#also like one of the things is a lump on my hip that I spent three months trying to get an appointment at my old GP for

[freckleslikestars]

So I’m sick (covid test was negative) with a real bad cough and a stuffy nose and a body that has no energy whatsoever, and I had a phone call with a guy to organise some outpatient treatment today and he was like ‘bro you sound like shit. Have you seen a doctor’ and then was surprised when I said the next appointments available with the GP are over a month away. Like bro you work with the NHS you should understand that no, of course I haven’t seen a doctor about a cold. People don’t die from trifling little colds. Not when it will more than likely be gone by the time I get an appointment.

[grimbanes]

Goodnight, Sweetheart.

KAZ BREKKER X GN!READER

Summary: Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason and yet he kept finding them to loiter. Every night, without fail. Kaz Brekker also didn't like to be teased.

WC: 2.2k A/N: so this is my first time writing grishverse fanfiction and my head is currently full of mr brekker. this is loosely inspired by im so hot by chrissy. i have no idea for to format these. kaz might be slightly OOC, but he's a secret softie, we all know it. NO BETA, we die like jordie.

“Why would I bother with anybody else?” 

It was a rhetorical question spoken by a humoured voice, cadence lilted with confidence, dripping venom and a little bit of sarcasm. It remained that way as the Y/N continued to raise a groomed brow and lean their weight into their hip, long lashes blinking pointedly, briefly, to the patron they were serving. They kept themself poised as if expecting a real answer - one that wouldn’t come, of course.

And Kaz? Kaz was watching the exchange with that one might call amusement. What he would call it though, despite internal disagreement, was annoyance. And maybe that was also true, if the involuntary yet impatient tap of his gloved finger against the bar’s surface was any indication. It wasn’t rare for these exchanges to occur, expected even, as the Crow Club heaved with foreigners, tourists, dock workers and other kinds of uncivilised folk praying to win big. 

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. That was the word on the street. That was the reputation he had spent years cultivating. He repeated day in and day out. It hung in his mind with every ledger and document he flicked through, wrote on, and triple-checked. No job too messy, no job too small. Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. So then why did Kaz Brekker have a hard time finding a reason to speak to this person that spoke in riddles, threats and simultaneously was the most infectiously pleasant being in the entire room. 

The barhand scoffed at something the man had said to them, adjusting their grown out hair in its fancy clip against the back of their skull and rolling up their billowing shirt sleeves. It didn’t take a criminal mastermind like Kaz to figure out the exchange was going to get violent. He merely nursed his whiskey, neat, and watched from above the rim of his glass, finger still tapping against the bar. 

“Careful love, you don’t want to bruise that pretty face of yours,” Jesper’s voice spoke as is from nowhere, the sharpshooter sidling up beside the drunken man with noisy footsteps and his usual grin decorating his face in that way that had Kaz grimacing, turning away with a twitch of his eyebrow and sipping his drink. He might be what some might call a friend, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get annoyed by the constant buzz of energy. 

“My face is pretty regardless,” That unwavering confidence, tongue in cheek and lips pulling up into a mischievous grin and Kaz’s eyes were on them again, stormy and studying with every movement of their body. From them hopping up on the bar and smoothly twirling themself over it, landing on their boots and bringing a fingerless glove covered hand square into a man’s cheekbone. It only ever took them one hit, the poor receiver crumpling to the floor in a drunken stupor and asking for his mother. 

“While that is undoubtedly true, that is actually my job and boss will have me banned from Three Man Bramble for another week,” Jesper’s awkward yet charismatic hand gestures soon followed, ringed finger pointing to the lump of a man lying unconscious beside the barstools. Kaz could almost hear himself saying ‘Jesper, guard the door’ or ‘No games for a month’, but he chose not to, too busy trying to figure out why their stature and usual weekly knockouts had become a thing of routine for him. 

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason and yet he came up with many when he had hired Y/N. They’d been dancing for money, a shift of silks and sheer fabrics, eyes hooded. That wasn’t all. As he had taken his time to study them, hands gripped to his cane and jaw tense, he realised the sway of choreography as deliberate as it was captivating. Each sway of material ended up weighted with deft fingers slipping purses from pockets, unchaining pocket watches from chains, swiping earrings from Mercher women’s pierced ears. He’d come back time and time again after noticing.

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get them to work the Crow Club, extending a gloved hand and introducing himself. They offered him a flirtatious smile, a flutter of their lashes and had accepted the silent offer, seemingly entertained with the mere existence of Kaz in their space. He didn’t like it, hated it even, but it was magnetic. It became routine to creep from his office, scan the Club’s floor for an hour and then wander his way to the furthest side of the bar and nurse a single whiskey all night. Most of the time he didn’t even finish it. He didn’t want to drink, not really. 

He just wanted to learn. To figure out what it was about Y/N that had him irritated, angered, on edge and utterly bewitched.

“Kaz won’t mind me defending myself. Little me all defenceless, what else could I have done?”

It was meant to be teasing, not meant for him to hear, an inside joke. Kaz’s jaw tensed and he felt his teeth grind, setting his glass down on the bartop and feeling his shoulders straighten as he gripped his cane and tapped it loudly on the rickety floorboard below.

“You could start by doing your jobs,” He hissed, gloved hand tensing around the head of his cane and eyes locked on the pair as they turned to him. He didn’t miss the way Jesper’s bare fingers were seeking comfort on his revolvers, or the way Y/N’s lips pulled into what was almost a… a pout? A weird frown?

“Sweetheart, don’t be so mean,” Y/N huffed, arms crossing over their loose cotton blouse, head tilting in that infuriating way that had Kaz frowning, forehead creasing and impatience rising.

Except, he didn’t know what he was impatient for, what was making him wait, but it angered him more than anything ever could. Just what about them made it so simple to  get under his skin so easily? He felt his heartbeat fasten uncomfortably in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his body and he felt the heat in his cheeks - either from the drink or irritation nagging in every fibre of his being. His black shirt suddenly felt too hot, his usual vest too tight and he felt his hands tighten around his cane, tapping the crow’s head uncomfortably fast. He had to calm down, it was not the place to lose his temper and start a shouting match on a day where the kruge was flowing into their awaiting coffers. 

“Is he blushing?”

Kaz’s eyes snapped to Jesper’s smiling form, meeting sparkling eyes that stared at him with wonderment. He didn’t like it. He raised himself from his seat, noisily banging his cane against the floor and storming past the sharpshooter, mood even more foul than it had been prior. How could it not be? Dirtyhands did not blush like some schoolboy unable to speak a word. Like a Rietveld boy. The thought invaded his mind before he could stop it. He limped his way to the staircase and gripped it tightly with his gloved hand, hoisting his leg up the steps and ignoring the creaking, aching pain starting to crawl its way up his leg. 

Kaz Brekker was nobody’s sweetheart.

┕━☽【❖】☾━┙

Y/N sighed as they finished wiping down the surface of the mahogany bar, polishing down and removing every last stain before it could set into the nice wooden surface. Their tired eyes suddenly felt even more tired as they drifted around the empty club, scaling the tables and turned over chairs, over splintering floorboards and stone walls until they fell on a single glass of whiskey left untouched on the edge of the bar. They reached their hand over to clasp it with shaking fingers, disappointment evident in the motion. 

He hadn’t visited in a week and they didn’t realise how badly they missed his company.

His watchful eyes, his gloved hands that tightened on his cane as if ready to intervene in an altercation if they needed it, his unwavering stare a storm of angry tidal waves, lashing at them with unspoken words and a bit of something else. They missed the subtle way he would check his pocket watch, deem it good enough and allow them to close early regardless of the booming business. They missed the way he would nurse a single drink all night, never really finishing it and keeping a more relaxed eye on the club’s floor. They missed his presence, no matter how quiet it was, no matter if they didn’t speak. He was like a shadow, always there, just out the corner of their eye if they ever needed them.

Of course, Y/N knew exactly where he was. Holed up in his office, head sunk into numbers and names and bribes and whatever else it was that crime bosses did. He was a busy man, a workaholic but he was also… so much more. A complex puzzle yet the most open book and each page turned by itself, in little ways. They liked to think that the two of them had a somewhat friendship, even though they didn’t talk much. When they did, it was usually Y/N flirting with him and the man ignoring it with a blank stare and a stern ‘get back to work or else you’ll be finding it elsewhere’.

Careful fingertips smoothed over the rim of the glass cradled closely, the urge to befriend the most terrifying man in Ketterdam stronger than ever but they just didn’t quite know how to go about it. Instead, they turned their exhausted gaze to the amber liquid that had been sitting out since opening. Untouched. Ignored. Again. They’d even seen him on the floor that night. With a sigh, they brought the drink to their lips and threw it back, swallowing the burning liquid with a grimace. Y/N really didn’t know how Kaz managed to stomach the awful drink.

“I don’t pay you to drink on the job,” That rasping voice spoke, interrupting their stupor and drawing their eyes from the glass to the staircase that led to the office. And there he stood, or rather leaned, against the metal railing and what could almost be amusement on his handsome face. His lips quirked up in that arrogant way they do when he knows he’s being clever, that twitch in his dark brow when he’s caught somebody cheating at his tables, the confidence in his gait despite the limp. 

“My shift is over, actually,” Y/N realised how silly it sounded the moment it left their lips. Of course Kaz knew when their shift was over, he knew what time the Crow Club closed. It was his, of course he knew. The Bastard of the Barrell had clearly cracked what could only be a joke. And it was funny. It was really funny, actually. Hilarious even. They didn’t even realise that they’d started giggling, covering their hand to stifle the laugh and grip onto the bar, refusing to let the laughter fit take over them - had the whiskey gone straight to their head or was it just the sheer exhaustion? 

The uneven, out of rhythm walking signalled Kaz’s presence approaching even though everybody knew he could be just as stealthy as the Wraith if he really wanted to be. Rather than sliding into his usual seat, he chose to place himself right in front of Y/N and rest an arm on the edge of the freshly clean bar. The first thing Y/N noticed was his lack of coat and hat, still just in his usual daily attire that signified he was not yet leaving for the Slat.

“You stole my drink,” He stated, fingers tapping gloved hands against the wood in the way he so often did. This time it was slower, offbeat, contemplative. Y/N raised a brow to his statement, glass set aside and lips pulling into a line.

“I pay for it, so it doesn’t matter if I drink it,” Y/N smoothly replied. Truthfully, they did not know what to do. What to say. They did not really speak much, and when they did it was polite but short, to the point and didn’t require much thinking. Much feeling. 

Kaz’s inquisitive eyebrow raised and it was then Y/N took in his features. He looked tired, more than usual. The purple that blossomed beneath his forget-me-not irises was deeper, blooming in violet and standing out against the sheer alabaster of his pale skin. Brekker’s hair remained dishevelled, stray ink tumbling over his forehead where it had slipped from the usual slickback he wore. Had he not been sleeping well? 

“I’ll have it paid back to you by the month’s end. Go home,” His voice rumbled, finger ceasing its tapping. Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, offering to pay back the tab. Not offering, stating that he was going to. 

“It’s fine, keep the money,” Y/N offered a small smile, shifting to remove the apron from around their waist and fold it. They tucked it into a little cubby beneath the bar, shutting it with a click and straightening their back. They must be hallucinating but the joy that caused their heart rate to stutter increase felt too real to be a hallucination. Saints, they needed to sleep.

“Month’s end.” Kaz didn’t look away from his cane as he spoke, tapping it against the floor and looking completely and utterly endearing to Y/N in the Club’s warm lighting. Suddenly, he looked his age. 

“Goodnight, Mister Brekker.”

“Goodnight… Sweetheart.”

[goszixx]

Something new

✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞

Note ❈° ≫ I wanted to say a few things real quick but if your really horny you can skip! Thank you for all the support so far, on tumblr and AO3. You guys are so kind. Also I think I’m going to post once a week so I can stay at a steady pace and not get overwhelmed. I’ll post one smut and an update to “Cat in a Tree”. I’m working on a Vash from Trigun and Yin from mlbb. Next probably Yuji since he’s my favorite from JJK. Thank you again!

Warning❈° ≫ Blow job, Geto is impatient, maybe a part 2 depending if ppl like it, reader is dominate, handcuffs, begging, female masturbation, vibrator

✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞

Geto peaked through the crack of your shared bedroom. His stare fixated on the beautiful body of his wife. Your legs were parted, knees bent slightly as your teeth were pressed into your lip.

A light sweat coated your face, making the dim light highlight your body perfectly. The strap of the silk nightgown fell down your shoulder as the buzz of your vibrator lingered in the air. For some reason, the image was so taunting Geto felt as if he should look away.

The blush staining your face reflected in his own, his button up shirt feeling suffocating all of a sudden. Geto pulled at his tie to allow him to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Y/n.” Geto cooed as his fingers gently pushed against the door frame. His voice made you jump, face flushing in embarrassment as your fingers fidgeted to turn off the vibrator. “G-Geto, when did you get home from work?”

Your husband peeled off his coat, “not too long ago. Having fun with yourself?” The raven asked as he folded his blazer and placed it neatly on a nearby chair. His feet graced the rug near the edge of the bed, his upper body leaning over you.

A small smirk peered on his lips as your fingers played with one another. “Yes. I was.” You admitted in a shy tone.

A chuckle came from the man’s lips, one of his hands coming up to meet your thigh. He stroked the fat of your thigh, leaning closer to feel more of your warmth.

“Did it feel good?” The man’s lips rested by your ear, his fingers tracing up your thigh. His hair sprawled across his back, his dark locks tied up in a half up half down. Your eyes flickered to your husband’s lips but decided against engaging.

Geto watched the look, becoming puzzled from your hesitation. “What’s wrong?” The man started to retract his hand but stopped when you placed the heat back on you.

You struggled to answer his question, knowing it won’t make much sense once it comes out of your mouth. “You make me feel too good, Suguru.”

The words floated in the air before the man was able to catch them. “Thank you?” He chuckled in relief. A hand pressed on his chest to gain his attention. The man went quiet as you continued.

“So good. But, you never let me make you feel good.” You uttered, pushing Geto off you with care. The man ended up sitting back in your spot, still blinking to understand what was happening.

You took a seat on his lap, hands resting on his shoulders while his eyes trailed around your body. His finger tugged at the strap of your clothing as your finger worked off his tie. “What do you plan to do with me?” Geto murmured under his breath.

His eyes were tilted down, directed at your naked collarbone and cleavage. “Have you ever thought that maybe I pleasure you because you-“ the raven’s words were cut off with a groan when you rolled your hips.

His erection twitched between the heat of your legs. Your fingers laced under his chin, his eyes meeting yours, watching confidence grow across your face. “You’re very pretty, Suguru.” You whispered, leaning closer to him to peck his cheek.

Suguru flushed at the compliment. He doesn’t take them well even after all the years you’ve spent together. “T-thank you y/n.”

“Of course.” Your fingers trailed down the man’s shirt before they stopped by his thigh. You shuffled back to work on the belt confining Suguru’s cock.

He groaned from the movements and tried to grab onto the curve of your ass but you swatted him away. “Can I make you feel better, Suguru?”

Lust stained your stare, eyes watching as Geto’s chest started to slowly rise and fall. There’s a reason as to why he doesn’t let you take the lead, but decided to not mention it. “Yes.” Your husband uttered, leaning back on his hands.

You slid off his lap to take off his boxers, however you stopped half way through. Suguru all but frowned at the stopped motion, his eyes following your alluring body across the room. Your fingers wrapped around one of the dresser drawers before pulling.

Geto adjusted his body and scooted closer to the headboard of the bed. “What are you trying to do to me?” Suguru asked with amusement tingling on his lips.

His eyes widened a bit when he saw the shines of metal along with the blue fur of handcuffs. His smirk grew. “What are you playing at y/n?”

You gave an innocent smile before straddling your husband. His head laid on two soft pillows, his shirt open and flowed down his sides. His boxers hung low on his waist as his hair painted the pillow behind him. “You can’t touch me. That would ruin the fun wouldn’t it?”

As a test, Geto pulled at the handcuffs to see if they were strong enough. They were. He placed them above his head, flat on one of the pillows he rested on. A bottle was pressed into your hands, the cap flicked off.

You sat on the bed, Geto feeling the material dip a bit as he peered down to the lube in your hands. Before squeezing the bottle, you helped Geto wiggle out of his boxers. A sigh of relief left his lips before he felt a familiar warmth on the base of his cock.

The man all but squirmed under his restrictions from the simple touch. Your finger’s wrapped around his girth, sliding the liquid all the way to his tip. Painstakingly so, your index finger rolled over the tip, sliding over the slit as precum beaded down along with the lube.

You analyzed and adjusted, your attractive wit turning to be Geto’s down fall. There’s a clear reason why he doesn’t let you take the lead, he’s impatient. He loves pleasuring you and it allows him to have control over how and when he orgasms, changing positions enough so he doesn’t disappoint you and cum quickly. You caught onto his game about a year or so ago but never mentioned it.

Though now that the curiosity has been drowning inside you, you just had to see how far it can go. “How does this feel, Suguru?”

Geto’s eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth grinding down on one another as he tried his hardest not to close his legs from pleasure. “Slow…” He mewled. You squeezed a bit at his base, feeling his erection twitch under your clutch.

The pressure declines as you slide your hand up, “Do you not like it slow?” You murmured, hearing the man choke under you. His eyes grew heavy, dazed from the pace. You continued your rhythm until Geto struggled against his restraints. His fingers dug into the handcuffs as his neck strained on the pillows.

Lube covered his cock, oozing down the base and dripping onto his sack. The husband mumbled things under his breath, trying to stiffen his pleasure as much as possible. Because of his lack of vision, he couldn’t see your head dipping down until he felt a soft flush of your tongue pressing the underside of his cock.

He shivered. “Darling pleas-e let me touch you. You win, you win.” His hands clasped around nothing, your mouth enveloping him further until you stopped about half way. A remnants of pity pulled at your heart knowing this was Geto’s first time doing anything of the sort. But you knew he could stop this entire thing if he said one simple word.

Since the safe word didn’t even think to leave his lips, you continued. Hollowing out your cheek, your tongue laid flat against the underside. Your hands worked on the uncovered half, allowing you to focus most of your attention on sucking.

Your name left his lips as he tried to thrust into your mouth for more. “Be patient Suguru.” You hummed around him, raising yourself off of him so he could understand you.

The words laid deaf on his ears from the vibration they brought on his erection. You lowered yourself and began sucking on his length, feeling it twitch more and more frequently. His thighs trapped your head, not squeezing but nuzzling against your face to bring you closer.

When your tongue laid flat against his slit, flicking across the sensitive skin with meticulous precision, Geto withered through his orgasm.

Cream painted your mouth, dripping down your chin as the man’s fingers dug into his own palm. His mouth was left open, lips quivering over words he could not yet comprehend. “Fuck.” He groaned when feeling your fingers grip around him once again.

Fingers pushed his damp bangs from his face, his pupils adjusting on your glistening face. His eyes targeted the small amount of white liquid on your cheek, “let me fuck you.” The words left the man without thinking, not like he would change them if he could.

His gaze was firm but his heaving showed how bad he needed you. “What do I have to do? I’ll do anything, just let me take the lead… please.”

“Begging? That’s new.” You hummed. You leaned down to kiss the man’s chiseled stomach, your eyes picking back to meet your husband's glare. “From now on, we take turns taking the lead. Is that okay with you, darling?”

[punk-in-docs]

🕷️ Vanilla Tobacco 🕷️

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.9k words

Summary: Based on one of my favourite Eloise songs- this pure mush but please believe me on the life of my dog, the next piece to follow this with smut is coming in so fast I may get whiplash- watch out- also

Thank-youuuu all of you for being such angels and commenting on my stuff all the time it’s honestly amazing. I know I’m a lazy bum and I need to reply to your astounding comments. But pls know I do see each one and it’s just what makes this all so worthwhile to see how much you all love Eddie X Pencils.

Your morning had been hell on wheels.

You slept through your alarm. Stubbed your toe stumbling out of bed in your rush to get dressed. Burnt your tongue on your too hot coffee. Ended up being late for home room. And now you’ve been lumped with an art essay. Perfect.

Self directed. Six thousand words on a particular art movement of your choice. Which somehow made it even harder to pick-

It’s pokey glass shards stabbing into the already festering wound in your side that was your day.

This would mean you’d be surrendering your lunchtime to this honey of a new project which was due in a week. If you got the books and notes gathered for it now, it would be a great help and a load off further down the line.

You trudge out of class, and back down to the hallway to your locker, with an armful of textbooks and sketchbook. A free period now that you’d spend the entirety of in the library.

In the absence of a certain jingly jacketed, metal head, the music you’ve got blasting through walkman headphones right now, is the only soothing thing that’s helping your scratchy mood stay buoyant.

Well. That and one other salient thing-

You can’t help but draw your thoughts back to yours and Eddie’s movie night. That memory certainly lifts and delights. Wraps up your stomach like being bound in sunny butter-yellow silk.

Being tangled up on Eddie’s terrible scratchy orange couch with wandering hands, seeking more, and so much making out it was like you were kissing each other’s lips raw. Seeing Eddie with those beautiful lips all bitten pink certainly tugged on your guts in the most horny way.

You devoured the pizza together, and he’d tasted like hoppy lite beer and salty pepperoni - licking the greasy cheese mess of it off the corner of your lips. Smiling with oily pizza grease fingers gripping your chin.

You’d laughed so much your ribs hurt. Prodded fun at the gore of his selected horror movies - awed by his taste too. Agreed on the worst and best parts of grainy black and white eerie tones of night of the living dead. The ham acting. The swelling suspense.

He’d grinned with the way you’d squirmed and jiggled and scrunched up your feet in unease at the bit in Nightmare on Elm Street. When Tina grabs Freddy’s face and the whole thing slips into her hand in a bloody rubbery landslide, revealing raw teeth and bulging eyes, scarlet black chasm of a nose.

I love this movie. But I freakin’ hate that bit.

Eddie curls around you tighter. Beaming. Chuckling dryly. Ringed fingers splaying over your hip. Nose nestled in the back of your neck.

Squeamish much, pencils?

Shut up

You both watch as Tina cups at the four claw marks in her stomach as she’s tumbled around the bed and jerked up to the ceiling. Crawling sticky blood up the flowery walls.

You hide again with an ‘Ick.’ Which prompts you to twist around and face him. You don’t do well with blood.

He very kindly lets you shield your eyes behind his hand. Rings warm on your skin.

Freddy’ll have to get through me first. Don’t you worry.

I’ll never let you sleep again, Munson. I will blast the loudest Motörhead in your ears. Okay?

Okay sweets. He winked.

You’d flown into swooning bits at the recollection of how you’d spent a great deal of time on that date, horizontal with Eddie’s warm nose buried deep in your neck. Or his tongue in your mouth. Spit wet lips, hoppy beer breath, and grinding hormones.

Later, much later, after two beers, his teeth and lips were plucking hickie’s at your collarbones and under your jaw. Mainly to distract you from Wes Cravens gore. But, funny how even when the movie ended, neither of you seemed to notice.

Too busy scrunching your hands in his messy hair and kissing him back hungrily. His hands smoothing up your back. Your legs curled open over the cradle of his skinny hips. Grinding into the clutch of yours. His hands were blazing hot on your ass where your skirt was rucked up. Fingertips slipping just-so, under the edge of your panties.

Whenever you hummed or moaned it made him smile. Made his hips jerk to yours. You were grinding on each other like this world would end soon. Entirely composed of rutting feel-good hormones for each other.

He pulled back because he was definitely popping a boner in those skinny jeans and you can’t lie either - you’re wet - you’re both very flimsy underwear barriers away from doing some very x-rated things.

He begs you that he doesn’t wanna be cumming in his pants like a ninth grader. You can’t deny with his hips grinding you like that it wouldn’t take much for your orgasm either. But, you both agreed, that for now, you’d keep it to second base.

All bets are off next time though, Pencils.

Deal. You grin back.

He sighed happily, blushed as a matter of fact, as you nudged a kiss under his ear.

You made out and ate and cracked jokes and chatted for what felt like hours. You tired the moon with your talking - and kissing. So much sparky hot kissing it stunned your lips numb.

You’d never get enough of the taste of Eddie. Smoke and beers on his tongue. Fake snap of chemical apple from his shampoo. Some distant lingering cedar and vanilla cologne that was definitely Wayne’s and had definitely been put on to impress you-

Hewalked you out to your car when time came for you to go. Leaving felt like a ripping pain. Like tearing layers of skin away. You kissed for ten minutes before you even managed to fumble blindly behind you for the door. He kissed you up against the door. Next to the door. All over you with your hands sunk and lost in his hair.

Don’t go I’m not done yet. As he cupped your face and waddled you up against the door - again.

Traffics bad this time of night, Pencils. Give it five if I were you.

I’ve heard a really bad storm is closing in.

Every time you levered apart, he was spinning you back with “Okay but how about one more, y’know, for the road…”

Then proceeded to melt you into another thought-stealing kiss.

Made you laugh into it when he palmed your car keys right out your hand whilst you were distracted by his tongue. And fully launched them over his shoulder.

They landed with a jingly thump over his shoulder on the malt brown carpet. He wrapped his arms around your waist even tighter. Muffled your protests onto the silky bed of his tongue. You moaned and curled your arms around him again.

Thinking of Eddie was definitely one part of your day that didn’t suck. That didn’t scrape rock bottom. It actually lifted you off your dragging heels a bit. Laced a spring in your step that you were careful not to let creep out too much around others.

You lose yourself to that, and into the jagged punk carnality, and let it be known Billy Idol’s sneering roar of a voice was a balm to you.

What didn’t help was that when you came to your locker, Linda was stood against it with the nuclear warhead of a mega-bitch that was Carol P.

They’re gaggled close and smirking about something. There should be a cauldron between them for the amount of shit-stirring and poison slinging they do. You’re thankful you can’t hear it. You turn up Rebel Yell just that tad louder.

Carol was the worst when it came to high school hierarchy. Not only an asshole but determined to drag that festering quality out of everything she touches. Withers the people she considers below her like dead leaves. Thought because she was giving blowjobs under the bleachers, and playing spin the bottle since seventh grade, that it somehow made her the epitome of cool.

You think that much like Linda, its just wearing a mask to cover over the craggy potholes and ultimate shallowness of their personality. They turn into mean, bullying people. Dog eat dog world of high school. Eat or be eaten and these are the pedigree girls with shiny hair, sharp teeth and bitchy smiles.

Really they’re just entirely composed of vanity and rot. Shallowness and arrogance entwined.

Linda barely acknowledges your emergence, as you open your locker and swap out an armful your books for the ones in your hands from an earlier class. You kept your headphones on, muffled the world away to rock music.

A hand shoots over your shoulder and annoyingly jerks on your headphones. Tugging them down the back of your head with a clatter. Making your heart flash fast at the jump of it.

You turn with a glare and see Tommy. H jaunt up to his girlfriend. Giving you a stupid grin. Sneering words back at you. “S’up, Pencil neck.”

Pencil Neck. Mother Mary. Those were some of the ingenious little pet names they had picked out for you.

Because you haven’t had sex and you aim for good grades, apparently this makes you worthy of freakdom in their rabid eyes.

Linda purses her lips a little. Smiles like it’s funny, them calling you that.

Carol barks out her shitty grating laughter. Tilts her head at you and those loose Farah Fawcett auburn curls dance around her snarky face. Popping neon pink gum and looking sly.

Tommy loops his arm around her neck. They stand and eye you like you’re something amusing. Freak show in town. Roll up for tickets.

“Original.” You bite back as you reach for your books.

“Ooh.” Tommy chirps at you. “Not in a friendly mood, are we.”

“My tolerance for vitriolic jackasses is limited.” You narrow your eyes at the pair of them.

You detest the way Carol scans you up and down. Judging your hand me down plaid, jeans and sneakers like you got them from a yard sale. Thinking you’re cheap trash, with a trampy single mom.

Just cause her manicured and caustic mother was the sales rep for a big cosmetic company, and she lives on the gleaming streets of Loch Nora, that it made her perfectly able to peer down her nose at the lower echelons.

She pops her gum with a snap looking at you. Then doesn’t even deign to pay you any attention. Looks towards Linda. A decided bitchy ally.

“You’re coming to the house party at Josh’s tonight, right, Martelli?” She grins as she chews loudly. Wet gummy clicks that get on your nerves. Raking an annoying knife up your spine.

You turn to your locker and ignore the bunch of cognoscenti assholes. You were ashamed to say that included your once fond friend among them.

“Sure I’ll be there.” Linda shrugs like it isn’t a golden gilded invitation handed over, direct from the Queen Bee herself.

“You’re gonna bring Jonny right?” Carol leers. Smile filthy. Like she wants to be the one sucking face with him, as opposed to her own boyfriend currently slung off her shoulder.

“If he can sneak out. His dads being a real dick at the moment.” Linda tells with a glum pouty tone.

“Sneak him out. It’ll be so fun. We got tonnes of beer. There’s bound to be some wet n’ wild fun in the pool.” She grinned all bright and naughty. Sticking her tongue out.

House party on a Tuesday night. These dicks really had nothing better to do than suck face, trash the place, or hump. Make a mess like silver back gorillas parading around in the zoo in their natural habitat.

Tommy decided to drag you back into this razor blade and lemon juice studded conversation. Oh joys.

“Probably not Pencil neck’s kinda evening.” He pouts sticking his lower lip out.

“She’s gotta be back in her convent by 9. Wimple on. Back home with her trampy mom like a good little girl.” Carol mocks in laughing. It’s shrill. Brings to mind a hyena.

Somewhere along the line, the fact your mom was mostly absent and single had become the butt of a joke to these people. Because you don’t live on Maple Street or dress like a Pat Benatar wannabe. You defend your ground in your paint spattered clothes, tatty jeans, and oversized hand-me-down plaid from Charlie, and tees from the goodwill.

It stung like acid each time they swiped and spit nasty words aimed at your mom. Needles pushed under your skin when they sniped their mockery.

You rose above it and grit your teeth. Even though it made you want to start swinging clenched fists. Real tempting to shove the wrong end of your paintbrush in carols stupid eye some days. Splat paint on her expensive jacket or jeans. Knock the books out her hands for once. The dream.

Tommy chuckles along. Carol loves pushing your buttons. It’s her defining character trait. Slamming down on them til they crack into spiderwebs like broken porcelain. It’s all she does best.

“I’m amazed you manage to walk like that what with your head being all the way up your ass.” You slam your locker and turn to talk to a very silent Linda.

“See you after third.” You offer blithely. She barely meets your eyes. Doesn’t answer. She shrinks down. Dumbly clings to her own silent cowardice. Shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at a scuff on her shiny white cavalier boots.

“Got bible studies?” Tommy jumps in quick to say.

You roll your eyes over, let his comment go unmatched. You didn’t have the energy for these two.

You heft your books into your arms and walk away. You hear their laughter and more snideness rips it’s razors at your back as you leave. More insults you don’t care to listen too.

You blast more Billy to blot them out. Forget about their stupidity as you head to the library. You hate the way they slide under your skin like it’s nothing.

You push through the doors and pad through the winding warren of the shelves. Thick carpet tiles muffled your steps. The overly harsh lighting almost buzzed above you. Students hunched hushed over tables, or scanning the stacks. A low thrum of noise and activity compared to the teaming hallways.

It’s a soothe for you. A harbour for you to switch your brain into a slow gear, push it into focusing on something else.

You find a table and set out your books and sketchbooks. Loop your bag on the back of the chair and get scouring through the arts section. You find a stack and pile it against your chest. Take them to your table and hunch over a legal pad. Madly brainstorming ideas for what you wanted to pick.

You settle and let the onslaught of your morning grow quiet. Meld as one into pages and passages. Art Nouveau with its goddesses, natural flowing forms and it’s mimicry of flowers under arched curves. The limpid neon minimalism of Dan Flavin and his light installations. Hockney and his searing blue pool paintings.

There’s so many influences crashing through your head. You skip from book to book. Unable to decide. Tapping the end of your pen against your chin. Raking hands through your lose hair.

You’re curled over a punk art book, looking at the ripped Jamie Reid images, jagged text and rude political satire sprayed and bastardised with paint drips, when something soft hits you on the side of your head, grazing by, and skittering down to your desk. Bouncing off your hand.

You twist back in your seat. Bewildered. Scanning the stacks and there’s nothing save for the usual soft footed librarians drifting around, with their glasses chains, sensible skirts, and hushed voices. The same few quiet kids sat at their tables, dotted around. Unmoved.

You frown and turn back around to the crumpled paper. You smooth it out and make out the chicken scratched words etched there. It was a note.

A love note. Etched in Violet sharpie. It sets a blaze in your chest.

Hey sweet cheeks. You look hot hitting the books. Making me jealous that they’ve got your undivided attention.

Signed it with an E with little sprouting devil horns coming off the top - as if he really needed to identify himself.

You smile when you suddenly feel the tickle of long dry hair feathering it’s tips at the back of your neck. Ringed hands drape for your shoulders. Cold rings even through your worn flannel. Smoke comes with him. Fresh too. He’d just had a cig break you’d guess. Reds curled new on cold leather and carried along with apple.

How was it the worlds nosiest metal-head with his jangly wallet chain and apparently limitless racket, could sneak up on you in absolute silence.

Materialising out of nowhere, like a suddenly gathering storm. Subtle as an earthquake. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Inhaled deep like he was trying to drag you in via his mouth alone.

“There’s my little bookworm.” He hushes. Voice all trying-to-be-low and hissing. Rumbling down on your skull. Nuzzling his nose to your hair. Coconut. That Amber and Lavender perfume of yours. Clean luminosity of honeyed notes, and the plain spice of hearty lavender that drifts off you.

It’s dizzying. Consuming. He’s missed it the way a man could miss food and water.

“You threw paper at my head.” You faked mild insult.

Eddie leans up on his sneaker tip toes to peer over your head and catch onto the book that has you so engrossed.

“You looked very invested. How else was I supposed to get your attention.” Comes a clever curl of a grin.

It makes little flecks of gold stars shine and shimmer in those inky eyes.

His hand that landed heavy with a whump on your shoulder, curled up a knuckle and played with an idle curl of your hair. Cool fingers leaving sparks where he touched the nape of your neck.

“What are you doing in here, anyway? You know this is a library don’t you.” You tease him. Rotating in your seat. Gazing up at him. “Books. Studying.”

“Mistook it for something else. Won’t make that error twice.” He tells with that signature clever grin.

“Although it does have you in here, so I automatically like it very much, indeed.” He preens.

Your smile makes his spine slope into fuzziness and tingle all warm. Where his hand is on your shoulder, you edge and curl your fingers over his own. Lacing them through.

He wasn’t gonna be a complete letch and admire the way the twist of your body gaped the buttons of that oversized green and navy plaid you wore. Teased him with the silky valley of skin running downwards from your collarbones. Sternum. Bra. Tits. Your tits.

Okay he wasn’t gonna look, but he’s certainly thinking about it.

Those sweet slips of collarbones he’d been sucking and mouthing for eons long just the other night and was that-

That’s a hickie on your neck. From him.

His stomach trips and crashes into feral frenzy knowing he’s the one to have placed it there, in a rabid fit of horny hormones. Horizontal on his couch with hands all stuffed in tops or jeans, roaming in places that felt so so good.

Tongues fat with kissing and mouths smashing together, raw. Charred bodies grinding. Your fingers edging his stiff jeans zipper. His squeezing your tits through your top. Delightful touches that burned bliss through you like biting electric bolts. The muggy heat of breath on lips.

“That big beautiful brain of yours at capacity yet?” He asks. Swaying into the back of your creaking hard chair.

“I’ve yet to hear a pinging noise indicating it’s full.” You decided. Tapping your pencil down on your book.

“Can my bookworm take a break?” Eddie asks with a conspiratorial looking grin. You tip your head back and meet his gaze.

That ‘my’ warms your belly right though like bad cheap whiskey.

“Why would that be?” You ask cheekily. All lowering your lashes and peering all coquettish.

“Cause if you’re not at capacity yet. I think there’s a little more to learn.” He teases and his smile is all dirty dimples and schoolboy cheek.

He whirls back from your chair and pauses at the walkway between two bookcases. It hooks a smile right out of you when you watch him jerk his head in that particular, enclosed, direction.

Your smile grows, crawls across your lips and you keep your butt planted in your seat. “Gee. I don’t think I know what you’re getting at.”

“Need me to spell it out for you?” He asks with narrowed eyes and a wide wide grin.

You lean in said chair and cast your eyes towards the librarians. Who coincidentally have their backs turned to you. One at the desk, the other helping a freshman locate a physics book.

“I don’t know. Maybe if you could find it in book form and read it to me.” You rile. Poking him with a stick.

“Sure. Where’s that Biology section at.” He leans in and bites his lower lip and grips your sleeve. He doesn’t grip your skin with his rings. Worried they’d dig. Even when riled he’s still gentle.

Scrunching up his nose all silly as he’s yanking you out the chair. You laugh softly as you swing off the thing and slink after him.

You both pad silently down the row of bookcases. Eddie tugs you along to the end. Nestled into the crook with paper spines and a shelf digging in your back. The touch on your sleeve travels up your arm, he’s holding your forearm and then impressively smooth, he’s cupping your hip. Slings a finger in your jean belt loop - keeping you tethered to him.

“You going to reinforce a lesson for me. Munson?” You ask.

You rest your hands on his t-shirt. The almost threadbare black sabbath one that you could barely read the scratchy logo on it anymore. It’s almost flaked away. All that’s left is this beaten old black tee that hangs softly in creases off him.

“Yup.” And he pops the P. Staring at your lips. Thumb rubbing soothing circles on your worn plaid stomach. Soft aged flannel. “Gonna reinforce my brains out.” He decides.

“They say repetition is the best way to learn.” He adds. Flirty brow raised. Body flush to yours. Wrapping you in leather smoke and apples.

“And please don’t go hurting yourself on my account. I won’t allow it.” You say as you smooth a hand over the crazy hair beside his jaw. Stroking your fingers under that handsome cut of a jawbone.

You feel his nearness like a gut punch. Every damn time. Has you squirming in every single good way you can muster. This crush blazes so fiery strong. It’s swallowed you whole whilst you weren’t looking. You were too busy watching him smile.

You tip to him. Tilt to him. Up on your toes. Arms going for his neck. Circling around as his hands smooth across your belt loops and cup your hips. He rolls your bottom lip between his. Sucks you into this sloppy kiss as his hands cup you sacredly.

The moment you’ve both been longing for.

You’d never grow tired of kisses like these ones. It left a chasm when you pulled away from his lips on your date. And now again, finally, it’s like a cool clear sip of spring blue water after years of thirst.

Eddie nibbles your lower lip and it draws an unexpected squeak out of you. Plush and tongue and molten. He pulls back and his spit shiny smile liquifies your insides. Warm air puffs over your lips. “Careful pencils. Gotta keep it on the down low in here.”

You half heartedly whack at his chest with an open hand.

He sways with it. Sways into you. Barely noticed your nudge. He catches it with his own fingers, twining into yours. Through yours. Knuckles slot together. Fused. Your hand in his. He brings it up and rests your hand on his neck.

Drunk hazy eyes cast all whiskey puddle brown in yours. Soft as butter and he melts into you again. Nose brushing alongside yours. You taste like the fruity sour bite of chapstick and he’ll definitely chase some more of that fake nectar sweetness, thank you very much.

“How can I be expected to keep quiet when you kiss me like that?” You ask. Tilting in again, legs knocking into his as you press your lips to his in a slow smooch. Long, languid. Taking the kiss off his slanted mouth, honey smooth.

Your hand follows his lead. You cup his soft neck. Thumb brushing the join of his jaw. His hands rearrange themselves. Wandering to settle neatly. One bunching an arm around your waist. The other cups your head. Tilts your mouth to him so he can take and take and unleash on you more of these amazing, demanding kisses.

You should be caring how loud your making out is. Sloppy mouth sounds and little grunts he makes mixed with the thrill of your moans. It rises just a little above the din of the buzzing lights and the swipe of book pages being leafed over.

When you part again you gasp for breath and your knees are stunned into weakness. Your bodies are so close it’s pretty damn evident that soon you’ll be making noises you cannot hide in the whisper quiet library.

It didn’t help that the swelling hunger for more is prodding between your legs. As urgently as his own must be in those tight jeans. Every kiss is laced with a hunger that could proceed sex if you let it.

You really want to let it. You’re so ready to let it.

You exhale onto each other lips when you next part and take a huge pull of breath. Warm whispers sealed to mouths. Bodies tangled. Sure a book was jamming your spine, and the shelf behind you was not exactly sturdy. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered that wasn’t Eddie’s kiss bruised mouth aligned on yours.

“We should probably have another one of those date things soon. Don’t you think?” You ask. Fingers sneaking to his cheek to just touch his skin. A little stubbled.

“You reckon?” He smiles all slanted. Eyes twin honeycomb suns. You stare, stuck into them.

You’ve never seen such warmth leak out those expressively deep carob-eyes. You look at the entirely too long flick of his lashes: the raw pinkness of his cushiony lips. Entirely unfair how he was so pretty. It should be outlawed for a boy to look this pretty when kissed.

Really it was a danger to your health. Your school work would certainly suffer. Your essay sat screeching to be started from your desk.

“I really reckon.” You nod. Eddie swoops in and smooched a boyish charming peck onto your mouth almost in thanks. Pulls back from you with a wet smack.

“If you didn’t say it, I was gonna have to insist.” He teases. Stretches out the last word to almost a hiss so you know he means business.

You bite your lip. “Ok Mr. forceful. What did you have in mind?” You smile. Leaving your arms around his neck. To not touch him would be a stinging agony.

“Anything. So long as we can do this for a good 95 - 98% of the evening. I’m willing to negotiate on the exact percentage.” He asks. “But I would ask you wear that chapstick again.” He requests, no holds barred on the flirt, nudges his lips sweetly to yours.

The flick of his tongue on your lower lip makes your brain twirl and cloud. So naughty.

You kiss him quick. Yank his jacket. Pull back to speak which he pouts at you a little for.

“We could go see a Movie. Go to the arcade. Get ice cream. Go to the old quarry and 420 blaze it, and stargaze. The options are endless.” You say as your fingers find his and twist through. Knuckles stroking those worn metal rings.

“Arcade sounds good. Ice cream is a must.” He says, a little reticent. No one has ever asked him on a date. Much less delved into what he actually wanted to do on said date.

“Arcade and Ice cream it is.” You fix with a grin. “You’re easy to please.”

“Yeah but when it comes to ice cream toppings I’m very picky.” He sneaks forwards and kisses under your jaw.

You have to bite your lip cause he knows how it weakens you. Your gasp from the other night when he slipped his lips all over your jaw is etched interminably in his brain. His tongue traces a hickie he knows only all too well how it got there.

The tip of his nose brushes into anther hickie he’s just given to you. Devil boy. He knows very well what effect it has.

“Whipped cream, Cherries. Lots of cherries, sprinkles. The works.” He whispers all muggy hot into your neck.

“Gotta have cherries. Pencils.” He rasps inbetween heavy plucked kisses on your skin.

You shiver all over with the innuendo. He feels it ripple through you. The way your skin pimples with pleasure that pops, stringing along your veins.

You dig your nails into his hands cause holy shit. Every time you kiss you creep closer and closer to the idea of just slipping your hand inside those ripped jeans and going to town- that barrier of your willpower is being worn paper thin with every caress.

“All the cherries you want, pretty boy. Maybe afterwards we could take a, uh, scenic route up to skull rock and be fools, fooling around.” You smile.

It’s dizzying to him. That idea. Better than Colombia gold spreading all vibrant verdant green and dozy through his lungs.

“I’ll bring the jester hat, Mi’lady.” He flat out grins. It’s borderline Munson manic.

“Perfect evening.” You summarise. Shaking your head and eyeing his lips again.

“Perfect date.” He adds on. Biting his lower lip.

“My god. We’re corny. Even meatloaf would refuse to write a mushy ballad about us right now.” You joke. Hands still looped around his neck. Like hell would you wanna let go.

“Need some help with that essay?” He offers. Closing in for your mouth again.

“Mmhmm need all the help I can get.” You whisper. Barely a brush away from his gorgeous lips.

He kisses you again and it’s stunning. Births a wild jungle of fiery mush and kicked butterflies to rioting life in your belly.

“I promise to be such a huge help. You may not even need those books babe. Don’t you know I’m so brainy it’s unreal.” He wheedles at you.

“I never doubted your big beautiful mind even for a second.” You admit. Holding his chin as you lean in and kiss him solidly once more. Coaxing a lovely sounding whine from the back of his mouth when your tongue swipes his lip.

You drag him back out into the open. He goes - somewhat willingly.

Slips himself into the chair beside yours. Hands splayed over your books as he twirls a pen in his hand as asks you probing and philosophical musings about art.

Cubism. I’m sorry. C’mon? Those guys must’ve been on seriously good pills, man.

How about Constructivism then? You ask.

Gesundheit, pencils.

He scrawls some more devils and live hearts with your name, and leafs through another thick old book. The yellowed pages crack with age.

I got a new twisted sister tape. You should hear it.

I like watching you study. It’s freakin hot. You’re so brainy.

Hey, this chicks kinda neat. She looks like a character from Lord of the Rings or somethin’. He decided as he pawed over an Alphonse Mucha picture.

My favourite too. I love the way he uses colour. It’s dreamy.

You’re dreamy.

He laughs when you bite your lip and look bashful.

He will not stop shooting you a flirty smile as he doodles idly on your legal pad. Swirls big loopy letters of ‘I Love Eddie.’ And ‘Hellfire rulez’ and lots of demon faces, and skulls with horns. Lightning bolts and leathery bats.

His restless hands cannot be stilled. He steals a scrunchie from your bag, and it sits looped on his wrist next to his chain bracelet. Lilac borders leather. He makes no intention of giving it back. Magpie manners.

You make a face at him, asking how you’re supposed to tie your hair up for still life class after school.

“I like it loose and wild.” He says as he skims his eyes over your hair. Thumbs a piece back by your ear so sweetly.

You crook a brow. Smile tips lopsided.

He seems to realise that what he said can be taken an alternative way. “Well, no I uh, didn’t mean it like that.”

Your laugh spins his head into adoring craziness.

“Alright. Alright.” He consoles you by picking a W.A.S.P pin out his denim vest and leaning over to stud it into the collar of your plaid. Tongue bitten between his teeth as he concentrates. Fingers brushing your neck. Skin on skin contact leaving kicks and flutters that shoot stars in his wake.

You look down at it. The shiny metal gleaming in the buzzing light. “Okay, that is a worthy consolation.” You offer.

He makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you spend more time leaning into him and trying not to laugh too loud over discussing movies, favourite arcade games and music, than you do actually choosing your essay topic.

When the bell rings for next period you actually detest the thought of scurrying away to your Math class. Yet, Equations and trig beckoned.

Eddie walks you out the library. Opens the door all charming, waves a hand to gesture you on through first, like a true gentleman. You thank him and glide past with your books clutched to your chest.

The hallways are bustling but emptying fast. You twist back and tell him you’ll catch him later. Maybe at lunch.

He smiles that wide trouble-stroked grin. Clutched your hand and leaned down all showy to kiss the back of it and shoot you a dirty flirty wink, before he too whirled away.

You smile and it lingers on your lips even as you part. The press of it makes your whole arm come alive. You watch him for a scant moment before walking off down the corridor the opposite way.

You both look back over your shoulders after about five meagre steps away. Eddie gives you a melting grin, you return it. All eyelashes and beaming.

That grin said a lot. Dead giveaway. The hand kiss. The lingering and swirly body movements, not ever wanting to pull apart. Spoke volumes to those who bothered enough to really look and see it.

The feminine flash of a lilac scrunchie on Munson’s wrist. The telltale purple splotches of hickies hiding just below your collar. The heavy metal pin punched through your collar all shiny. Winking like a far off star.

Far enough down the hall that neither of you paid any notice, Jonny Lopez shut his cloud-grey locker door and leaned against it. Lake blue eyes swam cold. Watching the Freak practically skip away.

He saw him kiss your hand. Saw him pull you close by the corner of your plaid, reeling you in, and all warm smiles backed in flirting familiarity. Watched you beam back, and linger to chat a moment. Your hand laid on leather lapel, brushing at his chest.

It didn’t add up. It’s coming out odd to him. You and the Freak? Close? Since when?

He frowned and tugged his backpack on his shoulder.

Strange sight, that.

~

“Okay. Please please please for the love of god and on all things holy, don’t get weird.” You call out to your mom as you trudge down the stairs.

Not yet coming to the bottom but you could hear her rifling around in the fridge. Billy Joel’s Anthony’s song clunking out it’s piano notes from the stereo in the kitchen that she always has on when she makes dinner

Which is a strong term for when she just scrounges and grazes stuff out of there like a jackal. When she’s so dragged by jet-lag, she only has the energy to slam some pop-tarts in the toaster and throw back a beer for an evening meal.

She was most definitely not a baked ziti or a casserole mom. She overcooks tater tots, or survived on boxed mashed potatoes and a can of limp greens with some breaded frozen chicken.

More than once she’s resorted to a bag of chips for her dinner. Now you know how she stays so trim. And it’s true what she says about your older sister Charlie being the cook in the family, cause that trait had seemed to have skipped you and her, altogether.

After long haul flights like these, she’s usually all set to scarf a meal down in dribs and drabs and grab a beer, to fall asleep with, as her TV soaps blare on. More than once you’ve had to rush in and stub a Newport gold out her dead asleep hand. More than once she’s burned holes in the couch. Covered them up with a crocheted blanket.

Right now, she’s humming and tapping her toes as she eats cool whip out the tub with a spoon. Stood there in her indigo bootcut jeans and oversized cable knit sweater that slid off one shoulder. White and fluffy.

“Alright.” She calls back slowly. Digesting your words. “Colour me intrigued…” She turns the music right down for this. For whatever this was-

You round the kitchen doorway. And it becomes obvious.

Your wearing a dress, and the oversized box-back leather jacket that once upon a time, belonged to her. With rhinestones on the back that spelled out ‘rock n roll’ with a flaming skull underneath. You’d paired it with a red dress that clung and a nipping big white leather hoop belt stretched around your middle. Sneakers and white socks on your feet. Silver wet n wild on your eyelids. Liner and mascara. Your hair all fluffed and kinked

“You’ve joined a rock band? I want front row tickets. I like the jacket. Very Joan Jett.” She grins wide. The flash of that pearly perfect smile. No whiff of how it was hers that you’d poached for the evening.

“No.” You explain.

Her eyes pin you down. Widening under her shiny bangs.

“Intrigue.” As she lopsidedly and untidily stuffs more groceries into the fridge.

“Linda is dragging you to a… club? Or another trashy house party?” She asks.

“Wrong, again.”

“Ok, connect some dots for me cause I’m lost here.” She waves her hand at you as she unloaded tubs of ice cream into the freezer. Peanut butter chocolate chip.

“Don’t get weird.” You point a finger at her. She holds her hands up in surrender.

“Well, weird is my wheehouse kid. My basic operating system.”

“Mom.”

“So intense tonight.” She grumbles all chirpy.

“I actually have a date.“ You lay out.

She looks right at you as she lets the fridge door slam shut. Mouth gaping.

“A date?” She checks.

“Are you a parrot now, or what.” You tease.

“Look at you. Hiding your light under a bushel.” She beams. Hands on her hips.

“Boy or girl?” She asks, blinking.

“A boy. Mom.” You offer up. “But thank you for that.” You wave your hand at her.

“Hey. No judgement here babe. A date. My god.” She looks floored. Hand laying on her chest floored.

“Yes.” You respond. “Well. Actually to be honest, It’s kind of our second date. We had a movie night at his place last week.”

“Second date huh.” She waggles her brows at you like a dirty minded frat boy.

“Well, tell me how it goes. You can leave out all the gross- y’know.” Bringing her hand up to her face and making obscene wet kissing, slurping smacking noises. Cooing at you across the kitchen.

“You are four years old.” You narrow your eyes at her. She grins.

“Do you need me to feed you and put you to bed before I go?” You jest tiredly as you walk to the hall. Check your hair yet again in the mirror.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just be sticking my fingers in the electrical sockets and running with scissors here, totally unsupervised.” She jokes. Picking a rogue hair off the back of your jacket.

“Guess I’ll just have to sit on the couch and watch reruns of Golden Girls on my own. Eat sad Beefaroni and be a tragic spinster mom.”

“Do so quietly.” You wave off.

When you move to get your shoes: she follows. You have a shadow, apparently.

“So this booooyyy- honey tell me about the boy.“ She grins all giddy. Leaning against the door and swaying her body like a preeny high school girl.

Like she should be twiddling pigtails with a lollipop in her mouth. Candy saccharine sweet.

“Is he on the team?” She seeks. And then gasps. “Is he gonna give you his letterman jacket if you get cold?” She clasps her hands and her voice teeters all high and romantic-like.

“Yeah. Then he’s taking me and Rizzo to the sock hop in his Studebaker and then onto some racing for pinks.” You joke with her archly.

“My god. You got your penchant for dragging sarcasm from me.” She pointed out. Unhelpfully. Shoving you half heartedly in the shoulder for being smartly rude. Beer now in her other hand as she drapes herself against the kitchen doorway.

“Not a letterman then?” She scrunches up her nose. She knew well of your distastes.

“If he was I wouldn’t be touching him even with gloves on, and ten f oot pole.” You insist as you make sure you’ve got everything in your purse.

“Less Steff McKee, more Duckie. I got it.”

You smile at the way she’s phrased it. Whatever Eddie was he was definitely way more Duckie territory.

“So he’s not a jock, alright. That narrows it down. Is Duckie atleast cute? Or am I gonna have ugly grandchildren.” She asks.

“Mom.” You hiss with skated laughter as you fluff your hair in the mirror. She winced suddenly.

“It’s not Keith from the Arcade is it? Cause he’s always been sweet on you. You went in last time and I swear he was drooling over you in your Talking Heads tee.”

“It’s not Keith.” You answer nicely. You liked Keith, but he could be sleazy, and a catty kind of mean, and had a bigger chip on his shoulder than you when it came to the preps and jocks.

Plus he would literally date any girl with a pulse that breathed his way. Besides, he was way way deep into crushing on Nancy Wheeler territory.

You exhale into the mirror. Wondering if the sweet sheen of lipgloss was too much. If you should rethink these earrings. You’re a mess. It’s all whirling around a stubborn coil of packed nervousness in your stomach. A fever twist.

“What you kiddos getting up too? Something salacious? Gonna knock off a liquor store? Go to Wild biker parties with lots of vomiting and sex?”

“We’re going to the arcade and grabbing some junk food. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll have time to work a teen pregnancy or a vomit sex party into the mix.”

“Now see here, Mama didn’t raise no quitters.” She salutes towards you with her beer before she swigs back a sip. You know she can’t resist delving a little more into the nitty gritty details.

“What’s he like. Your Duckie. Blonde, tall, short, fat, thin, dark, athletic. Is he in the chess club? Is he trouble? Does he have a motorcycle or a criminal record?” She’s tapping your arm with the back of her hand as she keeps thinking of more things to ask you.

“All good if relentless questions.” You temper her rambles. “You may need to cool it with the Pretty in Pink references.” You chuckle.

“Spill spill.” She encourages.

“Less chess club, more DND club.” You tell her. Fiddling with the earrings. Definitely deciding to take them out. Untangling them from your hair.

She’s gets very excitable about that prospect. “Is he nerdy hot…” She gets close and rasps at you all low.

“Yes. The orthodontic headgear from his braces, combined with his pressed slacks, Mmmm, really gets me going.” You lie.

She smiles wider. You’re all snippy sarcasm and fluffing hair and you keep peering past her at the banana yellow cat clock with the wagging tail and rolling eyes in the kitchen.

“You’re nervous.” She hits the nail right on the head. Rubs your arm up and down. Cups your shoulder.

You let out a deep breath. “Correct.” You tell her.

You can’t lie to your mother. She’s a human lie detector when it comes to you. She’ll sniff it out of you like those bomb dogs at the airport. One whiff and she’s all over it.

“You must really like this mystery nerd Huh?” Shecomes over and strokes the hair spilling down the back of your neck.

You meet her gaze. You scrunch your nose with a kinda giddy smile you can’t hide bursts across your face. “I really do.”

“Why haven’t I heard anything about him you sneaky thing… you been holding out on me? I mean, I know my being out the country isn’t conducive to mother-daughter late night talk over a tub of ice cream… but-” She wonders. Idly playing with the bangs framing around your forehead. The soft yellow light from the cheap yellow flicks off the fine French manicure sleekly and pretty pink on her nails.

“Recent development. I haven’t been holding anything back from you. Promise. You’d root it out even if I did. Not to mention the guy turning up on the doorstep would be a big tip off.” You suppose.

“There is that.” She nods. Standing her beer down on the hallway table. Coming up behind you and idly rearranging your hair where you’d mussed it.

“Any pearls of wisdom I need to give you? Do you need the talk again of where babies come from.” She plays around.

Give her ten ways to say something serious and she’d still be clowning around.

That actually makes you laugh. You meet her solid gaze in the mirror. It’s so warm. It’s like sun skating on emeralds. The crinkled corners of the eyes that are entirely more hazel than yours.

You’d always thought she was the pretty exception. Pearly smile. Dazzling eyes. It didn’t help that Charlie got her stunning silky hair and piercing eye colour too. You got the frizz and the freckles and the big hips. The hair that more belonged on a wiry messy dog. That never laid nicely or did as it was told.

“Is my hair bad? I used too much product. It’s too frizzy. ” You wince as you ask her. Faffing with it still around your ears.

“No. Baby. It isn’t.” She tells you softly with a grin that’s circling somewhere proud and awed. She puts her hands on your shoulders.

Growing up she taught you that women didn’t need to be only pretty to get by. She’d remind you how you were stunning in your unique way and it was entirely up to you what way you made it.

When toxic high school mixed with the uncertain churning of puberty, she was there to reinforce the idea that you could be brainy, and take up space, and spit and shout, bare your teeth, and throw punches and be gritty, all that- be a fierce Amazonian of a woman. Be wonder woman. Be a sultry sizzling Marilyn. Be whomever you wanted-

“You gonna let me meet Duckie when he gets here?” She asks.

“Well, actually, I was gonna lock you in the attic.”

Her mouth gapes. Offended. “What, like I’m suddenly a Kennedy.”

“Tough choice when you’re a Kennedy. How do you even chose which one in the family to hide in the attic.” You ask dead serious.

She closes her eyes and exasperatedly makes a fist with one hand.

“Ok, kid, we’re veering off topic here. Can I meet him, please? C’mon I will only say two embarrassing things tops.” She grins. Holding her fingers up to signal the two things.

“Don’t explode all over him with questions. He’s nice.” You promise.

“Baby, he’s dating you. Of course he’s gonna be nice. I like to think I raised you with standards.”

“You did think I was dating a jock up until two minutes ago.” You level at her.

“Touché my sweet.” She holds a finger up and gives you an invisible tally mark.

“No interrogations either.” You add.

“I’ll put my interrogation lamp away. And no explosions. Promise. Internal implosions only.”

“Try not to be- y’know? Your usual level of insane?”

“Why. He’s not here to date me. I shouldn’t have to hide my eccentricity in the comfort of my own home.” She mocks, looking evil.

“Good grief.” You sigh as you double triple safety sure check you’ve got everything in your purse. Candies. Lip smacker. Money. Coin change for the arcade machines. She leans over and peers into your purse

“Condoms are in the bathroom cabinet by the way.” She winks before tipping back more beer.

“Right. No to that.” You snap. “Go get in the attic. Now.” You tell her with no evident humour. Snapping your fingers and pointing up the stairs.

She pokes her tongue out at you in a very mature move.

You twist to the direction of the door when you hear a clunky rumble of something that was definitely a van engine, music all shredding shriek and rock heavy, easing to a stop. And then the thump of a door.

She practically inhaled all the air in the house when Eddie does one of his fumbly music-riff knocks on your front door. Deep Purple, you reckon.

“I think your nerd hath arriveth. Mi’lady.” She beams.

Claps her fingers together in overdone excitement. Trying to gawk through the blurry glass in the front door to make out his general shape.

Fuck. Now this is all so real and your stomach is clenching, doing those gravity defying swoops like it’s trying to take off without you.

You fluff your hair one last time and step to the door across the spongey purple entryway rug. You take a deep breath. Palm clammy and slipping on the doorknob. You twist it open.

Eddie breaks into a sunshine stroked grin the other side when he sees you. It melts you. Makes something inside glow coal hot at the sight of him again.

He’s wearing his jacket with a Van Halen tour tee. Faded wings of an eagle and band name crackled on old wash grey. The usual ensemble of chains and ripped jeans. But you see the new sight of fancy polished combat boots.

Wayne had made him sit his bony butt down for five seconds and polish them before he whirled out the door to come get you.

“A man takes pride in his shoes when taking a young lady out on a date, Edward.” As he gruffly handed him a shoe brush. Gestured with a lit red in the other hand.

Full name. Serious. Scary.

“Listen I need to get going if I’m gonna make it out of the Victorian Era on time.” Eddie sassed. Elbow folded up. Checking his Casio.

Wayne pushed the brush into his hand. Slammed the silver pot down in front of him. The claggy thick smell of polish coming from the well used army tin he had sat on the counter. Face as stoic as an Easter Island head. He wasn’t taking any bull.

“Less cheek. Get buffing.”

“Child labour has been outlawed you know.”

“Not in the Victorian Era it hasn’t.”

Eddie did as his Uncle ordered. Now here he is.

Smelling like cologne, cigarettes and the unmovable sticky tinge of dark boot polish. Hair having had a briefly tangled

liaison with a comb.

He’s chewed gum the whole way here worried about his smoky acrid breath. Piece after piece shoved into his mouth. Sharp spearmint spiking the bed of his tongue. It didn’t settle the squirming worms in his stomach. Nor the tap of his newly polished shoes in fidgeting.

“Hey.” He smiles. Nervously tucking his hands in his back pocket. His jacket jangles. The chain around his hip and his bandana sways with him as he stands on your porch.

“Hey yourself. You look nice.” You beam back. There’s an undeniable allure in your pretty face. Honey gold smile skated in shiny gloss. He equates to something like pure magic.

“Ditto, Pencils.” He smirks. Veiled flirt. Not letting himself get too eager with it. His eyes flick up your dress, down your legs, and back up.

Holy shit. Good doesn’t even begin to cover how you look right now.

You also cannot ignore the lingering looming presence of your mom as she practically leaps into his eye-line behind you. She’s utterly vibrating with excitement. You can sense her just jiggling with it.

She sidles up behind you and shoves herself into the gap you’ve left in opening the door.

Whatever he was expecting of your mom, he certainly didn’t imagine this whirlwind of a woman behind you.

She’s young too. Must’ve had you in her late teens. Not stuffy. No silent husband like a fixture in an easy boy chair in the living room. Silently scathing with disapproval. She’s not sporting a beige cardigan and a constant threat of neighbourhood watch association snobbery. Sneering at Eddie on her porch like he’s a flea infected stray, yowling at her door.

There’s no way in hell anything resembling stuffy could cling to this woman.

Fierce hazel eyes traced with crows feet, shiny dark hair all free-wild and choppy. She’s old movie star kinda striking. That Colgate grin touted about in the 1950’s. One he recognises as the one that closely and genetically mirrored yours.

Boot cut jeans and a pearly smile and a big fluffy sweater and denim jeans. Entirely mad and friendly and she’s only met him two seconds ago. Some punchy shredding ZZ top blasts from the kitchen and something tells him that’s all her taste too. As well as pair of violet rhinestone cowboy boots sat by the doormat. Whacky.

He thinks how wildly accurate it is that this busy bright, kinetic energy ball of a woman, raised an unconventional and awesome girl like you. That’s no leap there.

“It is so nice to meet you. Duckie.” She out and out grins. You give her one of your looks.

Eddie chuckles. A little lost. “Duckie?” He asks.

“Her grip on sanity is loose at best.” You explain.

She elbows you in the the hip as she takes the grin down to a less terrifying notch. “Ok. Ugly grandchildren are struck off the list. He’s adorable. Look at those Bambi eyes.”

You really wish you had locked her in the attic. She’s exploding all over the poor boy.

“She’s loopy when she’s off her meds. And around new people.” You sigh to him. It gets an easy smile. Buffs the nervous look away.

“Mom this is Eddie. Eddie, I’m so sorry, this is my Mom.” You introduce. Skating a hand to the woman chomping at the bit behind her shoulder.

“Don’t you say sorry for me.” She slithers her arm through the gap you’ve left in the door. Fluffy jumper all cable knit bobbled and fuzzy. She’s a wave of zingy energy smelling like smoky Newports and designer Yves Saint Laurent perfume.

He shakes her manicured offered hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. She’s told me only good things.”

“Then she’s totally been lying. Edward. A pleasure. I’m Veronica but please don’t call me that, everyone calls me Ronnie. Awesome awesome shirt by the way.” She beams as she peers around the door. Releasing his hand from hers. “Like your metal huh?” She asks.

She perched her hands on the doorframe and stuck her head into this pick up between the two of you.

“Only with my oxygen, food and water.” He jokes. A little of his truer wide smile comes sneaking out. Now he knows there’s no need to stand on awkward shuffly doormat ceremony with your parent.

Because he knows he isn’t a meet the parents kinda guy.

He’s the guy parents ring Principal Higgins about. With distaste sour, and judgement nastily spewing off their tongues. He’s tatted, he’s a cheap weed seller, he’s crazy and scraggy weird, and he lives in a trailer park. Stamp mark of future-convict hovered heavy and eternal over his head.

He’s a jump out the window, hide in the closet kinda guy. No one would ever bring him home all hair combed and sparkly clean, pressed button down, to mom and pop, for a meatloaf dinner. Cause he’s no one to be proud of.

Yet here? Perhaps in the eyes of the most unconventional mom in all of Hawkins, something has shifted.

Something feels like it’s been spun off its axis and set down wrong, cause this bubbly woman is smiling at him and excitedly prodding her daughter out the door to go on their date. And maybe she is insane. As you said.

Talk about falling down the rabbit hole. Punctured through the splintered looking glass. He’s not high, but he could swear on seeing white rabbits and mad hatters right about now. It’s fucking nice. He’d never have expected this funky curveball in coming to pick you up.

“Edward? Eddie?” She asks.

“Eddie is fine.” He offers. Nodding, as he slips his hands into his pockets. Self conscious move, even though he didn’t need to be.

She widens her smile. “Where abouts you from? I know DND club and the fact you’re a white male in high school. Other than that I’m out. She’s been stingy with details.” She jerks her thumb at you.

His tongue shrivels up. She’s tolerated him so far. Maybe this is the sour turning point that will tip the introduction on its head.

“I live in Forest Hill’s with my Uncle. My folks, uh aren’t around.” He tells with a tone she can tell is used to receiving nasty scratchy criticism. Eyebrows raise and moods change when he’s said that before.

She nods. Her smile doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even drop.

“Honey. I grew up in paradise trails mobile park in Sloan Nevada. Don’t sweat it. Doesn’t make us lepers.” She shrugs.

Like it didn’t just wash a whole wave of unease aside in his chest.

“People in this town seem negatively charged when I tell them that’s where I live.” He admits with a big clown smile. Your heart bleeds at the true reverence in his tone.

“People in this town, are snooty assholes.” She chuckles wisely.

Debbie Harry is throatily singing one way or another from the stereo in the kitchen now.

“You done grilling my date?” You ask her with a sickly smile.

“If you stick around, there will be a follow up round where I fetch your baby pictures. And invite him in for a beer.” She threatens. Eyes widening. Kubrick crazy.

“Bye Mom.” You say as you step out the door to join him on the porch. She catches it where you’ve left it open. Calls out as you stand in the clear night listening to the cicadas hum and the street lights buzz and blink into sleepy orange. You leave her chuckling.

“Wise move. Now scram before I dust off my pipe, And my old ‘what-are-your-intentions-towards-my-daughter’ queue cards.” Your mom winks at you.

“Enjoy your night, crazy lady. Go feed the cats.” You answer, calling back over your shoulder as you sling your hand into Eddie’s lapel and pull him across the lawn.

“Let’s get away from this house of lunacy.” You tell him.

He stumbles after you waving a goodbye to your mother. Almost tripping over his boots.

“Home by midnight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. No 420ing it without me.” She calls out to you.

Eddie chuckles as you bring him down your front lawn. Sneakers brushing the grass alongside the gentle thuds of his foot falls. Your hand migrated to holding his.

“That’s your mom.” He states. Sounding dumbfounded.

“I know. I should’ve warned you. She’s a whole new spin on the word eccentric.” You offer.

“She didn’t bark at me to get off her porch like I’m some stray, Pencils. That’s a hell of an improvement versus the reaction I thought I’d get.” He says as he looks down.

Avoiding stepping on the dandelions that are scattered across your lawn all yellow and happy. Just trying to grow upwards and peep at the sun.

You slope your fingers through his. He looks up and gazes at you as you fall in step.

“As insane and untethered to planet earth as she is, she’s really not like other moms around here. She likes you already, probably on sight of the Van Halen tee.” You tell him with smiling weight to your meaning.

His grin lopes across his face.

“She’s cool y’know. No stuffiness. No essence of church on Sunday is the law and green bean casseroles.” He nods. He likes it. He really does.

“She had my sister Charlie when she was a teenager. Me a couple years later. Possibly too young for the likings of the pissy bible study moms in this town. She dropped out of Berkeley. Parents chucked her out. She worked three crappy jobs whilst raising us and coping with my deadbeat dad, always hoping for a little better and, being, well, as you saw, entirely unhinged.” You gestured to your house.

“And…” You add. “She’s not a green bean casserole person. She stinks at cooking even by her own admission. Thankfully, we have Charlie for that. She’s the domestic one.”

Eddie smirks. His smile is pure warmth. “You guys are close, though. Tight knit. It’s cute.”

“I love that she’s not a run of the mill mom. Growing up, others didn’t tend to be as kind about it. They see a single parent, they immediately go to trashy, trampy, drunk, who doesn’t give a shit.” You roll your eyes.

Genuine hurt backs your voice though. “They set her and me aside cause we’ve always been different. We don’t have tonnes of money or a fancy house.”

And who knows that better than Hawkins own freak?

He squeezes your fingers. Warm rings all marking their usual grooves in your skin. A thorough loving squeeze that makes your heart go pattering all soppy in your chest.

“People are assholes. So I’m reliably told.” He parrots as he brings to you both to the passenger side of his van. Rings clack on the handle as he gets the door for you.

You stand and smile. “People are assholes. Look at the unfair bad rep they give you.” You point out.

He shrugs. Smirking. “What can I say? My handsome face and awesome personality protects me from total infamy.” He grins all

cheesy.

Yanking open the van door with a hand and turning his palm up to you.

“Here now, I was prepared for a little infamy. Munson. Are you telling me I’m gonna be disappointed?” You smirk as you step up close.

Eddie’s poor little rabbit heart flashes fast with the way your dress is kinda, pretty well low cut. And skimming and squeezing every beautiful curve. When you step close he can smell perfume and cherry gloss and all things sexy sweet.

You’re looking at him directly. Eyes smouldering under your eyeliner and wet n’ wild silver glitter. Angling for a kiss that he’s happy to give you til his lips damn well fall off.

He leaves the van door open. Steps you back just a little. Nudged your hips back to the body of it.

“Think I’m flirting with bad company here.” He smiles. Traces his nose along yours.

“Doubtlessly. Wanna back out now?” You ask in a husky whisper against his mouth. Hearts racing. Pulses whipping fast. Lust stirs.

His chest may implode but he’d be fine with that. Atleast he’d die kissing you. What a way to go-

“Yeah. I’m running for the hills here.” He teases. Cupping your neck and gingerly laying his fingers over your hip. You stroke hours through his long black vines of soft tousled hair.

Then he’s leaning all the way in to kiss you properly, so firmly and urgently on the mouth. Languid spearmint tongue tasting sharp and delicious, playing with your lower lip. You tug him in by his leather collar. Loving the way his body leans against yours. You moan softly.

Maybe you should’ve taken the freakin condoms after all?

Beyond the kissing, you barely hear your front door whine as it’s cracked open. Your mom hollers across the lawn with her beer in hand, and makes the dog down the street bark it’s damn head off.

“Gross. Get a room!”

You pull apart and he can’t help bursting into a smile.

“Let’s leave here. Please.” You ask of him. He can’t contain his blushy laughter.

~

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r

[sirianasims]

It was nice being outside in the cool night air after sitting in the stuffy room. My clothes smelled like whatever he and Kari had been smoking.

I felt a little lightheaded as well.

As we walked back to the house, Charlie told me about touring, about trying to make it big. He told me about getting into trouble and running from the police. It was still baffling to me that he could laugh about things like being arrested, like it was all a big joke to him.

He also talked a little about Samuel. It felt like he was trying not to, but couldn’t stop himself. It sounded like his feelings about Samuel were just as complicated as Samuel’s feelings about him. There was definitely the same mix of resentment and envy.

After we got back to the house and I thanked Amelia for watching the girls, Charlie followed me upstairs to get a glimpse of his nieces. They were both sleeping peacefully.

In the hallway outside their room, he turned and looked at me with those mismatched eyes, one brown, one green.

“Cute kids. I know I haven’t been much of an uncle, but I’ll meet them properly tomorrow. My brother has always been the lucky one.”

I felt the lump in my throat. Tell that to him, maybe he would be here now. Maybe he would still care.

“Is something wrong? Freya? Hey, what’s up?”

There was actual concern in his voice. A voice that sounded so much like Samuel’s, except Samuel’s voice was causing me nothing but pain lately. I felt the tears coming.

“I’m sorry, Charlie, I’m a mess these days. It’s just – I don’t know if Samuel and I are going to last, and…”

He put his arms around me, and I leaned into him as I tried not to cry.

It felt good.

Samuel rarely held me when I was upset, he just explained why I shouldn’t be.

Charlie lifted my chin.

“My brother has also always been a fucking idiot.”

Then he kissed me.

Hard.

Insistent.

This was nothing like Samuel’s gentle kisses, bore no resemblance to his constant restraint. Or to his complete absence lately.

My knees buckled as Charlie continued kissing my neck, his other hand slowly, deliberately, untucking my shirt.

I should have pushed him away, told him to stop.

But I didn’t.

Somehow we reached the bed.

I had never felt this wanted, this desirable. All my frustration, doubt and hesitation obliterated.

As I wrapped my legs around Charlie, I knew this was wrong, this was a disaster. But all it did was turn me on more.

Charlie demanded instead of asking, ordered instead of suggesting.

Praised instead of criticising.

I let go of everything, lost myself completely in his arms, my mind blank, my body frenzied.

He looked up at me, eyes shining in the dark, as I moved my hips furiously, my nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck. If only my perfect little brother could see what his perfect little wife is doing right now.”

His harsh words cut through me without mercy, slicing through all the ties that had ever bound me.

They say the truth will set you free.

I had spent my life running from the truth, telling myself that everything would be fine if only I could find a way to be perfect.

I guess there’s nothing as freeing as accepting that you’re just a horrible human being.

Or maybe I was just human.

Flawed.

Broken.

Never meant to be perfect.

beginning / previous / next

[genericpuff]

Hi! Maybe this is a difficult question with no answer, but as a fan of Rekindled who might want to start their own comic, what do you suggest to avoid burnout? Do you start wiht writting the script right away, you doodle a bit,..? Thanks for reading, I love how you draw big noses, makes me more comfy with mine!

no fr my dark secret is that i've been experiencing burnout with my main original project that I've spent the last decade working on for literally a year now. this isn't the first long hiatus i've taken, the longest one i've ever been on has lasted two years, and it's undoubtedly not the last i'll experience because the lump of salt and fat and tissue that is my brain often overworks itself into exhaustion like a big dummy

rekindled has been my reprieve from the burnout. it has been my vacation from years of working on the same project, meeting the same deadlines, drawing the same characters, over and over and over again since before i was in college.

if there's anything working on rekindled has made clear to me, it's that i'm still capable of drawing comics. the comic-making isn't the problem. it's just that when you work on the same project for years and trap yourself in an uphill battle, eventually your climbing gear is bound to break.

if there's another thing that rekindled has opened my eyes to, it's the insanity that i put myself through prior to rekindled that led to my burnout in the first place.

i get people telling me that they couldn't imagine doing what i do, that even before i had my assistant helping me out, i was still able to put out 30-40 panel updates every week.

but before that, i was putting out 70-90 panel episodes of my original work. every week. full color. full spread action scenes. no assistant. very little financial gain aside from a couple patrons on patreon and one dedicated viewer on twitch, which i was also streaming on 2-3 times a week.

and now that i've been working on rekindled and even finding myself often crunched for time with that, i have zero clue, no idea, a complete lack of comprehension of how i pulled off 70-90 panels a week for months on end. there's a reason it resulted in burnout and i know that now. this comparison is not for the sake of a flex - this comparison is to make it clear that much of what i do isn't the norm and isn't exactly a healthy standard. case in point, i sneezed while sweeping up yesterday morning and it caused a muscle strain in my lower back/hips and i've been working out of my bed since, i'm in a lot of pain and it might mean i don't make any money this week if it's not better by the time i have to do my appointments at my day job on thursday. my need to create my personal passion projects is often at odds with my bad habits of not taking care of myself 。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

when it comes to tackling burnout, your guess is as good as mine. really it just comes down to rest. when burnout - real, true burnout - hits, it's not just "man i'm bored of working on this", it's "i can't even think of looking at this thing let alone working on it", it's basically akin to depression and it's an awful thing that i wouldn't even wish on my worst enemy (even with Rachel, I don't want to psychoanalyze her mental health but it does seem like she's possibly been experiencing burnout with LO for years now and that really sucks for her if that's true). so the solution is just as complicated as the cause, it's not something that you can just rest from for a week and come back from, it takes real long-term healing.

when I found my way out of that 2 year hiatus, it was in spring of 2019 and I decided to just work on a random comic page that wasn't even in the comic I was working on. and then suddenly it was like a switch flicked back into the on position and i didn't even finish what i was working on, i just went back to my original project and i kept working on it until it was finally finished at the end of 2021. as suddenly and randomly as it had set in, it was gone. but i can't just do the same thing this time, it just doesn't work that way.

that said, through all this, i've learned that my need to create is not restricted to any one tangible thing, i'm not doomed or designed to stick with the same words, the same faces, the same ideas until the end of time. while i do try to keep up healthy routines for myself to ensure i'm looking out for my future self and their deadlines and their upload schedules, sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. and in my case, the heart wanted to take a break from the self-reflective psychological analysis dark fantasy weebo stuff and just draw some pink and blue characters a little less ugly. the self-reflective weebo shit will still be there when i'm done with the pink and blue stuff, and i'll surely have loads of new things to unpack through it once i return.

there are still times when i'm working on rekindled and i'm feeling the creeping hand of my routine destruction digging its claws into my back. the reality is that 30-40 panels is still a lot for someone like myself who's doing this entirely for free, but my definition of normal for a while was so insanely inhumane that even what's still considered a lot by most people's standards feels sane and normal to me after what i put myself through.

i've learned to be more gentle with myself, and to loosen my own expectations of what i'm capable of to ensure i don't do anything like that to myself, by myself, again. i give myself room to create without expectations or the pressure of eyes watching when i can, and i remind myself that even if burnout rears its head again, and again, and again, the will to create is not gone. it's just tired, and resting, and growing, and healing as i am.

anyways that turned into a self-reflective essay post, to answer your question about making stuff ahead of time, i find that's more helpful with just like, planning out a structured story (so you don't write yourself into a corner) but whether or not it helps with burnout kind of depends. because it can just as also easily be the cause of the problem because constantly seeing the stuff you wanna be drawing so far away can be just as much of a morale killer as a motivator. some of the stuff i'm super psyched to write and draw with time gate is years away and that timeline grows longer the more the burnout goes on which makes the struggle feel even more overwhelming and pointless and defeating. so plan ahead, but keep it all within your means if you can. i find what works for me is planning out just general beat-to-beat plot structures (to ensure i at least have a plot skeleton going on so i know where i'm going) then i leave the finer details to when the actual episode i've planned gets closer to fruition and i can get myself in the headspace to write it fully.

also remember that just because you're really excited and motivated to work on your comic doesn't mean you should work yourself into exhaustion - it's a good thing if you're going through the mundane of your daily routine and the whole time you're hyped af to work on your hobby/personal project/etc. because that's what will keep you moving forward, so don't spend all that hype in one place by working and working and working until you're exhausted, because that hype is REALLY hard to get back after you've spent it all.

long post over! hope that helps! best of luck in your projects! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

[https-furina]

KAEYA + 19 PLS 🥹🥹🥹🥹 CONGRATS AGAIN <3

✎ nothing else matters.

ft. kaeya x gn!reader

prompt: "when i'm with you, nothing else matters."

w.c. 666 words

content: fluff, confessions !!, kaeya is 100% ooc my bad, maybe it's a little too sweet, reader is a little dubious, mentions of alcohol, one curse word

notes: shshshfjfff thank u (again) my lovely <3 mwah i hope i didn't butcher kaeya too badly! THE WORD COUNT WASN’T INTENTIONAL I’M SCREAMING AHAHAHA

considering your role at the knights of favonius is nothing to do with the cavalry captain, you spend a lot of time with him; whether you're out dealing with commissions together or you're simply hanging out with him out of work hours - don't question, he roped you into joining him at the tavern one night regardless of whether you drink or not. you spent majority of that night gossiping with master diluc about the blue haired male as if he wasn't right beside you. ever since kaeya likes to call you inseparable, joined at the hip if you will. you like to joke that he has you trapped but you heavily enjoy his company, so much that you drown in the blue of his eyes every time you get a moment.

kaeya doesn't admit it to no one but he rather spend time with you than do his job. it becomes apparent when kaeya begrudgingly has you in his office at the end of the day, the sun beginning to set on mondstadt as you reprimand his piles of paperwork littered across the mahogany desk.

"you really need to stop procrastinating paperwork like this, alberich," you sigh in what sounds like disappointment, fingers flicking through some extremely outdated papers, "jean is going to have your head soon - hey! this is the book lisa keeps bitching is overdue…"

kaeya chuckles as you sift through the papers, he's not helping in the slightest but in all honesty the situation overwhelmed him a little which was why he called upon you in the first place. there was that reason and there was also the way the sun painted you in a golden glow as it filtered through the large glass window in his office, setting behind starsnatch cliff in the distance. kaeya was soaking in every second of your beauty, from the way your eyes glitter like rare gems and the way the sun kisses your skin in hues of oranges and pinks.

"stop staring, alberich and help me with your paperwork." there's heat in your cheeks from the blood rushing and your ears feel warm under his longing gaze.

"why should i do it when there's so much more important things?" kaeya hums, chuckling slightly at the stern glare you send him with sharp eyes. it doesn't convince him to move in the faintest from where he's stood to your left.

"what in teyvat could be more important than all these confidential papers? like this one, it's about klee-" you shake your head, pausing your complaining as you continue to work on organising his mess. kaeya swallows a lump in his throat, suddenly closer to you as he lingers to debate helping.

"well, when i'm with you, nothing else matters." kaeya mumbles, hovering next to your ear as he leans past you to grab the sheet regarding klee you had mentioned. the room is suddenly spinning and you're staring out the office window in confusion.

"you didn't mean that," you scoff, shaking your head once more as you try to shrug his words off but they echo in your head, "that bard hasn't sneaked you wine, has he?"

kaeya doesn't respond, leaving you to slowly turn and look at him. there's a thought hanging in his head as he meets eyes with yours. your eyes are glittering momentarily - no longer from the sun but from a sharp sting of tears threatening to spill at the situation kaeya has thrown into the air. he pauses, considering if he should be doing this - it doesn't count as work hours anymore, jean can't have him for this, he thinks as he leans down to press his lips to yours.

you're soft, the taste of sunsettias is lingering on your lips - kaeya knows your routine well enough to know you had a sunsettia before you came to his office. you're addictive but he finds it in him to pull away with a smug grin on his face, "do i mean it now?"

© https-heizou 2023.

[bearberrythief]

Realizing a lot of things I took as being uncomfortable with how women are sexualized are, in fact, disphoria, made a lot of things make sense.

I was an early bloomer. I started developing breasts at nine. The boys I was friends with instantly started treating me differently. I didn't like it, but I thought my breasts would stay small. They didn't. I was into the drawer of beige and black large cup sizes by the time I was thirteen, decidely larger than my peers, larger than my Mom, than most of my teachers.

I spent hours of my youth staring at my new breasts imagining a sharp kitchen knife making neat incisions, the skin peeling back neatly and that same blade perfectly removing the wet lumps of tissue, areolas cut to a manageable size, the skin folding down and leaving me with a perfectly flat chest. I learned that sometimes women lost their breasts to cancer, and I fanatsized about needing a masectomy. Sometimes, I wouldn't imagine a knife. I'd imagine my fingers digging into the skin and tearing them from my chest in two big handfuls, and it would hurt, but I'd be free. I imagined them withering away into nothing, of them simply sloughing away at a touch, being trimmed away with a giant pair of scissors, frozen off like a mole, melting away like wax.

I hated how big they were, that I couldn't hide them. I felt the same thing about my hips, but the violence of my thoughts about my breasts overwhelmed me. It didn't help that they were decidely above average, a full G cup. I thought if I was beautiful, if I learned how to dress with them, I would be happy. I played a confident, feminine woman at home in my body. But I never stopped feeling like my breasts belonged to someone else, being surprised and horrified that this was my body.

(I still remember the pain and disappointment when my first boyfriend told me he only talked to me in the first place because he liked big boobs and I had the best he'd seen on a real person. It was a cold reminder of how other people saw me)

I finally got a breast reduction when I was twenty one, and I was so happy they were smaller, in the average range instead of the big tiddy range, but I was also profoundly disappointed they weren't small enough. I still had big boobs. Some of those violent fantasies returned, my fresh incisions peeling open like flower petals, the unwanted tissue falling away. We're so sorry, the doctors would say, there were complications we had to remove more. It's all right, I'd reply serenely, it's not your fault this isn't so bad. When I recovered, i felt so ungrateful in my disappointment. My back didn't hurt anymore, my breasts were still large, but averagely so, I didn't have to tailor my clothes anymore, I wasn't being catcalled regularly anymore. Why was I disappointed? Why couldn't I be happy? I got what I wanted.

I started dressing much more conservatively as I got older. Higher necklines. Looser fits. A therapist pointed it out to me once, asked me if I was dressing to try and hide my body. No, I lied, I used to wear tight clothing when I was younger to try and be beautiful to try and take up less space this is me dressing comfortably. I stopped taking photos of myself that showed anything but my face. I didn't look at myself in the mirror. I couldn't hide them they were still too large. My partner ignored my breasts for the most part, a blessing.(The nerves were weird after surgery anyways.) I healed more from surgery, and the scar tissue softened. I hated it. I wished they were hard and small again, like when I looked at myself with the bandages freshly removed, the incisions still red and angry.

I switched to progesterone only birth control in an effort to stop my period. I cried when I realized the hormones meant my breasts got bigger. Shit man, I thought to myself, I'm probably nonbinary anyways maybe I should have just gotten top surgery. I ignored that thought for years until, eventually, I bought a binder. I was too scared to try it on for months. I tried it on after months of it sitting in my sock drawer and put on one of my partners sweaters over it. I could still tell I had breasts, but the binder and the loose sweater made them flat enough that I could imagine myself without them. It was like I was seeing myself for the first time in years.

I started imagining the knife again, skin peeling away in a thin sheet, the fog of anesthesia, the strange feeling of drains in my side, and the dull ache around shiny red incisions. I longed for it, a fish hook in my ribcage tugging gently. It didn't feel like violent desire anymore, so I let it pull me.

[thehattiefox]

Tonight, probably.

Trixie was awake. It wasn’t uncommon anymore, between the late nights after shows and dj gigs, but this night was different.

“The end of an era,” Brandon kept saying, and Trixie knew he was right. He talked to Katya countless times about it, how this tour was absolutely too much, how they’d never do anything like this again, how they both had some solo things they were excited to do, and were also excited to be spending some time at home.

And truly, Trixie had meant it. This tour was so fucking much. The effort, the schedule, the amount of people it took to put on one of these two-hour monsters.

But he was having a moment now, out of drag, in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin and light dancing through the curtains from the hotel parking lot.

He was going to miss Katya.

He hated himself with every movement it took to reach for his phone on the nightstand and pull up Katya’s name, pressing the call button and holding it to his ear.

It rang twice before Katya picked up, his voice low.

“What in the hell, Tracy?”

“Hey.”

“You never call me at 3am anymore.”

Trixie let out an amused sound. Anymore.

“Were you sleeping?”

“No. Tired as fuck, though. You see me dancing out there tonight?”

The cast and crew had taken over a local bar, closing the place down as they played an eclectic mix of music from the bar’s old jukebox. Katya, as always, spent most of his time on the dance floor, which always made Trixie smile.

“Mama, who didn’t. You were JoJo Siwa out there.”

“Is that the only dancer you can think of?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

Katya wheezed on the other end of the line, and Trixie heard him shuffling around.

“What’s up, mama?”

Trixie swallowed, annoyed with the fact that he needed to hear Katya’s voice after seeing him an hour ago. “I think it’s finally hitting me. The show being over.”

Katya hummed in agreement. “It’s wild, isn’t it?”

“And of course we still have all of our other stuff, but this was a whole year. One entire year of our lives that just ended.”

“Yikes,” Katya said. “I mean, sure, that’s one way to look at it. But that means another year is beginning.”

Trixie could hear the amusement in Katya’s voice, the lightheartedness he was trying to bring to the moment. Trixie couldn’t blame him. Katya was sentimental about a few things, but never about work. And that’s what this was, just another project ending.

“I guess I’m just going to miss you, Brian.”

Katya was quiet for a moment. “I am literally seeing you in two days—“

“I know, I just mean in this context.” Trixie felt his chest starting to hurt. “It’s fine, I know you don’t care that much about it ending—“

“Oh no no, hold on there,” Katya interrupted, his voice suddenly serious. “You don’t get to call me on my cellular telephone at three in the morning and tell me I don’t care. We are not doing that.”

Trixie swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, you need to know that as excited as I am to have some time at home and to relax and do other things, that doesn’t mean this wasn’t the best year of my fucking life.”

Trixie sucked in a breath. “Really?”

“You bet your ass, Mary. I am so tired and my hips are about ready to fall off my decrepit body but I have loved every single show we’ve done together. It’s been hilarious and stupid and fun. I’m going to miss it.”

Trixie felt a tear fall and quickly wiped it away in the darkness. “Me too.”

It was quiet for a minute, both of them breathing into the phone, trying to find the words.

Trixie cleared his throat. “Brian?”

“Yeah?”

Trixie took a deep breath, but his words still came out in a whisper. “Would you ever do this again? With me?”

“You mean tour?”

“Yeah.”

Trixie’s chest pounded, his heart heavy with sharing this vulnerability and the weight of a very fresh ending swirling around him.

“Trixie?”

Trixie sniffled. “Yeah?”

“I’d do pretty much anything with you.”

Trixie pulled the phone away from his ear, a deep, shuddering sob wracking his body. He took a moment, breathing deeply, the weight of what he was feeling starting to ease, slowly, as he took in Katya’s words.

He pulled the phone back to his ear. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m a mess.”

Katya chuckled, his voice gravelly, thick with exhaustion. “You’re ok, diva.”

“Two days, huh?”

“Two days. Back at it, money never sleeps, yadda yadda.”

“Will I see you tomorrow before your flight?”

“I’m getting up at 7am to work out if you’d like to join me.”

“Gross, ew, no thank you. I will meet you for breakfast, though.”

Katya laughed. “Alright. Go to sleep, mama. We can cry in the morning.”

Trixie rolled his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

[vainglory-esque]

Last night I got like suuuuuuper into researching a certain very popular in the 90s rap group from Memphis (hint hint) and the conspiracy that they literally worship the devil

and I find it so fascinating from the standpoint of how opposed it is to the spiritual values of groups they were kinda lumped in with musically during their heyday, the most known (boney) group has a pretty notable beef with the members of the supposedly devil worshipping group and he's made public statements about his experiences with them personally and why he doesn't fuck with their beliefs. Also, I found out that half of them have passed before age 50, and all 3 of those who passed did so in the city where they supposedly sacrificed someone for the asking of fame and glory— that's fucking wild and I'm not a big believer in coincidences personally, especially concerning these matters.

There's also some recent interviews of the less famous (for lack of a better term) remaining member of the three, and he fully admits and goes into detail about their attempts to invoke dark forces, and how they really weren't just fucking around for shock value when one of them called herself The Devil's Daughter.

I'm so morbidly fascinated with the rumors of the sigils named for their home city and the purpose of them as someone coming from the opposite end of the spectrum concerning all things otherworldly, it's so fucking interesting what makes people want to perform black magic (for lack of a better term).

My partner grew up in a similar community as the artists and sought out similar ✨ dark ✨ things as an adult and spent time around people who called themselves priestesses of dark matters, so I made them spend a solid hour explaining it all to me and where the rumors come from, what people consider evidence of the validity of the idea and opposing points to the notion, and it's really so fucking interesting— I highly recommend this rabbit hole if anyone is also into 90s hip hop and black magic/demonology

[defilerwyrm]

heyyy tom, it's been a while! hope you're good <3 for the fic writer ask meme: 11, 17, 85

Hey Cap’n! It’s been the usual rollercoaster, but more good than bad. My worst days are behind me, even when I have particularly bad ones now. Hope you’re good too 💜

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

Hmm lemme think. Recently I did some math and realized that, according to D&D, a giant eagle’s flight speed is NINE MILES PER HOUR, because D&D is not written by people who know things. For reference, a golden eagle soars at an average of 120 mph while hunting, which is 528 ft/turn as movement, or 1,056 ft with the Dash action. A raven’s average flight speed is 25 mph, which means their movement speed should be 111 ft/round (222 with Dash). That’s over twice the D&D statblock’s movement speed (50).

Players, harass your DMs into giving your familiars a flight speed of 110 today! Flight is really goddamn fast! Surely there will be no repercussions to this, like a cockatrice pulling up on your ass from 200′ away in a single turn

I worry an awful damn lot about research—or, more accurately, I am very damn concerned with it, because I value accuracy and verisimilitude highly, and also I have a fairly bad case of OCD.* I once spent a week researching the movements and events of the African Front in WWII for a single scene in a Stucky fic I ended up not finishing. That sort of thing. My longer fics should come with a bibliography.

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

Oh NO a question that asks me both to remember things and then pick a favorite, my Achilles’ heel

I am going to cop out just a little and use the line that made tens of thousands of people shriek in delighted, outraged horror:

He makes a good king.

85. what would be on a moodboard for your current wip(s)?

The Son and the Heir: silhouettes of one man reaching for another who’s turned away; a cat curled up on a desk strewn with books and pages of notes; a hot tub in the dark; a cold, empty bed in a finely-finished but dark room; a flower budding out of snow; a certain quote and response about trying friends sometime

No Maker Made Me: a trans flag with “TRANS RAGE” in ragged letters; a lump of clay; dark hands grasping light hips; a close-up of a person’s pelvis with their hand shielding their genital region from view; the quote, “Will you do it? I will help you;” a transgender symbol and a male symbol interlocked at the rings, painted on a bare masculine chest

Sowing the Seeds I’ve Taken: a dark, dingy alleyway; a very old condemned church; a group of street sex workers in shadow, overlit by harsh lamplight; a string of sausages hung out to dry on a back porch; scattered coins on cobblestone; the lyric, “I define myself by how well I hide”

[send me a number (or a few!)]

*For those who don’t know me, I do not mean “haha I just have to make my bed every day, I’m so OCD teehee,” I mean I was diagnosed with OCD (among many things) by a renowned neurologist after a long battery of tests when I was 13

[egittae]

[ teach ]  your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .  

"No, no," Deirdre reaches to slide Lambert's hand down further on the stem of the philodendron. "Do you feel that lump? Yes, right there! Cut below that node and we will be able to grow another plant with your cutting. I hope to fill my classroom with new plants. Will you help me?"

Though Lambert spent most of his time at the Abyss, he did come into the academy every now and then. Holing up underground all the time wouldn’t quite help him with his own quest, much less give him ideas and intel on lectures and possible exercises he could make for his students- and he also should interact with some of the faculty above. They were all teachers just like him, and he could definitely learn some from them.

It was how he ended up in his current predicament, in fact. Within a classroom donning the red banner of the Black Eagles, the abyssinian stood alongside a lady that embodied gentleness itself. Light lilac hair and gleamed against sunlight, framing a soft face before falling behind her form almost like a bride’s veil should. Amethyst pools and lips fit for a fond smile sitting perfectly on her face.

She truly was beautiful.

This funky little plant in front of him was also beautiful in its own way.

“A- oh…oh, I see.” He allowed himself to be guided by her hand, before snipping the plant’s stem right at the point she had instructed him to. With that, they could plant another one and essentially multiply it as many times as they needed to. “So you wish to clad your classroom in these? I do like the idea. The greens from a plant always bring liveliness to a room.” Perhaps he should research on plants that didn't need much sunlight to survive so he could add a couple to the Abyss...though that was sadly unlikely to happen.

At her proposal, he smiled- though making sure to level his reaction so he wouldn’t accidentally crush the plant in his hands. It was a precious and fragile living being like any other. “Of course! I am not that well versed in plants myself- well, not for ornamental means that is, but I shall do my best.” He raised the vegetables slightly. “So, where should we plant this ph….ilohed- this thing?”

[gabriellereed]

Jesus, okay, yeah.

Feeling Matty exhale against her, feel the tightening of his abdomen was the fucking hottest thing in the world. All those taut muscles against her fingertips, the hot skin, what was beneath his boxers ,hardening against her, stoking the fire between her own legs...

It was obscenely perfect.

And so was that mouth. She's dying to kiss him, but the thought of pulling his mouth away from her tits also seems like a grave sacrifice.

Every swirl of his tongue, the suctioning of his mouth ...

Gabi can barely keep her head on straight.

She doesn't even want to!

It's not until Matty pulls away for a moment, stares at her for a moment that the world stops spinning.

'Are you kidding me? Look at you.'

There was some emotion there on his face— something earnest, and almost fiery, that rights her spinning head, slows her needy gasps for a moment.

He was being ... well, he was being perfect, of course, because Gabi was learning it was par for the course with him. He was complimenting her so earnestly, so sincerely and with so much passion that it makes her heart clench almost painfully.

A line deepens between Gabi's eyebrows. She finds her hand reaching out of its own accord, carding through the damp tresses of his hair gently as he speaks.

Was she crazy? To feel this thread stretch between them, this thread of something? She was so certain it was growing stronger every second she spent in his bed.

'Your smile. Your eyes. Your mouth. Your fucking hair. Even the sound of your voice, and the things you say... Look at you, Gabi, in my fucking bed, of all places...'

Lord.

He was gonna fucking kill her.

Gabi manages to smile around the lump in her throat, feels her skin prickle with excitement as his hand brushes against her panties, as his knee parts her legs in one smooth movement.

He spoke of just wanting to look at her; wanting to observe her expression as he learned the details of her body, what made her react, talked about wanting to do it until the sun crested up over the horizon.

She tighten her fist in his hair, a flex of emotion. Sweet boy. Gabi rubs her fingers against his scalp.

"Of course I'm in your bed..." Gabi smiles, as she says it, tilts her head upwards to plant her lips against his own, a long, slow kiss. "That's where I'm supposed to be..."

"Just here. Just with you."

Was it really so shocking to him? That someone as extraordinary as him has Gabi in his room, has her staring up at him hungrily, openly, pliantly, with the kind of adoration she's never shown a man before.

And it felt so right to do so with him.

She kisses him again. Hungrily. Intensely. Almost as if its the only outlet she has for all these emotions.

Her hand releases from it's hair, drifts down to cup the hard line of his jaw.

"You're so ... extraordinarily sweet, Matty. You're gonna get me all emotional."

She already was. There's something thick in her chest and throat, and something hot pressing up against her eyes, but it's a good feeling, a nice one, something that feels like the blaze of a fire in the hearth, something bright and beautiful. And Matty was responsible for that.

Gabi tilts her head upwards to administer a sweet kiss to his temple

"I wanna do everything you just said..."

With an inhale, Gabi tilts her hips up into Matty's hand, hungry, curious about his fingers, the perfect shape of him, curious about how she can already feel herself growing slick at the slightest touch of his hand.

"I wanna learn every inch of you. I wanna kiss every inch of you. I wanna feel the way your abdomen tightens because of my hand..." She lets her other hand skitter across his abdomen. "I wanna make sure you have the best night of your life..." Her back arches, her mouth pressed just against the shell of his ear. "And I wanna give you my body."

Overwhelmed, by this thick tempest of adoration inside her, all this emotion she feels towards Matty, she kisses his jaw, sucks, presses her lips again to his neck.

And then she smiles at him.

"And I don't wanna get out of this bed until I know you perfectly."

Gabi kisses him again, hungry, presses her body up against his as if he's the antidote and the balm to every bad thing in this world.

Every time Gabi moaned or gasped in pleasure, Matty had to fight himself not to do the same. He felt himself getting harder, more heated as his mouth lapped at her breasts, alternating between the two happily.

Then there was the admission that she was so turned on by him. Matty exhaled. Yeah. Yeah, this was the best fucking night of his life. Nothing could top this.

Then he felt Gabi slide her nails down, slowly, across his abdomen, near the hem of his boxers. Matty was very ticklish and sensitive in that area. He exhaled something that sounded like a chuckle, feeling his abdomen tense beneath her nails. He didn't want her to stop, even if it the movement was driving him crazy.

"You're like the most beautiful person I've ever seen…"

It was so fucking sweet, Matty almost didn't even know how to take it. He just…

He just wanted her. He felt connected to her, more than he'd ever felt with anyone before. He wanted to please her and kiss her and show her that this wasn't just a one night thing. Matty … felt something for her, as ridiculous as it sounded. Something very strong, something that felt pure and unique and good.

He stopped kissing her.

"Are you kidding me? Look at you."

He had to make a point, had to make her understand, somehow.

"Look at your legs and thighs and your fucking perfect stomach. And your tits are just so fucking …"

Matty bit his lip.

"Your smile. Your eyes. Your mouth. Your fucking hair. Even the sound of your voice, and the things you say... Look at you, Gabi, in my fucking bed, of all places..."

He kissed up her chest, finding her mouth once more. This time, he parted her legs with a knee. He slid a hand up her thigh, slowly, fingers brushing over the outside of her panties.

"I just wanna look at you. All night. I wanna see the look on your face when I touch you. I wanna figure out what makes you feel good, and then I wanna keep doing that until the sun comes up."

[grapenehifics]

Chapter 44

(Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40473339/chapters/109325631#workskin)

I love the 'making your (friend/parent/sibling) talk to you on the phone while you wait for someone else to arrive so you don't look like a dork with no friends' trope.

"You're six-two and can run a five-minute mile" is from Armie Hammer's line in The Social Network: "I'm 6'5", 220, and there's two of me!"

Is it realistic for Dathan to give Anakin a $20,000 check? No. Their lawyers would do some sort of escrow/money order type thing. I mean, what is Anakin supposed to do with that, just waltz up to the bank? That's a great way to get audited by the IRS. But I like this scene, so I kept it, illocigality be damned.

Satine spreading out all her papers and working on cases in the backseat of the car while they run errands is from The Lincoln Lawyer (book and movie both).

I had to very quickly learn about skateboard construction to write this; I know nothing; I fell the first time I tried riding one and ended up with a lump on my hip the size of a baseball, walked with a limp, and wasn't able to wear pants for a month, and haven't tried again since.

I'm going to spectacularly mangle the quote. But. The final scene of the last episode of the first season of True Detective, as I remember it but I only saw it once so it is very possible I'm mis-remembering, has Woody Harrelson helping Matthew McConnaughey leave the hospital, and once they're outside he asks him if there's anything he needs from back there (like, he probably means, your toothbrush, or things like that). And Matthew McConnaughey says, no, I have everything I need. (Meaning you, my best friend, my support, etc.) Everyone else seems to remember the bit after - which is good too! - about the light winning. But that moment - even fuzzily - has stuck with me ever since. That's what I was going for when Obi-Wan asked Ahsoka if she had everything she needed. Even if she didn't - it's only stuff. You can always get a new toothbrush. In the ways that matter, yes, she has everything she needs.

Nicki's mom being named Debbie is a joke borrowed from my mother, who is convinced half the women in America of her generation are all named Debbie.

Anakin thinks the concept of 'bad' words in general is stupid, but does have the presence of mind to realize it's important to other people, and not saying 'fuck' in front of her friends' parents will probably make Ahsoka a more socially acceptable houseguest.

OMG, guys, you're literally mooning over each other on some random woman's porch. Time and place, friends!

The pre-pandemic explosion in popularity of pub trivia made me really, really happy. I hope that comes back someday, in some form.

I spent way - way! - too much time researching what judges actually say in adoption court. And then I remembered the judge isn't actually the important character, in this scene, and I could cut all that out and stop worrying about technical accuracy and just write about our main characters hugging it out. So I did that instead.

Here's the story behind "Thank you for my life." So there was this book about Army doctors, called M*A*S*H. Robert Altman made a movie, also called M*A*S*H. Donald Sutherland played the main character, Dr. Hawkeye Pierce. It was popular enough that CBS was going to make a TV series of it. They offered the role of Hawkeye to Donald Sutherland, again, but he wasn't interested in TV and turned it down. So they cast Alan Alda instead. And playing Hawkeye on TV came to define Alan Alda's career. 99% of people who know who Alan Alda is, know because of M*A*S*H. M*A*S*H was on TV for something like fifteen years. Alan Alda was in every episode, cast his family in some episodes, directed and wrote some episodes...it was this huge cultural phenomenon. And he never would have had all that if Donald Sutherland had taken the job instead.

So, at some point in there, there's some awards show, or charity gala, or something like that, I don't remember what, and Alan Alda and Donald Sutherland happen to both be in attendance. And somebody says, hey, let's get a picture with the two Hawkeye Pierces. Now, Donald Sutherland and Alan Alda had never actually met before. They played the same role, but at different times and in different things, and they'd never overlapped. But suddenly they're standing next to each other. And Donald Sutherland said Alan Alda shook his hand and said, "Thank you for my life."

[rubenfinity]

Teasing For Two ⤷ Rúben Dias

genre: fluff

summary: you often spent the weekends at your brother’s house but this time it was different, as his best friend Rúben was also staying over. There has always been a spark between you and your brother's best friend but neither of you acted on it until now.

words: 2.1k

note: hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it,, likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated <3

The clock struck 1 in the morning as you tossed and turned in bed. A quiet exasperated sigh escaped you whilst pulling the duvet back. Clearly, the whole sleeping thing was not working out so you dragged your feet downstairs, wearing only an oversized shirt and shorts. You searched for food in the fridge and kitchen cupboards, but there was only one thing that would be able to satisfy your late night cravings — chocolate chip cookies. And not just any old chocolate cookies but your ‘signature bake’ as your brother would put it. After several failed baking attempts in the past, you created your own recipe and since then, you never looked back.

As you knew the recipe from the top of your head, you preheated the oven and weighed the ingredients into separate bowls. Whilst  stuffing some of the left-over chocolate chips in your mouth, you mixed together the butter and sugar, followed by the eggs and then the dry ingredients.

“Need some help?” a deep voice took you by surprise, causing you to drop the wooden spoon.

“Shit, Rúben! You scared me,” you whisper-yelled, bending down to pick up the spoon and throwing it in the sink to wash later.

“And you need to be a little quieter,” he whisper-yelled back, mockingly. You did think you were being quiet but obviously not.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—,” your eyes found Rúben standing at the bottom of the stairs. And that was when you properly looked at him, a lump forming in your throat. 

He was wearing nothing but a pair of grey joggers hanging low on his hips. Despite the dim kitchen lighting, you were still able to see each and every one of his defined muscles from his arms to his abs. And when you noticed his messy hair, all you wanted to do was thread your hands through it. 

“Like what you see?” Rúben asked, unable to resist a smirk.

“Huh, I wasn’t staring at you,” you denied too quickly, looking everywhere but at him. You hoped that the dimly-lit kitchen was enough to mask your now crimson coloured face from the embarrassment of being caught staring at him.

“What would you call that then?” he raised an eyebrow, trying to see what kind of excuse you were going to conjure up this time.

“I was… analysing you,” Nope, that definitely made it worse. This was all going downhill so fast; it was so unlike you to stumble over your words.

“You were analysing my body?” Rúben teased. You could just tell he was loving every second of this by the cockiness smeared all over his face.

“No, I was analysing how ugly you look,” you retorted, wincing at your reply as you crossed your arms. You could have at least told a more convincing lie.

“Is that so?” he chuckled amusedly, not believing a word that came out of your mouth, whilst finding this nervous side of you endearing.

“Uh-huh,” you spun round without giving him another chance to tease you, hoping he would leave it at that. Your attention was now focused back on the cookies, giving the ingredients a final mix to make sure they were all combined. Then, you started to roll the mixture into cookie dough balls.

“What are you making then?” Rúben’s voice was getting closer and closer.

“Chocolate chip cookies,” you managed to say as you felt Rúben stand behind you, his bare torso ever so slightly pressed against your back. Impulsively, you leaned into his touch as your body ached for more, feeling his body tense under your touch. At this rate, you'll be here until morning baking cookies.

“My favourite,” your breath hitched as you felt Rúben’s words against your neck.

“Since when do cookies fit into your footballer diet?” You turned around, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but you were caught off-guard by the distance, or lack thereof, between the two of you.

“They don’t, but no-one needs to know,” he winked suggestively, and you could not help but think whether his words had a double meaning. You hated how Rúben was in control of the whole situation when normally you are the one teasing him.

“The only way you’ll be allowed any cookies is if you help,” clearing your throat, you tilted your head up to look at Rúben's face and not his shirtless torso you were currently standing very close to.

“I’ll do whatever you want, I’m all yours,” Rúben lifted his hand as he tenderly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes locking.

“Okay, now stop distracting me, I need to get these in the oven,” A blush crept onto your face under the heat of his gaze.

“How am I distracting you? I’m just having a conversation with you… unless you’re analysing my body again,” his mouth curved into a smile. You were never going to live that down.

“No!” you said a little too loud as you spun back around to continue rolling the dough.

Rúben moved to stand beside you, his back leaning against the countertop as he intently watched you roll the dough.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you muttered sarcastically, but nonetheless he takes his phone out, opens the camera and takes a candid photo of you in your element.

“Did you seriously— I didn’t actually mean it,” You explained incredulously after hearing the camera shutter sound from Rúben’s phone.

“I know,” he stared proudly at the photo on his phone, earning an eye roll from you.

“Make yourself useful and help me roll the cookie dough,” you plastered on a fake smile as you pushed the bowl of mixture a little to your right. The two of you rolled the dough in a comfortable silence, your hands often brushing whenever either of you took the dough from the bowl, each touch sending a fluttering sensation to your stomach.

“Am I doing this right?” it was impossible to resist a smile when you saw Rúben furrowing his brows, his forehead crinkling in concentration for such a simple thing.

“Yeah, that's perfect and then just put it on this tray,” you pushed the baking tray lined with greaseproof paper closer to Rúben.

When the tray was full of cookie dough, you slid it into the oven to bake for approximately 10-12 minutes. In the meantime, Rúben started to pile the dishes in the sink as you wiped the marble countertop of flour you spilled when measuring out the ingredients.

“Only the dishes left now,” after cleaning the last of the mess, you turned to face Rúben, whose eyes fell to the corner of your mouth.

“You have a little something on your face,” Rúben leans in, his thumb wiping chocolate off your face, which was most likely from those chocolate chips you were practically inhaling. When that was done, Rúben didn't move away. His thumb glided along your bottom lip as his gaze lingered on your lips and then darted to your eyes. You were unable to look away as a sense of longing and anticipation filled his eyes. The air around you thickened as you inhaled shakily, feeling your heart race before parting your lips slightly. 

“Rúben, I…,” you leaned in closer until the gap was almost non-existent, “... I need to check on the cookies,” you teasingly whispered against his lips, a glint of mischief flashing in your eyes before casually walking towards the oven, pretending to be unfazed by the past few minutes.

Rúben bit his lip, shaking his head amusedly as he knew you were teasing him as payback for earlier. The cookies had barely been in the oven for 5 minutes so they definitely would not be done so soon.

Two can play that game, Rúben taking it as a challenge.

As you bent down to open the oven door, you subtly lifted up your shirt to make sure Rúben had a good view of your ass. If you knew that he would be spending the weekend here, you would have packed some sexy silk pyjamas, but you had to make do with what you had now. You 'inspected' the doneness of the cookies, standing in that position for a little longer than necessary.

"Nope, they still need some time," you shut the oven door and propped yourself on the countertop, a grin on your face.

"I know what we can do until then,'' Rúben walked towards you, standing between your legs as he mindlessly traced invisible patterns on your bare skin. A rush of pink stained your cheeks as your pulse quickened with each caress.

"Yeah?" You breathed, feeling his hands travel higher up your thighs. With each touch, your heart pounded louder and louder, to the point that you were convinced Rúben could hear it.

"Yeah," Rúben inched nearer to you, his lips dangerously close to yours as your noses gently brushed. The two of you waited for the other to make the move, but you were equally as stubborn, and Rúben knew that too. So instead, he tilted his head to the side, his breath hot against your ear when he softly said, "you can wash up and I'll watch."

"Or you can shut up and kiss me," Rúben’s head snapped back in your direction, his mouth agape as he blinked slowly, surprised at your blatant statement. You froze, eyes widening at the realisation of what you said.

"Did I just say that out loud?" Shit. 

"You did," A smirk was playing on Rúben's lips, that smug smirk that vexed you beyond comparison. 

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around Rúben's neck as you pulled him in for a kiss. He didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, a fleeting smile on his lips since he has finally felt your lips against his. Rúben’s hands swiftly travelled down to your waist, pulling your body closer. He needed to feel every inch of you. The kiss started off slow and gentle but grew more heated the longer you kissed. Reluctantly, you pull away, missing the warmth of the kiss almost instantly.

"That, uh, wasn't a kiss by the way," you mumbled breathlessly, "I was just getting rid of that stupid smirk," you bit your bottom lip, trying to hide the smile on your face.

"Just admit it Y/N, you like me,"  Rúben’s gaze locked with yours for a brief second.

"No, you admit it," your voice barely a whisper as you avoided eye contact. Your hands trail down to fidget with the chain that rested on Rúben’s collarbones, his muscles tensing under your fingertips caressing his chest.

"You already know how I feel about you,"

"I need to hear you say it," you found the courage to look into his eyes which glistened with nervousness.

"I like you Y/N, like a lot and I didn't say anything before because I didn't know how you felt about me but the more time I spend with you, the more I know you feel it too. So tell me, am I wrong to think that?"

"No," you breathed, shaking your head, still gazing deep into his eyes.

"So… you like me back?" hope tinged in Rúben’s voice.

"Yeah…” you started quietly, “but when you said you like me a lot, I like you a little less than a lot," Rúben narrowed his eyes in utter confusion, but when he finally understood what you said, he playfully rolled his eyes and kissed you.

"You should've just stopped at yeah," he chuckled against your lips. Conveniently, the oven timer started beeping, which meant the cookies were ready.

"Rúben, let go of me," you giggled as he peppered gentle kisses on your neck, "the cookies will burn or worse, my brother might wake up." 

Rúben stopped in his tracks, freezing on the spot for a split second before throwing himself across the kitchen. He frantically searched for the oven gloves and took the cookies out, leaving them to cool. The smell of freshly baked cookies surrounding the kitchen as Rúben made his way back to you.

"There, cookies are out, now, where were we?" 

[0oolookitsme]

Title- My Good Girl

Type- One-Shot

Verse- Footballer!Harry x ArtDirector!Y/n

Warnings- SMUT!! [Daddy kink, Praise kink, masturbation, pussy eating, teasing, a slight indication of sub/dom], fluff and a sprinkle of angst!

Word Count- 4.3k

A/n- Hiya! I spent WEEKS on this one (not months, just weeks). I was in a writer's block for like 3 months basically and it feels fuckin' marvellous to be back in my writing element! This is like the longest and probably the best smut I've written so far! I really hope you enjoy this one <3

Also, this is my first time writing in 2nd person so I ask you to go easy on me for that <3

And thank you, @imaddicted2hs for requesting: Ok here we are ;) I'm a whore for bsf harry😩 Like do anything as they are bsfs blah blah then one dayyy harry just sees y/n touching herself and he decides to help uff Now idk if u include kinks but mean Dom!h or daddy kink with praise kink is just 🤌 to me. Fanks ily<3 | Thank YOU so much for being so patient and supportive!! <3

Sitting on the couch in the living room, you scroll through your phone mindlessly. Getting bored, you continued slipping down until the arm of the couch played as your pillow. Harry is out to bring pastry as per your request (or begging, as he would correct) and because he had made you swear, you couldn’t exactly start the show without him.

The hand that's on your tummy crawls down your lower tummy. You were sure it wouldn't take much long as you haven't exactly touched yourself in a week; yeah, period things.

You suck on your fingers to get them wet before slipping them under your panties. Starting to rub fast circles on your clit right then to get wet faster and finish this without getting caught, your eyes shut down as your hips buckle up due the friction against the sensitive center of your nub.

Soft moans in a low voice escape your mouth while you increase the speed, breathing as though you aren't inhaling but only exhaling.

Lifting your feet, you quickly throw the blanket situated on your feet on top of your lower half as you tried to make a lump around the area of blanket that's supposedly over your crotch with the free hand. Once satisfied, your hand comes to cup your breast as you push your other hand's finger inside and collect some of your arousal.

The feeling of the warm wetness on the bundle of nerves pulls a low moan from you, your walls clenching around nothing as the knot in your tummy starts to form and go lower and lower with each tight circle.

Harry on the other hand, closes the door behind him very silently and tip-toes towards the living room, planning on scaring you. Though the moment a soft mewl reaches his ears when he's just one foot away from entering the hall, makes him question his decision.

Slowly, he places the pastry box on the floor, right beside his feet, and normally walks inside the room as though if he did get caught, he will be able to play the card that he just didn't know. But when he catches the sight of you basically chasing your orgasm, he can't help but try and fold his leg in front of his other one to somehow hide his semi-hard dick. The weight on it itself makes him exhale in quite satisfaction.

He leans on the door-frame and takes in your sight. You look just like he had once imagined you would when playing with yourself. A certain flush which rarely appears playing under your eyes, lips red from biting your moans down on them as though you had put on lipstick of the shade, and finally, the sheen layer of sweat making an appearance on you hairline while your eyes stay screwed shut.

He doesn't know if he should go and ask you if he can help you out or let you finish and pretend he never saw this? His feet start walking in towards the play like they have a mind of their own and before he knows, he's clutching on the head of the sofa and leaning in a little.

"You want some help here?" He asks and instantly regrets when your eyes snap open, your shoulders sulk down, and you groan in embarrassment to lighten it but the atmosphere just tenses up more. "Yes or no, Y/n?" he asks another question and then, the way you look at him from the position you are in, just makes him feel himself get heavier.

"Uh.. obviously no, H... I mean- no right?" You hesitate, secretly wiping your arousal on your panties and bringing your hand up on your tummy. "Maybe? Ah, I don't know! This is stupid!" Groaning, you get up on your knees on the sofa, grateful that the fluffiness of it didn't disbalance you, and grab the curls on the nape of his neck in your fist.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" You both ask each other at the same time and chuckle lightly. "Fuck it," You mumble under your breath and catch the breath Harry exhales in surprise, sealing his mouth shut with yours.

You feel his hands slide at the back of your hips and slip further down.

Hooking his hand under your knees, he wraps your legs around his waist. Blindly he starts towards the staircase, lips sucking on your tongue and hands coming to rest just above your ass. The sound of his sharp inhales mix along with your fast exhales as his one hand slides up your back to your neck, pushing your face closer to his. His fingers softly weaved through your hair, nails scratching your scalp. He catches you by surprises when he harshly tugs on the strands wrapped like snakes along his hand, making you whimper lightly against his lips.

Pressing your crotch firmly on his belt’s buckle, you start moving your hips in an up-and-down motion, a moan escaping past your lips and floating away in thin air as his head stayed ducked down in the crook of your neck, biting down and sucking hickeys, licking them over with his wet tongue to calm the burning sensation yet it somehow increased the tingles in your lower belly.

He kicked open the door and slammed it shut the same way. Before you could dictate what was gonna happen next, your back was greeted with the cool surface of the door with a sharp force, his hand behind your head preventing it from hurting you. Your lips stretch in a shy and nervous smile when he raises his head, eyes burning with lust scanned your eyes. You aren’t quite sure if your cheeks feel on fire because of the eye contact or the way he pressed your hips onto the door, stopping any motion that could reach you clitoris.  

“Gonna let me take care of you?” he asked, blinking so innocently as though he didn’t already know the answer. Receiving his answer in the form of an shy hum from you didn’t seem to satisfy him and it was clear when he cupped your jaw. The cool metal of his rings pleasing the burning skin of your face.  

“Yea-yeah,” you muster up, sighing in embarrassment when a side of his lips curve up, forming in a smirk.

“Jesus, the things you do to me,” he mutters under his breath before catching the breath you sharply exhaled. Removing his hands from where they were stopping you from grinding, he pushes your hips back towards his belt. Turning you both around, he walks a few steps before detaching your mouths. The light bedsheet on the mattress fluffs up with air around your hips before settling back down. He lays you down by pressing his hand on your chest. Hair scattered everywhere, he again wraps them in his fist to raise your face up.

Your eyes scan his face, noticing his plump and swollen pink lips, a light flush on his cheeks and the light frown that adds up to the lust and a certain feeling his eyes carry. All the lust leaking from his breath and still his features held the gentle stardust in them. Feeling comfortable and confident enough, you rise a little before grabbing the hem of your shirt. Thinking about taking it off slowly, you mumble a ‘fuck it’ before hastily taking it off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Grabbing his head, you greedily engulf his lips for another make out, sucking on his lips while undoing his belt. And, he’s quick to point it out, too. “Eager, are we?” he taunts with a lopsided grin before he is wrapping his hand around your throat again. “Don’t make the mistake of rolling your eyes at me ever again, love,” he firmly states, winking at you after ending as his big hand now situated itself in the valley of you breasts.  

Lowering his head, he drags his lips down your throat to beside his hand. Seeing your hands clutching onto the sheets while your back archs up, he notices your hips buckling up to meet with his upper thigh, he grabs your hand with the one he had your hair wrapped around and guides your fingers into his locks. Moaning against your skin when you pull onto his hair, his hand crawls to your side and then to your back, undoing your bra’s hook.

Very slowly and gently, as if savoring the moment, he slides the bra off your breasts and rises up. Inhaling deeply while his eyes stayed glued on the sight, he exhales just as deep breath. “Fuck me. You’re so beautiful, so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice not able to rise above the octave for some reason at the moment.

By now, you were sure your arousal was pooling in your panties and are breathing embarrassingly heavily.  

Grabbing one of your tits, he pinches its nipple. The harsh pain just shooting down between your legs. His tongue swirls around the nipple of your other boob, while he rolls the other one in between his fingers. Satisfied after marking it, he moves onto the other one, not being able to leave it un-sucked and unmarked.

Wiping his saliva off the sides off his mouth with the back off his hand, he stares down at your body. Eyes moving down from your throat to your breasts, all with a proud smirk. “You look good like this,” he says, bringing his eyes back up to keep them in contact with you. Licking his lips, he continues. “Under me. Covered in the hickeys I gave you,” emphasizing on the ‘I’.

“Fuck me already, H. Please.” You say out in a rush, not being able to contain it anymore.

An amused chuckle left his mouth. “What did you just say, darling? Didn’t quite catch it,” he says after clearing his throat, clearly teasing.

“Need you, now,” you say instantly, regretting it when his eyes narrow. He repeats your statement before adding a ‘what?’ Confusion encircles your mind before the realization dawns on your face. “..Daddy?”  

“I was referring to please, but you can call me that if you want to,” he admits, a tinge of pink spreading on the tips of his ears. Eyes not being able to break contact, not after he catches that glint in your eyes. “Fuck me, daddy,” you mewl out for him, a smirk forming on your lips this time.

His lips copy your smirk and hands slide down your tummy. “I want to taste you first, though. Need to taste ya.” He says, untying your trousers’ knot, slowly. Settling down properly after spreading your legs apart, a small frown forms in between his brows. “Raise your hips for me, love.”  

Feeling your arousal stick back to your pussy from where it had dripped down on your underwear, you do as you were told. You watch him take off his tee, your eyes immediately dropping down onto his detailed abs, admiring the way they just tightened. Eyes blinking, you’re brought back to the moment by his chuckle.

“Like what you see?” You almost roll your eyes at this, almost. The warning he gave you earlier stopping you. He raises his brows, clearly expecting an answer. “They’re just hot, your abs. S’ all.” You say and fireworks erupt in your lower belly when he leans down, your lips just touching.

Motioning his lips with more effort so your lips could rub with his, he exhales from his mouth. “You can ride them some other day,” he whispers, his hand now cupping your clothed mound.  

You grind up on his hand when he kept it still. Heavy breath puffing out of your mouth, eyes shutting down in pleasure. What causes you to open them right back and frown was his act of pressing you down on the mattress with his palm still covering your covered crotch. “So eager for me.” You hear him grit under his breath as though he was trying to control something or perhaps someone; himself. Just as the tips of his fingers start with heavy circles on your clitoris, your irises roll back.

He slides your panties to the side with his thumb before pressing his middle finger down, watching the way it gets engulfed in between your puffy folds with wetness, with sinful eyes. Moving his finger as though calling someway his way, he collects some arousal before sinking two fingers inside you.

Harry moves them in and out of you at a slow pace before he’s taking your underwear off hastily and laying down, supporting himself on his elbows. “Smell so good,” he moans out and leans closer. Situating his tongue at your slit after spreading your lips apart, he moves it up, taking a flat lick. His warm tongue clouding your mind.

“Taste so good,” he confirms and continues to moan against your pussy, lapping at it at a slow pace, taking his time. He pushes two fingers inside you once again, feeling your walls wet them. He once again, collects some arousal while still teasing your clit. “Open your pretty mouth and suck.” He demands, his finger weighing down on your lips. He watches as a drop falls down on your chin, trailing down your neck, with greedy eyes. Though they snap back up when he feels your tongue go swirling around his fingers.

You moan while sucking on his fingers slick with your arousal, feeling him press them down on your tongue. “Good girl,” he praises and pulls his fingers out, causing your lips to drag till the very tip of them. Bringing his hand back beside his face, he places it on your inner thigh.    

His lips encircle around your nub, sucking on it while the tip of his tongue massaged the sensitive center. Eyes still in contact with yours, he watches as you fall back down on the mattress with a light thud, eyes rolled at the back of your head.

His mouth hangs over your mound as his tongue takes continuous laps over your swollen clit, fingers knuckles deep in you as he continues to push them in and and pull them back out. Continuously touching your front wall in a ‘come hither’ motion, he feels you clench around him as your hips raise back up, thighs almost closing around his head as you felt yourself about to blast when he pulls your fingers out of you and mouth just hovers above your pussy, tongue licking your arousal from around his mouth. 

“Why,” you cry out, fists still clenching the sheets as your walls suddenly clenched around nothing. 

A small humourless chuckle leaves his mouth and he presses a feather light kiss on your lower tummy. “Been so patient for this, not gonna let me take my time with ya?”

You nod, whimpering again before your eyes open when a sharp pain shoots through your body when he slaps your cunt. "Use your words," he states not sharply but not so softly either.

"of co- of course, daddy," you moan out, your eyes breaking contact with his due to not being habitual to using the term 'Daddy'.

He hums back response before his fingers enter you once again and after two thrusts, he picks up the pace. His face situates itself in between your thighs, his nose exhaling cold air down your mound as as he feasts on your pussy, licking and sucking and grazing his teeth on the flush skin, in middle of it all.

His eyes catch the sight of your hands crawling down your stomach and up his shoulders and before he knows, a low moan is escaping his mouth as your fingers fist around his locks. Slowly and slowly, he gazes at you mustering up some courage before you're grinding up and against his mouth.

"Fuck yeah. Ride my fucking face," his voice comes out in a gruffy form before he buries his head deeper, his nose brushing against your clit every once in a while as he slurps all of your arousal, fingers moving faster and faster with each thrust while your thighs quiver like mad on either sides of his head.

Loud moans and cries of his name leave your mouth like some memorized prayer. The knot in your tummy moving lower, burning more and starting to lose up as the seconds pass. "Oh Daddy." A tear slips out of your eye when his ring clad hand comes up and kneeds your boob, the cold rings making your toes curl.

A tease-y pinch on your hardened nipple and it has you screaming his name. "I'm gonna cum daddy, gonna cum!" And you regret saying that out loud when his movements come to halt.

"Gonna cum with daddy princess, daddy only," he whispers before taking his fingers in his mouth, sucking on your sweet and salty arousal and moaning as his eyes roll back and shut down.

In the mean while, tears brim up to your waterline as your walls, once again, clench around nothing. "Wanted to cum daddy," you say, not realizing that your voice had barely been above a whisper.

Harry's eyes snap up at you when your voice reaches his ears and he's quickly shuffling up on his knees to reach you, his body now hovering over yours. "Don't cry sweetheart, been such a good girl for me, yeah? Gonna cum this time with daddy, hmm?" He asks in a soft voice, fingers removing the strands of hair away from your face and tucking them behind your ear. Leaning down, he presses his lips to your forehead, then to your nose before kissing both of your flushed out and tear stained cheeks and finally, pulls your lips in between his teeth and lets go, kissing on them softly.

He raises up, body supported by his knees which are situated quite far apart and right at the inside of your thighs to keep them away from touching. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, and without much he is sliding his pants off and throwing them on the floor towards the foot of the bed, behind him.

You watch his hardened dick's swollen tip and as he strokes himself a few times before lining up some your arousal on the head, pulling a low sigh from you. He teases at the slit a bit, slapping your wet cunt with his heavy dick. You let your body fall back down and feel him entering slowly.

Once he is fully in, he pulls out just as slowly, a moan escaping past his pink lips in the process while he stops to keep his head in. "Fuck. You feel so good," he slurs out, as though drunk in some haze. He slams back in and sets a slow pace, leaning down to keep his body just above yours. Searching for your hands, he sheepishly intertwines his big ones with yours, his face going straight to your neck where he starts sucking marks on the un-kissed skin.

"Taking me all in so well. My good girl, that's a good fucking girl," he smirks, voice coming out rougher as he sits back up to glance at the point you two meet.

Gradually, he picks up the pace. Each thrust lands deep inside you as his pubic hair meets with your sensitive clit.

A series of curse words and loud moans leave your mouth as you start to feel the knot in your tummy once again.

"I can’t hear you. Louder, baby," he urges you once as he himself feels himself getting near the edge. Seeing you all fucked underneath him does such things to him that he believes he's going to cum within ten minutes after having your velvety walls enclose around him.

"Fuck Harry- sorry Daddy. Just like that Daddy, right there," you instantly moan out when his tips nudges that particular spot.

"Yeah, there? Feel me in here?" he asks, placing his hand on your lower tummy while increasing the pace even more, now hitting your G-spot with each thrust in.

"Yeah- holy- oh, fuck yeah," you stutter out, your breath growing more and more uneven with each passing second before you feel his mouth latch onto your boob while he kneeds the other one with his free hand. He sucks softly, opposite to where his hand is probably going to leave a mark on your hips.

“I love it when you moan because of me,” he mumbles out before engulfing your lips with his, biting at them and swiping his tongue across them. Your quivering thighs wrap around his hips tightly to pull him impossibly close before he nudges you spot harshly and has you screaming out his name and 'Daddy', and coming undone on his cock. Your hands slowly fall back to your side, nails scratching his back in the process.

"Holy shit," he grits when he feels you completely soak him as he lets go, shooting warm ropes of his cum inside you, coating your walls with it.

Also tired, he lays down on your body, hand encircling around your waist to hold you close to him. He tilts his body to the side, causing both of you to have one arm pressed against the mattress and another am wrapped around each other's sticky and sweaty bodies, immediately molding together.

"Let's clean up and then you can sleep, yeah?" Harry softly mumbles, getting up, and holds his arms out for you to climb on his upper body. "So sensitive," he hears you silently cry out to him, causing him to kiss your ear lobe and rub your back a few times.

Exhausted, you just hum back in response, letting him carry you till the bathroom and help you sit on the toilet seat to pee. "Where are you going?" You tiredly ask him when he starts to move out of the bathroom, a cell in your body scared that he will too, leave like all the other guys.

"Just bringing some cold water for ya." He sends a flying kiss towards you.

Tears brim up at your waterline before you're quickly pressing down the flush and going towards the sink to splash some water on your sweaty face. Realizing that your body is practically dripping with sweat, you turn the shower's tap instead, letting the water wash away all the saliva and sweat off your body.

It isn't long enough when you start to squat a little to clean your pussy when the door swings open and incomes a softly smiling Harry. "Can I join you? Like, I want to help you and- oh my god I'll just go out and wait-"

"Come in, please," you softly cut him off, watching him go a deep shade of red and you can't quite believe that this is the man who was just dominating you. He happily jogs in and under the shower, wrapping his hands around you waist and placing his chin on top of your head when you place it on his chest.

"Wait do you wanna sit down?" He asks in a voice laced with care and concern. He doesn't even wait for your answer before he's taking the soap and the loofa off the stand, and sitting down on the bathroom floor. "Come sit," he offers and happily lets you sit in his lap.

Light scrubbing on your back begins and before you know it, you are sniffling. "No one's ever taken such care of me, not after we had sex and you Harry- you are so good to me," you tell him in a croaky voice, trying to not have a breakdown right then and there. You feel his arm that was placed on your tummy push you closer to his front before his face comes to rest at the cervix of your neck.

"They were douchebags, fuckin' stupid assholes. I will always take care of you, Y/n Y/l/n, never gonna leave ya alone." He confesses, washing off your back and the whole upper half.

He finishes with your thighs and between your thighs quickly enough to wash his own body and wraps you up in a towel.

You pass him the extra pair of clothes he had left at your house incase an unexpected sleepover occurs and dress yourself up in one of his tie-dyed tee and put on some shorts. You turn around after dabbing some essential oil and moisturizer on your face to find him under the blanket, looking in your direction with a similar look. The look he gave you before you two kissed on Christmas as well as on the New-years.

You lay down beside him and immediately curl up into him. "You know that I love you, right?" You mumble from practically under Harry, fingers tapping away on his chest. "Mhm. And I love you too," He replies back in a soft tone, hand coming cradle your cheek.

He doesn't expect you to say anything so when you do start, he's caught a little off-guard.

"We didn't talk after we kissed on Christmas till New-years, the day we had our second kiss. And after the New-year kiss, we couldn't face each other for a whole month and Harry ..I- I don't want to lose you again," you carefully spill, hoping he feels the same way as you and fail at swallowing down your sniffling and silent voices that come out from the back of your throat.

"Let us commit to each other, then. I know it sounds cowardly when I say this after having sex with you but I've been wanting us to be together for quite a while now." He confesses, raising your chin up with his thumb and index finger to have an eye-contact with you. "I meant every single 'I love you' I've ever told you, which is three times," he chuckles and leans down to press a soft kiss onto you lips.

"Let me take you out on a proper date tomorrow, y/n."

"Don't forget to bring me a Rose. A red Rose," you reply back, a grin spreading out on your face as you speak.

- - -

Don't forget to reblog and give feedback if you like this! <3

PS: The 'R' button on my keyboard has grown quite tight for some reason so I apologize if a few words were missing the 'r's. Though I did make corrections while proof-reading, there still might be some errors. <3