#a patti per day

[apattiperday]

HOLD ME DOWN AND KISS ME TILL I HAVE NO AIR IN MZ LUNGS LEFT CHALLENGE

[mlentertainment]

danny and simon DIA begging their parents for all those instruments in the basement,,, framing it as "we're gonna learn classical and jazz to play at christmas parties" and then skipping school to shred up the basement with their shitty middle/high school band.

danny leaving for college and suddenly the silence is deafening. simon spiralling a bit, smoking too much weed to stop feeling bored, losing a good couple months (it fucks with my motivation). his parents going nuclear when they find out he's flunking out of a ton of his classes, hasn't attended in weeks and has been doping up in the basement (bc obviously weed is just as dangerous and reputation-damaging as dope). threatening to sell the band equipment and that's what really sets simon off. his one connection to the brother who actually cares about him, his outlet for everything he can't say to their faces because they won't listen.

that's what gets him to swap to zingers, something that'll make his parents think he's on the "right track" again but will also let him stay up 48 hours in a row, writing writing writing, screaming into the mic while his parents are out at dinner, circulating john Q tapes with the few cool people left in high school, claiming his friend passed them onto him and nobody knows who this john q public guy is. walking the stage at grad with his first shitty mohawk shaved in the school bathroom an hour before. spending grad night on his buddy's couch because it's easier than going home and facing his parents with his new hair.

giving JC a shot because danny said he loves the friends he made in his program, maybe simon can meet someone else who gets it. tells his parents he can change, he wants to be a sound engineer, that's a reputable career, isn't it?

two weeks into his program. can't believe the bullshit professor babcock is spouting, throws a fit in class about real music. gets the stapler and gets the hell out. that's when he meets seth and morgan, two guys angry at the world just like him, with a buddy donovan who's taken a shot at putting these old tapes his buddy gave him to a backing track. holy shit, they're john q. they found their way to other people who get it. this could be something.

that's also when his parents try to cut him off for real.

his usual guy gets nabbed so he looks for his dealer's dealer. starts working for albert, who also turns him onto being a labrat for naltech when they're trying to fund sending out their demos.

they're playing more and more basement shows as PSYOPS. he notices a couple of kids from that bullshit music appreciation class in the crowd, and he's glad at least some of them got out from under babcock's bullshit brainwashing. danny comes to one of the shows, sticks out like a sore thumb without any grease in his hair but is able to mosh with the best of them. says he's proud of his punk baby brother.

the first black envelope covered in stickers arrives at the PO box.

[mushroomates]

the fellowship bbq:

gandalf: arrives last (a wizard is never late), brings the most bizarre things with him. seven hot dogs buns (the exact number needed), a pepper shaker, (they ran out of pepper mid bbq) and fourteen napkins (there was a spill)

gimli: brings the beers. he has a giant ass cooler covers in rock (ha) band stickers as well as national parks. brings like,,., artisanal, local shit. unheard of brands and always fantastic. also brings homemade lemonade which is unironically the best shit ever. (the secret is he adds a pinch salt. the second secret is that the salt is “home grown”

legolas: oh boy legolas. really doing his best to master the art of pasta salad and it’s not going great. has brought: loose, uncooked penne mixed in with oak leaves, a ziplock bag of wet spaghetti and a separate ziplock bag of ranch dressing, three and a half raviolis on a bed of lettuce, and most recently, four different boxes of mac’n’cheese, unopened, and arranged artfully in a stand mixer bowl.

frodo: brings jello. every time. box-ready, red dye 40, un-name brand, jello. it’s the only thing he can reliably make and bring. it’s weirdly a hit every time. mostly because legolas and pippin play a game where they see how much random shit they can stick in it before the jello collapses.

sam: would love to bring the pasta salad but legolas says he has that covered. instead, brings potato salad and fruit salad. also brings the plates, forks, table cloth, condiments, seasonings and fly-covers. also bakes brownies with sprinkles themed per season.

merry: also brings brownies. do not eat merry’s brownies if you are driving or plan to drive within the next three days. pays sam like 20-50 bucks cash (whatever he can grab from his parents before he arrives to the function) because he wants to contribute more but hasn’t figured out how.

pippin: well,,, pippin. if you’re lucky with a giant ass watermelon, uncut. now your job to prep it as you see fit. also has a basket of loose produce he picked from his neighbors garden. there’s like,,,, sixteen cherry tomatoes and a fist full of mint.

boromir: is very protective of his grill. this does not stop merry and pippin from sneaking bites of of the cooking meat. has various “kiss the cook” aprons he cycles through. has a smoker and a grill, separate, brings both if not hosting. serves everyone else first. makes his patties from scratch.

aragorn: (?????) jerky. deer, probably. trail mix, fruit leather, mushrooms. all home made and foraged. sometimes brings baskets of wild blackberries. is more suited to picnics than barbecues. would like to one day man the grill- he can cook meat decently- but boromir won’t let him because he’s to light handed with the seasoning.

[zorobff]

little by little. (opla!sanji x fem!reader)

synopsis: a series of events that transpire throughout your time mentoring sanji into a proper waiter, per zeff’s request.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: cursing, smoking, some direct dialogue from opla, zoro wants u but he can’t have uuu, a pitiful attempt at enemies to lovers, this is the plate technique i was referencing btw

the slicing, stirring, and sizzling of the kitchen fades into background noise compared to the two thick accents bickering back and forth. to no one’s surprise, a disagreement between sanji and zeff’s has escalated into another one of their infamous arguments. it was such a common occurrence that almost everyone working at the baratie knew to brace themselves for a yelling match at least once day.

you’re no different as you return to the kitchen from waiting tables and walk right past the pair without so much as a glance their way. instead, you make a beeline for patty’s cooking station. unamused, you ask, “they’re back at it again?”

patty slings a towel over his shoulder as he hands you table 7’s orders. “i told sanji not to put that original dish of his on the menu. he called it a true bluefin whatever the hell.”

“sounds promising,” you joke, collecting the plates from him.

“tell that to zeff,” he replies flatly. “he might even make it tomorrow’s special.”

“dammit zeff!” sanji exclaims, interrupting you and patty’s conversation. “if i gotta sling one more prime rib medium-well, i’m going to drop dead of boredom, you old shitbag!”

“it’s what we serve,” retaliates the older chef.

“it’s an insult to the meat!”

“oh, you don’t like cooking our menu? fine. ‘cause i’ll be more than delighted to give you some other work elsewhere. in fact, you are off the line. you’re going to get out there and wait tables!”

sanji’s jaw clenches at having been demoted but he removes his chef apron regardless. as often as the two of them bickered, he could never refuse such direct orders from zeff. he was the owner and founder of baratie — that was something to be respected.

all of a sudden, zeff calls your name, causing you to abruptly set down the dishes in your hands. what did you have to do with any of this? the older chef beckons you closer with a curled finger and it seems as if every pair of eyes in the kitchen shifts to you. except for sanji’s, who is too busy staring up at the ceiling as if he’s begging a higher power for self-restraint.

it’s ironic how after putting so much effort into being the best waitress possible, you end up in the middle of confrontation – something you went out of your way to avoid. still, your body reacts faster than your brain and you comply, scurrying over to where zeff and sanji stand.

“from here on out, you keep a close eye on him for me.” zeff clasps a large hand on sanji’s shoulder with such force that it sends the younger jolting forward. “i don’t wanna catch him slithering his way back into the kitchen unless it’s to grab orders, ya got it?”

you blink. “yes, chef.”

your response earns you a tight-lipped smile, a rarely seen gesture from zeff. as suddenly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by a hardened gaze as he turns back to sanji. “if we’re lucky enough, some of your obedience might rub off on this little eggplant.”

the comment earns him an eye roll from the waiter in question, who seems less than thrilled with this new arrangement. “this is such bullshit, old man. you really think she can teach me anything?”

you go to defend yourself, slightly offended by his offhand comment. “hey, i—”

before you can get another word out, sanji interjects, offering you a glance. “no offense, i’m sure you’re lovely—” the moment he takes a good look at you, he trails off. it’s almost comical how quickly his demeanor changes, that signature smirk of his creeping onto his lips. “with an even lovelier face to match.”

you narrow your eyes at him, not charmed by the sudden switch in attitude. “you’re shameless.”

he smiles. “so i’ve been told.”

“we’ll need to work on that.”

his grin widens, if that was even possible. “i look forward to it.”

his smile is a little too mischievous for your liking; you sigh. “can’t say the same.”

ignoring your remark, he muses, “you know, it’s a shame that working under you is supposed to be a punishment. a pretty face like yours is more of a reward, if you ask me.”

“who said anything about a punishment?”

“well, what else would you call this?” he chuckles dryly. “instead of cooking, i’m expected to wait on idiots who can’t tell a rosé prosecco from a cheval blanc. and now i’m being treated like i need a babysitter.”

you fold your arms. “that’s because you do need a babysitter. besides, zeff calls the shots so there’s no use complaining.”

“of course you’d say that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

he smirks. “i can already tell you’re a professional rule follower. a lap dog, if you will.”

“if you were too, we wouldn’t even be here.” you decide to take it even further, returning his bluntness. “maybe it’d be easier if that ego of yours wasn’t so inflated.”

“damn.” he places a hand over his heart as if you’ve wounded him. “if we’re talking about flaws, though, this might be a good time to mention the stick up your ass.”

“what? i don’t–” you take a deep breath. “listen, zeff is counting on me to turn you into a functional waiter. that means we have to tolerate each other for the time being. the sooner we do that, the sooner we go our separate ways. got it?”

he flashes you his teeth. “yes, ma’am.”

“great. to start, you’re going to wait tables with me.” with that, you walk back to patty’s station.

sanji scampers behind you, smile fading. “you’re joking.”

you shrug, opting to let your silence answer for you.

he continues, “you’re not even going to let me suffer through this alone? i’ve gotta be glued to your hip as well?”

“what’s the matter? i thought i was lovely,” you tease him, feigning sorrow. your faux pout contradicts the way you harshly shove two steaming plates his way.

“not when you’re bossing me around.” he hesitantly takes the dishes you hand him. “i mean, can’t you just let me off the hook? i’ll hide in the supply closet ‘til our shift’s over.”

“good one.”

WEEK ONE.

“welcome to baratie, i’ll be your waitress this afternoon. what can i get started for you?” you ask, ready to jot down the table’s orders on your notepad. “i recommend today’s special—”

an arm digging into your ribs cuts you off. the action is forceful enough to jolt you but light enough not to hurt. you glare at the culprit, who tilts his head expectantly as if to ask, aren’t you forgetting something?

“oh, how unprofessional of me,” you deadpan. “this is sanji, he’ll be accompanying me. we’re training new hires.”

the smile on his face disappears, clearly insulted at being compared to an inexperienced beginner.

you continue, “as i was saying, today’s special is a beef filet with rice and seaweed soup. it was chosen by chef zeff himself.”

that seems to pique the customers’ interests. who didn’t want to eat a meal that had the chef zeff’s stamp of approval? they enthusiastically agree to add it to their order.

sanji scoffs. “that’s not sayin’ much. zeff wouldn’t know a good meal if it kicked him in the peg leg.”

you find yourself cringing as the patrons’ faces contort into shock at the blatant insult. well, there goes your tip.

chuckling nervously, you attempt to redirect the conversation. “can i, um, get you anything to drink?”

dismissing sanji’s outburst, they opt to look over the various wines the menu has to offer. you allow yourself to tune out their indecisive murmuring for the time being. however, sanji soon breaks the peaceful silence.

“you know what, how about i whip up a dish of my own for you two? ’s called a true bluefin sauté, somethin’ that’ll put today’s special to shame. free of charge, of course—”

“okay, that’s enough,” you intervene in between yet another forced laugh. “could you please excuse us for a moment?”

the guests’ irritated expressions fill you with shame — you were used to smiles and hefty tips but never this. you pull sanji aside, ignoring his complaints about the excessive force you use to do so.

“you need to get it together,” you seethe.

“i’m trying my best,” he replies, though there’s a smug undertone to it. “like you said, i am just a new hire.”

you suppress a sigh. “no new hire would badmouth the owner to customers like that. or offer to make dishes that aren’t—and never will be—on the menu.”

“ouch, that was personal—”

“just let patty know we need two specials. and tell him to make it top priority, we don’t want to piss these people off even more. can you do that, please?”

it was clear you were stressed by the mess he’d created, if your pleading tone was anything to go by. sanji decides to take pity on you. he wordlessly retreats to the kitchen to do what you had asked. no quips, no teasing.

for the first time, he follows your instructions.

WEEK TWO.

it seemed as if everyone in the east blue was set on having their breakfast at the baratie.

the kitchen was bustling, cooks slaving over the stove and waiters twisting past each other to grab orders. among them was you, sweaty and thoroughly overwhelmed. despite the task at hand, you can’t help but question the whereabouts of a certain blonde.

“where’s sanji?” you demand while grabbing more steaming plates.

carne, the chef who’d cooked the meals, answers you. “haven’t seen him all morning.”

you groan, using your sleeve to wipe off the beads of perspiration that form at your hairline before grabbing a bowl of oatmeal and plate of fluffy belgian waffles. you knew sanji still wasn’t happy about being a waiter (and he took every chance to show it) but that didn’t matter; it was all hands on deck this morning.

you continue expertly stacking the dishes into your arms and hands. it was a technique you’d learned over the years and now it felt like second nature. soon enough, you’re balancing plates up to your forearms. you’re just about to head back out to the dining hall when you hear a familiar accent behind you.

“we doin’ party tricks now or what?”

startled, you turn around so fast it causes the dishware in your hold to teeter ever so slightly. there stands sanji, clearly finding amusement in how you’re up to your elbows in breakfast foods.

“maybe don’t sneak up on me when i’m holding six plates?” you chastise him.

he chuckles. “sorry, sorry. what did i miss?”

“only the worst breakfast rush i’ve ever seen. where have you been?”

“i was takin’ a smoke outside.”

“productive.” your tone drips with sarcasm. “we’ll talk about punctuality later, for now just take the rest of those plates for me.”

sanji reluctantly obeys, grabbing two plates from the multitude of options and steps back, ready to follow you. you look at him in what could only be described as utter disbelief. he returns the stare and furrows his eyebrows as if he really can’t understand what he’s doing wrong.

“you’re seriously only taking two?” you ask.

“yeah? what, were you expecting me to join your balancing act?”

“it would help!”

“trust me, i’d only make a bigger mess.”

“sanji.”

“fine! show me.”

you squint your eyes at him in irritation. “my hands are a little full right now.”

he purses his lips. “then just tell me how.”

you comply. “get your first plate, put it between your thumb and the edge of your pointer finger. make sure to rotate it away from your body.”

sanji follows your directions, attentively. he glances up at you once he completes the first couple steps, scanning your face for any disapproval. you give him a nod.

“so far so good. next, put your second plate under the first. use your remaining fingers to support it– yeah, just like that. and let the edge of the plate rest on the bottom of the first.”

as sanji carefully carries out your instructions, you notice the determination written on his face. you’d never seen him put so much effort in a task, much less one you’d given him. you could tell it was challenging, judging by the way his hands wobble with uncertainty as he stacks the plates, but not once does he stop. it’s admirable. you feel a smile form on your face.

“okay, what n— what’re you laughin’ at?”

“i’m not laughing,” you defend. “it’s just– you’re really trying. it’s nice. i like this sanji.”

he opens his mouth as if to respond but decides not to at the last moment. there’s a brief silence before he raises his eyebrows to signal he was ready for the next step.

“right. um, the third plate uses your arm and the edge of the second plate as balance points so you’re gonna wanna put it– yeah, right there.”

you take in the sight of all three plates successfully resting on sanji’s arm as one of his trademark grins appears on his lips. clearly he’s proud of himself but as his wide eyes meet yours, you can’t help but feel as if he’s seeking your approval too. you notice that when he glances up at you, there’s an eager look in his eyes as if he’s hanging on to your every breath. you figure it’s normal for someone to want their mentor’s praise, right?

you willingly deliver the encouragement. “you’re a natural. better than me.”

his reply comes so quickly it almost seems as if he’s said it without thinking. “well, that’s not possible, is it?”

his tone sounds warm; sincere. not to mention, this is the first time sanji has complimented your skills as a waitress. you’d received countless praises for your work ethic but somehow, something so simple from someone like sanji makes this different. special, in a way.

“let’s get to the table, food’s gonna get cold,” you say so that you don’t spend too much time replaying his words in your mind.

the journey to said table proves to be more arduous than you’d think. you offer quiet ‘excuse me’s that can hardly be heard over the commotion of the kitchen as your coworkers try their best to make way for you and sanji. some of their eyes linger on the plates that masterfully balance on both your arms but truthfully, the sight of sanji exerting so much effort into waiting tables is more impressive to them. it’s distracting enough to send one of them to colliding straight into you.

your first instinct is to try and salvage as many dishes as possible but it’s useless when the impact is so strong that it sends you stumbling backwards. the only reason you don’t fall over is the firm chest that presses against your back and the two pairs of strong arms that find their way around your waist. the ear-splitting sound of yours and sanji’s plates shattering against the floor is unpleasant and yet all you can think about is how sanji literally dropped everything to catch you.

the waiter you’d crashed into groans, looking down at the mess of broken dishware and food gone to waste. “god, look where you’re going if you’re gonna carry all those plates.”

“i’m sorry,” you instantly apologize, flustered by the rare mistake. “i was just trying to get ahead of the rush–”

“instead, you set us back further.” his eyes flit down to his shirt and then yours. “and ruined both our uniforms.”

the abruptness of your mishap (and your skinship with sanji) had robbed all your attention, causing you to overlook the various creams and sauces that now bleed into your shirt.

“watch it,” sanji warns him, finding the man’s aggressive tone intolerable. “if you worked half as hard as she is then maybe there wouldn’t be such a need to catch up on orders.”

your coworker fixes sanji with a glare for intervening. “i’m not talking to you, pal.”

“well, i’m talking to you. and i’m thinkin’ of taking this discussion outside if you don’t apologize for being a jackass.”

that earns him an irritated sigh. however, he complies. “i’m sorry. can i get back to work now?”

sanji remains unimpressed. “don’t apologize to me. apologize to her.”

he doesn’t even try to hide his eye roll before he gives you a lackadaisical apology. “i’m sorry, alright? tell your boyfriend to back off.”

he stomps away, leaving you even more rattled up by his last comment. slowly, you turn around to sanji, unsure of what to say. you take in the stains that litter his suit, though he seems unbothered by it. his stare is heated as he watches the man leave. however, when he notices you staring, his gaze softens.

“what was his problem?” he asks you with a chuckle that sounds out of place in a moment like this.

in any other situation you’d poke fun at sanji for also having gotten worked up but you choose not to. him getting so angry on your behalf felt… strange. not unwelcome, though.

your reply is simple. “y-yeah. real asshole.”

he lifts a brow. “you okay?”

you nod a little too hard. “i’m just not used to situations like that. thanks for stepping in. and, you know, catching me.”

sanji glances away when your look of pure gratitude becomes too much for him to handle. “i couldn’t have you eat shit and be out of commission, zeff just might decide to mentor me himself. and no one wants that, right?”

you can’t help but laugh at the dismissive demeanor he was putting on when he’d literally just threatened a man for you. “right.”

he clears his throat. “let’s go get cleaned up then.”

“sorry,” you blurt. “about your suit, i mean. it’s all dirty now.”

he shakes his head. “wasn’t your fault. if anything, i should go force an apology out of that jerk.”

“well, while you do that i’m gonna clean this mess up.”

“no need.” he shoots you a sly wink. “i’ll make him do that too.”

WEEK THREE.

you find yourself clearing off an empty table on a somewhat slow thursday afternoon when the baratie’s newest guests catch your eye. they look nothing like the stuffy moneybags that frequented the establishment – far from it. in fact, you find yourself having to do a double take when you notice that one of them is wearing overalls. it’s refreshing, you think, occasionally glancing up at them as they settle in.

when you head back to the kitchen to grab menus, you bump into sanji, who’d arrived from his break.

you glance at the clock on the wall. “was that actually only ten minutes? i’m impressed.”

sanji exhales as he does every time he feels sheepish about following the rules. “don’t get used to it.”

you disregard his comment and instead hand him a couple menus. “come on, we’ve got a table.”

he frowns. “i just got back.”

“you’ll live. i think it’ll be a interesting one.”

that was an understatement.

“welcome to baratie. my name is sanji. what can i get for you?”

sanji’s customer service voice never fails to amuse you. it sounds too forced, too sharp; as if he’s just dying to spew a one-liner or two. you have to admit, though, he’d done pretty well ever since you started letting him take the lead. there was a clear improvement from when you’d first started, a little over two weeks ago.

“one of everything!” the one with the straw hat enthusiastically exclaims.

another, more feminine, voice joins the conversation. “maybe save that for after we find the one piece.”

there’s a brief pause before sanji speaks again, this time in a tone you know all too well. “didn’t see you there, madam. would you care for an aperitif to start? we have several rare micqueot vintages in stock. or perhaps you’d like a glass of umeshu? you know, something sweet for someone sweet.” he ends with a wink.

she cringes. “is there something wrong with your eye?”

you can hear sanji’s smile in his reply. “just blinded by your beauty.”

out of all of sanji’s antics, this somehow feels like the worst one yet. you’re not entirely sure why him blatantly flirting with the woman feels so unbearable but you decide to chalk it up to your professionalism. if any of your fellow waiters flirted with a customer you’d be just as upset… right?

“zeff told me he doesn’t like you terrorizing the female patrons with your flirting so why don’t you knock it off?” you tell sanji, your words carrying an unusual edge to them. “you’re one shitty pick-up line away from a restraining order.”

although you mumble the last part, both sanji and the table seem to pick up on it. your bitterness earns you a surprised tilt of the head from the blonde; it wasn’t like you to have such outbursts, especially not in front of guests.

“relax,” he says, still taken aback. “it’s called working the table. you should try it sometime ‘cause that attitude isn’t gonna get you anywhere.”

a monotonous voice cuts through the tension. “so about those drinks...”

you and sanji pause your discussion to get a look at the face behind the remark. lidded eyes that appear to be permanently hazy return your stare, through lashes so long you can’t help but admire them. the man who they belong to is comfortably splayed out on his side of the booth, calmly observing the two of you. though, it seems like you’ve caught his attention more than anything else. though his gaze seems uninterested, he still effectively studies every inch of you.

sanji seems to pick up the stranger’s staring problem too. he sharply inquires, “is there something on her face?”

the man turns to him once he’s finished sizing you up. “i’m just an observant guy.”

“observe the menu instead, hm?” suddenly, sanji’s tone sounds a lot like yours; irritated and displeased.

“no need.” the green-haired swordsman turns to you. “a beer, please.”

you hold the male’s gaze for a second before nodding. apparently, the eye contact is too prolonged for sanji’s taste because he cuts in, attempting to move things along.

“what about you, madam? anything i can get for you?” you notice he’s using that voice again.

her answer is plain. “water.”

somehow, he manages to complicate it. “still, sparkling, mineral? with ice or without? cubed or crushed?”

“regular water in a regular glass. thanks.”

he beams. “right away.”

“and what about the rest of you?” you ask to impede sanji from asking the woman any more questions.

“two beers,” the one with dark skin says. “i usually have three but–”

“and a milk!” the straw hat adds.

“got it. anything else before we go get those drinks for you?”

a raspy voice speaks up. “do waiters usually come in pairs here?”

you shake your head. “this is a temporary arrangement. he just needed some extra training.”

“that depends on who you ask,” sanji clarifies before narrowing his eyes at the man on the left of the booth. “why do you care anyway, mosshead?”

before you can scold sanji for giving customers rude nicknames, the customer in question swiftly corrects him. “the name’s zoro. i was just curious as to why such a good waiter would be partnered with someone so… incompetent.”

“curious?” scoffs the woman to his left. “since when are you ever curious? about anything other than alcohol, that is.”

“certain things catch my attention once in a while, nami,” he replies, nonchalantly. though he mentions his colleague by name, it’s clear he’s really speaking to you. “it’s just not often that my standards can be met. but when they are, i’m left with no choice but to show a little interest.”

your head tilts at the double meaning his comment carried. though you admire zoro’s ability to be a smooth-talker, you find that that’s where his appeal ends for you.

“high standards, hm? then you’re dining at the wrong place,” spits sanji in an attempt to get zoro’s attention off of you. “only thing that isn’t shitty is the drinks which we’ll be getting for you now, if you’ll excuse us.”

sanji hooks an arm around your shoulder before he spins on his heel and leads you both back to the kitchen. you look over your shoulder, offering the table one of your customer service smiles as an apology for your abrupt exit. sanji’s strides are long and purposeful; he’s angry, you realize. although, you can’t blame him for having such a sour attitude when you yourself aren’t too thrilled either.

you don’t speak to each other for the rest of the shift.

“you smiled at him.”

you sigh, setting your book face down to glare at sanji who stands in the doorway of the quaint breakroom. “i’m on my break, sanji.”

“so am i,” he retaliates, pulling a stick out of the worn-down cigarette box in his pocket as if to prove it to you.

“so it’s not enough that i’m stuck babysitting you when we’re on the clock? you’re gonna start seeking me out in our free time too?”

he purses his lips. “pretty much.”

his stubbornness is unsurprising but you just aren’t in the mood to tolerate it today, not when he’d worked your nerves earlier with his flirtatious behavior. deep down, you know you only have yourself to blame for getting so unreasonably angered by that. maybe that’s what upsets you most.

you sigh. “just tell me what you want.”

“i want to know why you smiled at that asshole.”

“asshole?” you repeat, laughing. “i know you have a potty mouth but god, take it easy.”

he licks his lips. “see, now you’re defending him. what for? do you know him or something?”

“do i have to?”

“no, but... it would be nice if you did. it would help me understand why he was talkin’ to you like that. all flirty but secretive at the same time. it was like you two had some sort of inside joke.”

“so a man being interested in me is so unfathomable to you that i have to know him or else it’s a joke?” you ask, tone heated.

“no, that’s not–” he groans. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“what about you and that girl? nami, was it?” you sneer. “if zoro’s considered flirty then i don’t think there’s a word for what you are.”

“you’re mad at me for trying to earn a tip?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you. “you told me to be nicer to customers. i was being nice.”

“you were really selling it,” you scoff.

“don’t believe me?” sanji challenges you. “have you ever seen me flirt with a girl that’s not a customer? a girl that’s not you?”

the words tumble out of his mouth haphazardly, as if they’d been weighing heavy on his mind for a while now. as an attempt to recover — an attempt to make it seem like that admission didn’t mean something, he calmly lights the end of his cigarette. he then brings it to his chapped lips and takes a long drag.

you take the moment to really think about what he’d said. sanji was charming by nature and, of course, he knew that. not only that, but he used it to his advantage. people tended to tip better when he was laying it on thick, that much was true.

however, his second question takes a lot more thought. now that you really think about it, you realize he’s right. you’d never seen sanji flirt with another waiter or member of the staff. you were the only waitress he spoke to that way. the realization makes you feel warm in the face.

“i don’t just flirt with you, you know. i do so much more. remember that plate trick you taught me? i practiced for nights on end ‘til i could do it with my eyes closed. and i don’t tell customers how brainless they sound half the time because i know you don’t like it.”

you only watch as he paces back and forth, rattling off these thoughts that have clearly been plaguing him.

“you still never flirt back, though,” he continues, quietly. “lately i’ve been starting to think that you don’t actually like me at all. that’s the only reason i was being like that at the table. i knew i was only kiddin’ myself but still, i wanted to see if there was a small chance you cared.”

“i…” it’s all you can say. seeing this raw, insecure side of him has left you truly speechless.

he fiddles his cig between his fingers. “listen, i wouldn’t blame you if—”

you finally find your voice. “i like you.”

his voice trails off, engrossed in every word you speak. it’s a simple three words and yet he’s attentive as he waits for more to be said.

you begin to ramble, “i like your passion for the things you care about. i like how you always say what you think. i like that you always have my back. sanji, i… really do like you.”

he gives you a weak smile. “that’s nice, sweetheart, but i don’t think you like me the way i like you.”

“just because i don’t flirt much doesn’t mean i can’t have feelings for you, idiot.”

his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, processing your words. “you— feelings?” there’s a pause. “good ones, right?”

you can’t help but giggle. “yes, good ones. sure as hell not the ones from three weeks ago.”

he joins you with a laugh of his own, which sounds wobblier than usual. he pulls out a chair next to you, as if this moment has left him so shaken up that he needs to sit down. “who would’ve thought? god, i… i can’t believe it.”

“i’ve never heard you stutter so much,” you tell him, tucking a thin strand of blonde hair behind his ear. when your fingers graze against the skin, it’s warm to the touch. cute, you think.

“i just never expected you to give me a chance.”

“a chance? to do what, exactly?” you prod.

he straightens up. “to make you mine.”

your breath hitches in your throat. “sanji—”

“i’m not going to ask anything of you just yet. i think we should take our time. i want to show you that i can be exclusively devoted to you before we go any further. it’s only fair.”

your heart thumps wildly in your chest at the sincerity behind his words. “you’re willing to wait just to prove yourself to me?”

he nods, taking one of your hands and squeezing it. his dedication required no words.

“so that means no more flirting with the female patrons? even when i’m not there beside you?”

he shrugs as if it’s common sense. “if there’s no pretty waitress i want to make jealous then i don’t see a need to flirt.”

you nudge his shoulder. “and what about your tips?”

“small price to pay.”

satisfied with his answers, you lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek; it feels giddy and spontaneous. sanji’s palm instinctively comes up to rest on the spot where your lips had been. he grins before attempting to speak—

a thick, husky accent shakes the walls. what makes it more terrifying is that it’s calling both yours and sanji’s names.

“break time’s over! get your asses back out there and wait some tables, now!”

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 1

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: Miss Stinton is sick so now you are Mr. Amberg's secretary and on one cold December night you go to your boss's residence to hand him some work only to be dismissed by him. Without a car to return to the studio you find yourself being driven by his gorgeous wife and finding a certain amount of work benefits that you hadn't even dreamed of in the form of Avis Amberg.

Warnings: smut (+18), affair, swearing, oral (Avis receiving), fingering (Avis receiving), a bit of praising kink as well as mommy kink, power play, pet names, tit play (sorry, I'm an absolute sucker for them)

Authors note: I wrote this at two o'clock in the morning, so please, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking on something, because it's been a moment since I last wrote smut, and I might be a bit rusty. Also, if it gets enough love, and if I feel like it, this might turn into an actual multichapter story. I am here for you, my dear people. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.6 Chp.7

Word count: 10K (it's fucking long, but I'm not sorry)

Have I earned it, mother?

It was fucking freezing and yet you walked all the way down the street with that thin coat of yours barely doing anything to keep you warm all because Miss Stinton was out sick, so you were her substitute. Miss Kincaid had asked you personally to be Mr. Amberg’s secretary until the poor woman was able to return, so you were doing double the work without a raise in your salary. Running up and down the building to assist Miss Kincaid while doing whatever Mr. Amberg asked of you had you practically forgetting to have lunch most days, with only a snack in your purse that you would have while in the bathroom, getting to work at six am and leaving at nine pm. This surely would kill you if Miss Stinton didn’t return soon. That’s how on an extremely cold night in December you found yourself walking from your car, another thing you would have to fix as it had just given up on you mid ride, all the way to the Amberg residence per your boss’s request carrying a bunch of scripts and documents that suddenly he needed at ten o’clock on a bloody Friday.

Finally getting to those big front gates you rang the bell. For over ten minutes no one came and there was a moment when you thought that perhaps you were at the wrong house, or it all had been a joke and Mr. Amberg was in fact out and you had just taken documents from the studio for nothing. Your train of thought was broken when you looked up and saw an older man unlocking the metal gates and opening them up for you. He smiled kindly and in the light of the streetlamps you saw that his face was adorned with gentle wrinkles around his eyes and his short moustache was trimmed, a greyish tone that matched his face. Without a word he walked you to the front door. You had been to the house very few times, mainly in the last couple of weeks but the mansion still amazed you. It had a Mediterranean look to it that you adored, a nostalgia for home that you had to push away every time you crossed those gates. The big oak doors stood before you, the man leaving you with a single nod and another smile before the darkness of the night swallowed him whole. With shaky hands your index finger rang the doorbell, your body moving to the side slightly out of habit, almost as you expected people to walk out of the home.

Noises at the other side made you grip the papers harder in your freezing hands before Gertie pushed the heavy doors open. She was gentle and kind and showed you in without so much as a gesture of her right hand, closing and locking the doors once you were inside the hallway. Like the well-behaved employee you were you stood until you were directed towards the living room. That was new. Up until that moment you had always been shown to Mr. Amberg’s office, sometimes he was there, others you had to wait until he arrived, so being escorted by Gertie towards the living room was a total surprise, not that you were complaining. Anywhere in that house would be good enough for you as long as it had some sort of heating system. Coming to stand under the threshold you saw your boss, still wearing his suit, resting comfortably in an armchair with a glass of what you suspected was whisky in his hands. He didn’t even lift his gaze towards you, simply thanked his maid and told her she could retire, that they would inform her if they needed anything. You took a step forward and when he didn’t stop you, you made your way to the coffee table that rested in front of him and placed all the documents for him to see.

He groaned at the sight but didn’t reprimand you, which you were thankful for. There was silence for a few minutes as he nursed his drink all while you stood on the side unsure what to do, where to go. He hadn’t even made an attempt to look over what he himself had asked you to bring, and that bothered you, but you bit your tongue. You were a well-behaved employee after all, Miss Kincaid had said it many times, and you would remain so. The silence was disturbed by the entrance of Mrs. Amberg. She really did fill up the space with her confidence and exuberant energy. Your eyes shot from the sight of your worn shoes to her as she walked in, a beautiful deep salmon dress hugging her figure in all the right spots, the lace sleeves embracing her arms as the bodice wrapped around her torso creating a plunging low cut neckline that showed off her full chest, the skirt flowing swiftly around her legs, her red hair curled and pinned in her usual updo, not a single strand out of place. It amazed you to say the least the way she was always so perfect, it made you feel like you were just a speck of dirt on her carpet, with your thin coat, old worn shoes and cheap dress that definitely needed the hem to be fixed. Not even your long hair could compare to hers. You always ended up with broken elastics and your dark golden locks running down your back all the way to your ass. Right now, was one of those moments when your elastic decided to give up on you, like your stupid car, the sharp pain hitting the back of your neck as it snapped, bringing a pained gasp out of your lips as one of your hands made its way to the back of your head.

The noise made both Mr. and Mrs. Amberg turn their heads towards you, but you were oblivious as with your thumb and index finger you took hold of the elastic and tried to untangle it from your hair. Mr. Amberg was quick to pick up the first script then, not giving a single fuck, not that you expected him to, all while Mrs. Amberg kept her eyes glued to your form as you pushed your hair over your shoulder to your front to finally get rid of the bloody elastic. Once that had been accomplished you pushed it over your shoulder once more before putting the broken item in your pocket and looking around the room. By the drinks was your boss’s wife pouring herself a martini all while still looking at you. Those deep brown eyes held an air of power and a certain level of longing that threw you off for an instant, but it was as if they were hypnotic, as if you could not stop staring until she took a sip from her drink and your eyes travelled to her plump red lips. No one should look that good with red lipstick. A grunt coming from Mr. Amberg broke the spell as you turned your head towards him watching as he stood from his armchair, script still in hand and began to walk out of the room.

-Miss Y/L/N, tomorrow I want you in the office. Tell Miss Kincaid that I will have you at the studio all weekend, because these scripts are shit and I need you to fix it.

-Of course, sir. Is there anything you would like me to do in specific?

-Fire this Mr. Conrad and have Jonathan fix his shitty text or he’ll be next. Understood?

-Yes, Mr. Amberg.

-Ace, Christmas is this weekend, are you really going to…

-I don’t care if it’s the President’s birthday. – you had never seen your boss talk to his wife in a such a manner before, and it made a sudden anger rise in your body. This lady, perfect in posture, glamorous in fashion and beautiful in looks had tried to look out for you and all she got was a biting remark from the man that was supposed to love her and cherish her. You had never wanted to stand before Mr. Amberg acting as a shield for his wife ever before, but you knew better than to stand between a couple. You bit your tongue instead. - This is bullshit. Go ahead Avis, read them, you’ll be wiping your ass with these pages in under five minutes. – he threw the script across the room so it would land at his wife’s feet before turning his face towards you. - Fix it Miss Y/L/N, or you will welcome the New Year without a job.

-Of… Of course, Mr. Amberg. I’ll get to it immediately.

-Good. Take all this back to the studio.

-Including miss Crandall’s contract?

-Yes. I’ll take a look at that some other day. Honestly, why did you bring so much stuff girl, as if I would read it all on a fucking Friday evening.

-I’m sorry Mr. Amberg. I should have been more thoughtful.

-Yes, you should have. I’m going to bed; Gertie will show you out.

-Of course, Mr. Amberg.

In all that time Mrs. Amberg, Avis, had not uttered a single word, she had simply watched it all unfold while sipping her martini. She must have thought you were a fucking twat, answering her husband as if he was fucking Lawrence Olivier, but what else were you going to do? Once he was out the door you sighed and began to pick up the documents from the coffee table before you were kneeling at Mrs. Amberg’s feet to pick up the script. Her shoe, a beautiful cream coloured stiletto showed from underneath her dress, coming to stand over the pages, preventing you from picking it up. Confused you lifted your head to look at her. She was watching you intently as she took a sip of her drink. Honestly, was that drink like being magically refilled or had she at some point poured herself another and you hadn’t even noticed. Either way, the rim of the glass was stained by her red lipstick and her deep brown eyes raked over your figure. After a minute of having you like that she lifted her foot allowing you to finally grab the script and stand. You could smell her rich perfume as she walked closer to you, the aroma filling your lungs making the air around you all too expensive.

-You are eager to please my husband are you not? – the question wasn’t asked with malice, simply with a tone of curiosity as she circled you. It felt as if you were prey and she was a predator, hunting you, waiting for the right moment to strike and kill you.

-I am his employee ma’am; I simply do my job.

-Is that what they call it nowadays? I must tell you that he’s not really that good in bed and whenever he gets tired of you, he will dump you and not look back

-I have not slept with your husband Mrs. Amberg.

-Is that so? Then why are you in my home at ten at night on a Friday?

-Because Miss Kincaid asked me to fill in for Miss Stinton. I would never sleep with him ma’am; I won’t disappoint those who think I am capable of doing this without using my body to achieve it. Not that he has ever shown an interest Mrs. Amberg.

-Never? – there was a tone of incredulity that caught you by surprise, almost as if she thought her own husband was a fucking imbecile for not throwing himself on you. She sat gracefully on the couch crossing her legs, her eyes watching your rigid form over the rim of her glass as she took another sip.

-Never. I’m nothing like you ma’am. He doesn’t even bother to look at me when addressing me. I believe tonight has been one of the very few times he’s done so.

-What do you mean by you are nothing like me?

-I don’t have your personality, your beauty, your style ma’am. I don’t know you, but what I’ve heard is that you are a strong, confident woman and anyone with eyes on their face can see that you don’t lack in the beauty department either. Why would he want me when he has you?

-You are such an innocent kid. – sadness had tainted her words and a shadow of it had crossed those deep oak eyes of hers as they watched the transparent liquid in her glass instead of you. You knew Mr. Amberg had had affairs; for fuck’s sakes many of your female colleagues had shared an evening or two with him, but now that you had his wife sitting in front of you, you could not understand why he would stray like that. Something in your heart and your mind wanted, no, needed for her to believe that she was exquisite even if her own husband could not see it. Over her eyelashes she stared at you once more with an intensity that made your breath hitch in your lungs. - I believe you really haven’t slept with him. You are too good, but you let him walk all over you.

-I need this job. Bills pile up and rent and various expenses that I’m not sure how I’m going to face. I’m sorry if you think I’m a foolish idiot who’s kissing your husband’s ass, but I can’t afford to be fired. Perhaps I’m overstepping with the way I’m addressing you Mrs. Amberg, but you must understand that as much as I like my job, it is still a job to me. A way for me to get money, and If I have to overwork myself, I’ll do it. I’m only a secretary after all, it’s not as if I bring creativity or joy to the world.

-How many times has he done this to you? Asked you to stay late or taken the weekends from you.

-A few.

-And now you’ll miss Christmas with your family because he can’t wait until Monday to fix his own problems.

-I’m alone here Mrs. Amberg, and I don’t have the money to go home, so I’m rather grateful for the work. I’ll be too tired to actually think about the holidays. I should get going, walking to the studio is going to take some time. – placing all the papers a bit better under your arm you began to walk toward the side of the couch before she grabbed your wrist, stopping you. It felt as if she didn’t want you to go, as if she didn’t want to be alone by the way her eyes practically begged you to stay.

-Don’t you have a car?

-I do. It’s on the side of the road. It has just broken down. That’s another expense that I have to add to the list. I really must go now, have a goodnight Mrs. Amberg. – she let go of your arm and with surprising agility she stood from the couch coming to stand right beside you, looking at you as if you were mad. Well, there went the concern, out the window, you thought for a moment before she spoke.

-You are not going to the studio by foot in this weather and alone at night. Do you want to get kidnapped or murdered?

-It’s perfectly alright Mrs. Amberg. I’ve done the trip before, and nothing has ever happened.

-Just because it hasn’t happened those other times it doesn’t mean it won’t happen this time. I forbid you from walking to the studio at night ever again. I’ll drive you.

-I cannot ask you to do that ma’am.

-Good thing you are not asking. Come on.

There really was no room for arguing, not that you were planning on it. The way she had spoken to you wasn’t how a mother speaks to her daughter, no, there was something different in the way she carried her form as she commanded you. No one had ever talked to you in such a way, with such worry and concern while at the same time dominating you with only words. It sent a shiver down your spine, and all of a sudden, the room was warmer than before. Having her turn around until she was right in front of you, her face barely a foot from yours, before handing you her half-finished martini, didn’t help one bit. Without thinking you rose it to your lips, downing it, letting the alcohol bathe your mouth and throat, tasting the carmine of her lipstick on your own lips before leaving the glass on the coffee table. Her pupils dilated at the sight; her breaths slightly irregular as she followed your graceful movements. This was something new to both you and her. Avis could watch you do anything if it meant getting this reaction all the time, the way her body heated, yearning for you, while you held her gaze like a professional temptress as your lips touched the glass over the mark of her own lips.

Before anything or anyone could break the spell, she grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the hallway. Gertie was somehow waiting there. You began to wonder if this woman was a psychic because in her arms she had Mrs. Amberg’s coat. It must be a normal thing though, because she picked it up and placed it over her shoulders before dismissing the maid, grabbing her purse and keys from a little table next to the doors. Unlocking them she stepped out and you followed her without a second thought, still seeking the warmth of her hand on yours as if her skin was a drug and you were completely and utterly addicted. Making your way to the black Cadillac that you had seen her drive every once in a while, she didn’t wait for you before hopping inside, the top protecting the leather of the seats from the cold. Making your way to the other side you did not see the way her eyes racked over the shape of your body, accentuated by that thin coat of yours, her hands on autopilot pulling a cigarette out of her purse before lighting it, letting the smoke of her first puff fill up the car for a moment before it vanished as you finally sat down beside her.

When Avis had seen her husband arrive home without even throwing a glance at her she had thought her evening would be just like any other. Boring, unsatisfied, exactly like the day before and the day before that one, but now she had you in her car. For once she was the one who had a pretty lady all to herself, and the things that were crossing her mind, the ideas she was getting of what she might do to you brought a naughty smirk to her lips. For once she was the one who was going to get lucky, and this time she was not going to pay a single pretty penny for it if your reactions were anything to go by. With her right hand on the ignition she turned the car on, pulling the gear shift down and beginning to move, her left hand bringing the cigarette back to her lips, inhaling the nicotine deep before letting the smoke out her mouth and nostrils giving you a side glance as the car stopped before the gates. The rumours and stories about Avis Amberg could not compare to seeing her in real life only a few feet from you, as the red carmine left a mark on the cigarette, watching the smoke twirl around her face, in between her eyelashes, as it vanished into nothing when it touched the ceiling. You had never known of someone that could be this intoxicating even before you knew them, that could send tingles and shivers all over your body, that could send sparks over your flesh with a single touch of her hand. When the gates finally laid open Mrs. Amberg began to drive out into the road, her eyes glancing over your figure every few minutes.

-Do you always stare so intently at people?

-What? – you hadn’t realised just how much you were staring, your body practically turned in her direction, but you needed to take her in as much as you could, from the curls in her red hair to the veins in her hands as she held onto the steering wheel. A blush crept up your cheeks as you averted your gaze onto the window observing Hollywood at night, with its blinding lights, even in winter. Your grip on the papers had become harder.

-I asked you if you always stare at people so intently.

-I… No. I don’t think so ma’am.

-Good, I wouldn’t appreciate receiving such a treatment only for you to give it to others as well.

-I didn’t mean to… I apologi-

-Did I say I didn’t like it? – her tone was deep, thick as honey and husky in its undertones, the temperature in the car rising by the second as you once again glued your eyes to her face. She had such a characteristic profile, with such a distinctive and exquisite nose. You could drown in every inch of her skin if she’d let you, and something was telling you she might. Her left hand brought the cigarette back to her lips, puffing the smoke in your direction as if she was testing you, seeing how taken you were with her. You inhaled the smoke as if it were the last bits of air left in the universe which brought a smile to her face, her pupils dilating ever further before her eyes travelled back onto the road.

-No.

-Then keep on staring doll and you might get special treatment from me. Sure, my husband employs you, but I can offer advantages that he wouldn’t even read before signing.

-I don’t need privileges, Mrs. Amberg.

-Such a devoted worker. For once I believe my husband to be a fool for not trying anything with you but I’m also glad he has not tainted you with his stupid charming words and empty promises. You, my dear, will get anything you want as long as you keep staring. Because you like what you see don’t you?

-I… Mrs. Amberg…

-Answer the question doll.

-Yes.

The smile now was utterly triumphant and so utterly filthy as well, as if she had won a secret award, you being the prize. You hadn’t realised that your thighs were pressed together tightly until you felt a cramp on your left leg. You tried to relax your legs, feeling how much this woman was truly affecting you. It was sinful, but you didn’t give a single fuck, the woman next to you was perfection, an absolute temptress and somehow you already knew she had plans for you even before she had voiced them. You wouldn’t say no to her no matter what they were though. You hadn’t realised how close the Amberg residence was to the studio until the car stopped before the gates, Mrs. Amberg rolling down the window to talk with Jimmy, the security guard in charge of the front gates, the woman taking one last drag of the cigarette before she flicked it onto the road beside the car. Putting the car in first gear Mrs. Amberg drove and parked expertly in her spot before turning the vehicle off.

The redhead turned her body completely towards you then and as much as part of your brain was yelling to move away, a very small part of it in fact, the rest told you to stay put. She liked the fact that you were so eager to have her in your personal space. Her right hand was on the back of the seats while her left one was now holding onto the steering wheel. Her fingers ghosted over your arm as she pushed her body closer to yours, her hand raising towards your face until her fingertips were tracing the shape of your cheek and jaw leaving a path of goosebumps, a delicious shiver extending all over your body as her perfume now filled your entire being, every cell in your body.

-So receptive. And you really want me to believe you are all alone? No boyfriend?

-I never… I never looked for one Mrs. Amberg. Too much trouble.

-On that I agree. – her face was so close to yours you could have counted the spots in her deep irises had there been a little bit more of light in the parking lot. – These reactions are all for me and only me then?

-Yes ma’am.

-Good. – her stand never faltered, her hand never stopped caressing your skin, her thumb dancing over your lower lip. Her pupils had practically overtaken her entire eyes. The rush of heat you had been feeling since she had walked into the living room was skyrocketing by now, your underwear sticking to your thighs as you pressed them together involuntarily. She was so affected by you and yet she seemed as cool as a bloody cucumber, as if she was used to turned people on and then leaving them to fend for themselves. You hoped she wouldn’t do that to you. - You have to leave those documents in my husband’s office, don’t you?

-Yes ma’am. In specific drawers, or he won’t find them on Monday.

-And have you never wanted to sit on his chair, on the couch, alone or… with company?

-I… I…

-So easily flustered. That blush suits you, honey.

Suddenly she was no longer in your personal space but exiting the car leaving you about to faint from how worked up she had got you in such a short period of time. It was insane. Clumsily you opened the car door, closing it gently as you rested over it to control your breathing. You could swear that by how hot you felt you should be giving off steam in that freezing weather. Mrs Amberg began to walk towards the building without glancing back at you because you both knew she didn’t need to know whether you were following or not, you were practically her shadow. At this time of night no one was in the premises, and by the look of things the security guys were very far away from the main building. Mrs. Amberg was in her element, the confidence and power that poured out of every pore in her body was intense, you could almost feel it as she made her way to the elevator. It surprised you though how utterly patient she was being. You had been told many many times before that this exuberant woman didn’t like to wait and did things whenever she wanted, however she wanted, and she didn’t take it lightly when she was forced to wait. The Mrs. Amberg that stood beside you as the elevator doors closed was toying with you, feeding of your reactions and moving extremely slowly around your persona.

That was what you thought until she pressed you against the wall, her right hand resting next to your head while her left one had a bruising grip on your hip, her body pressed against yours, although you could not feel her fully because of the damn papers that were still in your hands. Her face was right on your neck, breathing in your camomile shampoo and your berries shower gel, her lips ghosting over the skin of your neck until the ding of the fucking elevator echoed inside the cabin and you were left with a single peck of her lips under your jaw. It made you gasp; it made you crave more; you needed more of her. Her hands on your hair, over your hips, her fingers tracing every inch of your body, her lips kissing every inch of skin they could. You wanted to unravel her, unwrap her like a Christmas gift until she laid bare before you. You wanted to do so many things to her and yet she pushed her body off yours as soon as the doors opened and walked out. You were still for a minute before following her hurriedly, the hallway you knew like the back of your hand empty, no voices, no noises to disturb either of you. Miss Stinton’s desk was empty expect for a notepad, a pencil and that fucking phone that somehow never seemed to stop ringing when you were sitting in that chair but that remined silent when she was there. But you didn’t care about any of that, not when Mrs. Amberg had pushed the doors to her husband’s office until they were wide open before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside.

The slamming of the doors made you jump, both out of sheer arousal and because it kind of caught you by surprise how loud they were, though Mrs. Amberg didn’t give you much chance of dwelling on it, not when she peeled her coat off, throwing it on top of the couch and signalled for you to follow her towards the big desk. She rested over it, her backside pressed against the edge as you stepped towards her with shaky legs. She pointed towards the coffee table and then at you and for half a second you were at a complete loss as of what she wanted until you saw the papers, in a slight disarray and barely in your hands, and you were quick to dump them there before turning back to her. She wanted your full attention, and you were going to give it to her. Raising her hand, she motioned with her index finger for you to move towards her, your feet barely making a sound over the carpet that decorated the floor until you stood a couple feet from her. Her chest rose and fell in laboured breaths, her full breasts practically battling the bodice of her dress, her eyes avid with hunger watching you as if you were the most exquisite being that ever graced the earth.

-Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, do you want what I’m willing to give?

-Yes.

-Yes, what?

-Yes ma’am.

-And you are willing to do as I say? – she took one step forward. You could not trust your voice, so you simply nodded, but that wasn’t good enough for Mrs. Amberg. She grabbed your face, her lips inches from yours, sending a rush of heat between your legs. This certainly wasn’t how you had pictured this night going, not that you were complaining. – Use your words doll.

-Ye… Yes ma’am.

-Then you, Y/N L/N, are mine.

It was heaven, she was heaven, of that, you had no doubts. Her lips, soft, full, and so very delicious crashed onto yours, her hands shooting to grab you by the hips to keep you secured in place. At first it was only her mouth pressed against yours but in five seconds flat she was pushing her tongue over your lips, asking of you to open your mouth, which you did, gladly. Her taste, sweet and sour, mixed with the traces of the martini she just had, and the nicotine of her cigarette were an intoxicating mix that made you hum and moan gently against her mouth, your hands jumping to touch her shoulders until the settled on the back of her neck, your fingertips touching her soft hair. Her tongue dominated over yours, the urgency and need seeping from her core to her kiss, you on the other hand were simply exploring, taking in everything she was indeed willing to give. There would be time for you to dominate her if the occasion ever arose again, perhaps maybe even tonight. Breaking the kiss when your lungs began to scream for air you latched your lips onto her jaw, feeling her lull her head back, exposing her neck fully to you as you licked and sucked the skin gently; no need to have her husband find a hickey and go absolutely ballistic. Scraping the skin under her earlobe with your teeth brought on a gasp, the grip on your hips harder, her hips pressing harder onto yours. Your hands travelled slowly down her back bringing your palms to press firmly on her ass, squeezing as you sucked a bit harder on her pulse point. The mix between a gasp and a moan that escaped her lips was like music to your ears.

-You’ve done this before. – her voice was so thick with arousal that it had dropped into a low, husky tone. Separating your lips from her neck you stared at her heatedly.

-I said I hadn’t looked for a boyfriend, not that I was a nun. Ma’am.

That simple sentence sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, her hands pressing you impossibly closer to her as she claimed your lips once more. This kiss was fucking explosive, her tongue battling and tracing every inch of your mouth, her teeth scrapping and nibbling your lips, bringing out a groan as you twitched under her grip. Clumsily and without breaking the kiss you pushed her back until her ass was resting over the edge of the desk, your hands pressed flat over the wood. Pulling away you bit her lower lip, showing her that you could also be bratty, if that’s what she desired, a moan parting her mouth as your lips returned to her neck. God, this was a whole fucking new level of desire for Avis. Those boys at the gas station did show her a good time, but she paid them for it, with Ernie it wasn’t always a question of money, and he was most certainly the best of them all, but you had barely started with her and she already practically dripping. She felt your hands travel back up her back, your lips nibbling on her earlobe, pulling gently, sending a shiver down her body before you began to trace the shape of her jaw, her neck, sucking on her pulse point again, her eyes rolling back for a second at the feeling. Your hands moved underneath her arms until they were pressed over her stomach, though that wasn’t where you wanted them, no, you pushed your fingers under her breasts, feeling her hurried breaths as your lips kissed over her exposed collarbone, and yet you wanted more, needed more.

Gentle fingers traced the fabric of her dress, over the top of her breasts, raising goosebumps all over her skin before you pushed the material of her gown aside, revealing the top of an ivory corselette, lace cupping Avis’s breasts. The sight was to die for, her full bosom so perfectly dressed in white, begging to be released, begging to be touched. You would take your time with them, drive her mad with lust until she could not stand it anymore. Kiss by kiss you traced the shape of her collarbone, whines and whimpers breaking the silence that filled the office, your tongue darting out and licking the jugular notch in the middle of her neck. Avis’s hands shot from your hips to your head, one pressed against the back of your neck while the other wrapped itself among your hair, pulling softly as if to encourage you to carry on. Painfully slow you kissed and scrapped the skin of her chest, licking the marks to soothe them before you finally reached the swell of her left breast. The skin was soft, so very smooth under the touch of your lips, the freckles that painted her skin so faint in this light that you had never thought her olive kissed skin could be sprinkled with such beauty. As you continued kissing and sucking the top of her breast your hands travelled to her shoulders pushing the dress off her frame and down her arms, leaving her only in her corselette from the waist up. And what a sight she was in white lace.

Her right hand grabbed your face before you could carry on tasting her delicious skin, bringing your lips to hers. God, her kisses were the most wonderful thing in the universe, her taste, the way she sucked on your tongue. Suddenly she pushed you away from her, and for a moment you were afraid she had changed her mind, but her lust filled eyes quickly reassured you that that was not the case. You had left small red marks all over her, nothing that would bruise, but the sight of her breasts practically spilling from her strapless corselette, her heaving chest and flushed skin was enough to nearly send you over the edge. The way your knickers were drenched under your dress and coat should definitely be studied because you were sure your own arousal should be dripping down your legs at this point. You were fucking boiling now, not having bothered to undress yourself at all before you had begun to please her, so before Avis could command you again you shed your coat, throwing it onto the floor. The sight of you in your tight dark blue dress was approved by Avis, who drank you in like a castaway lost in the desert as they found an oasis at last. Without uttering a word, she pointed at the floor in front of her feet, the gesture of her hand as commanding and domineering as her voice could be. And you obeyed. You knelt before her, watching her as she bent forward and grabbed a fistful of hair, pushing your head back.

-Undress me.

She barely whispered against your lips before she stood at her full height observing you through her thick eyelashes. You didn’t waste a single second as your hands found the hem of her dress, lifting slowly to reveal cream-coloured stilettos adorning her perfect feet as well as a pair of gorgeous shapely legs underneath, dressed in silk nude stockings. Beginning at her ankle, you kissed the skin of her left leg, moving upwards leaving a trail of pecks until you reached her knee. After licking behind it you lifted it off the ground placing it over your shoulder as your lips carried the path of her thigh. The room was filled with gasps and quiet moans, that as soon as you began to kiss along her inner thigh, the dress bunched around her waist, turned into throaty ones. It was amazing how soft her skin was and even more so once your lips actually made contact with her flesh above the lace of her stocking, where the garter clipped it in place. Her breath hitched in her lungs as your mouth came so very close to where she needed it the most, a mewl of disappointment escaping her lips as you knelt again, letting the skirt fall back into place. She was about to complain when she felt your lips on her right leg, the words dying in the back of her throat. Fuck, you were good, better than any of the men that she had had in the gas station. Reaching her inner thigh once more you were rewarded by a string of moans and her hands threading among your soft locks. Your right hand grabbed onto the bunched-up fabric, pulling Avis of the desk, dropping her leg of your shoulder but keeping them open for you, tugging the dress down her hips and onto the floor.

Then and there you took the chance, and sucked hard on her inner thigh, making sure you would leave a mark. She didn’t reprimand you, quite the opposite, she moaned loudly, her nails scrapping your scalp making you groan, the vibrations practically reverberating through Avis’s body. Pulling back, you observed your artwork, brushing your thumb over the red spot before lifting your head to look at her. Her brown eyes had been glued to you all that time, her lower lip in between her teeth. She pulled you up by the hair, bringing out a painful yelp that was quieted down by her lips crashing down onto yours once more. As much as you loved to explore her, you needed to see her loosing herself, you needed to taste more than just her neck and legs. Lifting her off the floor you sat her on top of the desk, a surprised yelp echoing inside your mouth, the kiss never breaking until your hands pushed her body backwards. She was now curious, you were taking liberties, not that she was complaining, and she wanted to see what you could do with that mouth of yours. Bringing her left leg over your shoulder you made quick work of the clips, rolling the stocking down her leg, leaving sweet pecks over the now exposed skin. Removing her heel the silk ended up on the floor, but you didn’t throw the shoe away, no, you wanted to see her in those stilettos as she came over and over again. Placing her leg back over the desk you repeated the action on the other one, finishing off with a kiss to the arch of her foot as you placed her shoe back in place. Now that her legs were free of any fabric your fingers traced the shape of her muscles, scraping your nails over her thighs as you bent forward and sucked on her soft skin again. Her hips buckled under your ministrations and yet you were unbothered by her needy whines. Avis Amberg would lose her mind tonight, if only briefly if you had a say in it. Paying attention to her left leg you made sure she had a matching bruise in her inner thigh, sucking harder to see if you could make her moans any louder. You succeeded as the noise practically echoed off the walls and yet it felt so very little to you. Satisfied, relatively, with her legs you climbed on top of the desk, your knees parting her legs even further, but before you could bend forward Avis placed a hand on your chest, stopping you.

-Take that dress off. Now.

You were thankful for the fact that you had decided on wearing a dress with buttons on the front instead of a zipper in the back. You hopped of the desk, your eyes never leaving hers as she propped herself on her elbows taking in every little movement you made. Your slender fingers undid each button slowly, observing how her chest rose and fell with her ever-growing arousal, until the fabric hung loosely of your shoulders. You let it fall, watching as she groaned at the sight of you in a beautiful pair of black lacy knickers and matching see-through bralette, your own heavy breasts fighting to escape the garment. Around your waist was a garter belt that clipped a pair of black nylon stockings. The sight of you in that outfit sent a whole new wave of pleasure down to her core and with cat like grace you climbed back onto the desk. She didn’t fight you this time as you bent over her frame, your chest pressed firmly over hers as you claimed her mouth once more your hands travelling down her sides until you felt the flesh of her firm ass, pinching and grasping it, drawing out whimpers and whines that you swallowed as you refused to leave her lips. Needing air once more you traced the shape of her neck once more, now a little surer of what spots she preferred, feeling the vibrations of her moans as you sucked over her right collarbone, her fingers once more pulling on your hair. Licking the perspiration layer that had began to collect all over her skin you made your way to the corselette, licking the valley between her breasts.

The garment, as beautiful and erotic as it was, was now an obstacle, and with skilled hands you unclasped the first hook, watching as Avis’s eyes snapped open as she felt the pressure on her breasts lessen. God, each hook you undid was an inch closer to you finally being able to do something about that ache that had settled in between her breasts, the need to have your mouth on her. It was utterly hypnotic to see you so concentrated in each hook, drinking in every inch of skin that the garment freed. With the last one finally out of the way you pushed the corselette open, freeing her full bosom for your eyes to see and by George, they were so deliciously beautiful. Without a second thought you dove in between them nibling and licking as your hands fondled them with care, unsure how sensitive they might be to your ministrations, not wanting to hurt her. You kneaded the flesh gently, drawing out such beautiful gasps and moans out of Avis, simple confirmations that what you were doing was exactly what she wanted. Her hips buckled onto your abdomen, nearly begging for you to take it up a notch and you did. Fuck if you did. Your mouth bit down on her left breasts, making your way to the rosy perky nipple, which you popped into your mouth, twirling it and sucking. Avis screamed in surprise and pleasure, her head falling backwards onto the desk, eyes closed, her hips buckling so hard upwards that they nearly sent you falling forward on top of her, but your hands resting on top of the wood prevented it. You sucked, hard, one of her hands shooting to the back of your neck to keep you in place as she moaned and gasped, her breaths coming in so fast you worried she might hyperventilate for a second there, lifting your head to observe her, liberating her nipple with soft pop.

At the loss of contact she opened her eyes and glanced down. The look of worry in your deep eyes melted her, and she graced you with a kind smile, her other hand caressing your cheek, bringing you back up to her lips. This kiss was nothing like the previous ones, filled with passion and desire, it was gentle, caring, it was almost loving, and to the both of you meant the world. The feeling of her now less raggedy breaths as she pecked your lips bathed you in such warmth and love that it could have drowned you and you would have gladly accepted such fate if the last thing you had seen had been those brown eyes filled with kindness. Separating your lips you rested your forehead over hers, both her hands caressing your cheeks. But the lust was still there, and it was not going to go anywhere, yet the trail of kisses that you gave her on her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose and both her cheeks before pecking her mouth were ever so soft. Your lips left feathered touches down her neck and in the valley between her breasts before you attacked her right one, that you had neglected earlier. This time you were rewarded with hums and contented whines. Finally popping her nipple in your mouth, you licked and sucked gently until you grew tired of how quiet she was being and so you bit down making her scream loudly, her hands once more on your head as you twirled it in your mouth. With your left hand you began to knead the now neglected left breast, pinching the other nipple, massaging the soft flesh. Fuck, your hands and lips were magical, and what you were doing to her breasts was absolutely maddening and yet she didn’t want you to stop.

Releasing her right nipple from your mouth you sucked under her tit, harder than you should, but you hardly thought anyone would see a hickey there, except for Avis herself. Now that her abdomen was also free of fabric you licked the taunt skin there, tracing each stretch mark your eyes could find with your tongue, the unique salty taste of Avis a wonderful flavour in your mouth, your hands now fondling lazily both of her breasts as your mouth came to kiss her lower abdomen, right where the waistband of her white lace knickers were. You felt her breath hitch when with your teeth you began to pull them down as you didn’t want to stop touching her tits, but she was lost in every sensation you were giving her, and you could not undress her if you were still in between her legs. You hopped of the table, releasing those fucking amazing plump breasts, much to your dismay and Avis’s, but you had a brand-new mission. Pressing your hands over her hips you caressed her flesh before placing your finger under the waistband, but the sight of her propped once more on her elbows watching you intensely, tits free and ever so alluring and beautiful rising and falling with each husky breath, her chest and cheeks flushed a deep red, her once perfectly coiffed curls now lose from her updo here and there, gave you a new idea. You bent forward, your ass up in the air as your lips kissed her inner thighs, but you didn’t like the position she was in, you wanted her sprawled out, wide open for you and so you bent her legs, placing her stilettos over the wood of her husband’s desk.

Now she was a sight to be reckoned with and you dove, delightfully in between her legs, kissing and licking her inner thighs getting closer and closer to her centre but never really there, her moans ending always in a frustrated huff before you switched onto her other leg. Maybe if you got the chance to do this with her again you would tease her and see up until what point you could get her before she took matters into her own hands, but today you would give her what she desired. One swift lick over the fabric of her knickers and she dropped onto her back with a loud bang and even louder moan, her hips buckling onto your mouth out of their own accord.

-Fuck!

At last, you were getting decent moans, loud and so utterly sexy as you kept moving your tongue up and down her slit over her underwear brushing purposely your nose against her clit drawing out even louder grunts now and holy shit, you were now really dripping down your legs. You needed to fully taste her. With two fingers hooked over the waistband you pulled them off her legs, her eyes half lidded observing you as you dropped them beside you after giving them a good long lick. She moaned at the sight. Fuck, she really was gorgeous fully naked sprawled before you with nothing but her cream-coloured stilettos on. Taking her in for a moment you traced the shape of her hip joint with your fingers before bending once again. One long lick and Avis’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, one hand shooting to your hair while the other one tried to hold onto the desk above her head as you worked you magic tongue around her. She was addictive, salty and so very delicious as you moved it in between her folds, each moan that you were able to draw out of her louder than the previous one as you felt her movements become more erratic. Travelling upwards you gave her clit a well-deserved suck, her pelvis thrusting upwards onto your face.

-FUCK! God! Y/N.

Another suck and she was nearly utterly lost, screaming your name once more, her hips buckling even if you were trying to hold her in place with one of your hands, but she was not there quite yet and you were sure you could give her the push she needed in about ten seconds flat. Two fingers inside her and you practically threw her over the edge and yet you didn’t feel her walls clenching around you the way you wanted them, no, you had to give her more. Moving slowly at first you were so gentle, curling them ever so slightly driving her insane as she whined your name in between pants.

-Please, Y/N, faster.

And who where you to not obey. Lapping your tongue over her once more you moved from pumping your fingers at the pace of a snail to pumping them hard and fast, and curling them until you could hit that sweet spot inside her every single time. And she screamed, so loud that you were sure if anyone was outside the building they could hear her.

-YES! FUCK! DON’T… DON’T STOP, DON’T STOP! FUCK!

One precise grace of your teeth on her clit followed by you sucking hard and she came loudly and all over your face, but you drank her, every drop of her delicious juices, forcing her legs to remain open as you carried on with that punishing pace, her thighs trembling and her hips trusting into your face, your tongue circling her overstimulated bud without a second thought. She had not even come down from her first orgasm when you were already building the second one, and although at first her hand had tried to push your head away by pulling your hair, she was now pushing you closer and closer if that was possible. She needed that release; she needed you to carry on fucking her like that. Her entire body was on fire, stars dancing over her eyes, the coil in her abdomen growing bigger by the minute but that tongue of yours was doing wonderful things to her and she wouldn’t fucking stop you now when she was so close already. She wanted your head buried between her legs forever. You pulled on her clit as her pants became less raggedy, earning a pull on your hair and several screams.

-YES! YES! DON’T… FU… AHHHH…

Pumping your fingers nonstop, practically slamming into her, every single whine and pant turned into screams that escalated at a speed that even surprised you, her walls clenching around your fingers as she fell over the edge once more. Her second peak had her arching her back of the desk so much you nearly thought she would sit on it, screaming your name as if it were every answer to every single question in the universe but you were not done. She had another one in her, you were sure. And so, you added another finger, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. You could draw out this second orgasm and practically throw her into a third one if only your arm could hold on a little longer and not falter in pace and strength. Her hips were meeting each thrust you gave her and every moan, whimper and pant now mixed into such a guttural sound that you weren't even sure if she would be able to scream, but you carried on in your relentless marathon, sucking her clit and lapping at her folds as your fingers curled and pumped once, then twice, and at the third one she didn’t see stars she saw the entire fucking universe as she came, utterly overstimulated, eyes rolled into the back of her head, back arched of the desk and thighs trembling so much you were sure she would suffocate you.

Her juices gushed out of her at first, but you carried on at the same speed, thrusting your fingers into her, and after a few seconds she squirted all over your arm, face and chest as she released the breath, she had unknowingly been holding screaming so loud that you were sure she would be hoarse tomorrow. You did not slow down until she stopped dripping, drinking every single drop once more, letting her come down from her height at last as gently as you could kissing her thighs, running your free hand over her soft skin as your fingers began to drop in pace. Her walls clenched still around your fingers, but after a few seconds, or perhaps it had been a minute her body fell back onto the desk, absolutely exhausted, only twitching every once in a while, still she was clearly too out of sorts for you to begin a conversation. Carefully you pulled your fingers out earning a disapproving whine from Avis still she did not move, trying to get her breathing into a normal rate. Her legs had dropped over the edge of the table, thighs clenched together now that you were no longer in between them. Watching her like this, so utterly spent and still without looking at you worried you and so you climbed onto the desk right beside her letting your clean hand caress her cheek. She did not pull away. Her eyes, still carrying a shadow of ecstasy opened, and those deep forests stared back at yours, a happy smile gracing her lips as she watched you.

-You, Y/N are quite something. – her words were tainted with desire still, but you would not subject her to another session so soon. The night was young, or as young as she wanted it to be, and if she was willing to wait for a bit until she was ready again, you would give her several other orgasms. But right now, you were content enough with watching her in that absolutely wonderful post climax state. - With a tongue like that I am able to say that my husband is an utter imbecile.

-I thought you would not want him to sleep around Mrs. Amberg.

-Oh, doll, after what you just did you can call me Avis. And well, I don’t, but I’m not willing to give up on someone like you, so he can keep on fucking as many girls as he wants.

-Someone like me?

-Yes. You are quite magnificent, and I think I would very much want to repeat this. So, this can be just sex, or we can let it become whatever we want. – her fingers lazily played with a lock of your golden hair, her body still twitching every once in a while after all three orgasms in one row was something she had not experienced in years. - Up to you, doll.

-I know we are not even acquaintances, but I can assure you that the sight of you utterly naked and so open for me is something I’m not willing to give up either, Avis.

-So just sex? – was there disappointment in her voice? Maybe you were hearing things, still so worked up and needing release of your own, but you had not intended your words to sound so superficial. This woman should be adored both in bed and out of it and she clearly wanted something more than just a dalliance.

-No. Let this be whatever it’s supposed to be. You are the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and if little me is enough for the grand Avis Amberg, I will not disappoint. Besides, I still have a lot of stamina left in me, and there are many many surfaces in this office that I can make you see stars on.

-Good. As for those privileges I mentioned earlier, I’m sure we can discuss a raise, amongst other things, but from now on you are to only please me, and if you are a very good girl, I will please you.

-Have I earned it, mother? Have I pleased you?

-Mother? – perhaps you had not given her enough credit, because by the look in her eyes she was very much ready to go already, and the nickname only added to her desire to ravish you. – I like it, and my good girl has definitely earned it.

She climbed on top of you crashing her mouth onto yours as she once more held the power over you, the control she so adored. She was going to fuck you senseless just like you had done with her. Perhaps she might visit you on Christmas if Ace was drunk enough or somewhere else other than the house, earn herself a holiday orgasm and a date even. She could take you dancing, she could spoil you rotten as long as you looked at her with that marvellous adoration that you had carried in your eyes since she had entered the living room. You moaned in her mouth as she bit on your lower lip, her hands lost in your hair. This was most certainly not the plan she had had for this evening. It had been much fucking better.

[urhoneycombwitch]

imagine being loved by me

rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a New Year's Eve party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (Eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

wc: 8k

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill. 

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days. 

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place. 

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you. 

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite. 

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge. 

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs). 

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue. 

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties. 

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.) 

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course. 

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you. 

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school. 

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before… 

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend. 

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event. 

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room. 

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh. 

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space. 

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts. 

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise. 

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals. 

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily. 

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form. 

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are. 

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda. 

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes. 

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak. 

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet. 

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm. 

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel. 

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.  

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours. 

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here. 

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?” 

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position. 

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds. 

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude. 

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him. 

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there. 

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours. 

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone. 

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you. 

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you. 

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside. 

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks. 

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year. 

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in. 

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

[buffetlicious]

McDonald’s Singapore is back with a trio of Cheesy Truffle Burgers. All three burgers featured melted cheddar and truffle cheese sauce while the all-new creation featuring crispy mozzarella sticks stacked between a savoury beef patty and fluffy buns. I wanted to buy it on the day it was launched but alas, mum cooked dinner so had to wait till the next day.

Bought the Cheesy Truffle Beef Deluxe Meal (S$9.90) but I changed the French fries to the mildly spiced Potato Pops (+S$1) and Coca-Cola to small Ice Green Tea (+S$0.80). The burger came with three types of cheese – crispy mozzarella sticks, melted cheddar, and truffle cheese sauce with a savoury beef patty between fluffy sesame seeds buns. Munching on the burger, I can detect the aroma of the truffle among the sweet, caramelised onions, enjoyed the texture of the crispy yet stringy mozzarella cheese and appreciated the juicy beef patty. Overall, I really liked cheese and truffle combination in this new burger.

As per the usual, I got mum the Filet-O-Fish Meal (S$5.50) with a medium French fries and a small Ice Green Tea (+S$0.80). Our fish burger comes with a miserable half slice of cheese. I want to know if Filet-O-Fish in other countries comes with one or half slice of cheese?

Selected images and video courtesy of McDonald’s Singapore.

[mydearlybeloathed]

I loved your fic where the reader is Sanji's little sister!! I could do more of this but with something more angst? (I'm crazy about angst, forgive me 😭😭😭)

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you would have thought your birthday would keep zeff and sanji from bickering—well, you thought wrong.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sanji x littlesister!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pre-opla, reader is sixteen atm, swearing, reader is at the end of her rope

𝐚/𝐧: you're forgiven anon i also enjoy my fair share of angst 🥰

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐀

Turning sixteen had never been so awful for anyone in the entire world. You felt for certain of that.

The water of the sea lapped at your bare feet, dangling off the docks of the Baratie. Silence sat over everything, the moon hung high above you. You kicked at the water, angry at it for some reason, and scoffed at the face of the world.

You swore that if you listened hard enough, you could still hear Sanji and Zeff fighting all the way in the kitchens. The sound of their shouting had driven you out here into the fresh sea air, but it hardly helped the frustration welling up in your gut.

When you heard the footsteps coming up behind you, half of you hoped it was Sanji, coming to apologize and wish you a happy fucking birthday. 

You peered over your shoulder to find Patty looming over you, a plate in hand. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi,” you murmured, slouching back over as he knelt down beside you. 

You glanced over as he set the plate beside you, grinning a bit at the slice of cake. “How’s the birthday?”

Scoffing, you said, “Shitty. Per usual.”

Patty pursed his lips, sighing out his frustration, cursing the two idiots who’d driven you out here on your birthday. Still, he looked out at the sea, and told you, “He’s looking for you.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Zeff is too.”

“They took a break from their precious bickering?” You couldn’t help but roll you eyes. “I’m frickin’ honored.”

The chef nudged your shoulder before rising to his feet. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”

You hugged your legs, having no intention of moving. “I’ll freeze.”

“Aww, don’t go all moody teen on me.” Patty half grinned. “I’m barely surviving Sanji.”

Turning your face away from him, you fought down the tears welling up in your eyes. “Go away, Patty.”

The longest moment past, before his footsteps retreated back into the Baratie, and you were left alone. Another birthday down the drain. And all you’d wanted was to spend time with your little family.

જ⁀➴

Patty walked back into the kitchen, brows taut and frown evident. He threw open the doors and glared at the young blond boy who whipped around.

“We’re not rea—”

“Your plan didn’t work,” Patty snapped. “She’s pissed.”

Zeff appeared from around the corner. “So she’s not coming?”

Patty deadpanned, somehow fighting the urge to slap him, if only because Zeff was his boss. “No. She’s not coming.”

Sanji and Zeff turned to each other, each donning an expression of awkward guilt. Sanji sighed. “We messed up.”

“No kiddin’,” Zeff scoffed.

And Patty rolled his eyes, moving to finish setting up this little party. “I’ll finish up.” He glared over at Sanji. “You go fix this.”

“Why me?” Sanji had the nerve to ask. 

“She’s your kid sister!” Patty gritted out. “And this was your bright idea! Let’s start fighting even though we know it makes her sad so we’ll have time to throw a surprise! Yeah, great idea. Now she’s wallowin’ on the docks.”

Your brother’s face fell, the image painted for him flashing across his eyes, and he hated it. This was a bad idea, after all. He’d just wanted to surprise you, but you were too quick for that these days. Sanji thought it’d be fine… “Shit.”

He was halfway through throwing off his apron when Zeff dropped everything and beat him to it. He set a heavy hand on Sanji’s shoulder and shoved him back toward the half decorated cake. “I’ll handle it. Just don’t fuck up the cake with yer shaky hands.”

Sanji stumbled into the counter, eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bother arguing. So Zeff trudged out of the kitchen, face sullen, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to console a teenage girl.

He’d figure it out, he hoped. He was a pirate after all, and pirates don't get scared. Then he stepped out into the midnight air and spotted you swinging your legs off the dock.

Pirates don’t get scared. Except, maybe, of their upset daughters.

You heard him before you saw him, tensing up as the sound of Zeff’s peg leg hobbling up behind you. You didn’t say a word and stared out at the crisp black waters, not knowing why he even bothered as he plopped himself down beside you, moving your untouched plate of cake to the space behind you.

“Hey, Pip,” he started, testing the waters.

“‘Sup.” You were irritated, that’s for sure, but not completely shut off. If you wanted him to go, you’d have said so already, or punched him or jumped into the water or something like that. Zeff didn’t pretend to understand youth these days. Typically, your silence was a good sign.

If Zeff knew you at all, and he ought to after all these years, he’d wager you didn’t want to be alone at all.

His peg leg kicked up some water, disturbing the peace. “You cold?”

It was the warmest night the sea had seen in some time, and he expected you to snap back that it was a stupid question. But you just shifted away and muttered, “Nope.”

Maybe you weren’t as open to talking as he’d thought.

“Listen,” he huffed. “I’m sorry. We both are. It’s just, you know how he gets…”

Your sudden glare shut him up, the set in your jaw a tad bit worrying. “I know how he gets, Zeff. But I still wouldn’t throw a pan at him on your birthday.”

Touche. 

Zeff grimaced. Maybe he overdid it a bit. “Yeah, I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

“Whatever.” You started to tug at your hair, and Zeff noticed how you’d ditched the ol’ pigtail braids. Now, your hair was pulled back into a single braid a bit on the messy side. There was a white ribbon tying it off. 

His stare turned an odd sort of soft, one you didn’t catch often. You glanced up at him quickly, unnerved. “What?”

Zeff didn’t answer right away, choosing to instead take a breath and savor this moment. But you grew impatient, eyes narrow. “What is it, Zeff? Have I got somethin’ on my face?”

Oh, how to explain. How was Zeff to explain just what he thought of you?

You’d surely grown from the little demon who’d bitten him and left a nasty scar on his arm—grown into not so much a demon, but a woman with just the same fire. On odd days he longed for the times when you were small and thought the world of him. When you would come to him for anything and everything. 

When you slipped up and called him “Dad.”

That never happened anymore. You were careful now.

You were growing too fast. If he could hide how awful the world was from you, he would, but it was too late. You were giving up on learning the ways of a chef and instead leaning toward waiting tables, learning to pickpocket like a seasoned criminal when you thought no one was watching. And with every passing day Zeff could see that starvation for something more grow brighter and brighter.

Sometimes he wondered if allowing you to work in his restaurant had been a mistake—he had a rule against women working in such a dangerous establishment as his could be, after all—but you were long past the age of listening to a word Zeff had to say. You and Sanji were alike in that manner.

Zeff shook his head. How did he explain how he had thought he’d been so strong until the day you’d come red faced to him, no older than nine, with just a skinned knee. You weren’t crying, not ever letting a tear fall, but you wanted to, he saw it in your eyes. 

The former captain of the Cook Pirates had felt so strong until he had no clue how to fix what was wrong. 

Zeff hated kids. He hated them, but you and that eggplant of a boy had become exceptions. The pair of you, as frustrating as you could be, had weaseled your way into the old man’s heart. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you, specifically.

How could Zeff begin to explain how much it scared him that his daughter was getting older?

“Zeff?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Got lost a bit.”

You lowered your gaze and shifted, reaching behind you to pick up the cake. There was a singular bite taken out of it. You messed around with the fork. “Patty made this?”

Zeff nodded. “Think so.”

“It’s good. You could do better,” you grinned, setting the plate back down. You’d finish it off later; you never dared to waste food. 

“Yeah?” Zeff chuckled. “Probably.”

You kicked at the water again. “I haven’t decided if I forgive you yet.”

“As expected. Just don’t take too long.” After a moment of thought, and an observation at how you returned to your surly demeanor, he made a decision. “We’ve got somewhere to be.” Zeff turned away the moment you whipped your head around to give him that curious look of yours. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, skeptical.

“Can’t say. It’s a surprise.” He rolled his eyes. “Sanji’s been insistent on a surprise for days. You’re too nosey to keep secrets from, so we needed to get you out of the kitchen…”

He waited for the realization to sink in, and then you were punching his arm with a gasp. “No way! No way you were faking! You’re the worst!” You couldn’t decide between being angry or amused, letting out a laughing scoff at their complete idiocy. “I was about to cry, you bastards!”

Zeff couldn’t help it. He laughed—no, cackled whilst he gently blocked your tiny fist. “Language, Pipsqueak.”

You raised your middle finger and fought hard to hide your growing smile. “I don’t believe you. You’re just covering for yourselves. That fight was real.”

“Or we’re just that skilled at actin’,” he countered. He did admit that after a minute the argument was more real than not. “It was his idea.”

“Zeff.”

“We meant well.” He rerouted his defense. “He’s been going on and on ‘bout this surprise—”

“That you’ve now spoiled.”

“I had to! I wasn’t gonna deal with his moping when you never showed.” You started to protest, making him scoff. “You weren’t gonna show. You’re stubborn.”

You huffed, lunging over to scoop up the sea and splash it in Zeff’s face. The old man sputtered before he reached out a hand and pushed you into the water with barely a shove. You squealed and sank under the water, coming up gasping as thinly veiled hilarity broke past your anger.

Flapping around in the water, you gaped up at Zeff as he wheezed, barely able to get enough air through his laughter. Your own laugh bubbled out of you. “What the fuck, Zeff?”

“You–you started it!” He was still catching his breath, eyes crinkled. “Didn’t mean to push you in.”

Like you believed him. Rolling your eyes, you held out a hand and awaited your rescue. The old man stood to his mismatched feet and gripped your wrist, hoisting you up. You were airborne for at least three seconds with the momentum of his pull, giggling as your feet touched the dock again. 

“I should tell Sanji you ratted him out,” you mused as the night air hit you, shivers running up and down your spine. 

“You won’t,” he said, though there was a slight hope in his eyes that you really were bluffing. You were, of course. As much as you fought with Sanji, you would never dare to ruin his fun—and if planning a surprise for you was fun for him, so be it.

“I won’t,” you agreed. “But I should.”

You started back into the Baratie, crossing your arms tightly to condense what was left of your body heat. Zeff fell into step beside you, his chef’s coat draped over your shoulders not a second later. Stepping inside wasn’t an escape from the cold; if anything, the chill grew worse. 

As much as you hated being cold… you were curious as to what Sanji had cooked up. 

So you braved the frigid walk through the empty dining room, weaving in and out of tables and chairs, and rushed ahead of Zeff to enter the kitchen first. You gave the doors a shove and came face to face with a platoon of balloons bobbing around the ceiling. 

Little purple flowers poked out of various crystal glasses. A sweet smell filled the room. You froze in the doorway, taking it all in, and noticed Sanji at the counter, finishing off the icing on a small cake. He glanced up and blew his hair out of his face, a smile splitting onto his face when he saw you.

“Pip!” His eyes ran you up and down, confusion clouding his blue eyed gaze. “What happened to you?”

You let out a huff and slipped your arms into the too big coat. “Went for a swim.”

Zeff chuckled suspiciously and swept toward the cake, inspecting it briefly. “Just like I said. The icing’s uneven.”

Sanji threw down the icing. “It is—”

“Stop!” you shouted. “I swear.”

That shut them up, each of them rolling their eyes. Children, you thought. Taking another look around, a little smile grew on your face. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

For a moment, Sanji’s confidence faltered, as if he was really questioning what day it was, before he caught your sly grin and relaxed. “Only yours, so I really don’t know why I bothered with all this.”

“Ouch,” you laughed. The kitchen was empty save for you, Zeff, and Sanji. It reminded you of quiet nights similar to this one, back when the Baratie was in its early years. Back when Zeff and Sanji didn’t fight as much as they did now. 

In the gentle quiet to follow, you did admit: growing older wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. 

You blinked and Zeff had lit a candle and poked it into the top of the cake, causing Sanji to grumble at how he’d messed up the swirl design he’d crafted. Zeff ignored him and bumped your shoulder. “Too old to make a wish?”

“As if.” You were almost offended he’d asked, leaning forward to blow out the candles, squeezing closed your eyes and uttering a wish in your head. When you were done, Sanji gave you a questioning look.

“So? What was it?”

Every year he asked, and every year you shook your head. “Can’t say. It’ll break the magic.”

The night grew old, as night always does, and it aged with laughter and thrown icing and sleepy eyes, before it died to make way for the sun. And by then, you and Sanji were passed out on piles of flour sacks, side by side and snoring in tune. 

The Baratie was to open in five hours. In one hour, the chefs would file in to prepare for the breakfast run. For now, though, there was peace as Zeff pulled up a stool to the countertop and observed the pair with increasing, sickening fondness. 

The plan had never been to raise two of the possibly most difficult children on the seas… but now that you weren’t children anymore, there was a significant amount of pride welling up in Zeff’s chest.

He knew neither of you were destined to remain at the Baratie all your lives. To keep you there was to imprison you. Someday, you and Sanji would leave this place, and Zeff could only hope it wouldn’t be tomorrow as each day came to a close. 

And someday, a year down the road, his hope would be in vain as the next morning your annual birthday wish was granted in the form of a grand ship with the masthead of a goat—the ship that would sail you and Sanji away. 

But that was a year away, and no one knew of what fate had in store. You only knew that maybe turning sixteen wasn’t so bad.

[fanaticsnail]

That Thing I Like

Masterlist Here

Word count: 2,100+

Synopsis: You are ships counselor to the Polar Tang. For the past four days, you had been called into Law’s office over the Den-Den transponder speakers. The crew assumes you two had began a relationship, but what actually occurs is far more intimate than any romantic encounter.

Themes: Law x gn!reader, platonic yearning for more, crying, angst, swearing, hurt with comfort, processing grief, professionalism and duty getting in the way.

Notes: @feral-artistry said she wanted some comforting Law. Man needs a hug. Go comfort your captain, he needs you. I hope you enjoy your gift!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity

Written with two songs in mind: Lora Lai Lo - Patty Gurdy, Baby Mine - Sharon Rooney. Art link.

Fingertips brushing with the tanned pages of your novel, focussing on the cleverly articulated poetry depicted on the pages. You began blindly reaching in front of you, your index finger meeting with the ceramic edge of your rapidly cooling teacup.

Your eyes continued to mull the same sentence over and over again, the masterful penmanship scorching into your memory as you rose your cup to your lips. Halting, you narrowed your eyes on the final two words of the sentence: “My boy.” You spoke aloud those words in a hushed whisper, brow knit and focussed.

Finally raising the teacup to your lips, you choked on the fluid within. Where you expected to taste the bitter tang and subtle sweetness of liquorice tea, your palate was assaulted immediately by the overwhelming flavor of seawater.

“Damn it, Shachi!” you immediately yelled, placing down the cup loudly on your saucer. A loud gaggle of laughter had your eyes burning with a violent rage over the spine of your novel. The redhead smirked at you, his brother in arms, Penguin, clutching his own chest alongside grasping Shachi’s bicep.

“I couldn't not!” he confessed between cackles, “It was right there!” You shook your head at him, rising to your feet and readied yourself to berate your fellow Heart-Pirate crewman, only for the drone of your Captain to spark over the Den-Den speakers.

“Ships’ Counselor, to my office,” your anger immediately cooled, huffing away your exasperation with a puff of breath.

“Saved by the captain, as per usual, Orka,” you snarled at him. His smirk only widened as you shook off the flavor of seasoned water with a shrug of your shoulders and a rotation of your neck.

“Ooooh, Counselor to the Captain’s office,” Penguin taunted you with a higher pitch to his regular drone, “How many times does that make this week, hm Shach?”

“That makes the fourth day in a row, Pen,” Shachi taunted back. You placed your marker within the pages of your novel and tucked it within your satchel. Shaking your head at the both of them, you eyed them off cautiously.

“Four days of not so secret, secret meetings,” Penguin continued in his teasing tone, “What do you get up to in there? Want to share with your two bestest friends?”

“After that little stunt?” you quipped at him, gesturing to the ceramic teacup, “Absolutely not."

“It was just a little switch-e-roo,” Shachi chuckled, “A little switch up to make things interesting.”

“I will get you back for that little switch up, boys,” you threaten them with narrowed eyes and a wide smirk, “When you least expect it, I'll enact my revenge.” The seriousness in your tone had both men on edge beneath your icy tone. 

“Jokes on you,” Penguin snarled your name in a hushed whisper, “I'm always on edge.”

“A terrible coping strategy, Pen,” you remark with a soft chuckle, “When you're ready to work through that, make an appointment with me, okay?” He hummed a soft acknowledgement at your comment, both men watching as you turned to make your way through the Polar Tang. 

As you left the common area and wove your body down the hall, Shachi turned to Penguin and bumped his shoulder against his. 

“You reckon Cap and Sel are a little friendly?” he asked his dark-haired crewmate. 

“More than that, I think,” Penguin smirked in return, scrunching his nose up, “Why else would he call ‘em into the office so much?”

Both men looked at one another with a small shrug before returning to their own recreational activities in the mess hall, leaving thoughts of romantic dalliance between you and Law alone while their hobbies occupy them. 

As soon as you knock, your practiced routine for the last few days has your momentum carrying you to the desk Law remained sat behind. 

“Counselor,” Law addressed you with a soft nod. 

“Captain,” you mirrored his expression with a nod of your own. Your soft, melancholy smile rose up to your lips. 

“I need you to do that thing I like,” he confessed with an even tone. You shook your head, your brows furrowed to a low frown. 

“Captain,” you begin, shaking your head, “This is the fourth day in a row that you've-.”

“-I need it,” he spoke over you, a small growl in his tone, “I need you to do it again.” You sighed in response, weaving your way over to his position behind the desk. 

He swivelled his chair, his knees parted and hands gripping the denim over his thighs. His teeth clenched behind his tightly clamped lips, his brow deepening in a frown of his own. 

“Are you certain?” you asked him, reaching out and smoothing your hands over his shoulders before cupping his chin beneath your fingertips. 

“I know it's a request not common in your training,” he confessed, his inked fingertips tentatively and soothingly brushing over your own, “And it's well out of your job description and comfort zone. But I need you to do this for me.” 

You smile softly at him, his eyelids falling into a cresent shape with his small smile. His hat lay askew on his desk, his documents all neatly compiled in a catalogued heap beside him. 

“Alright, Captain,” you smiled at your captain, turning your hands and capturing his within your digits, “Let's go do that thing you like.”

You led Law by the hands, tugging at his wrists and slowly moved yourself to a seated position over the suade sofa in his office, patting the empty space beside you to indicate for Law to sit. 

Immediately, he fell in a heaped mess beside you. His head hit your thighs, his face hidden against your stomach as your hands gently began caressing his hair. He lay himself down, tucking his lanky legs against his chest as you began the routine you had been practicing for the past four days. 

“My boy, dry your eyes,” you sung melodically to him, your voice not professional by any means, but well enough to carry the simple melody. He immediately became transported back into a memory. 

“Tomorrow will soar, as the dove flies,” you massaged his scalp, hands soothing over the unruly strands. He tucked his head further against your stomach, using your body as a shield to muffle any uncharacteristic whimpers from falling from his lips. 

“You are loved from your head to your toes,” you continued, your own emotions almost betraying you as you felt his shoulders shuddering, “May my words spread light over woes.”

“For you are my best boy,” you repeated your lilted chorus, “My only boy.” 

As your words hung thick in the air, you attempted to ignore the dampened streaks of fresh, hot tears soaking through your shirt. You knew Law needed to linger in this space, process this state of grief and use you as a lightning rod to draw in his thundering strike of raw emotion. 

For the past four days, he needed a space to linger in his grief. When you noticed him making simple mistakes navigating the Polar Tang through still waters, you immediately set an appointment up with him to talk through it. It took you the first month to get him to open up, the following two to reassure him that nothing ever said here would leave.

It only took two months after that one to have him process his childhood with you there as an ear, a council and a guide to usher him through. You had become friends through this, sometimes using the opportunity to discuss hobbies and jokes. But lately, he would use your time together to remember all those lost to him. 

For the past four days, that focus was on his mother. 

After clutching against you within this state of vulnerability for several, you chose not to make a sound. Disguising your breath by taking lengthy inhales and exhales, your heart soared, and relief washed over you when you felt your captain match your intentional breaths. 

“Thank you,” he whispered against your naval, withdrawing his face from your body and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“You've done well,” you acknowledged him, withdrawing your hands from his hair as he moved to sit upright, “Less time than the last few sessions we've done this together.” 

He hummed, his heart feeling lighter and less overcome beneath the strangling waves of oppressed sorrow. His eyes were red and glossy, the streaks of tears now drying on his cheeks. 

“Do you want to talk about it this time, or do you want to leave it?” you offered him, feeling his bare grief still lingering, “We've spoken so much about Dressrosa, Corazon and Doflamingo. Do you want to tell me why this melody means so much to you?”

He sighed, his tattooed fingers drawing over his eyes as he scraped them over his cheeks and down to his whiskered chin. 

“My mother sang that song to me every night,” he confessed in a voice just above a whisper, “She would change the lyrics for my sister when it was her turn. I would often catch her humming it when she thought nobody was around.”

You nodded along, ushering him to continue with your eyes supporting his release of pent up emotion.

“I was a child when my whole country perished with the poisoning, or the extermination,” he continued, a wave in his voice causing him to gulp back a dry lump forming, “I don't think I had the opportunity to process this before, and now that her birthday is coming up-...”

“...You miss them,” your hands subconsciously sought out his knee, giving the cap a gentle squeeze in acknowledging his emotions, “And there is nothing wrong with experiencing the gravity of such a loss well after experiencing it. You've been through so much, Captain.”

His hand reached down to cup yours over his knee, his head shaking a soft denial to your words. 

“You likely think me weak,” he confessed with a dark smile, “You have the ability to dismiss me from duty and take command, should you no longer see me fit to lead.”

“For experiencing human emotions?” you quirk your brow up, a soft smile elevating to your lips, “Hardly a valid reason for mutiny, sir.”

He chuckled at your answer, his rare smile once again drawing over his face. The moment of the memory had left him once more, his mind now fully present beside you. Your smile was one he had seen a thousand times before, but this particular one penetrated his cold heart and swelled it with an engulfing warmth. 

“I appreciate you so much, Counselor,” he admitted, his body moving against its will in a hypnotic trance as his forehead met with your own, “I will be forever grateful that Bepo convinced me that our crew needed one.”

“For what it's worth,” you whisper, closing your eyes and lingering against him, “I think you are an excellent captain,” you used your thumb to brush against his knuckles, “Your parents, your sister, your country, and Rosinante would be proud of the man you've become.” 

Lingering against each other, Law fought back the urge flooding his chest to release more of his stress physically. He wanted to lunge forward and press himself against you, cry into you and show his appreciation with embracing you.

But he remembered who he was, where he was, who you were, and who you were to him. You were an equal, a colleague, a friend, and someone who acts as both therapist and deepest confidant to him as your superior.

He could never betray that to seek out a physical dalliance, no matter how much his body screamed at him to clutch against you.

You were plagued with a similar plight, desperately wanting to join your lips with Law’s and demonstrate how safe, secure, and loved he is with you. To become a person far greater than a mere colleague to him.

These past few months had drawn you both close - but these past few days had propelled you even closer. You could never betray your station and your standing as his confidante and counselor.

As the night lingered on, you both opted to remain like this for several moments: enjoying the soft, emotional touch and the world you had carved out behind the safety of the office door. Both yearning and craving the touch to deepen between you, like a swelling rush of water behind a rapidly caving dam wall.

You just needed one more, simple push before that wall would shatter for you to give into this craving. But stubourness, duty and your minds often stood in the way of you both giving in to he desires your heart screamed for.

[prolifeproliberty]

10 months on the Carnivore Diet - my results

I know back in January I mentioned in a couple of posts that I was trying out the Carnivore Diet. Back then it was still new, and I was doing a bunch of research. Now I’ve been fully on it for 10 months, and it’s been amazing.

What I’m eating:

Meat (mostly beef and pork/bacon), eggs, butter, some cheese (mostly used as a garnish on eggs). I aim for a fat to protein ratio of between 75/25 and 80/20.

Typical breakfast: bacon and scrambled eggs cooked in bacon fat

Typical lunch: Chomp beef sticks or more recently these Greenridge Farm beef snack sticks from Costco that have really clean ingredients. I’ve also done leftovers and breakfast casseroles.

Typical dinner: Beef burger patties with scrambled eggs

What I’m drinking:

Water with electrolytes, Coffee with heavy cream, occasional low-carb alcohol (red wine, whisky, low or no carb drinks like vodka soda)

Supplements:

Bacopa monnieri (500mg capsule, 1/day) for my ADHD, Codeage beef organ supplement (1 capsule per day) as a multivitamin.

Exercise:

Basically none, outside of some walking and some minor weight lifting (biceps, triceps, squats) - nothing strenuous or consistent. I am working now on getting my walking and weightlifting more consistent, along with incorporating some abdominal exercises.

My results:

Weight lost: 50 lbs

Cycle regularity restored

Significantly lighter menstrual cramps

More energy, less anxiety/depression

Better immune system (still get sick occasionally, but much less frequently)

Biggest victory: my cravings for sugar and carbs went away pretty much entirely after about 2 weeks. I now have no desire to go back to the way I used to eat, making this the first diet I’ve ever tried that I‘ve been able to stick with for more than a few weeks, and certainly the first one I think I could stay on indefinitely.

What made this work for me:

The high fat content of my diet is very satiating, which makes it much easier to say no to carbs/sugary snacks. Also, artificial sweeteners actually make you crave sugar, so I cut those as well when I started the diet in January. I think that made a huge difference.

For context, I had NO ability to moderate carbs and sugar before this diet. I had a huge problem with binge eating sugar, especially if there was “free food” (a party, donuts in the staff lounge, etc). On previous diets, I could always come up with an excuse to eat sugar. Somebody’s birthday, I had a long day, it’s just this once and then I’ll be good, etc.

Now it’s not even a temptation.

How I learned about the diet and did my research:

I started with YouTube videos from people like Steak and Butter Gal. She does a lot of videos with recipes and tips for staying consistent, and she also does a lot of collaborations and interviews with doctors who recommend the diet, such as Dr. Elizabeth Bright. I went into researching the diet more for my hormonal health than for weight loss, and Dr. Bright is the expert on hormonal health (especially for women) and thyroid health.

This lead to more videos from different doctors and reading studies (including studies on the “link” between eating red meat and problems like heart disease and cancer, which were poorly done and don’t show what they claim to show).

How I handle social gatherings and holidays:

Everyone who knows me irl knows about my diet by now, either because they noticed my weight loss or because they’ve seen me eat! This means friends and family who are hosting will often ask me if I can eat certain things they’re planning to serve and will try to accommodate me.

It’s not too tough though because most social gatherings with food include some kind of meat, and it’s often “buffet style” so I can skip things I can’t eat. I generally try to avoid processed foods unless I can check the ingredients and make sure they’re free of preservatives, dextrose, sugar, etc, but one of my “cheats” is eating the meats and cheeses from charcuterie boards at parties.

If I suspect I won’t be able to eat much or I’m just not sure, I’ll often eat before I go so I’m not sitting there hungry. Then as long as there’s something I can eat, I can still participate in the social aspect of eating with friends and family.

Why I don’t eat fruits/vegetables:

I will occasionally have small amounts of vegetables, usually as a garnish (like I do with cheese). I also use medicinal herbs in the form of tinctures, capsules, or teas - though I need them much less often now! However, avoiding vegetables for the most part simplifies the diet, reduces my inflammation, and means I don’t have to count carbs like I would on keto.

The foods I eat all have zero or virtually zero carbs, and I know they won’t mess with my digestion or make me feel bad. It’s simple, it’s easy to follow, and I don’t have any real need or craving for the veggies. Occasionally I’ll have a couple pickle slices with my burger patties at a restaurant or some avocado with my bacon and eggs, but that’s about it. Basically, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Please feel free to ask questions and check out the channels and videos I linked above to learn more!

Starting a new diet is obviously tricky this time of year, but January 1st will be here before you know it. If you’re looking to make a change, maybe this could be the thing that works for you like it did for me!

[powderpinkandsweeet]

Ellie x Reader

~6k words, 60s au, blue collar Ellie x fem waitress reader. Some fluff, some hurt comfort, eventual smut. Content warnings for stereotypical early 60s sexism, some naivety (not innocent, per say), and internalized homophobia.

The first time you saw her, it was from behind the counter of a roadside diner. They'd just built a highway through the plain so the diner had been busier than usual and Patti was letting you get in a couple extra hours. It was toward the end of service, right around the time that the lumber mill closed up for the night and the workers make their way home. Fall was creeping in so the day had been cold and rainy. The last customer of the night came through the door soaked to the bone. Her work boots squeaked and squished on the linoleum and drops of water fell from the tips of her hair. Her blue coveralls stuck to her frame, and you could tell it was uncomfortable by the way she shifted and pulled at the fabric.

Patti found her first, storming over to scold the customer about dirtying her freshly-mopped floors. Patti called for you to bring towels and you rushed to help. The supply closet only had dish towels, so you piled them high on the counter where Patti had settled the visitor. You returned to your customers but remained close by to eavesdrop on the two. As far as you could tell, she had been on her way home and got a flat tire on her truck. With the rain she couldn't get the tire changed or walk home, so she asked to use the phone to call a ride.

From the rotary phone in the break room, you could hear grumbling and expletives before she hung up the phone and returned to the counter with a frown and arms crossed. Despite her tough exterior, the poor girl was shivering so you set to making her a mug of hot chocolate. You stood parallel to her at the counter, getting a good look at her for the first time. Above her right breast pocket, under the lumber mill logo, was an embroidered name: 'Eleanor.'

"Eleanor?" you asked.

Her brow twitched at the name and she looked up with a frown, “what’d you just say?”

“It says ‘Eleanor’ on your uniform…”

She looked down at the embroidery and laughed bitterly, "only folks that call me that are my old man and my boss. It's Ellie to you."

You looked back at the mug in your hands, "well, you looked cold, so I thought maybe you would like some hot chocolate."

She looked surprised at the act of kindness, but accepted the cup gratefully, cupping it with both hands that had become almost numb from the cold. "Yeah... thanks, sugar."

You smiled shyly and muttered "of course," before scurrying back to the kitchen to wipe the same counter once again.

Only minutes later, you walked out of the to find an empty mug and a handful of change. 'The cocoa was only a quarter,' you think, dropping the spare change into the pocket of your apron with a jingle. They clinked in your pocket like silver bells the rest of your shift.

Ellie would drop by regularly, stopping to sit alone at the counter and sip a beer at the end of the work day. You would make idle small talk when business was slow, learning more about her every day. She was unlike any other girl you had known, indelicate and assertive, but most of all she had a certain magnetism about her that pulled you in. Every shift, when the clock struck six, you would linger by the counter, hoping the bell would chime and you'd see Ellie walking through the door.

This time, Ellie enters with a group of men you assume must be her coworkers. They all wore the same blue canvas overalls, with the same embroidered logo and marked with their names. They smelled like sawdust and sweat, a combination that you usually didn't mind on Ellie, but the group was overpowering your senses. You try to catch Ellie's eye and smile, but she seemed too focused on her work boots to notice.

You briefly panicked as you realized they weren't being seated in your section, and you had half a mind to take the hostess by the shoulders and shake her. Instead, you muster the courage to ask your fellow waitress to trade. Margaret looked confused at first, but an amused grin stretched across her face and she chuckled.

"What? Is there something on my uniform?" you ask and peer down at your dress and pinafore, but she only snorts behind her hand that is unsuccessfully muffling her laughter.

"No, I see what's going on, you don't have to be shy. You just had to tell me that you're looking to bag a lumberjack and I'd have switched in a second."

"What?! No, you've got the wrong idea," you whisper-yell to her. "One of them is just a friend so I wanted to say hi."

"Oh you don't have to lie to me. We both know exactly what you're doing." You did, but her... not quite.

Margaret glanced at the table once more before she leaned in to whisper in your ear "The one in the corner looks real cute, if you ask me." And she heads off to take the order of a table in what had previously been your section.

You sigh, "I didn't ask, actually." You looked at the man she'd pointed out to see him stacking creamer cups into a pyramid. 'I guess he's... creative? But cute I don't think so.' Your eyes wandered back to Ellie. Her pink lips were in a pout and her green eyes downcast as she traced the rim of her beer glass with a finger. She didn't seem to be entirely present, like something was on her mind.

You took a few deep breaths before marching up to the table with your best customer service smile. You introduced yourself and passed out menus, to which Ellie's head snapped up to see you. You offered her a polite smile, but she looked away, pretending to scan the menu.

The other three at the table ordered drinks as Ellie spaced out, looking at nothing in particular on the menu in front of her. "And for you?" broke her from her trance.

"Sorry, what?"

The man in the booth next to Ellie elbowed her in the side and teased, "your drink, buddy."

She realized and punched him in the arm before picking up the menu again. "Uh, I'll just take a beer... please." she ordered without looking you in the eye.

"Alright then, four beers it is. I'll be right back with you." You held onto your smile as you turned around but let it drop when you thought they could no longer see you. 'What the hell was that? She acted like we'd never met before,' you ruminated as you filled the glasses.

You didn't notice Ellie's repeated glances in your direction as you helped other customers, but the man beside him with "Jesse" embroidered on his coveralls certainly did. He leaned over to murmur in Ellie's ear, "the waitress is cute, huh?"

Ellie looked shocked, blushing and making nervous eye contact with Jesse, but she was overshadowed by the mouthiest of the bunch. "Real cute, alright. I oughta make a move on her," the bearded one, John, interjected. He obviously didn’t realize the question wasn’t directed at him.

Beside him, the one stacking creamer cups hummed in agreement. "Betcha can't get her number by the time we get the check."

"Oh just watch me, fucker."

Ellie couldn't wipe the look of disgust off her face, obvious enough to catch attention. "You got something to say, huh dyke?" John taunted.

Ellie sighed, "just that you're dumb as a bag of rocks if you think you can get her number looking and smelling like you do."

His beard was littered with crumbs and he smelled like an armpit. A chick magnet, truly, but his confidence was admirable at the very least. "Well, you can fuck all the way off, how's that?"

Ellie shrugged and raised her palms in mock-surrender, "just givin it to you straight, man. She's outta your league and on the clock. You wouldn't want someone hitting on you while you're at work, do you?"

John barked out a laugh, "boy would I! But I don't think any gal 'cept you that ain’t afraid to go near a bandsaw."

Ellie didn't laugh in return, instead muttering to herself "they wouldn't be afraid if you knew how to put down the guard and use the damn thing."

Jesse nearly spit out his water, to which John forgot what had been said and only laughed at Jesse's misfortune.

When you returned with the group's beers, Ellie looked away as nonchalantly as she could manage. You pulled out your notepad and scribbled down their orders, tucking it into your apron and turning around to give it to the cook, but you heard a "clink" behind you. You look back to see that the bearded man had knocked his fork and knife onto the floor. He met your eyes and let out an insincere "oops."

'Customer service smile' you reminded yourself. You bent down to pick it up, "here sir, I can grab you a clean set. It'll take me just a mo-MENT!" You fell back onto your butt on the linoleum as one of the glasses of beer was tipped over, splashing onto the table, the ground, and you where you had bent to retrieve the silverware.

For the first time that night, you heard Ellie's voice. "Johnathan! What the fuck, man!"

You scrambled to your feet and were confronted by frantic apologies from the bearded man. He had stood up from the booth with a fist full of napkins. From where you stood could see that the glass had tipped from right in front of him. "I'm so so sorry, I swear I'm so clumsy."

Your eyes were lining with tears at the embarrassment and the suspicion that he had done this on purpose. You looked down at your soiled uniform. Your apron had a huge stain spread across it, and you could feel the cold, sticky feeling as it bled through the apron and into your dress. You struggled to form words and stay polite, "I- it's okay, it's fine, I just need to-"

"Here, please, let me help," and napkins were pressed firmly to your breasts. Ellie yelled the man's name again and nearly climbed over the table but was held back by Jesse's grip on her wrist. She looked at you with sad eyes, only gifting you with her attention when you were distressed.

You jumped backward, "no! I don't need any of your help! I- I'm just-please excuse me," and you bolted through the kitchen, into the break room.

You were able to convince Margaret to bring out the group's food, but her shift ended shortly after, so you were stuck with the task of bringing them the check. They pooled in their cash, letting you know that you could keep the change. You wished them a good night, receiving a grunt and half-hearted wave from Ellie, still looking at you with pity. You turned back to close and count the money in the cash drawer, but stumbled forward as you were graced with a sharp slap to the ass.

You kept walking away as fast as you could, just wanting the whole ordeal to be over with. The bell above the door rang with their departure.

"Don't act like you guys didn't want a piece of that."

"Dude..."

"No kidding! A cute little thing like that would look real good on my arm, doncha think?" John was slurring and stumbling, obviously having been overserved by their second waitress.

Ellie chimed in, "it's a wonder you're still single, Johnny Boy."

"Don't call me that," was growled.

"Wouldn't have to if you weren't acting like a child who don't know better." Ellie laughed, "didn't your mama teach you how to treat a lady?"

"Don't go acting like you know my mama, she's a good Christian woman and she wouldn't take kindly to that."

"Obviously not good or Christian enough to teach you right from wrong."

Jesse stepped forward to put a hand on her shoulder, "cool it, Ellie. He's not worth it."

"Not worth it? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" John nearly shouted as the other man attempted to keep him upright.

"John, it doesn't matter. You scared the poor gal in there and that's that" Jesse admonished and led Ellie away. They could hear the incoherent shouts and slurs as they returned to their respective cars. Jesse pulled out of the parking lot with a wave in Ellie's direction, and Ellie sat in her truck for a few moments before resigning herself to wait.

You locked the diner's back door with shivering fingers. It was nearing 10 o'clock at night and the last bus had come at 8:30, so you would be walking home. After only a few steps, though, you heard a car door slam. You flinched and turned around with your bag held in front of you as a makeshift shield, but were met by Ellie leaning against her truck and smoking a cigarette. She offered you a weak, apologetic smile but you could only frown in return. Ellie waved and offered you an almost inaudible "hey."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" you feigned ignorance, "cause you couldn't look me in the eye less than an hour ago."

She had the common sense to look ashamed, "I just didn't want anyone to get any ideas..."

"Ideas about what? That I'm worthy of your time and attention?"

"You know I didn't mean any harm by it-"

"It still hurt, Ellie, even if you didn't mean it." You felt tears line your eyes and tried to regulate your breathing, "and it hurt that you didn't do anything about your fucking coworker. He spilled beer on me and slapped my ass, but you just stood and watched, and another thing!” But you were cut off, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay?" Ellie burst out, remaining tense. "I just, I like you and I was afraid for them to know that."

"I like you too Ellie. I thought I'd made that clear by now."

She sighed and wiped a hand down her face, "I don't think we're on the same page..." She took in a deep breath, “I like you in the same way a man does a woman. And I think I could come to love you."

You felt your face go hot, and your thoughts were sent into a tailspin. She, a woman, liked you, a woman. It was a concept practically unheard of unless you sought it out or were fear-mongered away from it. It had always seemed to be the natural order of things for a woman to lose her last name and independence to become a Mr's Mrs. It gave you butterflies the idea of taking Ellie's last name. It was so simple, the answer why, but you had pretended not to see it all this time.

"I think I like you too Ellie, and not just in the friend way..." you shyly admitted. "I have feelings for you that I don't know how to explain."

Ellie chuckled, "you don't need to understand or explain. All I know is I feel a pull to you not like anyone I've met."

Ellie offered to drive you home since it was cold and window out and "there's shady characters out this time of night." She must have meant her coworker. You almost wished the drive could have lasted longer, but you and Ellie had to part ways. Ellie stood behind you as you unlocked the door, claiming she wanted to make sure you got inside safe before she left. Once it'd popped open, you stood in the entryway and stared, unsure of how to end the night. "Well... goodnight, Ellie. I'll see you at the diner again soon, yeah?"

Ellie nodded, and murmured out, "for sure, yeah. Have a good night..."

You smiled warmly and moved to close the door, but you were stopped by a foot in your doorway that nearly made you scream.

"Wait!" Ellie called, and you pulled the door back just enough to see her. She gulped, "Do you have plans this Saturday?"

"Um, I'm working in the morning but I'm free after three o'clock."

"Do you want to go dancing with me? On Saturday? At 7?"

You were excited but apprehensive, "Ellie... I would love to but where are we supposed to go dancing with each other?" Simply the act of dancing cheek-to-cheek with each other could feel like a risk, but Ellie was quick to quell your worries.

"It's called Tootsie's. It's out on the edge of town so you've probably never heard of it, but you'll love it, promise. I can pick you up?"

You were still apprehensive but agreed. The chance to see Ellie again was worth the anxiety. "Alright, you promised," you tried to say firmly, but couldn't help the smile on your face. You wished Ellie goodnight and made to close the door once again-

"Wait! One more thing"

You opened it again, "yes? Everything alright?" She was silent for a moment. "...Ellie?"

"Can I kiss you?"

You froze in disbelief. You took a tentative step forward, glancing between her lips and her eyes. "Please..."

She smiled and reached out to cup your cheek, and leaned in to give you a gentle peck on the lips. Smiling brighter than she had all night, she wished you goodbye with a wave, "see you Saturday, sugar."

You stood in the doorway and watched as Ellie crossed your yard and climbed into her truck. She drove away into the night, and you snapped out of the trance she had put you in. You shut the door behind you and leaned against it. Your lips still tingled where Ellie had kissed you, and you brought your fingertips to them to brush against your lip. Three days until Saturday, and you would count down the minutes.

You didn't expect Ellie to be the kind of girl to show up early, but you heard a knock on the door at 6:47. You had been running back and forth from bedroom to bathroom to obsess over your hair, face, and outfit. She had only seen you in your diner uniform, and you had only seen her in coveralls. You fiddled with the ends of your hair anxiously as you stepped up to the door and looked out the peep-hole. It was Ellie, hands tucked in pockets and rocking back and forth on her heels.

You took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and practically ripped it open to greet her.

"Hey! It's about... time." Ellie found herself lost in thought as she looked you up and down with an unreadable expression.

You shifted nervously on your feet, "does it look alright?"

Ellie cleared her throat to regain her ability to form words, "no, I mean- yes, I mean-- it looks more than alright, you look so pretty."

You look down at your dress and lean over the full skirt to peer down at your freshly polished shoes, "you really think so?"

"Of course. I meant what I said and I wouldn't lie to you about that." Ellie tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, "don't get me wrong, you look adorable in your little skirt and apron covered in food and beer. This though, you look... wow."

You laughed, "you don't clean up too bad either, El." She blushed at the compliment and turned to look away shyly. She smelled of sawdust and fresh spring air. Instead of her dirty old coveralls, Ellie wore a pair of blue Levis 501s with the ankles cuffed and a white t-shirt tucked into the waist. Her black leather lace-up boots thumped heavily against the planks of your patio, perfectly matching the black leather belt that accentuated her waist. On her shoulders rested a denim jacket with a sherpa lining, and she stood with her hands tucked in its pockets. She looked down at herself, "you really think so?"

You shook your head and laughed, "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

You thought you had seen all of Jackson with how long you'd been there, but Ellie had taken you somewhere wholly unfamiliar. Tootsie's didn't look inviting from the outside, what with its location on the outside of town, its blacked out windows, or the empty storefronts on either side. There was no sign out front, just lettering on the door "Tootsie's--No trespassing, no solicitors, no loitering, members only."

"Members?" you looked at Ellie curiously.

"Just folks like us," Ellie responded with a half-smile. Ellie knocked heavily on the door, and after almost a full minute it opened to a tall, intimidating figure.

"Hiya, Barb! How ya been?" Ellie greeted and leaned "casually" against the door frame.

Barb didn't seem up for small talk. "You still haven't paid your tab from two weeks ago."

"Oh," Ellie looked to the side and itched the back of her neck, "about that, my timecard got processed late?"

"Is that an answer or a question?" Barb grumbled and leaned in.

Ellie flinched, "answer! It's an answer. 'Sides I got the money right here so it's no big deal. Here..." and Ellie dug through her pockets to pull out a few crumpled bills and deposited them into Barb's waiting hand. She counted the bills, looked up at Ellie briefly, and let you pass with a nod. You went in first, and didn't catch what Barb whispered to Ellie on her way in, but you did notice the blush on her face.

Inside the bar, it was dimly lit with a haze of cigarette smoke. Your shoes stuck to the floorboards that had long been saturated with beer. The smell of booze and ash hung in the air. Had it not been for the clientele, you would have assumed it was just another dive bar.

Across the room, pairs of women and pairs of men danced cheek-to-cheek to the crooning of the jukebox. Lyrics of love and devotion filled the room, dancers switching the song's pronouns to express the truth of their love. The booths held couples with hands on thighs and around shoulders, public displays of affection that you hadn’t seen anywhere else. Your heart softened. You almost had to hold back a coo at how intimate the scene was. Lovers held each other close; a closeness that couldn't be shared outside closed doors. You quickly came to the conclusion that this was love of a greater depth than you had ever seen or felt before. There was no power struggle or prescribed gender role. Simply two people looking into one another's hearts and feeling like they've found home. 'Where have they been all my life?' you pondered, 'why did it take me so long to find you?'

You were pulled from your reverie by a grip on your wrist. Ellie had taken you by the hand and gestured toward the jukebox, "will you dance with me?"

You stumbled behind her with a giggle, "I'd love to." Ellie dug through her pockets for a nickel, and deposited it into the machine to queue up her song. She contemplates her song choice before keying in her selection. Satisfied, she pulled you to the dance floor to sway with the other lovers until her song played. Ellie pulled you forward by the hips, guiding one of your hands to her shoulder while she held the other in her own. "I'll lead, okay? Just follow me."

She gave you an excited grin as the song ended. The drums and brass kicked in, and you returned her smile. “I've got sunshiiine, on a clouudy dayyy."

"You're so cheesy, you know that?" you say to her with your forehead pressed against hers.

You feel her breathy laugh hit your lips, "but it's working, right? You haven't left yet."

One of her legs remained between your own, guiding the movements of your feet and hips along with hers. Her touch warmed you through. The callouses on her hands reflected years of hard labor, and pale lines on forearms and cheekbones told stories of fights lost and won. You committed them to memory, determined to cherish this moment as Ellie held you and crooned over the Temptations that you were "my girl, my girl, my girl. Talkin' 'bout my giiirl." The lovers around you faded into the background. As far as you were concerned, it was just you and Ellie.

You couldn't stop looking between her eyes and her lips. Ellie smirked as the song came to an end, "why don't you believe she's all my girl?" The smile remained on her face as she took your chin between her index finger and thumb before meeting your lips with her own. She kissed you tenderly and passionately. You hummed into the kiss, and Ellie mirrored your enthusiasm with a swipe of her tongue to your bottom lip. You froze in surprise at her forwardness, to which she nipped at your bottom lip and slips her tongue against yours. Her lips and tongue were so soft as they worked desperately to taste you and feel you tremble under her hands.

Your hand gripped the front of Ellie's shirt as you began to run out of breath, and you both reluctantly pulled back to pant and stare into each other's love-drunk eyes. Her eyes met yours with an unspoken question and a bite to her bottom lip. Ellie's hands gripped your hips to pull them ever closer, hoping you understood her intentions. You blushed in realization but rewarded her with a nod.

Ellie pulled you past the bouncer with urgency, and you swear you heard a deep chuckle from Barb on the wait. Shaking hands fiddled with the keys to her pickup, dropping them once on the ground before successfully unlocking the door and lifting you into the cab with surprising strength.

Ellie climbed in after you with an order of "in the back."

Your skirt and petticoat flipped up over your behind as you crawled between the seats, flashing Ellie your thin panties. For a moment she swore she could see a wet patch at your center. You scooted back on the narrow bench, spreading your legs so Ellie could rest on her knees between them. She wasted no time, leaning down to kiss you messily. Ellie sucked on your tongue, causing you to whimper and pull back with a gasp.

Ellie huskily whispered in your ear, "I've wanted to touch you like this the second I saw you, prancing around in your cute little skirt and apron." You were practically breathless as she littered kisses and sucks down your neck and to your collarbones. You would get mad at her later for the multitude of bruises, but you didn't have half a mind to care.

Warm, rough hands slid up your shoulders and down your sternum to take the low neckline of your dress into her grip. She pulled the material to rest below your breast, whispering out a low "fuck..." Ellie took your breasts into her palms, squeezing them while circling your nipples with her thumbs. She admired their shape and softness as she held them in her hands, giving them a squeeze and leaning down to flick a nipple with her tongue. You arched your back into her touch as she took your nipple into her mouth to suck, pinching the other between her finger and thumb.

You moaned out her name as she lavished your breasts with licks, kisses, and the occasional bite. Your sensitivity heightened with every touch, and Ellie could tell from the twitching of your thighs at her hips that you were craving more.

Ellie withdrew, grazing your nipple with the points of her teeth to make you flinch. She sat back and circled each nipple with the pad of her thumbs, the saliva left behind making you shiver as they hardened with the attention and cold. "What do you need, baby?"

You brought the back of your hand to rest against your forehead, flushed and panting. "More... please, Ellie."

Ellie smirked, "more what, honey?"

If you were in your right mind, you would have attempted to articulate that this was all new. The pleasure you felt was more intense and mor intimate than anything you'd felt before, and all you knew is that you wanted Ellie to touch you more. Ellie took mercy on you after a few moments of watching your face twist with embarrassment. She hummed for a moment in thought and shifted to press her knee between your thighs. You gasped and bucked your hips at the sudden stimulation to your clit, and Ellie had found her answer.

"Right there, huh? You want to feel me right here?" she questioned despite already knowing the answer. You shyly nodded and continued to grind your hips against the pressure of Ellie's thigh. "Ah-ah, you gotta tell me out loud or I won't know what you really want," she teased.

You take one of Ellie's hands into yours to draw it toward the hot, wet patch on your panties, "here, I need you right here... Please, Ellie, I can't take it."

More than pleased with your answer, Ellie scooted backwards so she could press her palm to your core. She cupped your pussy through your panties, grinding the heel of her palm against your clit. She stroked her hand across the length of your pussy before slipping her fingers into the hem of your panties. You helped her wriggle them down your legs, and Ellie gripped your knees to spread your legs wide open. For a moment, she just admired your glowing frame beneath her. Your lips glistened with arousal, starting to drip down the curve of your thigh to pool onto the truck's leather seats. "Such a pretty pussy..." Ellie mused, licking her thumb to rubbing slow circles around your clit. She reveled in your sensitivity and the ease with which she could pull whimpers and whines from you. You were so much fun to play with. Your hips followed the movements of her fingers to chase the pleasure. "Feels so good, doesn't it, baby?" Ellie cooed.

You whimpered and nodded once again but squeaked out a "yes!" when Ellie returned your silence with a slap to your clit. But her tender touches returned with greater intensity, switching from slow circles on your clit to swipes left and right with the tips of her fingers. Your thighs trembled and attempted to thrash, but Ellie forced your legs to remain open. "And you're all mine..." Ellie murmured, mostly to herself.

Ellie couldn't wipe the smile from her face as she abused your pussy, but she knew that she could make you squirm harder and squeal louder. She slowed her ministrations on your clit just enough to draw your focus and a whine of her name, "wha- why'd you stop?"

Ellie's gaze was intense, more serious than she had ever looked. "I need to fuck you. I want to feel you squeeze my fingers and drip down my wrist." She leaned down to press kisses up your chest and the side of your neck. Her breath puffed against your ear and nearly made you shiver, "will you let me, honey? I promise if you be my baby I'll make you feel so good."

"I'll be your baby, Ellie. Please make me yours."

She met you with an excited grin before sucking two fingers into her mouth to wet them. She withdrew them with a "pop" and brought them to your core. "You ready?"

You looked between Ellie's eyes and her fingers, "mhm, please, Ellie."

The tips of her fingers circled your hole once, twice, three times before penetrating to the first knuckle and thrusting shallowly. "So warm... you feel so good," Ellie cooed. You had flinched initially, but melted into the haze of pleasure as she thrusted deeper. Ellie paid close attention to your face and voice to guide you to your orgasm, noticing your breaths slow and your brows furrow with her gentle pace.

"You need more, don't you, baby? Want me to fuck you harder?" You nodded with a whimper and a plead, so Ellie curled her fingers and pumped them upward to abuse your g-spot. Your pussy made obscene, wet noises as Ellie jabbed the tips of her fingers against the spot on your walls that made you squeal and arch. "Doing so so good for me, angel, I can feel you squeezing me." You could only respond with groans and guttural noises from deep in your throat. If you could only hear yourself, you would be ashamed at your whoreish behavior.

Your body shook and your jaw slacked as you gasped for air. One of your hands came up to squeeze your breast, while the other gripped Ellie's forearm tightly. She could feel the bite of your nails but couldn't be bothered to care when you were this overwhelmed with pleasure beneath her. The burn in your stomach was a raging inferno at this point, your clit and walls pulsing with heat. Ellie could tell you were nearing the edge by the way your eyes kept rolling and your back arching up and falling backward onto the leather seats. "Ellieee, I- I'm so close, please. Please..."

Her grin only widened, a vibrant flush on her cheeks from excitement and exertion. Her fingers picked up her pace, gripping you by the hip for leverage as she pulled you toward orgasm. She knew just what you needed to throw you over the edge, "rub your clit for me, honey." She guided your hand away from her forearm to the mess between your thighs, "two fingers, do little circles for me, baby. Yeah, just like that." The friction on your clit shot through you like lightning, and you had to withdraw your other hand from your breast to grip your other wrist and quell its trembling. Ellie's fingers curled up just right with a firm jab and a squelch, and your pussy gripped her tightly. You could only let out throaty groans as you peaked, unable to form words or warn Ellie of your orgasm. You cum drooled down between your lips, Ellie's fingers and hand covered in your slick as she guided you through your orgasm. She slowed and withdrew her fingers from your pussy, circling your clit with her thumb once again until the bucking of your hips slowed and she felt your muscles tense at the stimulation.

Ellie pulled back to revel in her job well done. Your hazy eyes refocused with a peck to the tip of your nose. You smiled tiredly at one another, and you couldn't hold back your thoughts, "I've never felt like this for someone..."

Ellie looked confused for a moment and tilted her head, "huh? Like you've never come before?"

You laughed and looked away shyly, "no, not that. I mean, you did make me feel better than anyone has but I meant like... I have strong feelings for you."

Ellie smiled like a kid on Christmas and dropped down to smother you in a hug, "you'll just have to be my girl, then, won't you?"

You mirrored her smile and laugh at her enthusiasm, "I would want nothing more."

Very loosely inspired by the setting (not characters, Ellie isn’t really butch to me) of Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg (an essential read and one of my favorite people). Be kind to each other, we’re just making our dolls kiss. I see a lot of discourse over characterizations of the subject or reader and how it should be done. We like our characters and we envision how they would or wouldn’t act, but unless you’re writing the story then it probably won’t fit your expectations.

[apattiperday]

[amygdalae]

I always wear green on St Patty's day. Not because I like the holiday per se. It's for the protection of others. Because hypothetically if someone were to pinch me nothing could save them from my wrath

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

Dolly Parton (1946-) solo Songs: "Jolene," "I Will Always Love You" Defeated Opponents: Alice Coltrane, Ruth Brown, Patti Smith, Linda Ronstadt, Donna Summer, Aretha Franklin Propaganda: "One of the best country (and any) musicians to grace us with her talents for decades! A bimbo with a brain and we love her! Beyoncé and Whitney Houston covered her songs. This woman supports women! And literacy! But also her voice is one of a kind and she knows how to command any stage she's on." "She's one of the world's best-selling musicians and she's an actress! Shes's also an advocate for LGBT rights, gives money to HIV/AIDS research, and many more causes. She donates one book per month to every kid born in Tennessee up until they're 5 years old. She put a lot of money into COVID research. Her large chest is so well-known that it's been written about in songs, military tanks have been named after her, and Dolly the cloned sheep shares her name. Also, she apparently wrote Jolene and Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You in the same day!" "She's adorable. She's funny. She smart and business savvy enough that she would probably be a billionaire if she wasn't also a genuinely wonderful human being who gives tons and tons of money away to various charities and causes. She's so supportive of younger artists and artists of color and the queer community. She's always so gracious and genuinely excited when new artists cover her songs. She's the best thing to ever come from the state of Tennessee and I love her entirely. We do not deserve her but I'm glad we have her."

Nina Simone (1933-2003) solo Songs: "Feelin' Good," "Wild is the Wind" Defeated Opponents: Siouxsie Sioux, Patsy Cline, Janis Joplin, Billie Holiday, Cher, Sister Rosetta Tharpe Propaganda: "She has a hard taking-no-shit attitude that instantly turns me on" "music peaked here everyone else can go home"

Visual Propaganda for Dolly Parton:

Visual Propaganda for Nina Simone:

[allfryam]

feeder for president!

Lots of excitement was shared when Frank wheeler was elected as the new president of the United States. He seemed to have great ambitions and an incredible spirit. But just a few months after he was elected, he put a new law into place. Every single American over the age of 18 must consume at least 5000 calories per day or they will be executed. He implanted every single American with a chip in the back of their throat that counted their calories. If the requirement had not been met, it would start leaking a poisonous substance into your system immediately. Effectively killing the person. This wasn’t all though. All gyms and any form of exercise equipment became illegal. Sidewalks were replaced with conveyor belts to prevent people from burning calories. Every year, you are required to gain at least 25 pounds. For every pound over this goal, the government will send a $100 check to your home.

as expected, all hell broke loose. People began rioting and begged for the law to be reversed. The smart people didn’t hesitate to start stuffing their face. Fast food restaurants had their busiest days in years as people frantically raced to consume as many calories as possible. To bring in more customers, McDonald’s released the heart attack burger. It was three burger patties cooked in pure oil and fat, then there was 6 pieces of bacon, loaded fries, a mountain of cheese, and McDonald’s new secret sauce. The burger contained almost 2000 calories and people went nuts for it. Companies removed small drinks and fries and replaced them with xtra large and supersize. A supersized coke was two liters and contained almost 100 calories.

the new system quickly weeded out the protesters and the only people left were obedient, soon to be fatties. Fitness influencers became weight gain influencers. They would give tips and tricks on how to eat more and expand your stomach. New stores began to open where you would pay to be mindlessly fed by one of the employees. You could set a certain amount of calories or a certain amount of time to be stuffed. If you were really desperate, some places carried an item called a lard ball. It had exactly 5000 calories all in the size of a pill. You would take it and immediately feel like you had just stuffed yourself silly at a buffet. It was quite expensive, but for those who could afford it, it was a game changer.

after a couple years with the new law, there wasn’t a person in sight without at least a bit of a belly. Abs were a thing of the past and it was hard for new 18 year olds to let go of theirs. But they obeyed and ate till they passed out. Some people took the $100 a pound rule very seriously. With how easy it was to gain weight, some people could gain over 100 pounds and get tens of thousands of dollars. Desk jobs became popular as no one was fit enough to do much else. Jobs were now required to give multiple snack breaks to employees so they had time to stuff themselves. it was paradise. Bulging bellies in all directions, former abs were memories of the past, countless people racing to shove food down their throats to meet the limit. I think this law may stay in place forever!

[rederoma]

Torniamo sulle rime, fanculo le altre cazzate

Sono come Lomačenko, Mayweather, Joe Calzaghe

E tu sei una promessa, è chiaro, sicuro spacchi

Ti ritiri al sesto round piangendo, come Arturo Gatti

No Más, come Durán, i giornalisti stanno fatti

Chiedi che musica ascolto,rispondo: "Gli Aristogatti"

Vedi Cristo, infatti in giro rap demenziale

Sembri Silvano Rogi e la tua troia sembra Patty

La legge sull'erba, legalizziamo le armi

Divento un'arma bianca se sto sopra i quattro quarti

Ti buco con un punteruolo e i tuoi figli davanti

Così diventi Spongebob, dai, fammi un Krabby Patty

La storia di una farfalla che odiava essere il bruco

Cresce una crepa nel guscio, la crepa diventa un buco

E poi fuori fu luce e potrai dire che hai vissuto

Anche solo per un giorno, solo per un minuto