‘Guillaume’ and walked with a labored gait that Emmrich suspected immediately to be caused by an active and rather nasty flare-up of gout.

There were no windows in this cocktail lounge, given its exclusive and ‘well-hidden’ existence, and the only light sources were small oil lanterns placed on each of the small round white-linened tables. 

A password. They had needed a password to be admitted into this place. 

While admittedly some part of him felt thrilled at the cloak-and-dagger charm and implication that attending this venue was somehow rebellious in nature, he did think it a bit ostentatious, even for his tastes, but Neve had suggested the lounge, going so far as admitting that it claimed the spot at the top of the list of venues to take dates she was really interested in.

Emmrich didn’t ask where she ended up taking the ones she wasn’t as optimistic about.

Guillaume hobbled over to their table and folded his white-gloved hands before inquiring if the monsieur and mademoiselle would like another beverage. They probably should have stopped two or three rounds earlier, truth be told, but conversation flowed so naturally - so easily - between them, and they simply never ran out of things to talk about.

Emmrich watched Amina lift the little leather-bound menu and squint in the dim light as she attempted to discern the feathery cursive on its pages. A thick strand of her bone-straight black hair slipped over her shoulder as she leaned forward, humming thoughtfully and tugging up the neckline of her plunging burgundy top as if the motion would do anything to protect her modesty. They were both more than a few drinks in, and she wasn’t a heavy drinker to begin with, so about an hour earlier when she’d beckoned him close over the table and whispered in his ear that she wanted him to cum in her mouth later, he knew she was properly in her cups.

He decided he was too as he tilted the empty crystal glass in his hand, watching the large cube of ice within drift over the bottom until it met the side. He’d had what… five or six whiskey cocktails and that one with the gin, vermouth, and olives? Spaced over the three or so hours they’d been here, there was no denying the light around the lanterns had developed a misty glow and he felt very relaxed… and increasingly distracted by the curve of her breasts peeking over the top that was doing its very best to conceal them. 

“I’ll try the Sazerac, please,” she primly closed the menu and held it out to Emmrich, who accepted it from her, arching a brow discreetly in her direction when he felt the pointed toe of her nugskin heel travelling sensually up the inside of his leg under the table, staring at him with kohl rimmed eyes and drawing her lower lip through her teeth like she was a housecat ready to pounce on a fat songbird - him. 

She knew what those naughty little shoes did to him, the minx. 

“One more of these, if you’d be so kind,” he lifted the empty glass and tried his best to sound cordial and unassuming as Amina’s foot meandered up his thigh and the sole of her shoe came to rest on his crotch, which enthusiastically responded to her attention. “And we’ll settle up with you as well, please: we’ve another engagement this evening we must be off to.” He grabbed Amina’s ankle to halt her taunting movements against him, and she shot him a coquettish smile over the rim of her tinted coupé glass before tipping it back and draining the remnants of the cocktail - some concoction of gin, wildflower wine, elderflower, and bitters, among other things… he’d had a sip: it tasted floral and lively like a late spring breeze dancing down a winding country road on a clear day.

Guillaume tipped his head and limped away, returning a few minutes later with the cocktails and a handwritten bill tucked into a little leather folder which he placed in front of Emmrich without hesitation after setting down the drinks. 

As soon as Guillaume was far enough away, Amina reached over the table for the folder, but Emmrich snatched it away, holding it out of her reach.

“This doesn’t concern you, darling.” 

Her outstretched hand did not move. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emmrich. This is hardly my first time at a place like this - I know this isn’t a cheap night.” How lovely she looked with that delicate rush of colour over her cheeks and nose.

Emmrich thumbed the folder open and skimmed over the bill, his expression stoic. “No darling, but I knew before we started seeing each other formally that you’re a woman of expensive tastes.” 

Expensive tastes to the tune of precisely two-hundred-forty-seven gulder… and an appropriate gratuity on top of that. He withdrew his purse from the inside of his waistcoat to start counting out coin. 

Amina knocked back half her Sazerac in one go and said confidentially, hiding the side of her face with her glass so no one but him could see her mouth, “You’re right about that, but there is something I know that you don’t, Professor Volkarin.” 

“What might that be, Ms. Ingellvar?”

She leaned close - almost close enough to taste the booze on her breath. 

“I’m not wearing any underthings.” 

His cock twitched and he felt the colour in his cheeks deepen further at the thought of her warm, wet cunt separated from him by only the expanse of table linen and expectations of public decency. It wasn’t that he needed to drink to feel attracted to her - no, that came as effortlessly to him as breathing - but in the haze of perhaps one or two too many fancy cocktails, his mind was consumed by thoughts of ravishing her for the remainder of the night and well into the early morning if they could get away with it. 

“What a charming surprise.” He counted out payment, set it on the table, swallowed a good deal of his drink, the burn of it doing little to quell the urgent desire to bend her over the table and bury himself in her then and there. “Finish your drink, darling, and let’s get you home, shall we?”

She was already tugging at buttons and closures by the time they tumbled through the eluvian into the Lighthouse, giggling feverishly and twining around him like an affectionate cat. Her shoes were abandoned in the eluvian room, and her shirt was doffed in a careless heap on the floor at the top of the stairs to the library.

“Remember when I sucked you off by the bookshelf and you were soooo worried that someone was going to catch us?” She grabbed his hand and put it over her bare breast as she meandered unsteadily backwards towards the stairs to their respective rooms.

Filling his hand with the warm weight of her flesh and tugging at her nipple gently, he hushed her inebriated titter with his mouth over hers, knowing full well that he was far too drunk to be wandering around attached to someone at the mouth with his eyes closed, but not able to find it within himself to behave responsibly for a change. 

“Davrin very nearly did: you’re a bad influence, Ms. Ingellvar,” he purred, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and catching it with his teeth. She moaned into the slight hurt and threw her arms around his shoulders, then her legs, trusting him to catch her - which of course he did. He could drink the city of Minrathous dry and he’d never drop her. Not her. Not precious, beautiful, lovely, entrancing Amina…

He carried her all the way down to his bedroom, admittedly a little unsteady on his feet and taking extra care as he descended the stairs from the laboratory into the well-appointed cavern where he slept and kept his personal effects. 

Placing her gently on the bed, he did away with his boots and joined her, crawling atop her and devouring her with another hungry kiss as he slipped his hand up her thigh, past the bunched up hem of her skirt until his fingers met with the dripping heat between her legs. 

“I’m beginning to think you deeply begrudge smallclothes, darling. It seems you’re completely averse to wearing them unless absolutely necessary…” He circled her clit with his thumb almost tauntingly before slipping two fingers inside her, working them slowly, stretching her, slickness slowly travelling down his palm and the back of his hand.

Arching against his touch, Amina groaned. “I never did have much patience for pointless things.” 

She palmed him through his pants, humming approvingly when she found him hard and straining against the material. “I wanna kiss it,” she declared, her voice semi-slurred, looking up at him with glassy eyes. 

“You want to kiss it,” he corrected smarmily.

She poked him in the side, hitting a spot she knew was ticklish and making him flinch, but his fingers remained within her. “This is not… that’s not how one successfully goes about getting their dick sucked.” Despite the admonishment, her fingers worked at the closures of his trousers, and despite the turgid gracelessness of her motions, she managed to free him.

Leaving the comforting warmth between her legs, he fell to the bed, still completely clothed, and Amina slinked downwards, bending her legs at the knee behind her and crossing her feet at the ankles as she rested on her belly so he could enjoy the sight of her petite little soles and well cared for toes while she sucked him off because she knew he enjoyed that. 

How lucky he was. How unexpectedly fortunate to find himself on this harrowing but exhilarating adventure of a lifetime to begin with, and then to find companionship as well? True, genuine connection with another person that he hadn’t felt in years - he certainly hadn’t responded to that letter from Bellara requesting a meeting operating under the assumption he would find himself entangled with someone as wonderful as Amina... 

There was little refinement to her approach of pleasuring him - no slow, sensuous teasing with that tongue of hers, not tonight, oh no: her nose was already already buried in his pubic hair, and the tip of his cock was residing somewhere in the neighbourhood of her tonsils. Uninhibited by the numerous cocktails she’d downed, she was going down on him like he was her last meal and it sent his mind reeling to witness her so liberated and shameless in her movements and actions.

Her eyes met his and she let his cock slide from her lips, a fat rope of saliva still tethering him to her, and the naughty thing actually winked at him before a heavy bead of drool dangled from her open mouth and spread over him, the heat and depravity of it forcing the air from his lungs. 

Working the slick all over him with her callused hand, he watched her and something in his brain stopped working altogether when she lowered her head and enveloped him again, her sage green eyes locked on his the entire time.

Messy, sloppy, unseemly. Every memory of a polite greeting and an understanding smile held in sharp relief against the undisciplined young woman currently slobbering on his dick.

It was exceptionally attractive.

But then something was off. The steady thrum of his pulse beating hard through his nethers vanished with worrying haste.

Oh no… 

No-no-no-no… 

No?

He dared a glance at her and could tell in the instant before his eyes snapped shut from sheer embarrassment that she had indeed realized that something had changed as well. Specifically his cock, and the firmness of it - it was rapidly softening in her mouth… practically deflating in her hand, the blood fleeing from it deciding to circulate elsewhere at the worst possible moment. 

You loser, Volkarin!

He could practically hear Johanna’s snide tone in his mind. Why he was hearing her voice in his internal monologue at this exact moment in time was a mystery to him, but that didn’t change the fact that he heard it like she was kneeling on the bed next to him, berating him directly. 

Amina’s lips twitched upwards in a helplessly sympathetic expression that for the first time in his life had him considering that embracing death might not be so terrible as she continued to do her best to resuscitate his wilting manhood. 

A few drinks and your boudoir performance turns into a mummer’s farce! She’ll come to regret crawling into bed with your feeble bony carcass if this is the best you can do! Poor thing… her, to be clear - not you. I knew you were a lightweight, but this is pathetic!

Too much time had passed with neither of them saying anything - it was becoming increasingly awkward as moments ticked by and his traitorous loins continued to play shy. 

One of them had to say something. 

It had to be him. 

“D-darling–” he stammered uselessly.

Amina sat back, tucking her legs beneath her, his limp cock flopping against his trousers with all the sprightliness of a dead herring. She rubbed her palms on her thighs and blinked rapidly. “It’s… it’s fine!” The put-on shrillness of her voice told him that it very much was not fine. “If it wasn’t doing it for you, you could have just said so.” Her lip trembled and she looked at the pillow above his head instead of him. 

Fade take him: she thought he wasn’t enjoying himself - that she was the reason for his… impotence. 

“No, no, no, dearest - that’s not true at all!” He scrambled for words and her wrists so he could pull her close and try to at least undo some of the damage that had been done, knowing from the redness of her eyes and the knit of her brow that it was far too late: she resisted his gentle tug and stayed sitting on her knees between his legs. 

Of course they were both drunk, and where he found himself unable to perform, she found herself weepy. 

Oh dear.

What a mess he had made of an otherwise lovely evening…

“You must believe me that this isn’t your fault, darling. I… I’ve had too much to drink, I’m afraid, and, and this is tremendously embarrassing - I… this doesn’t happen often, really, I swear, and I want nothing more than to make love to you, it’s just… I just…” his face felt redder than it had all night and the amount of liquor he consumed had nothing to do with it. 

Amina hiccuped wretchedly and finally let him pull her down against him so he could wrap his arms around her and stroke her beautiful night-dark hair. 

“Let me make it up to you?” He murmured drunkenly, softly tracing the shape of her ear with a finger. “Just because I’m not up for it - much to my own chagrin, I must emphasize - doesn’t mean you need to go to bed unsatisfied, hmmm?”

“Please Emmrich, it’s not any fun if you’re doing it out of pity,” she groused into his shoulder, her dissatisfaction with his proposed arrangement apparent. 

What was he to do? He hadn’t run into this particular difficulty with a partner in so long that his memory strained to recall how he’d handled it back then. It seemed cold and uncouth to shrug his shoulders and call it a night, leaving her unfulfilled, but there was little chance of him finding arousal again in this state… not for a few hours at least.

“We… we could try again in a while, perhaps?” He offered weakly, hating himself, hating his uncooperative anatomy, and hating the very existence of the spirit known as whiskey. It would be a miracle if she wanted anything to do with him after this…

Amina heaved a tormented sigh, still not lifting her head from the space between his neck and his shoulder. “I don’t… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things for me if you don’t want to. It just makes everything… weird.”

He shifted his shoulder, lifting her face from him and then cupping her cheek, forcing her gaze to his. “I do want to though, darling, don’t you understand?” Her fingers found his wrist, warming skin and gold under her searing touch. “I am consumed by thoughts of you from the moment sleep leaves me in the morning to the very moment dreams find me at night, and those dreams have been conquered by you too.”

His other hand skimmed up her thigh, back underneath her skirt, finding her heat again. She shuddered against his touch, still wet and engorged, and he bitterly wished his cock could replace his fingers. 

Would it be like this after he achieved lichdom? Certainly there would be… changes to their intimate dynamic, but would it be fraught with this same awkward tension that currently lingered unpleasantly somewhere between resentment and pity? 

He considered this previously unconsidered eventuality as he laid her down on the sheets and spread her open, filling his nose with the scent of her - feminine and lively: a natural blend of salt and sweetness and sweat that made his mouth water reflexively.

That scent would no longer exist for him after lichdom. Not without olfactory receptors lining the tissue of his nasal cavity. It was indeed difficult to the sense being replaced with something better, but being able to smell was vital to being able to taste, and as he lapped at her deeply, tonguing her hot flesh as one would indulge in a ripe, messy summer peach, something twisted in his chest, compounding the pre-existing misery caused by his inability to perform.

One hand gripped the top of her muscular thigh, the other stretched over her lower belly, covering it almost entirely, hovering over her womb that was hidden under a network of muscle and sinew.

He would no longer be able to taste her, nor would he be able to please her in this way either. 

Never again would he feel her warm juices dripping into his mouth and rolling down his cheeks, saturating the hair above his lip and dwelling there so that he would catch scintillating traces of her in the hours afterwards, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the memory of her underneath him, chanting his name as he brought her over the edge.

He undid her with ease despite his inebriated state, knowing exactly where and when to lick, how hard, and when to introduce his fingers again, working them inside of her in tandem with his tongue against her clit. 

Touch would still be an option, he supposed, crooking his fingers towards himself and finding the rough, textured spot within her that immediately made her hips buck and her thighs clench against his head. She moaned his name and he placed a gentle sucking kiss on her clit, then told her she was a good girl before returning to his ministrations - and his ruminations.

Would she even desire that, though? Not being able to jointly enjoy each other intimately tonight clearly hadn’t sat well with her, so what were the chances that she would be satisfied - let alone eager - to find release by way of skeletal - albeit loving - hands, and whatever metaphysically similar connection he might unlock?

Would she even want him to touch her anymore once his flesh was shucked away eternally, replaced by linen wrappings and the illusion of a glamour that catered only to the sense of sight?

Her knees pressed against the sides of his skull so hard he thought she might crush it, but he did nothing to remove them or attempt to ease her grip.

How would he even kiss her without lips? Embrace her? Comfort her with his body that was rigid and hard and hollow and cold? 

How could he be anything for her in that form?

… What if she decided she wanted a child?

He liked to think that she would see past it - that her true feelings and affection for him would outweigh her apprehension and need for physical connection - that lichdom and all that came with it outweighed the confines of mortal flesh. But as Amina’s fingers curled in his hair and she gripped him hard as she spent herself, her sweet release gushing down his throat, he knew deep down that the chances of her seeing it that way was about as likely as his cock coming back to life tonight. 

Even still, he couldn’t find it within himself to think her shallow or unfair for it: while he was pleased at the sight of her panting and gasping for breath from his place between her legs, he missed at least having the option to incorporate his own anatomy into their activities, and it was just natural fact that having had a cock for the entirety of his life up until this point, the prospect of having to part with it wasn’t at the top of the list of things he looked forward to experiencing when he finally attempted lichdom.

He should be above such things. He should be beyond such attachments if he was truly ready for the gift of immortality.

He finished licking up every drop of her from her perfect sex, then tucked her in, then tucked himself in alongside her. He smoothed her hair as she nuzzled into him, exhausted and blissed-out as he knew she would be. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” he told her.

“Don’t be,” she mumbled sleepily, already dozing off, uncaring that they were both at least partially clothed. 

He wanted to do as she said, but as he watched her fall asleep in his arms he couldn’t.

Couldn’t let go of the sickly, creeping feeling that he was going to lose her when all was said and done, and this was only a glimpse of a not-too-distant future. 

The next morning, despite the vicious hangover that was ravaging the insides of his eye sockets and his stomach, he dragged an equally hungover Amina to the market in Treviso and wouldn’t let her leave until he bought her three new pairs of shoes, an expensive new perfume to replace the passable but cheap label she normally wore, and a tasteful but very authentic gold anklet with half a dozen flawless sapphires along the chain. 

It was obvious to both of them what he was doing: making up for his dysfunction the night before. 

But it was more than that for Emmrich. This wasn’t just an apology - it was a promise: I might not be able to please you in the ways that you deserve and desire, but you will never feel unloved. You will never want for anything. 

That’s enough, isn’t it?

I’m enough?

He remained unconvinced.

[biblio-smia]

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

buy me a ko-fi!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

[bluewatersfairy]

daydreamin' - j.t.

a/n: I started writing this at the beginning of the '22-'23 season and have been meaning to do something with it for literally 2 years. Hope you enjoy lmao!

synopsis: reader gets a little too lost in her head whilst on set with Jayson

warnings: mature content, MINORS DNI! small mentions of oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, exhibitionist kink mentioned/depicted, slight degrading/name calling (literally once if you squint), filth but like in a fun way.

word count: 5.3k (imagine if i could just shut the fuck up)

•••

Time felt slowed and your eyelids were droopy, despite the clock behind you reading 11am.  An early call time mixed with a red-eye meant that there wasn’t much time to rest horizontally, or at all.  Some things were worth the sacrifice for though.  He was most definitely one of those things.

When the story first landed on your desk, you almost couldn’t believe it.  The Celtics had been playing on your television for as long as you could remember.  You’d grown up watching every draft and noting down each new player that joined the roster.  You were always in to support the new up-and-comers as a child and in your professional life.  

You’d written and pitched a few stories about the young core over recent years but nothing had ever been picked up for a full length piece.  The best you got was a short piece for one special edition that highlighted the great women that stood behind the biggest sportsmen in sports today.  The NBA section was one of the smallest word counts you’d been given, but you did the best you could.

A full length piece like this being handed to you, a cover story no less, made little sense to you.  You weren’t going to turn it down, but it took you a few minutes to process what was being asked of you.  Truthfully, it hadn’t properly sunk in until you were on the plane, flying cross-country for a 48-hour stay.  A full cover story on someone with all eyes on him meant that it was going to be the biggest opportunity of your career.  Not only was it a big deal for him, it was for you too.  You were not going to let yourself waste it by getting lost in him. 

Even as the sirens wailed, trying to pull you back to reality, your eyes couldn’t pull away from Jayson.  Like magnets, his hands forced you to scan over his chest with his next pose.  The fake sweat that had been sprayed over him caught the light as the photographer wanted and your heart almost stopped.  You didn’t understand why this story meant he had to pose for thirst-trap-like pictures in his Celtic uniform.  Did the universe have something against you?

Someone called your name from behind you and snapped you out of your daydream.  They were clearly impatient, the sound of a clicking pen matching with the click of dress shoes on concrete floors.  With your attention turned back to the little prep work you had left to complete, you did a final once over of the questions you’d prepared for Jayson.  His agent was watching every move you made and when you finally handed them the sheet, they marched off calling a hurried ‘thank you’ to you.  

You took a deep breath for the 100th time and looked over your recorder again.  Full battery?  Yes.  Storage status?  Completely empty.  Vocal tests?  All three completed.  It was fine, perfect even; ready to go whenever Jayson was.  Your anxiety, however, was making it difficult for you to be ready.  In a quiet tone, you started to count to ten, reaching for a cracker as you did.  You needed to nibble on something that wouldn’t come straight back up.  Looking at your hand holding the cracker, you noticed just how obviously your now jumpy nature was.  Your nerves were starting to present to others; this is not good, you thought to yourself, just fake it, smile and push through.  You needed water, a lot of it.  Was your throat always this dry?

“They want me to wear a tie,” Jayson’s voice cut through your thoughts, forcing you to turn around a little too quickly.  His deep and raspy tone had caught you off guard.  Your body’s immediate response was to send spirals to the pit of your stomach and float to your chest with impeccable speed.

“If you’d rather not, I don’t think it’s necessary?”  you replied, your uncertainty and want to please him clear as day. 

“Nah,” he shook his head and flashed his charming smile at you, “they’ve got a vision, I’ll stick to it.”

He had changed into his formal look for the shoot.  It was a classic black Dior suit with a white button up.  It was tailored to his figure beautifully and gave him a really classically handsome look.  It was the lining of the suit jacket that made it special as well as the socks he wore.  Custom-made with embellishments of his home city and his mother and sons’ names stitched over his heart.  He looked incredibly dapper and handsome, clean and perfect.  

You swallowed and let your eyes fall to his hands as he showed you the three ties he’d been given.  They were all quite simple and classic, but you were immediately drawn to the Dior silk black ribbon tie with a bee embellishment

“Which one do you think?” Jayson held all three of them up to his chest and posed for you.  He let out something of a chuckle, his eyes focusing on you as he scrunched his nose.  He was absolutely adorable, and he was starting to make you melt.

You gently tapped on the tie you thought was best and expected him to step away and give you a second to breathe.  Instead, he reached behind you to put the unchosen ties down before putting the one you had selected over his shoulder. 

“Here,” Jayson said, starting to tweak his collar, “could you, y’know?”

You nodded your head quickly and took the tie from him, your fingertips lingering against his warm skin for a second too long.

“They’ve got a stool here somewhere,” you said more to yourself than him as your eyes scanned the room.  You spotted it and brought it over to him, hoping it would help close the height difference.

Jayson’s gaze stayed on your face from the moment you lifted the tie from his hand until the moment you stepped off of the stool.  It was intense.  It didn’t help the way he smirked when you fiddled with the tie.  Or the way he tugged on his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing.  You almost told him to stop, not that you were actually sure what it was that you wanted him to stop doing.  If anything, you were the one that needed to stop. 

It took almost every part of you to stop the image of you wrapping the tie around his wrists instead of the collar of his dress shirt.  Like dominos, the scene that unfolded couldn’t be stopped, so you’d just have to push it down and ignore it.

Ignore the way he’d look, completely naked with his wingspan stretched out to either side of your bed.  The cool black silk ties secured his big hands against the wooden headboard.  He didn’t struggle against the ties, all he did was wriggle his wrists to see how much he could do.  It wasn’t a lot, he could tell this wasn’t your first time. 

His head turned away from his wrists to find you standing at the foot of the bed, only in an emerald green two-piece lingerie set.  It complimented your deep brown skin devilishly well, Jayson couldn’t look away.  He let out a deep, throaty groan as he watched you slip your thumbs under the hem of your panties and began to pull them down your hips.

“You’re so good to me,” he part moaned, “look at you baby, I can’t say nothin’.”

His entire body flexed as you knelt on the bed only in your bra.  You licked your lips and watched his girthy cock move with the rest of his muscles.  You were so tempted to crawl up his body, and stop with your mouth hovering dangerously close to his dick.  Teasingly, you’d kiss the tip and gently caress the shaft.  Your mouth watered at the thought.  You knew yourself well enough that you wouldn’t stop with a little teasing.  You’d end up taking the whole thing in your mouth, making a mess of your lipstick and your mascara as your eyes watered.  

To compromise, when your mouth hovered over his cock, you gripped the shaft with your left hand.  Jayson’s response was similar to one of pain or a burn – a gasp of surprise that expressed both pleasure and discomfort.  It made you giggle and you wondered if he had ever been like this with anyone else.  

“Fuck,” he dragged out as he watched your spit fall from your plump lips to his tip.  

You rubbed your thumb over the head and dragged the saliva down his shaft, pumping him so you could hear him sing out in pleasure.  He threw his head back and looked up for the first time that night.  He was met with the surprise of a lifetime.  You had had a mirror on the ceiling installed, and he now had two of the best views possible. 

“You could be a professional,” Jayson said as he looked over himself in the mirror.  “I’ve never been able to get my ties just right.”

“I’ll add that to my resume,” you smiled at him and carefully stepped down from the stool.  “Great sports journalist, even better tie-tyer.”

“You could pimp yourself out to fashion houses and modelling agencies,” he laughed, “you’d get an inside scope of what goes on behind the scenes as well.”

“That’s not half bad, actually.”  You shared a moment of laughter, and another of silence and gazing at each other before you were brought back to the real world by the photographer.  

Jayson went back to posing, though now it was less structured.  They were getting shots of him smiling and showing off the inside lining of his jacket, as well as a few of him holding his shoes.  You took a seat and let yourself go over your notes, though you were still distracted by him.  You weren’t sure if it was that he was a natural in front of the camera or simply that he was very handsome, but every time you looked up, he looked beyond good.  You were constantly reminded of just how fine he was and it was so overwhelming.  

He oozed that type of physical attraction that you felt deep in your uterus.  Your whole body just wanted him everywhere and there wasn’t much to stop it.  His quiet manner was no help either.  As a journalist, you were always digging for a bigger story and you wanted to just get into his mind and learn as much about him as possible.  He was easy to talk to, and you found that a connection between the interviewer and interviewee was what made a great piece.  

You needed this to be the best story of your career, an opportunity like this had the possibility of elevating your life and opening countless doors.  Hopefully, you’d finally get that job offer that would bring you to the east coast, the one you’d been looking for for close to a year.  

Your name being called from across the room pulls your gaze away from Jayson and you began to make your way over to what looked to be a team meeting.  There wasn’t much for you to say or do, except listen and nod when appropriate.  Jayson’s team was taking the lead of a majority of this shoot as he had a few other things he had to fit into his day.  You knew going in that the interview portion would come at the end, that you were really only there to get a feel of the vibe and find your footing with him.  

“I’ve gone over your questions,” Jayson’s agent turned to face you, “they’re good, nothing I can tell he won’t answer.  He seems to like you as well so he should give you more than you need for this to be an excellent cover story.” 

You nodded your head, agreeing, to show you were listening and noticed their gaze had gone back to Jayson.  When you turned to follow it, you found Jayson was looking directly at you.  He wasn’t being subtle about it either.  When your eyes found his, he smiled his stunning smile and the camera flashed.

“I might need you to cover him more often if you can get him to smile like that,” his agent commented, “he’s like a child sometimes when he smiles for the camera.”  Without another word, they’d walked away and you were standing alone again.  

You could sense that things were starting to move a bit quicker.  His team seemed to be prepping more and you caught bits and pieces of the requests and questions being thrown around amongst them.  Someone was sent off to get coffee, someone else was sent outside to make sure the balcony was accessible, comfortable and private.  You had assumed you would interview Jayson inside but it seemed everyone else had a different idea in mind.  

It was Jayson who approached you first to invite you out there to get started.  In your past experiences of interviewing professional and famous athletes, this wasn’t a norm.  Usually you were sent to the preferred interview spot to wait for the interviewee and they certainly weren’t the people to direct you there either.  But this was Jayson.  This is the narrative he’d created for himself, a polite, respectable young man.  

He walked two steps behind you, now in a pair of grey sweats and a black Jaylen Brown graphic tee.  He was more relaxed now and in turn, you felt a little more at ease.  If he was still in his Dior suit, it would’ve been a different story, you would’ve felt under-dressed in your business-casual outfit.  

“It’s beautiful out here,” Jayson said as you both stepped out, his hand reaching to the small of your back to guide you around the table and chairs to see the view properly.

“It is,” you breathed out as you placed your hands on the balcony rail.  You felt like you could see forever from right there, like you were at the top of the world.

“It’s so much better at night, when all the city lights are on.  You really feel like you’re on top of the world,” he paused as he placed his hand next to yours, “it’s romantic too.  All the lights in the dark, you’re just a world away from everyone else.  No one can see or hear you up here, it’s comfortable.”  you watched closely as his hand moved to rest on top of yours. 

You tried to imagine it, what it would feel like to be this far removed from everyone, just you and him.  The small of your back seemed to burn as you tried to remember what it felt like to have his hand there.  What would it feel like if there was no material in the way, and he was pushing you forward, making your back arch?

Pitch black surrounding you and just the sparkling lights of the city far below you.  You can barely hear the cars driving by, just the soft breeze brushing past your ears and the melodic rhythm and harmonious sounds of your grunts and moans mixing together.  You’d felt far too exposed when Jayson had first started to undress you but his mouth had quickly erased all your worries and insecurities from your mind.  He covered you in kisses before he reached your core.  He’d turned you around so fast, you’d barely had a moment to catch yourself on the balcony before he’d buried his face in your pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds and only breaking to nip at your inner thighs and round ass. 

The second you’d got him naked after he’d chivalrously made you cum twice, his body was immediately pushed up against yours.  Your hands were hot on his body, grabbing at his waist and hips while your lips fought against his own.

“You’re eager,” he teased as he broke away from your lips, grinning as he dropped his head to your clavicle, “‘bit of a change from before.”

“I think it’s more than you’re an exhibitionist and I think logically about how sex with us works.”  Jayson stood up straight at your rebuttal so he could look down at you properly. 

“Exhibitionists like to be seen and heard, look around princess,” he smirked as he spun you back so your ass was pressed to his front again, “no one can see or hear us up here.”

Jayson, truthfully, was exhilarated by the freedom that came with fucking outside and it became very obvious to you, very quickly.  He was louder than usual, but he was making you that much louder too.  His voice was rough as he told you to let him hear you, telling you to say his name louder and louder.  He wanted you to praise him unashamed and let everyone know exactly who was making you cum at that very moment.  

He also wanted someone to see how good you were for him, he was basically begging to see a flash in a window somewhere.  Jayson Tatum and his beautiful mystery whore, oh he could see it in white writing as he pulled out and sprayed his load on your back.  

“Do you want a napkin?”  Jayson asked as he got comfortable in the chair across from you.  

One of the people from his team had brought out their coffees and had given Jayson a handful of napkins.  You made a note in your mind that it was likely because he asks for extra when he had his son with him and it was just what his team did without thinking.  

You smiled and took one from him before crossing your legs and letting yourself relax into the chair a bit.  You mumbled a thanks as you slipped it under your tablet that was resting on your lap.  

You pressed the green button on your voice recorder and placed it on the table in front of you before asking Jayson if he was ready.  He nodded his head eagerly and rubbed his hands together.

“Where would you like to start?”  you smiled across at him and he returned the smile.

“In the middle, like all the good stories.” 

That was what you wanted to hear and you glanced at your notes, not that you needed to.  You knew exactly where you were going to start.

“In your relatively short career thus far, you’ve managed to accomplish many things other players spend their entire lives trying to reach, and many retire without touching the surface.  You’ve got gold medals, a signature shoe, multiple all-NBA placings and now a world championship, and that’s within the world of basketball.  If we stepped out, we could list so many more business endeavours.  We know you idolised Kobe and his own off-season adventures and his life outside the league went far beyond basketball.  What I want to know is what you want your future off-seasons to look like?  Do you have a desire to pursue something creative?”  

It was a long-winded question, but asking it made Jayson light up, this seemed to spark something that he was eager to share.  Starting in the middle was always the best when you had a good vibe with an interviewee.  You’d managed to create an emotional bond of sorts with Jayson already so you didn’t have to do the relationship-building-questions.  You could just ask something incredibly personal and trust that you would be given something you can easily build off of.  And that was exactly what Jayson gave you.

He begun by explaining that in the last two-years or so, he’d grown an interest in art and had started something of a collection.  “It’s not necessarily something to brag about compared to some of the collections I’ve been exposed to in the art-world, but it’s a start and I’m really proud of it.”

He was inspired too, he continued to explain.  He loved the portraits and landscapes he’d been exposed to and the realism of it all, but he was a story-lover above all things and it’s those type of paintings that draw him in.  

“You don’t always know straight away what you’re looking at, but when you read or hear the title of the painting, or a brief explanation about it, you start to see the painting as the story it is.”

“Would you ever consider picking up a brush and trying something yourself?”

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “but I wouldn’t want it to be for anyone but me, y’know?  Like them sex portraits and intimate art pieces that are created out of lust and love.  

“I’m lucky ‘cause my job is my passion, right?  I go to work and I train really hard and play even harder and while basketball is a creative process, it’s set in its ways.  I’m so attracted to the idea of doing something that’s physically and mentally freeing and I think that’s why I’m kinda obsessed with those types of paintings and why I wanna make them myself.”

He paused for a second, his eyes pulling away from yours for the first time since he’d started talking about it.  “Maybe,” he adds quickly, “I maybe want to make them myself.”  He laughed lightly and shook his head a little, definitely questioning a little bit why he’d said so much.

But it was good, it was what you wanted to hear from him.  It humanised him, showed more of his personality that he was so protective of.  It was an easy spot for you to jump from as well, you had a million things that you could ask from here and you sure as hell were gonna ask them.  You just had to avoid anything to do with sex and lust, because that was where you’d been stuck for the better half of the last 3 hours since you’d arrived at this shoot.

It was not helping you at all either, that Jayson was manspreading in his seat and you could definitely see his dickprint in his grey sweats.  It was unprofessional, of course, but you could not stop looking at it every few minutes.  And while he was talking about a sex portrait, you could’ve sworn you’d seen it react.  God help your mind and where it was running off to in that moment.

A locked door and a series of paints could be spread all around him and he could be instructing you what to do.  Promising you everything was safe and it was just an idea he had, and a massive canvas he’d found a little too easily.  

Or maybe it would start more innocently.  He’d wanted to try a live-model art class but it felt a little wrong for him, as a well known face and figure around Boston, to show up to a class to draw a naked woman.  So instead, he’d ask you to.  Sketching would turn to painting, or him trying to do something abstract.

“Can I see it?” you’d crossed your arm over your chest, holding your large breasts from spilling out as you walked to stand beside him.  He had this look of amusement on his face that you quickly shared.

What he’d painted and sketched maybe looked somewhat like you, if you focused on your body shape, but everything else was unclear.  You bit back a laugh and tried to wait for Jayson to say something regarding what he’d done.  

“I don’t think painting is my God given talent,” he mumbled quietly and before you could stop yourself, you started laughing.  Jayson turned to look at you and watched for a moment, before he very smoothly flicked paint over your arms and chest.  

“I didn’t say anything!” You squealed as he managed to throw a small amount of paint on you again.  There was this look on his face now that seemed so joyous yet dangerous, like he was plotting something that was no good.  

Your suspicious were confirmed when he started to pull off his own clothes and you realised that he was evening the playing field – this was now war.  Like teenagers, the two of you started running around the room throwing paint at one another and laughing with the highest amounts of joy you’d experienced in so long.  It was freeing and peaceful.  The type of thing, you realised, love songs and stories were made of.  

“God, I love you,” Jayson confessed as he grabbed you around the waist, his chest covered in the red and yellow paint that covered your hands, and you covered in the blue and green that covered his.  

“I love you,” you replied with a massive grin, your arms wrapping around him and you pressed your lips to his.  

“I have an idea,” Jayson smiled as rubbed your core over his dick.

“Are you ever not horny?” you asked, feeling just how much he’d started to feel in a very short amount of time.

“‘Could ask you the same thing?” he smirked before raising his eyebrows at you.  

It was the easiest transition from him holding you to the two of you on the floor, on top of a massive canvas he’d had laying there for the past few days.  You’re on top of him, hands pressed against the canvas as he switched between gripping your hips and your tits, while you rode his cock like a pro.  Your head was thrown back, the lube he’d drenched on his cock before you climbed on made everything feel so much better.  

“Roll your hips just like that baby,” he encouraged you with dark eyes, “you know how to do me right.”

You keep going on top of him until he tells you to stop.  You climbed off him and watched as he hit his cock roughly.  He didn’t want to cum yet, he wanted to do more, you could see it in his face.  You carefully lent forward, your hands leaving prints on the canvas and you gently kissed his lips.

“You okay?” he asked softly as he slipped his hand down your back.

“I’m okay, baby,” you smiled, “I’m just checking if you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he echoed and kissed you again, “I have an idea though.”

He sat up as he spoke and moved to be behind you.  He kissed your shoulders and your neck and moved you gently, but with a certain sense of control that made you that much hotter.  You on all fours had given him this idea of your body’s print on the canvas.  Your tits were covered in paint, as was the rest of your torso, it would be a sight to see.  One he needed to see.

He pushed your chest down and guided your ass up leaving your pretty pussy on full display for him.  He let a stream of spit drip onto your throbbing hole and pressed his thumb against it, rubbing and teasing you and making you moan loudly.  You pushed your hips back and wiggled your ass, trying to get him to slip inside you again.

“I want you face down and ass up till I fill that pussy up,” he ordered, his hand pushing you down even more so you were pressed fully into the canvas.

“Whatever you want Jay, just fuck me.”

When he slipped into you again, he filled you to the hilt and did nothing to hold himself back.  He fucked you into the canvas and watched with a devilish grin as you spread your hands out to try and grip on to something.  It left pretty marks over the canvas and made him think more and more about how your tit print is gonna look.

“Your tits are gonna look so good on here baby,” he moaned before smacking your ass, “almost as good as you fucking feel right now, oh fuck.”

You turned your head to the side and let your moans sing along with his.  He was so turned on that it was driving you crazy, you didn’t even know what it was but you needed it to happen more.

“Are you gonna cum?”

“Say that again?” you asked as you lowered your coffee mug from your lips, your cheeks red.

“Are you gonna come?” Jayson asked again, “to the ring ceremony?  I know you’ve covered me and Jaylen before, so it would make sense if they fly you out for it.”

You smiled and nodded your head, “I hope they do.  I’ll let them know you asked, might give them the push to do it.”  

“You can give them my number if you want, they can call and I’ll let them know that I personally want you there.”  He winked at you and made you blush yet again.  

You only had a few more questions left, you’d gotten a lot of content from Jayson in the past 30 minutes, you were really grateful for it.  You knew it would read well too and would most likely give you more opportunities for future cover stories.  You knew you could write this well.  You were determined to as well, not just for yourself but for Jayson too.  

You had one final question to ask and it made you smile, this was all very full circle considering you started with a middle-type question.

“Lastly, how are you?  How does it feel to be doing a cover story?”

He chuckled a little and rubbed his temple, “no matter how many I do, I always love doing them.  I forget how good it feels to be in front of the camera, honestly.  I feel real important and I really enjoy being the centre of attention.”  

You giggled a little at this comment and it makes him smile even more, “I really enjoyed talking to you too, I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“Hopefully when I’m in for the ring ceremony,” you replied and you both share a short laugh before you’re thanking him and officially ending your audio recording.

Wrapping things up is a much quicker process than getting everything set up.  Before you know it, you’ve shaken everyone on his team's hands and thanked them for having you.  The photographers have told you they’ll be in contact within the next few days and just like that you’re standing in the elevator and the doors are almost closed.

Almost closed before someone stuck their hand in and forced the doors open again.

“Sorry,” Jayson said and slid in quickly, and pushed the closed door button.  He moved to stand beside you and together, you watched the doors closed.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” Jayson mumbled as he cupped your face in his hand and kissed you.  You welcomed his embrace and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Hey baby,” you cooed, looking up at him.

“How long are you here for?” he asked, his hand not so subtly grabbing at your behind, “I’m not leaving your side for the rest of it.”

“30 hours,” you went on your tiptoes quickly and kissed the base of his neck, “I have a couple things I want to do.”

“Mm,” he hummed at the feeling of your lips still on his neck, “I’m so proud of you, this is such a big opportunity and you crushed all that shit.  Everyone was saying they’re so impressed with you.”  

“Do you wanna show me how proud you are?” you asked looking up at him, finally feeling like you can let out everything you’ve been feeling and thinking about.

“Oh,” Jayson said as he realised, “okay then, we gotta go.”

[sinful-skeptic]

In the country i live in, christianity is not the dominant religion, and it’s pretty crazy how the christians always mention religious freedom when another religion tries to convert them, yet the same people would then go around harassing non-christians and trying to convert them.

The worst part is they always target people who are at a low point in their life where they’re desperate and vulnerable. Not surprised though, the bible basically told them to force others to convert under the belief that they’re “saving” people from the eternal abyss of hell or whatever.

I also find it weird how hypocritical they are in general and not just on this specific manner, like how they cherry pick which rules to follow on the bible, like not getting tattoos for example and then they go off wearing mixed fabric (which is apparently forbidden.)

[aprettyweirgirl]

guys im gonna finish what im writing today. it is SO SAD