#and then he and Fizz make up later on

[trashogram]

🦎🤡+🦉

[helluvahotmess]

'I want you to continue to be who you are.' what if i fucking died what then

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.1K]

Jealousy, reassurance and Steve. Prompts: “why didn’t you tell me where you were?” And “I’m not being overdramatic.” Was this supposed to be a 500 word prompt? Yes, we don’t talk about it.

You hated it, you hated it, you hated it.

It was a gross feeling, an awful sensation that felt thick like tar, clinging to your chest, enough of it to make you ache and feel heavy. It crawled up your throat, making you feel too hot and by the time you’d spotted your boyfriend in the food court, standing talking to a pretty blonde girl, the lunch you’d brought him had went cold in your hand.

Anxiety? Perhaps not. Jealousy? You hated that that emotion seemed to sit better on your tongue, bitterly so.

And when Steve waited for you in his car later, the engine running and the heating on full so it was warm enough for you, jealousy still clung to you in an ugly way.

“Hey, babe,” Steve greeted as you slumped into the passenger seat. He was reading the back of a new cassette tape, absent minded as he scratched off the price sticker and leaned over to give you a kiss. He didn’t seem to notice - or mind - that you turned and gave him your cheek. “How was work?”

You hummed, non committal and fussed with your bag, pushing it down into the footwell. “Was fine,” you mumbled. “Yours?”

You wondered if this was when Steve admitted to rendezvousing with a girl in secret, if he’d try to deny it. The logical part of your brain told you that there was absolutely nothing secret about meeting someone in the middle of the busy food court on a Saturday afternoon, but the jealous bubble that had grown inside of you was having none of it. It grew and grew, a blue-green ball that took up all the cracks and crevices between your ribs until it felt like you’d burst from the pressure.

Steve was backing out of the parking space, his arm thrown around your headrest and he nodded, eyes on the rear window. “Yeah, yeah, it was alright. Got busy after lunch so it wasn’t too slow, y’know?”

“Right.” You nodded, suddenly finding breathing a weary task. Your throat was tight, your eyes hot. Lunch. “I, uh— I came to visit you on mine. My lunch.”

Steve blinked, chancing a quick glance at you now he was on the straight road back to Hawkins. He blinked in surprise. “You did? I hate that I missed you, babe, m’sorry.” His hand found your knee and squeezed. “I must’ve been in the back or something.”

You didn’t say anything. Not for a few minutes. Because Steve was your first real relationship you didn’t know the rules and you didn’t know what to say and you’d never, ever experienced the kind of fizzing, hot dread that was clawing at your throat—

“Did you go out at lunch?”

Steve turned to look at you once more, a fleeting glance with knitted brows and a small, if not unsure, smile on his face. You were being weird. Your voice was quieter than normal, soft and formal all at once and you hadn’t put your hand over his as it sat on your knee still.

“Yeah,” he told you, wondering why you asked. “I forgot mine at home, ran to the food court and grabbed some fries.” His thumb rubbed over you. “Must’ve been when I missed you, huh?”

“Mmm,” you hummed again, head ducked, fingers tangled in your lap. Steve was frowning. “Did you go back to the store? After?”

“What?” It was becoming harder to concentrate on the road. The street lights flickered to life as the evening set in and the orange-white glow of them made the wet in your eyes shine. Steve was alarmed, wondering why on earth you looked like you were close to tears. “Baby— after I got my fries? I mean, yeah?”

Steve would’ve almost missed the way your bottom lip trembled if he hadn’t slowed for the stop sign. “Honey? What? What’s going on?”

You broke then, watery eyes and lip tucked between your teeth as you tried not to let out the audible sob that was stuck in your throat. It was a silly thing, to feel such intense emotions, especially over a scenario you knew little about, but that heavy feeling had clawed at your chest all day and you felt smaller than you ever had, too hot and itchy to be in your own skin and something - somehow - had to get out—

“Baby,” Steve was more than alarmed now, wide eyed as he pulled over to the side of the road, the wheel turning dramatically in his hands as he killed the engine and unbuckled his belt. “Baby, what is it, huh? C’mon, talk to me—“

He was leaning over the console to you, brown eyes shining with concern as one big hand chased your wet cheek, pushing at you softly until you lifted your chin for him. Steve made a soft noise at the sight of you, glassy eyed and huffing as you tried to tamper down your shaky breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were?” It wasn’t what you had planned to say, but it was the only thing that made it past your lips in the moment.

The boy’s face crumbled in confusion, brows creased. “At lunch? I did…what?”

You sniffed, immediately feeling silly but you were too far gone, too deep in. You swiped hastily as your cheeks, too meanly for Steve’s liking and he chased your fingers with much kinder ones.

“You said you went back to the store,” your breath hitched, a shuddering thing as you pulled in a gasp of air. God, this was so silly, this was so stupid. Your body burned. “After your lunch— you said you went back.”

Steve looked at you a little plainly, the little gears that most men had in their heads whirring into overdrive. He looked confused, grasping at your words and trying to decipher what they meant. “Yeah?” He tried weakly.

“But I saw you,” another hiccup, another fresh tear that you managed to catch before Steve did and the boy frowned deeper when you pulled your face away from his touch. “I saw you in the food court, you were talking to a girl.”

You were very aware of how childish the sentence was as it left your lips. But you were tired, defeated. You’d held onto the jealousy and fear and anxiety all day and now that it was out, you were exhausted, shoulders slumping and mouth twisted into a pout that Steve really wanted to be able to kiss away.

But recognition settled over him at your words and his lips fell into a small ‘o’ of understanding. He tried not to smile, he really did, knowing how much it would upset you further, so he pressed his lips together and nodded before speaking.

“You saw me with Tammy Thomson.” It wasn’t a question.

You sniffed and shrugged, suddenly playing indifference now you knew the blondes name.

“Baby,” Steve tried again, bringing his hand back up to sweep along your jaw, his thumb pushing gently against your cheek. It was a fond touch, dripping in affection and you so wanted to lean into it. “She was an old school friend.”

You scoffed. You might have not went to Hawkins High like Steve had, but you’d had enough conversations with Robin and Eddie to know the list of people that had crushed hard on Steve. Tammy Thomson’s name had come up on serval occasions.

“You weren’t going to tell me you ran into her?” You mumbled, staring at your skirt.

Steve floundered for a second, lips moving without sound as he tried to find the right words before settling on the honest to gods truth. “I actually kinda forgot.” He shrugged, apologetic. “I wasn’t thinking about it. It, uh, it wasn’t an important part of my day, y’know?”

Embarrassment washed over you in a hot, sticky curtain, leaving you just as teary as before. You hated what you were insinuating with your words, what you were accidentally accusing Steve of. He wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, despite what your brain had told you all day. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“God— urgh,” your eyes watered again but you squeezed the heel of each palm to them before the tears could fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I, I’m sorry. Can you take me home? Please.”

The car drop sat at the side of the road, the inside cooler now the engine wasn’t running and you hated the idea of someone you knew driving by and seeing your tear stricken face - or worse, thinking that at this was the spot you’d chosen to make out with your boyfriend.

Although, you’d much prefer that right now.

“Hey, hey,” Steve’s voice was achingly soft and closer than before as he moved in. His hands found your wrists and gently pulled them away from your face, easing the pressure you’d put on your poor, swollen eyes. “C’mon now, talk to me? Please?”

You blinked as the world and the boy came back into view, lip still trembling and you felt too soft, too delicate, way too vulnerable. Steve’s gaze was just as gentle though, kinder than you thought you deserved.

“I shouldn’t have—“

Accused? Spied? You weren’t sure what you were going to say but Steve interrupted you regardless. “Wanna know what I was thinking about?” His thumbs stroked over the soft skin on the inside of your wrists as he held them between you both. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You.”

You could’ve cried again if Steve had let you, but he seemed to sense the stuttering of your chest and he smiled, a little teasing, a lot loving. “You, fries - of course, how much I hate my boss, where I wanted to take you out for dinner tomorrow, how I heard about this new movie I thought you’d like.”

Adoration filled the cavernous space your jealousy had once been.

“I think about you a lot,” Steve told you, grimacing playfully like it was something shameful and secretive. It made you smile, head falling forward to rest against your joined hands. “It’s sick, actually, right?”

You nodded, face still hidden and joining in on the joke because you didn’t know what else to do or say. Not in the car at least. Maybe, you thought, when you got back home you’d invite the boy in and cover him in kisses. Apologetic ones, loving ones, doting ones, from head to toe if you had to.

“You okay?” He asked, more serious now. “Can you look at me?”

How could say no?

You lifted your head and Steve tutted, lips pressed thin as he took in your puffy eyes and tear streaked cheeks. He used your hands in his to wipe away the damp tracks, so much softer than you’d done before, making you treat yourself with so much more care and kindness.

He raised his brows, waiting on an answer.

“I’m okay,” your voice was raspy from emotion and you coughed, embarrassed. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head shrugging. “It’s okay. Just— just talk to me next time, yeah? Don’f tiptoe around what’s making you sad, babe. I wanna be able to fix it for you.”

You nodded, still aching with all the emotion, both good and bad. The self conscious side of you couldn’t help but ask, “do you think I was being overdramatic?”

Steve’s lip quirked up, something he managed to tame quickly. He frowned, leaning in to press a kiss at your hot cheek. “You?” He murmured into your skin, nose pressed to the soft skin by your mouth. “Overdramatic? My crybaby? Since when?”

There was laughter laced in his words, a light teasing you’d taken months to get used to but you recognised it for what it was. Fondness, familiarity, a way to break the heavy tension and make you smile.

So you did, lips lifting and brows crinkling all at the same time. “I’m not being overdramatic!” You watched Steve grin as he started the car again, looking both ways before pulling back into the lane. “I thought— I thought you were—”

“What?” Steve glanced at you, grinning. He caught your hand and lifted it to his lips, stamping a kiss on the back of it and held it on your lap, not letting go. “You thought I was gonna get my fries and runaway with Tammy Thomson? Never to return?”

You didn’t say anything, you just say back in the chair and tried not to pout, because, yeah, that’s exactly what you thought. You just hated how stupid it sounded coming from someone’s mouth and not your own head.

“And leave you?” Steve tutted, head shaking as he kept up the playful tone. There was a lot of love on his eyes when he looked over at you. “Baby, c’mon now.”

[blitzwhore]

Never forget that in this moment we don't just hear the first note of Stolas Speaks (Stolas' theme song). We also hear the click of a camera as it takes a photograph.

And, sure, this makes sense, because dozens of reporters are documenting this moment, and more clicks can be heard moments later as Stolas is taken into the hospital.

But the reason we hear a click right at the same time as Blitz sees Stolas' feathers is the same reason time suddenly slows down for a split second. It's because this moment, this instant of realisation, is etching itself in Blitz's mind, and he will never forget it.

It's the moment he realises he's failed Stolas.

He's failed to show up. Failed to protect him. Failed to be there when Stolas needed him.

Just the same way he failed Fizz, and his mom, and Barbie. All moments that have haunted him for 15 years. Their photo going up in flames in his mind, over and over again every time he remembers the accident. And now this photo, too, will be tangible proof in his mind that he is doomed, that he is tainted. That he can't stop failing the ones he loves. That he will always make things worse.

He will never forgive himself for failing Stolas. It will never not haunt him a little bit. And, hopefully, he will never, ever let it happen again.

[lost-romantique]

Ghostfuckers Massive Lore Dump & More...

I'm stuck at work doing the graveyard shift, so I decided to make a list of all the lore that we learned in Ghostfuckers. Plus some extra cuz my fave character is Blitz, and I love him...

It has been one month since the events of Apology Tour. Blitz and Stolas have been NO CONTACT for one whole month.

I.M.P is on the verge of bankruptcy due to Blitzø’s poor spending habits. Past Due Notices are pasted on the whiteboard. Millie confirms later on that Blitzø has not paid her in a month.

(Honestly same, I also cope by buying stupid shit, but sweetie you gotta pay your employees)

Confirmation that Blitzø (at least by the beginning of Ghostfuckers) has given up on pursuing a relationship with Stolas.

Millie confirmed that there is only Heaven or Hell, there is no such thing as Purgatory. And there is no such thing as Ghosts.

The fact that Millie had to stress it out several times, even to Blitz that ghosts don't exist... is insane.

Confirmation that Blitzø is still following M&M on their dates, and that once again... Blitz sees love and relationships as a transaction.

Blitzø’s illiteracy and possibly having dyslexia is the gift that keeps on giving.

(Fun fact: Brandon Rogers is confirmed dyslexic)

Confirmation that Blitzø has genuine fears of M&M getting hurt when they do go on missions.

Blitzø’s mom is confirmed to have died from the fire, just in case it wasn't obvious already.

Confirmation that Moxxie met Blitz before he met Millie, and by extension, Blitzø adopted Loona before he met Moxxie.

Further confirmation that Blitzø owning his own business as an imp makes him an outlier.

The fact that Blitzø has to stress to Millie that he does in fact own his own business, but she keeps denying the possibility that, that even exists is insane.

Confirmation that I.M.P began the moment Blitzø was in possession of the grimoire. Therefore, Blitzø had Millie, Moxxie, and Loona to provide for by the time he met Stolas

So much of Hell's Hierarchy and the suppression of imps in general, is ingrained into Millie that she genuinely believes that she isn't deserving to work in an old ass building located in the Pride Ring (where the sinners live)

Confirmation that imps (and by extension hellhounds) are expected to work for someone higher up, whether it be the Sins, the Ars Goetia, or even other sinners and hellborn

Confirmation once again that Blitzø is genuinely considered an outlier among imps. Him owning a business gives him a sense of prestige among others of his own kind.

Confirmation that Millie's entire life is all thanks to Blitzø: a husband, a career, a future, a best friend. ❤️

Further confirmation of the existance of Blitzø’s mask. (People were genuinely surprised when they realized that there was more to Blitzø than asshole)

Confirmation of the existance of infestor demons that are presumably from the Envy Ring.

Confirmation that Cash Fuckzo was an abusive piece of shit that not only manipulated his own child, but physically abused him when he had fresh burn marks on his wrist

Confirmation that Cash Fuckzo was the man that kept Blitzø and Fizz apart for so long, essentially the reason why these men hated each other for 15 years.

Confirmation that even seeing M&M happy and in love genuinely hurts him because (in his mind) he could never have what they have.

Confirmation that the events of Seeing Stars hurt Blitzø’s feelings and reignites that fear his daughter hates him.

The amount of remorse, guilt, and regret this man feels is so palpable that it can power an entire fucking city.

By the end of the episode Blitzø makes a promise to Millie to stop trying to become their "third". Millie is shocked by his answer and genuinely did not expect it.

Blitzø confirms to Millie that he does indeed have feelings for Stolas, but he's aware enough to know that he still fucked things up with him.

The character development that Blitzø showed this episode was actually insane, and I am so proud of him. He has a long way to go before he could forgive himself for the fire and hate himself less, but nonetheless I am so proud of him.

Also, in case you were wondering my favorite part of the episode was Millie's apology to Blitzø.

[after-witch]

Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Title: Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Synopsis: You've made a lot of mistakes in Hell, but this one has to be the worst.

Birthday fic for @absolute-flaming-trash who is absolutely awesome!

word count: 1899ish

notes: yandere, abuse, obsessive behavior, humiliation, I'm joining the 'alastor yanks reader by a chain' club

Hell was full of mistakes, and you figured that yours amounted to a sizable chunk--particularly since meeting Alastor. Of the countless mistakes within that particular bucket, there were at least seven distinct mistakes that led you to this very moment. 

One. It was a mistake to thank Alastor for holding the door open for you, the day you entered some run-down market in search of a book. Your voice had been surprised and sweet and ever-so-thankful.

Two. It was a mistake to let him strike up a conversation with you a few minutes later, and not pay attention to the horrified looks that even the most hardened patrons in the shop gave you.

Three. It was a mistake, later on, to think he was your friend; to believe that the shared meals, the late night discussions about music and books and little topics you’d forgotten you enjoyed, were a sign of pleasant companionship. 

Four. It was a mistake to sell your soul to Alastor, after his honeyed offers of protection from the seedier elements of Hell, his casual assurance that your friendship would go unaltered. 

Five. It was a mistake to move into the Hotel when Alastor asked, and not think there was some ulterior motive behind it all. 

Six. It was a mistake to think Alastor was actually kind, just because he was helping Charlie with her hotel, and seemingly protected those within it. 

Seven. It was a mistake to, on this day, ask Alastor if he would give your soul back, now that you’d decided to aim for heaven. Because you were friends, and he cared about you, and therefore, he should want what’s best for you--which is to get (you pardon yourself the phrase) the hell out of Hell. 

Every one of these seven mistakes--the last, you must admit, being the most significant--led you to here. 

To you, trembling on the floor, the tangy copper of blood in your mouth from where your teeth rattled against the end of your tongue when Alastor’s palpable anger made your knees literally buckle. 

“I… I don’t understand,” you spit out, voice trembling as much as your body. “I thought--I thought you…” The words don’t need to be spoken for Alastor to know them.

I thought you liked me, I thought you were my friend, I thought you would be happy to do it.

“You thought what, exactly, my dear?” 

A low electric current buzzed in the air, making the lights flicker once, twice, and again before he continued.

“That I would simply let you go?” He laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about the sound. It was full of mockery and something else, something metal and cold. 

Your stomach squirmed awfully. It was not a feeling you’d ever experienced around Alastor, despite some other’s trepidation around him. He’d never given you a reason to feel that way.

Until today.

Until you asked Alastor to let your soul go, and the room seemed to fizz with electrical interference that left the lights sparking and 

Your eyes went wide. And your brain, stupid thing that it was, pieced things together that you had been all too naively eager to ignore until now. 

The stories of Alastor’s past that you’d heard in snatches and dismissed as jealous fantasy, probably all deriving from Vox and his ilk. The way people who knew Alastor from before his sabbatical tended to steer as clear of him as possible. 

Or how Alastor always insisted you try the things he liked--clothes he left in your room (even before you told him where you lived, before the Hotel); music he insisted you’d admire more than your current collection of alt-rock CDs; foods that were tastier, he said, than your favorites. 

“I didn’t think--” The words stuck to your mouth until you forced them out. “I didn’t think you’d be mad that I wanted to get better, repent and--and get out of here.”

Alastor, despite his smile, did not look impressed.

You didn’t have time to flinch as he swung his microphone down and out, pressing it against your throat.

“Don’t act surprised now. After all,” The microphone dug into the flesh of your neck, lifting your chin until you were looking at him through blurs of oncoming tears. He continued, voice softer, missing most of its usual radio sound. “You made me like this.” 

You wanted to shake your head, but the microphone kept you only capable of looking up and straight at him. His smile made you sick. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, voice light, but not quite naive anymore; you didn’t fully believe the words now, and your voice wavered. 

Even if you didn’t mean to do anything to draw the attention of the radio demon, that didn’t mean Alastor wasn’t clearly--wasn’t clearly… affected by you. In some way that you didn’t understand; moreover, you didn’t want to understand it. 

What you thought had been a surprising friendship made in the bowels of hell was something else entirely, and you hated the newfound knowledge. 

Whatever it was that Alastor actually felt for you, it was dark and awful, like sprinkles of mold you find underneath the bathroom sink. Damp and rotting and unwanted. 

“You,” he said, pressing the microphone harder into your throat for emphasis, “have been quite the busy bee when it comes to me, my dear.” He sighed in a way you’d heard him do a hundred times before. But now it feels wrong; sticky, oozing. “I’d never given much thought to… certain endeavors before you. And now I find myself distracted.”

His neck turned again, cracking, and a song began to play from somewhere. 

“Distracted?” You asked, feeling sicker and sicker. 

“Oh, yes,” he answered, dragging out the word. “Quite unlike me, if I must admit it. And yet there’s something about you that’s been making me…”

He didn’t finish. The song got louder, mingling in with the ambience of the room. It was almost soft and wistful, except for the lyrics that made your skin feel cold, repeating on a loop.

And you’re mine… mine… mine…

“And you thought…” His voice continued, each word punctuated by an awful radio crackle that made goosebumps blossom up your arms. “That you would get to simply leave me after all I’ve put into you?”

All he’s put into you.

The dresses, the food, the guidance on what to listen to and how to dance; who to talk to and who to avoid. Advice from a friend, you thought. Advice from someone stronger and maybe smarter.

“Well,” he said, almost cheery now, pulling the microphone away from your sore and probably bruising throat. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson and we can avoid this…” A crackle, short and low. “Unpleasantness in the future.”

You should have said that yes, you learned your lesson; yes, you won’t ask again. But you didn’t. Instead you swallowed hard, feeling the ache from where his microphone pressed in, and added an eighth mistake to your list.

“We can avoid it if you release me from my contract--if you give me back my soul.” 

“Well,” he repeated. And this time, his voice was muffled by a brief, shrieking radio frequency. “Perhaps a reminder is in order.”

The reminder came with cold metal choking your throat; a vivid green chain led straight from your imprisoned neck to Alastor’s hand. 

One trembling hand came up to feel the collar. It was real. It was there. And the chain, too, was solid and unbreakable. 

It was a shocking sight. 

You’d seen the chains of other owned souls before. Angel’s, in particular, when you’d accidentally witnessed an argument between him and Valentino. But there had never been a singular thought given to the fact that you, too, must have had chains. Alastor never showed them to you and until now, had never seen fit to remind you about your lack of freedom.

Until today.

Your surprise and fear made you stupid, and you tried to yank yourself away from him; he held fast to the chain and began to wind it around his hand, forcing you to look upwards, speaking all the while.

“You are never to ask me to release your contract again. And you are certainly never to even entertain the silly notion of leaving me, now or in the future. Do you understand?”

An awful, slimy feeling overtook your gut. He owned you, and he had owned you for some time. You just had been closing your eyes to that reality.

A reality that was now choking you.

“Well?”

You nodded. You didn’t think you could speak, not now. Not to him. 

But it wasn’t good enough. He yanked on the chain, choking you. 

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

“Yes.” The word was spoken through gritted teeth. It tasted like tears. 

“Yes what?”  The grin on his smile widened deceptively as he yanked against the chain, jerking your head upward. It hurt inside and out. 

It was so unfair, that your heart could hurt like this, even after you were dead. 

“Yes, sir.”

That should have been the end of it. He should have let go of the chain and let you slink off in fear and shame, off to sob in your bedroom over the sudden turn of events. 

Instead, he leaned down, and for a moment, his eyes glowed in a painful flash. 

“You can do better than that, my dear, can’t you, to the person that owns your very soul?” 

His hand wrapped around the chain, shortening it even further as he leaned in so close you could smell the rot around him. But it didn’t matter that you wanted to pull away from it, because he held you--literally, held the chains that kept you bound to him. Forever. 

Yes, he owned your soul. He owned you.

“Yes, boss?” you murmured, copying what Husker sometimes said; you were unable to look at him anymore as humiliated, hot tears spilled down your cheeks. 

In an instant, the chain was gone, and you fell to the ground with a clumsy thud. Your chin hit the hard floor before you could brace yourself with your hands. 

“Wonderful,” he said, praising, almost cooing. His neck cracked to the side and you imagined his bones shifting in impossible ways to achieve it. “I suppose I should remind you who you belong to when you get out of sorts like this, my dear.” His smile widened. “A healthy reminder now and then is good for the soul!” 

He laughed. Whether he thought it was a joke or not was unclear. 

“Although, I hope I won’t have to remind you too soon. I do so enjoy your company more when you’re not being…” He waved his hand in the air, glancing up at the ceiling for effect. “Stubborn.” His eyes darted to you, accompanied by the faint sound of a radio hum. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathed out without hesitation, unable to stop shaking from your position on the floor.

“Good girl,” he said, patting the air above your head. You watched his footsteps until he paused at the threshold of the door. You heard his neck snap as he turned it back around--you didn’t dare look up to see. 

“Don’t forget to tidy up before dinner.  I’ve left a dress in your bedroom that I’m sure will look lovely on you.”

[p0orbaby]

Not Nineteen Forever

summary: co-parenting with two kids? light work

warnings: are exes a warning ?

a/n: i smell reconciliation in the air…

word count: 1.1k

-

“He’s forgotten his boots? What time is his lesson? No sorry don’t answer that, I’ve got meetings for the rest of the day, I can’t leave the office. Can he play in his school shoes? Can I just ask, have you tried getting in contact with Alexia? No, you just called me, got it. Well it looks like he will have to miss football then doesn’t it. Yes, it’s such a shame! Okay, thank you, bye”

You hang up and smash the phone back into its receiver, frustration boiling over. This is the third time this month something has come up with the kids while you are at work. Balancing a full-time job and single parenthood was taking its toll. You sigh, running a hand through your hair, and try to refocus on the mountain of tasks waiting for you.

It has been a year since you and Alexia divorced. The decision was mutual, borne out of necessity rather than any particular wrongdoing. Her career had always been demanding, but as she rose to greater heights, the time she could spend at home dwindled to almost nothing. The distance, both physical and emotional, had grown insurmountable. You had drifted apart, slowly and painfully.

The kids have taken the separation surprisingly well. They are resilient, adapting quickly to the new arrangement of split weeks and alternating weekends. But despite their brave faces, you can see the strain it puts on them. You miss the days when the four of you were a team, tackling life’s challenges together.

As you stare at your computer screen, trying to immerse yourself back into work, the phone rings again. It was the school. Again.

“You should have Alexia’s number on file but if you need me to confirm-“

“I’m sorry?”

“Luis’ boots. If it’s that much of a problem I’m sure my wife- ex wife, can drop them off”

“Apologies Ms Putellas, but I'm ringing about your daughter. This is the school nurse…”

-

You arrive at the school to find Alexia already there, uncharacteristically nervous as she waits. Despite everything, she always manages to be present when it truly matters. It’s one of the things you admire most about her, and also one of the most frustrating – her ability to show up at the critical moments, even if she couldn’t be there for the day-to-day.

Silently you’re both ushered into the head's office, where your daughter sits with a bandaged arm and teary eyes.

“How did this happen?” you ask suddenly, directing your question to the principal as you crouch down to inspect Liliana.

“She was climbing on the monkey bars and lost her grip,” the older woman explains. “It was an accident. She’ll be fine, but we thought it best to have you both here, given the circumstances”

“An accident?” Alexia echoes sharply, her voice edged with anger she normally only reserves for the pitch. “She’s only four! Why wasn’t she being supervised properly?”

The principal shifts uncomfortably. “We do our best to keep an eye on all the children, but sometimes with kids these things happen. We deeply apologise for any distress this has caused”

Alexia’s face tightens with frustration. “My daughter could have been seriously hurt!”

You place a calming hand on Alexia’s arm, feeling the tension radiating from her as she fizzes on the spot. “Ale,” you say softly. “We can talk about this later”

Alexia finally takes a deep breath, her eyes softening as she looks at Liliana, who is now clinging to her like a lifeline. “Are you okay, Cariño?” she asks, her voice gentler for your daughter's sake.

Liliana nods, though her eyes are still wet with leftover tears. “It hurts, Mami.”

The principal nods. “She’ll need some ice and rest, but otherwise, she should be okay. We just wanted to make sure you both were informed and could decide if she should go home for the rest of the day”

You glance at Alexia, your mind racing. It’s been a long time since you’ve had to make a decision like this together. “Do you think she should come home?” you ask.

Alexia looks down at Liliana who hugs at her leg, thinking as she strokes the top of her head. “I have the afternoon off. I can take her and keep an eye on her”

You’re surprised. “You have time off? I thought you had training”

“I managed to get the rest of the day cleared,” she says, her eyes meeting yours. “I wanted to be here”

For a moment, the tension between you eases, replaced by a shared concern for your child. You nod, before turning to the woman sitting behind her desk. “We’ll take Luis with us too”

The principal smiles, relieved. “Thank you both for coming in. We’ll make sure her things are ready to go”

-

“I finish at five, I’ll come straight here after” you say as the kids run past you into Alexia’s house. Liliana magically healed at the thought of being able to miss the rest of the school day.

Alexia watches them go, then turns back to you with a look that’s hard to read. “I know it’s been… different”

“Yeah, different is one way to put it,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, inoffensive. “But we’re making it work”

She nods, her gaze drifting to the door where the kids disappeared. “They seem happy. That’s what matters”

You follow her eyes, watching the kids through the window to where they’ve migrated to the garden. “They’re stronger than we give them credit for. It’s us adults who complicate things”

Alexia laughs softly. “Isn’t that the truth?”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with all the words neither of you have dared to say. Eventually, Alexia breaks it. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about everything”

You feel a twinge of something you can’t quite identify, hope maybe, but you push it aside. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes meeting yours in a way that makes your cheeks flush. “I miss them. And I miss… us”

You swallow hard, trying to bat away the emotions rising hopelessly within you. “Alexia, we’ve talked about this. Your career, my job, it just didn’t work”

“I know,” she replies, frustration creeping into her tone. “But just because it didn’t work then doesn’t mean it can’t work now. People change. Situations change”

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t know, Alexia. It’s not that simple”

She steps closer, a dangerous move. You can smell the lingering scent of her soap, the gum she chews. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated either”

You look at her, feeling the familiar pull you’ve tried to ignore for the past year. “I need to get back,” you say finally, peeling yourself away from her.

[somejazzinthemorning]

singapore 23

carlos sainz x reader; [warnings: unprotected sex because why not and yeah, that's just it. it's late and i didn't have time to reread this a lot of times (so it has typos, probably) and no one read this yet so it could not be good, ok?] word count: 1.5K

your boyfriend just won the singapore grand prix.

i did a sad one for spa, it's only fair i do a spicy one for Singapore

"you did great"

carlos’ hands are cupping your cheeks. lips hovering over yours. he’s still panting. you feel his pulse on his digits. still fast. so fucking fast.

"i know"

"you stink"

he chuckles, lips travelling down your jawline, the tip of his nose touching your cheek as he does so. the sweet sound reaches your ears. it’s rich and full, a bit husky.

"i know"

this time, he speaks deeper, like your minds are in sync and he can’t hear your thoughts. you run your hands through his hair, damped in champagne and sweat. you are unaware of what that mixture is doing to you. you only notice it when you feel the flame running through your veins. pride, desire and lust run hand in hand, intoxicating your senses.

perhaps he can hear how fast your heart beats because as he locks his gaze with yours, he simply smirks. you don’t even need to say anything or act on your will.

"cariño, we don't have much time"

no.

“we’ll have just enough time”

you utter. he pulls you closer, impatient and needy and you kiss him deeply. and god. god. it tasted like love itself. the sweet nectar of victory. divine and intoxicating, just like him. and it feels like him. the fizz of the champagne is now getting to your tongue, enlightening everything you were gushing inside. you keep picturing him on the podium. his portrait. the epitome of pride and strength. the image burned into your thoughts. you unzip his suit, until the zipper is hanging down and you can act on getting what you want.

it doesn’t take much until you’re being pressed against the wall. you hiss.

“love, i’ll need you to be really silent”

there is no roof. between you and the world, there’s just a barrier of a few walls and a door you’re not even sure it’s locked. and against all instincts, that makes you want it more. his lips are on your neck, and your hands are roaming his back, along his muscular back, feeling the bulges and contours of his body beneath the nomex. you want to rip it off.

"silent, okay, baby?"

he repeats. each time he speaks, his voice gets lower.

"yes"

his muscles taut under your digits as you explore the fabric in search of the hem. with a desperate tug, you pull it up, revealing his chest. he’s glistening under the lights. a heady mix of sweat. and champagne. and the essence of triumph. that’s all in your mind—how victory drips like gold all over his chest.

god. you’re aching. you need him.

"you looked so good on the podium"

"yeah?"

his hands are pulling your dress up, keeping it around your waist. his lips are sucking on your collarbones and you’re sure he’s going to leave a mark there.

“hmhm”

you bite your lips as he pulls on the lacy fabric of our panties, ever so slightly, just enough to create the right amount of pressure. he’s adoring you. eyes deep and dark trailing your features as he teases you.

“you looked beautiful from there, too. but not as beautiful as you are now”

you moan as you feel his teeth on your shoulder, hands moving lower down, now touching you. you’re wet and you hadn’t realized how much. the bulge in his race suit is hard to ignore. it grows harder against your tight. he wants it as much as you do.

“i’m so proud of you. i love you”

you breathe out.

and then there’s the sound of velcro ripping apart, and the sensation of his fingers tracing an electric path down over your wet panties. a single tug later, he’s inside you—he thrusts himself inside you in one sudden motion. and you have to bite your lip to contain a shuddering moan that escapes your lips anyway. he acts with an animalistic intensity, with the remaining adrenaline in his blood. there's no barrier, there shouldn't be, but if there were, you're not sure you would care. because the feeling of him inside you, the feeling of his warmth, the feeling of his whole body crashing against yours, it’s almost like it's almost like your souls intertwine in perfect harmony—like you're finally coming home.

“say it again”

“i love you. i’m proud of you”

it's merciless, it's rough. it's fucking perfect.

his touch burns you. his mouth leaves a trail of fire wherever he kisses and sucks and licks. he moves his fingers on your clit and your head falls back; your eyes close. you don't need to see him to know he's there. everywhere he touches makes you ache for more.

you're going to explode. it's so good it hurts, so intense it's almost unbearable. and he knows it. and he’s basking on it. he could come just from looking at you. you don't have to say a word for him to understand.

"i love seeing you like this"

he says. you part your lips, a soft moan escaping them. carlos takes his hands from between your legs and pushes two fingers into your mouth. your tongue touches the ridges and curves of his fingers and you can taste yourself in them.

on the other side of the wall, life keeps happening. it’s loud and noisy. the laughter and conversations bounce off of the walls of the hallway, but it sounds distant to you. you hope you’re not making yourself heard, too.

he picks you up and carries you to the massage table in the room. you close your eyes as he sets you down on the edge of the table, your breathing heavy and uneven; you feel like you’re floating above the world.

he looks down at you. some strands of hair falling over his forehead, small droplets of what could be sweat or water or champagne dripping down his temples. he’s divine. chiselled to glory.

you look down, your hands reaching for him. and you see him again standing tall on the podium. pride and vanity eating away at your mind and decorum. he's god. your god. you could pray to him, every day, any day.

"you looked like a god"

you say, gaze locked with his. your hand is around him, sliding up and down as you speak. you can feel it pulsating against your palm. your juices and pre-cump clamping down around him. carlos brings his hand to the back of your neck, wrapping your hair in his hand and holding it as he pulls you against his mouth.

“again”

he orders, against your lips.

“you looked like a god."

there's a pause. a brief moment of silence until you speak again.

"fuck me like one”

he doesn’t need more of an invitation. he positions himself at your entrance and thrusts himself inside you in one fierce motion. your lips part and you let out a moan as he pulls out and slams back in. your muscles clench around him, embracing the feeling, taking it all in.

you moan against his mouth, your hands holding onto him, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. he’s holding your tights, keeping your legs open as he moves faster, deeper.

your hands are grabbing the edge of the table, drowning in the foam and you're forcing your mouth closed. but you don't need words to express how good you feel. he can read you like a map. you exhale sharply, your own hand now over your mouth trying to muffle the noises. he holds you tighter, driving himself deeper inside you. he’s a painfully good execution of perfect.

it feels so fucking good. you can't control yourself.

he's breathing hard, grunting with every thrust, his chest expanding with every breath. you can hear the sounds of your bodies colliding underneath you. he's not even trying to be quiet about it anymore.

"ah-ah, love, don't make that face. i know you want to come. you know how much i want you to come. but hold on, baby, hold on."

your heart is beating faster. you're so close now. his hand is on your clit again, rubbing it in quick circles, and you're so close that the sound of laughter outside the door sounds like a muffle. you're going to come. you're going to fucking come. he growls and his pace quickens. and your body is trembling with every thrust. your gaze is focused on his face, and he knows how damn hard you’re holding to his commands.

"i'm going to break you, won't i?"

you nod repeatedly, eyes wide, biting on your lip. your mind is blank. he leans in and kisses you deeply, his hands pulling your hair harder, sliding in and out of you. you gasp against his lips, your fingers clinging to his shoulders and upper back; you want to bury your head in the crook of his neck, but his gaze keeps you hostage.

and looking into his eyes and facing heaven and hell at the same time.

he owns you in a way you can't even explain. it's like a rope has been thrown around you and you're being pulled deeply towards him and you know you’re incapable of leaving. and you know he will never leave either.

"go ahead, baby. i won't be greedy. i already came first once today"

he plunges deeper into you, banging against your g-spot. you can feel your lips quiver, your back arching. and you know you can’t cry out his name. you feel yourself drown, and then being brought back to the surface. there's a flare. and then the crescendo. and you’re breaking in front of him. and he holds you. still fucking you. cherishing you.

he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his touch through the fabric of the dress you’re still wearing. you bury your head in the crook of his neck, moaning and crying against his skin, and within seconds he pushes himself deeper inside you, groaning as he comes.

"god, i love you. i love you, i love you.”

he says, still holding you. you’re panting, shaking, drunk on his scent and the love only he can make you feel. carlos kisses your head and caresses your hair. slowly, you look up to him.

“i'm so proud of you. i love you"

as always, all feedback is appreciated. hope you enjoyed it! love you all.

[bibluebutterfly]

Alright, so one thing I absolutely love about the potential later conflict between Fizz and Ozzie is that they both come from very understandable places.

For Fizz, he has every right to want to be out by himself and just do things independently. You can tell up until he ran into Blitz he enjoyed his day out and getting to do something on his own.

And then we have Ozzie's perspective. He's overprotective of Fizz but to be completely fair, considering what we've seen so far, he's seen Fizz get hurt a LOT. Like A LOT a lot.

For instance, as far as we can tell, he's the only one who works on Fizz's limbs, and considering the fact that he has spare parts around, we can safely assume that Fizz needing a tune up isn't exactly a rare occurrence. Plus the fact that he's probably been there for the better part of Fizz's recovery would show him more just how vulnerable Fizz really is. It also probably doesn't help that Fizz still manages to get hurt even when Ozzie is literally right next to him.

Ozzie knows that Fizz isn't helpless, but seeing someone you love get hurt can is really scary. And considering Ozzie likely feels that kind of fear constantly, it makes sense that he would be just a tad too overbearing. Plus considering Fizz never makes a serious fuss about his tendencies and even seems to agree sometimes, Ozzie thinks that Fizz is fine with how things are.

Back to Fizz, despite him and Ozzie being on numerous levels of understanding, he likely feels like he can really say anything because it turns out that Ozzie's worries were in fact valid. Not to mention that because he and Ozzie are so in sync, he probably knows how Ozzie feels about this whole thing and would feel guilty bringing it up.

People interpret this frame as either Fizz feeling guilty for worrying Ozzie and getting himself in trouble, others interpret it as sadness that he probably won't be able to go out alone in at least a while. Why can't it be both?

That being said, Fizzmodeus is still a wholesome and healthy couple, but it's interesting to see how this topic will be brought up in the future. I just like how the two of them come from very understandable places, and how neither are entirely in the wrong (Fizz should speak up and Ozzie should be less protective). It's also kind of refreshing to see a relationship with problems where one isn't entirely in the wrong (like M&M), and they are both on equal levels with each other (unlike Stolitz).

(Because whereas Stolas and Blitz are in places where they can't really understand each other or talk about their problems, Ozzie and Fizz are in a place where they understand each other so well that they don't feel like they need to.)

[justlemmeadoreyou]

5. seasoned to perfection (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here) | (part 3 here) | (part 4 here)

Summary: Harry comes back, and the pent-up tensions and frustrations from the day you met are released, in the literal sense. he's vulnerable too, but it's for your eyes only..

Words: 6k+

Warnings: Fluff, Smut. P in v sex in the driver's seat 🤭, kissing, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

***

Harry was back in Chicago two days later, just as he'd promised. A profound sense of relief washed over you the moment his broad-shouldered figure appeared striding through the airport terminal - he looked exhausted and careworn, but his stride was purposeful, that familiar spark of intensity simmering behind his hazel eyes.

Despite the lingering worry etched into the lines of his face, Harry flashed you a lopsided grin as he drew closer. "Well if it ain't my star pupil, coming to greet her mentor like the proper respectful protegee she is."

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, unable to suppress the matching grin that tugged at your own mouth. "Don't get too full of yourself there . I'm just here to collect on those celebratory drinks you promised."

"Is that so?" Harry's raspy chuckle sent a shiver down your spine as he closed the remaining distance between you. Up close, you could better make out the faint smudges of fatigue ringing his eyes, the weary set of his shoulders that hinted at the emotional toll this family crisis had already exacted. 

"I sure am lucky you pulled through like a total rockstar the other night, darlin'," he said, voice softening with sincerity. "Don't know what kind of state my head would be in right now if that whole gala affair had gone pear-shaped on top of everything else."

You felt your chest constrict with sympathy at the undercurrent of weariness bleeding into his gravelly timbre. For all his towering self-assurance, it was still far too easy to catch glimpses of the profoundly lonely man beneath.

"Hey," you said softly, emboldened enough to reach out and give his forearm a reassuring squeeze. "It's gonna be okay, you know? One way or another."

"Yeah, I know," he acknowledged after a beat, hazel eyes crinkling faintly at the corners as he regarded you. Impulsively, Harry reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face in an unexpectedly tender gesture. "Thanks for being here, pet. I could use a friendly face right about now."

You felt your breath catch at the gentle rasp of his rough fingertips grazing your cheek as they fell away. A look passed between you, heavy with unspoken undercurrents simmering just beneath the surface.

Harry seemed to catch himself after a pregnant pause, giving a slightly brusque clearing of his throat as he took a half-step back. "Anyway, I'm betting you're just aching to hear all the dirty details about how your old mentor totally knocked it out of the park running my crazy-ass centerpiece for the gala, am I right?"

The teasing rasp was back in full force, but you could have sworn you detected an undercurrent of...flirtation? Nerves fizzing in your veins, you forced an answering grin. "Well, I definitely wouldn't say no to getting an extremely thorough debrief on all the specifics."

"That's what I like to hear," Harry chuckled, reaching down to snag your bag before you could protest. "C'mon then, let's get out of this madhouse. I'll fill you in on every juicy detail over a proper meal - hell, I might even let you buy me a congratulatory drink for once."

You rolled your eyes at his cheek but didn't object as Harry slung your bag over his shoulder and began leading the way out of the crowded airport terminal, one calloused hand at the small of your back guiding you through the milling crowds. The innocent point of contact still managed to raise gooseflesh along your skin.

"I hope wherever we're going has a full bar," you quipped once you made it outside, drawing a rich chuckle from your mentor.

"Have I ever let you down before on the booze front, darlin'? Though I gotta warn you, I might have to start cutting you off early tonight if you get too sloppy with the drinking."

You snorted indelicately. "Please, like your liver could even hang with mine these days. I'll be the one cutting YOU off before the night is over, old man."

"Old man?!" Harry's brows shot upward in mock outrage. "Well aren't you a cheeky little thing. Maybe I oughta just turn this reunion car right back around, huh?"

You grinned unrepentantly. "And deprive yourself of soaking up my full admiration for how flawlessly I executed your crazy dish the other night? I don't think so, Chef. You're stuck with me now."

A look you didn't quite catch flickered over Harry's face before his expression softened into something tender and...admiring? "You got me there, pet. I really am damn lucky I've got someone as fiercely dedicated and hardworking as you lookin' out for me."

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze as the valet pulled up a sleek black car. "C'mon then, let's go get that drink and hear all about how you made your old mentor proud once again."

With that, Harry opened the passenger door in a surprisingly gentlemanly gesture, making a theatrical play act of ushering you inside before circling around to the driver's side. Despite the lingering exhaustion evident in his features, an unmistakable lightness and sense of humor had returned to Harry's manner now that he was back in your company. You found yourself charmed all over again by his trademark swagger and grit.

Once Harry had pulled out into Chicago's hectic downtown traffic, he gave a weary but contented exhale. "God, I really did miss the hell out of this place while I was gone. Nothing quite like the thrill of the culinary world, am I right?"

"I'll say," you agreed easily, draining the last of your bottled water. "That whole gala evening was an adrenaline rush like none other."  

"So go on then, darlin' - give me all the dirty deets from the frontlines." Hazel eyes glittered with renewed energy as Harry flashed you a wolfish grin. "Did Thomason end up being a totally insufferable hard-ass running the kitchen in my absence, or what?"

Unable to resist indulging him a bit, you launched into a play-by-play recap of how the evening had kicked off. "Well, I'll say this - your boy definitely mastered the art of brusque delegating from the moment I stepped through those doors."

"That definitely tracks," Harry chuckled in amusement.

You held up your hands in a placating gesture. "But honestly, he managed to not be a total nightmare for once. Sure, there were still barked insults and slews of obscenities flying around...but Thomason weirdly seemed more patient with me than usual."

"My best guess is that the hardass saw how much weight I was putting on your shoulders to make sure the night went smoothly," Harry supplied. "He knows damn well not to get in my way when I've got a white whale in my sights."

You felt an undeniable swell of pride at his matter-of-fact confidence in your abilities. "Well, whatever the reason, I can't deny Thomason at least made sure I got briefed on every single responsibility under my purview upfront. Nothing left out or unclear."

"Good, that's what I want to hear," Harry nodded in approval. "You damn well better have been prepped to the gills on every last particular after all the hours we spent running scenarios during practice."

"Oh he made sure of it, believe me," you assured him wryly. "I don't think my head stopped spinning from all the prep tasks and oversight duties he laid on me until we were halfway into evening service."

"That's my girl, always rising to the occasion no matter what fresh hell gets thrown your way," Harry said with unmistakable pride. His gaze flicked over to you with open fondness. "So go on then, I'm dying' to hear about the actual execution part. Did the crew and I at least have you guys trained up good to handle the intricate stuff?"

As if on cue, your mouth curved into a smug grin. "Does a flawless plating of your avant-garde centrepiece dish answer your question? Because let me tell you, Chef, those practice runs may have been hellish - but they paid off in spades. We didn't miss a single beat from start to finish on that thing."

Pride resonated in Harry's rumbling laugh. "Ha! That's what I like to hear. I knew I could count on you to hold down the fort and keep those yutz line cooks from falling apart under the pressure."

"Wow, you really are impressed, huh?" You couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day where Harry  dolled out such lavish praise."

Harry shot you a wry look, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement. "What can I say, you bring out the sappy side in me sometimes, darlin'. Must be all those gooey mentor-mentee feelings."

You laughed, giving him a playful shove. "Sure, keep telling yourself that's what it is. I think we both know the real reason you're so proud of me right now."

"Oh yeah?" Harry's voice dropped an octave, taking on that low, rumbly timbre that never failed to send a shiver down your spine. "And what's that, sweetheart?"

You felt your cheeks warm at the heated undertone in his words, suddenly very aware of the charged tension crackling between you in the confines of the car. Clearing your throat, you opted for a subject change. "So, uh, I have to ask - how are things with your mom? Any updates there?"

Harry's expression sobered instantly, some of the lightness dimming from his eyes as he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "It's...been a rough couple of days, that's for sure. But the doctors seem cautiously optimistic after running all their tests and whatnot."

He exhaled a ragged sigh, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the road ahead. "They were able to get her stabilized, at least. Still lots of treatment and recovery ahead, but...the prognosis isn't quite as dire as we initially feared."

"Harry." You reached over to cover his hand with yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "That's such a relief to hear. I'm so glad she's going to be okay."

He glanced over at the contact, eyes flickering with some indecipherable emotion before he slowly turned his palm to lace his fingers through yours. The simple gesture felt impossibly intimate in the dim confines of the car.

"Yeah, me too, pet," Harry said gruffly. He fell silent for a long moment, seeming to struggle against the swell of emotion welling up behind his gruff exterior. When he finally continued, his voice had gone low and husky.

"I gotta admit, having to leave everything and fly out there on such short notice...well, it really puts a lotta stuff in perspective for me, you know? Reminds me that there's more to life than just the goddamn kitchen for once."

You felt your breath catch at the sudden vulnerability in his tone, the rawness shining through those rough-hewn features. This was such an unprecedented side of Harry - one you'd never seen him display so openly before. He wasn't the type to indulge in sappy feelings or put his heart on display.

And yet here he was, opening up to you in a way that felt profoundly intimate. Impulsively, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging him to continue.

Harry's gaze was soft when he finally looked over at you again. "I've been so focused for so damn long on my career, on chasing that elusive Michelin star...putting in more hours at the restaurant than I do actually sleeping most weeks. It's been all-consuming, you know? To the point where I've let other important stuff get shoved to the back burner for way too long."

There was a weighty pause before he added in a quieter tone, "Stuff like...well, like relationships. Connections with people outside of the kitchen brat pack. Hell, even making time for my own family before it's too late."

His calloused thumb brushed over your knuckles, sending sparks skittering across your skin. "Being out there this week, it made me realize how much I've let slide while chasing my big culinary dreams. How many people and opportunities I've missed out on by being so goddamn single-minded about the hustle."

You felt your heart give a hard thud in your chest at his words, an undercurrent of meaning thrumming through every syllable Harry uttered. Was he actually...was this leading where you desperately hoped it was leading?

"I don't know, Y/N," he continued, voice going soft and rumbly in a way you'd never heard it before. "Maybe it's time I start setting aside room for more than just food in my life again, you know? Making space for the other shit that actually matters in the end."

Without warning, the car slowed before pulling over to the side of the road. You looked around in surprise, momentarily disoriented - only to suck in a sharp breath when you felt the warm press of Harry's palm cradling your jaw, gently but insistently turning your face towards his own.

His hazel eyes were turbulent but gleaming with unmistakable intent as they roamed over your features, seeming to drink in every last freckle and curve. "Like people," Harry murmured, deep voice gone even more rough and gravelly. "Important people who've been right there in front of me this whole damn time, just waiting for me to get my head out of my ass."

Your mouth went dry as his thumb brushed over the swell of your lower lip in a devastatingly tender caress. "You've been so goddamn strong for me lately, darlin'," he rasped. "Taking charge and killing it even when I had to bail on you guys. Honestly, I've never seen someone rise to an occasion like you did with that whole centerpiece service."

A surge of molten heat flared in his gaze as Harry slowly, incrementally leaned closer with every gravelly word. "Which just makes me wonder...what if I told you how crazy you've been driving me lately with that fierce, take-no-shit attitude and work ethic? How distractingly sexy it's been watching you come into your own in the kitchen?"

Coherent thoughts fled in the wake of his scorching words. All you could process was the heated intent burning from every line of his expression, the delicious timbre of his voice as one calloused palm slid around to cradle the nape of your neck.

Any remaining space between you evaporated as Harry drew inexorably nearer, heated breaths fanning over your parted lips. "Maybe it's time we both stopped ignoring this crazy tension that's been building between us, eh?" His words were nearly a growl, sending liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

"Tell me you want this as badly as I do, darlin'," Harry rasped, nose brushing against yours. "Tell me, and I swear to god I'll - "

Whatever devastatingly filthy promise he'd been about to make was suddenly cut off as you surged upwards to crash your lips against his in a heated clash of hunger and need. Harry made a noise of surprise that quickly morphed into a guttural groan as his big hands pulled you flush against his powerful frame, deepening the kiss with smoldering intensity.

All the frustration and undercurrent of want that had simmered untapped for months between you both finally found an outlet as his mouth slanted hungrily over yours. Harry tasted like smoky whiskey and roasted espresso, the scents you'd unknowingly committed to memory from hours spent shadowing him in the kitchen. Now you could finally indulge in the addictive flavor without restraint, losing yourself in the velvet heat of his lips and the wicked stroke of his tongue.

A desperate whimper escaped you as Harry's fingers wound through your hair, tugging just enough to angle your head for even deeper exploration. He swallowed the sound with relish, growling low in his chest as he took control of the ferocious give and take - a twin to the commanding yet sensual way he moved around the kitchen.

Time seemed to lose meaning as you kissed with reckless abandon, hands roaming wildly over the other's body. Your fingers brushing over Harry's hard pecs and rippling abs, committing every ridge and plane to memory. His calloused palms skimming over the flare of your hips, teasing at the sliver of exposed skin above your waistband as he tugged your shirts aside.

"Fuck," he growled, still cradling you tightly against his muscular frame. One hand drifted up the length of your spine to sift through your tousled hair, something breathtakingly tender. "Been wanting to do that for way too goddamn long, sweetheart."

You let out a shaky exhalation, riding the waves of tingling euphoria coursing over your skin. "Me too," you confessed in a huskier tone than you'd ever heard yourself use before. "God, Harry, I–” you stopped the rest of the words before they escaped your mouth, afraid you were going too far too fast. But he tilted his head downwards, raising his eyebrows and asking you to tell him whatever the hell you wanted to.

“I– say it, darlin’” he urged, swiping one thumb over your face, grazing it tenderly across the apple of your cheek, “No more secrets”

Eventually, the scorching inferno of desire raging between you banked to a low, smoldering burn...though no less devastatingly intense for the minor reprieve. Finally, you drew back just far enough for Harry to rest his forehead against yours, harsh breaths intermingling hotly.

You nodded, taking a deep breath and looking straight into his emerald eyes, “I–I, fuck, I need you, Harry. So–so fucking bad it–hurts”

You confessed, and the look that crossed Harry's face was one mixed with relief and the tiniest hint of lust.

You didn’t need to tell him twice because you barely had the time to catch your breath when he crashed his lips down on top of yours, claiming them once again. He slid so he was more close to you now, hands gripping the back of your head and keeping your face in place for him to kiss you hard. He had been waiting for this for so long–all the longing glances, the pent up, fucked up frustration in him–he was bearing all of it into the kiss that left your mind dizzy and lips swollen./

“Fucking exquisite”

He praised you, and you blushed into his mouth. It was all a blur after that–he gripped your thighs tightly, pulling you from the passenger seat and maneuvering you into his lap. You lowered yourself down, the front of your jeans making a slight contact with the tip of his clothed cock, and the whine he let out was pure sin.

“Gonna make me burst”

He held on to your hips, kneading them in his palms as he watched you settle on top of him. You skillfully aligned his seat as abc as it could go, so he was almost laying down while you sat on top of him. 

“THose hands–they aren’t just good in the kitchen, are they?” he teased, and since now you were on top, you were feeling more powerful.

“Mhmm,” you agreed, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his chest, smoothening your hands down his golden chest, “Wait till you see what else I can do with these”

He let out a gasp as you leaned in, licking up his abs, and kissing his butterfly tattoo. His hands slid to your waist, kneading the soft flesh in his palms and letting you admire and worship his body.

“Cheeky minx “ he said, but the words were swallowed into a groan as you sucked on his nipples, biting them softly and smirking when he rolled his hips upward. He was getting desperate, hips lifting up every now and then in need for relief.

You continued the onslaught of kisses, but wanted to give the poor millionaire some relief. You reached for the button of his pants, undoing it and unzipping his fly. Sitting back up, you pulled them down to his knees, and the sight of his boxers tented…his cock begging to be released from its confines made your mouth water.

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He sat back up, making you fall back against the steering wheel but caught you just in time, resting his palms on your back. Once you were stable, he undid your jeans as well, wasting no time in pushing one hand inside.

“Oh fuck–Harry–” you cursed, and he could see it on your face–pure lust and arousal. He began to swipe his fingers between your lips, spreading the wetness around and finding your clit–expertly rolling the soft bundle of nerves between his fingers that had you curling your toes. He looked straight into your eyes while doing that too–watching you fall apart from just his fingers.

Once he was done teasing you, he circled his fingers around your entrance, which was completely, devastatingly soaked. You had been dreaming of this for so long–wanting this for so long that now when you were finally going to have him, it felt straight out of a dream.

“So fucking wet–all for me?” he asked, and you nodded, “All–all for you, chef”

“Fuckin’ tease” he cursed before pulling his fingers out, which were now covered in your slick and arousal, and pulling his boxers down, letting hsi cock spring free.

You had seen many cocks. In porn, in real life. But seeing his cock–thick and long, slightly curved towards the tip, which would make it the perfect fit for your needy pussy. The tip was a perfect shade of purplish-red, with a few drops of precum oozing out and making your mouth water once again. You wanted him in your mouth. And he did too, but right now, there wasn’t much time.

You lifted yourself up, pulling your jeans and panties down in one go, till they were near your knees just like his. Positioning yourself right on top of him, he gave his cock a few stroked before resting one hand on your hip. You placed your hands on his shoulders for support, and once your pussy was in contact, his eyes almost rolled into the back of his head.

But he didn’t push it in just yet–rubbed it back and forth between your lips, till your legs threatened to give out, and you squeezed his shoulder.

“Alright, no take backs–” he whispered, and aligned it with your hole, and you pushed yourself down on him, and fuck–was it worth it.

Once he was inside, your mouth fell open. You had been wet, and he hand;t prepped you too much because of it. But the sweet burn of him pushing it in fully–it fueled into your pain kink, and you bit your lower lip, getting up and lowering yourself down on him fully, till your hips were touching his heavy balls.

“So full, I–I feel so fucking full, Harry–” you told him, and he nodded, his adam apple bobbing. He pulled you down for another kiss, and using both hands, he began fucking you on him.

You moaned and screamed into the kiss, the tip of his cock kissing the back of your cervix, his precum leaking from his tip continuously. While you were sure you would be able to take the lead, giving up control and letting him use your body however he wanted–it made you feel really fucking good.

“Good, so fucking good, pet, so tight and snug around me, aren’t you? Could fuck you for days, I swear–”

You would get back at him on that promise for sure, later.

“Denied me of this sweet cunt for so long–gave me those fuck me eyes the first day you came into my restaurant.”

You tried to shake your head to tell him how that wasn’t true, but the words lodged in your throat. You didn’t know how you looked at him, he did.

“No–no Harry, fuck–, I–I wanted to–”

“Fuck me, hmm? The first day you saw me?” he teased, and you pulled his ear lightly.

“No, you dumbo. I–I wanted to push you against the counter and pin your hands beside you and–”

“And fuck me?” he finished your sentence once again, and to get back at him, you squeezed around him. You did it with all the strength you had, and you could swear you felt him harden just a little bit more inside you.

“And how is that different from what I said?” he asked, and you placed your hand over his mouth to shut him up. You tried to ride him this time, using his strong chest to fuck yourself up and down, till your wetness was pooling on the base of his cock. It was a wet mess–your arousals mixed together on the top of his thighs and you were positive it slipped through to the seat.

“Make me–make me cum, chef-” you said, and you felt him smile against your palm. You lifted it up, and he pinned your hands behind your back immediately.

“Chef, huh?” he taunted, and pulled you down for another kiss, halting for mere seconds before you came all over him–wetness oozing out and wetting his cock and balls. He pushed his tongue inside your mouth, the movements mirroring those of his cock in your pussy. It wasn’t long before he came too, emptying himself into your snug heat with a low groan.

He made out with you throughout–never letting your lips rest as his seed filled you up to the brim. The warm feeling had you dizzy, being filled up by the man you admired and wanted for years.

Once you were relaxed, tongues dancing in slow motions, he pulled out and pulled your panties back in place, saving his cum from falling into embarrassing places. You rolled your eyes at him, adjusting your clothes and sitting back on the seat beside.

His eyes gazed into yours with adoration, the car filled with the smell of sex and sweat. The lingering scent of finally giving into something that was building up since day one–it made you feel happy and vulnerable.

He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, letting his palm linger against your cheek in a tender caress.

"You know, I meant what I said before about not wanting to let this amazing opportunity between us slip away," he murmured, eyes shining sincerely. "After everything we've been through, you've become one of the most important people in my life, darlin'."

You felt your heart swell at his words, leaning into his touch with a soft smile. "And you're one of the most incredible men I've ever known, Harry. I'm just...I'm so grateful we finally took this leap together."

Chuckling warmly, Harry pulled you into a snug embrace, pressing his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. "Well, you'd better get used to having me around then, sweetheart. Because I don't plan on going anywhere."

Reaching up, you cradled his whiskered jaw, marveling at how such a hardened culinary genius could look so endearingly unsure in the wake of baring his heart. A soft smile curved your lips as you stroked along the line of his cheekbone with your thumb.

"Harry," you began, keeping your tone low and earnest. "I just want you to know...what we share goes far deeper for me than just some crush or physical attraction. You've been such an incredible mentor, certainly - pushing me to my limits and helping me discover a resilience I didn't know I had. But more than that, you've also become one of the most important people in my life these past few months."

He seemed to still against you, holding his breath as he searched your expression intently. Encouraged by the yearning shining from those soulful hazel eyes, you pressed onward.

"From the very first day, there was just...something about the way you carry yourself in that kitchen, so passionate and uncompromising in your artistry. It inspired me in a way I've never experienced before. And as I got to know the man behind the chef's coat better and better, that admiration grew into something...well, something I couldn't ignore or push away, no matter how much I tried."

You gave a rueful chuckle, shaking your head. "Not that I'm proud of how I handled that, especially at first. I was so terrified of being just another young line cook with an embarrassing crush on the big-shot chef, you know? Of risking the most rewarding professional relationship I've ever had by letting feelings get in the way. So I tried my damnedest to squash it down and keep things strictly business between us."

Harry made a low noise of understanding, one calloused palm drifting up to cradle the side of your face with ineffable tenderness. The pad of his thumb brushed over your lower lip as he gazed at you with naked longing.

"But the more time we spent together, the more I came to realize I wasn't alone in what I was feeling," you continued, emboldened by the smoldering affection gleaming in his expression. "Those heated looks and moments of banter that always left me weak in the knees...the way you'd find any excuse to touch me, even if it was just your hand on my back or brushing my arm. And don't think I didn't catch that molten vibe you gave me after the gala service the other night, Harry."

You gave a breathless chuckle at the memory, watching in satisfaction as his eyes darkened perceptibly from the reminder. "Point is, it's been pretty damn obvious to me for a while now that this crazy, inexplicable tension has been building between us. And after tonight...after you pour your heart out about wanting to open yourself up to something deeper outside of just the kitchen...well, I knew I had to finally stop fighting it."

Cradling his rugged features between your palms, you gazed at Harry with profound sincerity. "I don't want to just be another protegee you take under your wing, Harry. I want...god, I want so much more than that if you'll have me. As more than just your mentee."

The silence that fell between you seemed to stretch out into infinite stillness - until finally, Harry broke it with a shuddering exhalation. His features softened into an expression of pure affection and naked vulnerability.

"Darlin'," he murmured in that low, gravelly timbre that had haunted your dreams. "I gotta say, you're one hell of a woman. Smart, fiercely passionate, and talented as all hell in the kitchen. Any chef in their right mind would count themselves lucky to have that kind of force on their line."

One calloused thumb brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead in an achingly tender gesture. "But the more I got to know you, the more I realized you were so much more than just a hell of a cook. You've got this...this fire inside, this core of unshakable integrity, that shines through in everything you do." 

A slow, lopsided grin curved his mouth as Harry seemed to drink in your features hungrily. "Truth is, I've been half in love with you since the first time you went toe-to-toe with me over mise en place and didn't back down one inch. Kidfron called me out a while back, said I needed to get my head out  and stop being an idiot about my feelings before I lost my shot with you. And you know what? He was right."

You heard the sharp breath you sucked in at his unexpected confession, suddenly feeling lightheaded from the rushing euphoria of having your own deepest desires affirmed. Harry's smile softened into something unbearably tender.

"I meant what I said earlier, about needing to start making room in my life for stuff that actually matters now," he murmured. "No more letting amazing opportunities or people slip through my fingers while I'm off chasing the next culinary high, you know? From here on out, I wanna do this thing with you - the real deal, not just heated flings or fooling around when it's convenient." 

One calloused palm drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing over your wildly fluttering pulse. "That is...if you're sure you want to go all in with this crazy bastard and whatever baggage he's got. Because I sure as shit don't plan on letting you go after everything we've been through, darlin'. You're stuck with me now."

The last words were issued in a low, rumbly rasp brimming with naked want and promise. You felt a shiver of pure yearning race down your spine as Harry slowly, inexorably drew you back into the smoldering field of his orbit.

"Just to be clear," you murmured, drunk on the whiskey-smoke scent and pure masculine essence of him, "I am absolutely, one-hundred percent sure I want to dive into this thing with you, Harry . The real deal, as you put it - not as mentor and mentee, but as...as partners in every sense of the word." 

A smile you couldn't suppress bloomed over your features as you nuzzled his whiskered jaw adoringly. "You, me, and whatever crazy culinary adventures lie ahead...I can't wait."

Harry rumbled out a low, contented chuckle that vibrated against your skin deliciously. "Sounds perfect to me, darlin'," he rasped, "Absolutely freakin' perfect."

Silence fell between you then, stretching out in a tender, infinitely rich moment of shared affection and promise. Of two hearts irreversibly entwined, embarking together on an endeavor that would change the course of both your lives immeasurably.

Though the road ahead would surely present its own tangle of twists, turns, and daunting challenges yet to come...in that ephemeral pocket of stillness, cradled in the heart of Harry's powerful embrace, you had never felt more vibrantly alive or certain of the path destiny had laid out before you.

No matter what obstacles or battles awaited around the bend, you knew without a shred of doubt that you would confront them as you did everything else - side-by-side with your partner, your equal, your soulmate in every possible sense. Two culinary spirits, unified at long last in a blissful, rapturous understanding.

The rest of the world could keep spinning wildly outside the sheltered cocoon you had woven together. But in this perfect, crystalline moment frozen in time...nothing else mattered beyond the blazing truth ignited between you. From here on out, you would walk through the fire of any culinary pursuit, hand-in-hand, soul-to-soul alongside the man who held your heart.

And in the end, that's all that would ever matter again.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this series is done, but I'm always open to doing extras and check-ins!

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@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

[munson-blurbs]

Hehe for since you asked for fluffy smut, what if reader has had a long day at work and Eddie maybe fixes a bubble bath and they take one together, but then it gets a lil frisky

Is this more smut than fluff? Yes. Am I apologizing for it? Nope.

Collab with @corroded-hellfire who is once again the only reason there's any fluff at all.

CW: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), roommate!Eddie, accidental boners, grinding, lots and lots of touching, mention of oral (f) WC: 1.9k

Home might have been a tiny, two-bedroom apartment that perched above the heart of Hawkins, but at the end of a long shift, it’s Heaven. 

You kick off your shoes; apparently they’re one of the most supportive brands, according to the other waitresses, but your feet still ache. 

The throbbing in your feet is nothing compared to the roaring pain that inflames your lower back. Just pressing the heel of your palms into it makes you wince and groan. 

“You okay?” Eddie calls from his room. You hear him fumbling to put away his guitar before you can even reply. 

The door swings open and he stands there, posture sagging when he sees how beaten down you look. Whatever makeup you had applied that afternoon had long faded, and the stains on your apron certainly added the finishing touch. 

Eddie, meanwhile, is refreshed—infuriatingly so. Today was his day off, and though he put in a lot of work the other six days of the week, you still yearned for the well-restedness that had him bounding over to you. 

“Bubble bath?” When you two had first moved in together, he used to try and talk to you about your day. He took it personally when you retreated to your room without glancing in his direction. But now he knew that you talk when you regain your energy. And there’s no shortage of gossip after eight hours at Benny’s. 

You nod, offering him as much of a grateful smile as you can muster. “That would be great.” You weren’t sure how you managed to find a great friend like Eddie, but you weren’t about to question it, either. 

None of the guys you’d actually dated had ever been so understanding. But Eddie…he managed to always know what you needed. 

He offers you one of his signature grins that always brighten your day and heads down the hall to the bathroom. You take off your name tag when the loud gush of the tub faucet reaches your ears and you barely have time to yank your socks off before Eddie’s back in your doorway. 

“Your spa awaits,” he says. “I would’ve prepared you some music but I don’t think any of my metal cassettes have the ambiance you’re looking for right now.”

You shake your head as you pass by him and step towards the bathroom door. 

“Not really,”  you agree. “I’ll let you know if I need it for some inspiration working out or welding or something.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and slips his hands into the back pockets of his black jeans.

“Wasn’t that Flashdance?”

“Yeah, but that music wasn’t my thing,” you admit with a shrug before you step into the bathroom. The door clicks behind you as it closes and you’re immediately shedding the stained, greasy uniform you’ve been dying to ditch all day. 

A trail of clothing is left in your wake as you step up to the tub, the bubbles fizzing and giving off a calming jasmine scent. Not wanting to scald your skin as the cherry on top of this already grueling day, you slip your hand into the water to test the temperature. It’s perfect. You don’t know how Eddie does it; he must have the magic touch. 

The water, the bubbles, the scent, it’s all too inviting. You lift one leg over the side of the tub and climb in, quickly bringing the other in as well. In your haste to start your relaxation, you slip a bit as you begin to sit down. Instinct has you catching yourself on the sides of the tub almost instantly, but it causes the collection of soap, shampoo, and conditioner bottles to tumble onto the floor in a large heap. You stare at the pile for a moment.

“Ah, I’ll deal with you later,” you decide under your breath and sink further down into the warmth waiting to heal you from your long day. 

The bubbles tickle your skin as they gradually make their way higher. They stop around your breasts and the warm water wraps itself around every achy muscle in your body. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door busts open, a frazzled Eddie charging in with wide, concerned eyes. He’s only in a Corroded Coffin t-shirt and boxers now, so maybe the loud bang woke him from a nap. 

“I-Is everything okay?” he asks as he eyes the pile of bottles on the floor.

“Oh yeah, I just knocked those over when I got in,” you explain. 

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief but the moment his eyes land on you, his body tenses up even worse than before. He’s clearly trying not to stare at you—especially your chest—but he’s failing miserably. You look down to find that your roommate has a pretty good view of the tops of your boobs. 

When you look back to Eddie, you get a pretty nice view yourself. Since he’s only wearing boxers on his lower half, his boner is quite evident. 

A smug sense of satisfaction settles over you, even seeing how uncomfortable Eddie seems to be at getting caught. But you’re not going to tease him or make him feel bad about anything. On the contrary, you’ve thought of yet another way he can help you relax. 

“Do you wanna join?” you purr. 

When Eddie looks your way you give him the most innocent, wide eyed look you can manage and flutter your lashes a few times. 

Worry blooms within you when he doesn’t immediately respond. 

Did I overstep? Is he completely freaked out? Oh my god, what if his boner was completely unrelated to me and I just assumed—

His voice, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, interrupts your thoughts. “Mhm, yeah. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

You nod, watching as he peels off his shirt and tosses it aside, exposing the soft tendrils of hair across his chest. There’s a tattoo on one pec; you want him, need him closer so you can run your tongue over it. 

He sheds his boxers next. Though you knew he was big just from seeing the bulge behind the fabric, nothing prepared you to see him fully on display. The reddish-pink tip leaks pre-cum as the shaft bobs in desperate search for the warmth of a body. 

“Where should I…” He’s gained a bit of confidence from the way you stare unabashedly at his naked body, but he’s still hesitant to push his luck too far. 

Scooting forward, you gesture to the now empty space behind you. Nerves buzz throughout your naked body —now wet in more ways than one. 

Eddie swings a leg over the edge of the tub, getting his balance before bringing the other to join. The way he places his hands on your shoulders results in an electricity that you can only hope he feels as well. 

His lower body disappears beneath the bubbles and he lets out a relaxed groan. You lean back until your head rests on his chest, his considerable length pressing against your lower back. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. Whether he means to speak that softly or he can’t manage anything louder, you can’t be sure. “Be careful.”

“Careful?”

He nods, lips grazing the shell of your ear. He’s so close to you, and yet he’s still too far away. “You’re so fucking tempting like this.”

You shift slightly, enough to see the blush in his cheeks that you know isn’t from the steamy bath. “Maybe I want you to be tempted.”

One tattooed arm snakes around your waist, fingers trailing upwards and stopped just shy of your breasts. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begs. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

You take his hand and place it on your left breast. He whimpers, and you swear you could climax from the sound alone. 

Water sloshes around the tub as he hooks his legs around yours, gathering the stability he needs. 

“Fuck…” His hips move as he ruts up against you, desperate for relief. The way he pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, starkly contrasts the gentle kisses he leaves on your shoulder blades. 

You want him. You need him. 

His other hand lays in the water and you guide it between your legs, now spread in anticipation of his touch. 

“There?” He asks as he finds your clit, rubbing it when you nod in the affirmative. 

Eddie increases his pace, fingers working in tandem to bring you pleasure. You arch your back, exposing your neck for him to bite and suck. 

“When we’re done,” he murmurs, “I want you splayed out on the bed for me. I need to see if your pussy is as pretty as I’ve imagined.”

His words awaken something within you. “Y-You imagine me…?” You start, unable to finish your sentence. 

Eddie nods. “Every time I jerk off, Sweetheart, I imagine being inside you. How you’d feel around my cock—mmph, fuck.”

“I picture you, too,” you confess. “Your fingers, or your cock, or—”

He raises a brow. “Or?”

“Or your mouth.” The admission spills from your lips. 

“Yeah? You want me to eat that pretty little pussy of yours?” Your own desire for him amps up his confidence. He’s impossibly and impressively hard, and you would do anything for him to stretch you out. 

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, Sweetheart. Soon as we’re done here, yeah?” His breath hitches, his rutting becoming sloppier and needier as he nears orgasm. 

Bubbly waves crest over the side of the tub, drenching the bathmat and flooding the tile floor, but neither of you care. 

“Eds, little more, I’m gonna…” 

He follows your every order, your pussy clenching around nothing as he takes care of your clit. 

“Wanna make you feel good.” Eddie kisses your shoulder again. “Please let me make you feel good.”

You can only offer a moan as you come, chanting his name over and over. It’s a name you only ever dreamed about chanting so loudly; it was usually relegated to quiet whispers alone in your room. 

A new warmth, different from the bathwater, coats your lower back and drips down to your ass when Eddie finishes, the hand on your breast squeezing tight, pain and pleasure intermingling harmoniously. 

“Oh my god,” he pants. “That was…”

“Amazing.”

Eddie nods. “So fuckin’ amazing.” 

He lifts a bubble-covered hand to your chin, tilting it slightly so he can kiss you. His lips are soft but move with determination, his tongue sliding between yours. You let him in, your fingers playing with the wet tips of his hair. 

“Meant what I said about eating you out,” he mumbles into your mouth before stealing another kiss. 

Splayed out on the bed. His to ravish. The thought has you lunging for the towel hanging behind the door in an attempt to dry off. 

But when you stand, Eddie reaches out his hand and pulls you towards him, now eye-level with your pussy. “Knew she was perfect,” he says with a smirk. “Bet she tastes even better.”

The kiss he presses to your folds nearly buckled your knees. 

“You wanna find out?” He nods eagerly, and you giggle. “It might be a little lavender-y from the bath soap, though.”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t care. Need you.”

And who are you to deny a man his needs?

--

[joostsblog]

hey i love ur work !! could you do a joost x reader who’s scared of the dark and there’s a power cut or something pls 🩷

you're all i think about ~ joost klein friends to lovers one shot

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader

Description: A movie night at your friend Joost's place turns into disaster and maybe something not so bad after all when there's a power outage.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Tysm for the request, I loved writing it! I hope you enjoy❣️You can always send in requests <3 (title borrowed from the song lights out by fizz!)

Warnings: a panic attack, fear of the dark, not proofread

Movie night tonight? Joost had texted into your friend group chat and somehow nobody was down. Except for you. You were always down if Joost would be there. You would cancel other plans if it meant that you would be able to see Joost. So this is how you ended up by your friend Joost's doorstep, snacks in hand, ready to spend the evening at his place.  

You had known each other for a few years now, hanging around in the same circles but it had only been 7 months (7 months and 11 days to be precise, you kept count) since you had suddenly developed a crush on your friend. A crush so bad that sometimes you almost couldn't contain it and you were afraid that any second you would lose control over yourself and just blurt out your confession in front of all your friends when you hang out. Thankfully that hadn't happened so far. So you kept your secret.

You were afraid that if Joost would find out about your true feelings for him, it would ruin your friendship. That all the long hugs, the loving teasing, the ruffles through your hair, the sweet compliments and pep talks would end because he would feel weird about showing that affection to you.

"(Y/N)!" Joost exclaimed with a big smile as he opened the door for you and engulfed you in one of those heavenly hugs. "So glad you could make it!" he said as he rubbed your back softly. "I can always count on you," Joost said after pulling back.

"Of course!" you said.

A short while later you were both lounging on the sofa, while High School Musical was playing on the TV (Joost's choice), giggling and singing along. Your sides were almost touching, Joost's fingers occasionally grazing yours when you both reached for the popcorn bowl at the same time. In moments like these, the longing and wanting you had for Joost was almost unbearable. You just wished there was a universe in which you could just reach out for him and kiss him on the lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Instead, you were damned to stay at a distance and just drink up every small touch that occurred to keep you satiated.

Suddenly the TV and all the lights in the room turned off all at once and you were sat in darkness.

"What the-?" Joost laughed amused.

You were frozen on the spot and stayed silent as you were scared of the dark. You just hoped that the darkness wouldn't persist too long as you could feel yourself spiralling already.

"I'll check if it's the fuse," Joost sighed, obviously slightly annoyed at the inconvenience.

"Alright," you said quietly as Joost got up and used his phone's torchlight.

You took a peek outside the window and realised that the streetlights were also off which would imply that there was a bigger power outage.

"Fuck fuck fuck," you whispered.

This was bad. Not knowing when and if the power would come back on only worsened your state and being left alone in Joost's living room certainly also didn't help. You grabbed your phone and forced yourself to get up from the sofa. You walked to the door that connected to the corridor to look for Joost.

"Joost?" you asked timidly before you turned your head to look down the dark corridor.

"Booo!" Joost suddenly said with a laugh appearing out of nowhere in front of you.

Your heart skipped a beat and you dropped your phone. Your body started shaking uncontrollably as you tried catching your breath, having absolutely no control over your bodily reaction to what Joost probably thought was a harmless joke. Overwhelmed you could feel the tears slowly trickling down your cheeks.

"(Y/N), everything alright?" Joost asked concerned as he registered your quick breathing. You tried answering but couldn't produce an intelligible response. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Joost said as he realised his mistake. His arms quickly wrapped around your body as he engulfed you in a warm embrace. His chin was resting on your head as he was taller than you, his hands softly caressing you. "(Y/N), I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," you could tell that Joost felt bad for causing your panic.

"It- it's f-fine," you finally managed to push out.

"No no no, I'm sorry," he repeated, softly swaying your bodies back and forth.

"No, I'm such a chicken, I'm afraid of the dark," you explained, voice straining as your throat felt tight and your tears made it difficult for you to speak.

"I swear I didn't know," Joost said. "Come here," he said and led you back to the sofa. "Sit down and close your eyes, just pretend you're taking a nap, okay?" he said and you did as you were told. He softly put a blanket around your shoulders as he sat down beside you. Joost rested his hand on your cheek and wiped away some of your tears.

"I feel so stupid," you admitted, feeling terrible.

"No no, please don't, Lieverd," Joost softly insisted and you wondered whether the pet name was a slip of the tongue. "Don't say that," he said and suddenly you could feel his lips pressing to your forehead and your heart fluttered. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'll be right back, I swear," Joost said before getting up from the sofa.

You kept your eyes closed and tried to calm down your breathing slowly. Having felt Joost's lips against your skin just a moment before sure did distract you but it also certainly added to your nervous heart beating.

"Here I am again," Joost said in a soft tone to not scare you this time. You could hear him shuffle around the room before he said "I got us some lights," and you opened your eyes.

Joost had propped up both of your phones with the torchlight illuminating the ceiling as well as his laptop and iPad which just showed a white screen at maximum screen brightness.

"I don't have any candles," Joost said apologetically.

"It's fine," you softly laughed. "Thank you."

"Well, candles would have been more romantic," Joost said and your heart fluttered again. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked earnestly.

"This is much better, thank you," you said. "But a hug would be nice."

"Of course," Joost smiled and opened his arms as you crawled over to him into his arms. "I'm sure the power will come back on soon," Joost tried reassuring you, his hand softly stroking the back of your head as you were cuddled up against his chest. Joost started softly humming some melody and the vibrations from his chest started calming you down more.

"This is nice," you murmured and you could hear a smile in Joost's hum, his hand drawing circles on your back. "I'm sorry if I ruined this night."

"No, don't be silly," Joost pulled back lightly to look at you sternly. "Any moment spent with you is perfect."

You looked up at him, heart beating fast as you realised how close you two were to each other. In this moment you wished you were in pitch darkness again because maybe then you would have had the courage to close the few centimetres between you and kiss Joost.

"Don't tell the others, but you are definitely my favourite out of all of them," you said which was the closest thing to a love confession you were able to get past your lips. You saw how Joost's eyes lit up at your words, a grin spreading across his lips.

"You are also my favourite, Lieverd," he whispered. You looked at each other in silence, Joost's hand holding your head, his other arm still wrapped around your shoulders. Joost moved his hand to cup your cheek instead and looked at you fondly. His thumb was just resting by the corner of your mouth. You almost didn't dare to breathe just to not interrupt this delicate moment. Joost's thumb lightly brushed against your bottom lip and your heart skipped a beat before he moved closer to you and you instinctively followed suit. As your lips were only a centimetre apart the both of you briefly paused as if to ask the other for permission before you closed the gap and your lips finally met in a kiss. It was gentle and sweet but yet so passionate. Your hand was resting on Joost's chest you swore you could feel his heart beating faster. His arm was holding you close and his smell engulfed you. It was everything you had hoped for and so much more. After you broke the kiss you grinned at each other, Joost's hand caressing your cheek.

"I'm gonna make sure you'll never have to be in the dark again, I swear," he said before leaning in to kiss you again.

[moonstruckme]

poly!marauders all eating out fem!reader at the same time. i cant vision how it would work but say sirius has your hole, james has your clit and remus is at your thighs. thank you my love if you choose to write this!🫶

Hi, thanks so much for requesting! I couldn't quite figure out how their heads would all fit so I hope this is alright?

cw: smut mdni (praise, oral fem receiving)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 480 words

James is laughing at you. Laughing, as you writhe and gasp in his arms. You'd never have taken him for a sadist, but here you are.

"You're okay, angel," he chuckles, moving his hand from around your waist up to your chest to keep your back pressed against his front, and indulging in palming one of your breasts while he's there.

"I—" you gasp, scarcely able to think, much less speak, after the two orgasms you've already had in the past hour.

Sirius takes his lips from your clit with a lewd popping sound, and you cry out. "She's gonna crush Moony's head if she doesn't keep 'er legs open," he complains.

Remus only mumbles, and you can't decipher whether it's in agreement or denial as the reverberations of his rumbling voice in your hole make your head swim. Your trembling thighs press against the long-fingered hands keeping them spread apart on either side of his head.

"I've got it," James supplies, securing you against him with the hand on your chest while using his other to bring your knee upwards, freeing Remus on the one side. "Don't listen to him sweetheart, you're being good for us, aren't you?"

Sirius snickers at your blubbering, nonsensical response, going back to sucking your clit with renewed vigor. A moment later, Remus swirls his tongue inside you, and the coil in your core that's been tightening, slowly but surely, shatters completely. Sirius raises his head from between your legs, crooning at the sounds you make as James smooths a soothing path up the inside of your thigh and Remus works you through your orgasm with his blessed tongue.

James lowers your leg back over the edge of the bed once your breathing starts to steady again, and Remus pats the one he's been holding affectionately, making you jump. "You did so well, love," he says. An embarrasing little frission goes through you at the praise.

James hums in agreement, letting his finger drag over the sweat-slicked skin of your underboob. "So well," he repeats, and his voice is all sweetness, almost making you forget his amusement at your torment a minute before. "Our good girl."

"Thanks," you manage, brain still fizzing like a shaken soda bottle. "Thank you."

"Aw, you're welcome, baby. What do you think?" Sirius' grin is all teeth. "Another?"

At first, you assume you must have misheard him. You raise your head from James' shoulder, every muscle in your body seeming to tremble from being held at attention so long, but before you can ask Sirius to repeat himself, James says, "Yeah, I think she can handle another, can't you angel?" He kisses at the slope of your neck coaxingly, and when he reaches down to tug playfully at Remus' hair, his knuckles brushing your sensitive cunt, you let out a whimper. "Moons, get up here. I want another turn."

[arkieve]

Green | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 291

James places a glass of a sickly green concoction in front of Harry, instantly killing the little boy’s mood. It’s James’ special recipe–the ultimate health drink, packed with vitamins. 

Harry looks down at his glass with a crestfallen expression, lower lip protruding into a pout. James, completely unaware of his son’s predicament, moves away.

It happens quickly. The moment James is out of sight, Harry tilts his entire body toward Regulus, who’s pretending to be blissfully unaware, nursing his own unhealthy tall glass of coke, fizzing in the summer heat. 

Harry tugs at Regulus’ shirt, forcing his attention on him. Regulus peers down at him, paper straw caught between his teeth. Harry’s pout becomes impossibly pout-ier. 

He glances at the glass on the table, beads of condensation gathering in the hot sun before closing his eyes and heaving a sigh– resigning himself to his fate. 

Regulus eyes the patio door, calculating how much time he has before setting his own drink down. He grabs Harry’s glass and downs it one go. 

Afterward, he sits frozen, left eye twitching as he swallows several times to keep the revolting drink down. The grassy taste of it makes him stick his tongue out, revealing its now green color. Harry claps happily at the display before leaning over in his seat and taking a few unbidden sips from Regulus’ coke.

When James returns, he’s none the wiser.

Later, when the table is cleared and Regulus is upstairs putting Harry to bed, Sirius finally brings it up.

“You do realize Regulus has been drinking those for Harry, right?”

James smirks, looking smug as he takes a sip of his glass. “Oh, I know,” he says, eyes gleaming as he looks at Sirius. “They’re actually for him.”

[louisupdates]

INTERVIEW: Lottie Tomlinson: we lost our mum and sister. Louis saved me

At the age of 20, the sister of One Direction singer Louis had already lost her mother, Johannah, and sister Félicité. Now 25, the social media star has written a book about how they coped

Alice Thomson | Tuesday July 23 2024, 5.00pm BST, The Times

Losing Mum was so hard. I was only a teenager but at least I knew that her death was a possibility, even though she didn’t accept it. She was 47 and had cancer. But when my sister died three years later, I was on this hotel balcony in Bali and I was screaming, ‘No, my baby sister, no.’ The pain was indescribable. I kept thinking, ‘Why me? This can’t be happening again. When is this going to end?’ ”

We are sitting on Lottie Tomlinson’s immaculate white sofa in her pristine white house in Chislehurst, southeast London, where she is curled up in tiny shorts with a perfect tan and impeccably applied make-up. But her French manicured nails are digging so hard into the sofa I think they might snap, the heart tattoo on her minuscule wrist is throbbing and her eyelashes are clogged with tears.

Her life sounds blessed. The influencer has 4.8 million Instagram followers waiting for her to dispense advice on how to apply mascara; the fake tan brand, Tanologist, that she launched at 19 has gone global; and she has a devoted fiancé, Lewis Burton, who runs a luxury concierge business and whose former girlfriend was the late Caroline Flack. They have an adorable son called Lucky, who is dripping ice cream on her marble counters. Her new book is also called Lucky Girl; her older brother is Louis Tomlinson of One Direction and she was touring the world with the band as a make-up artist at 16.

But after her mother died when she was 18, Tomlinson was left looking after her younger sister and two sets of twin siblings, aged eight and two, while creating her businesses, and trying to process her grief. Her father had left their home in Doncaster years before after a battle with alcohol. “Dad had a drinking problem. We’d see glimpses of his good side but he let us down,” she says. “I ended up trying to take care of him rather than the other way round.”

When her mother died, life felt bleak, “I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, and then when my sister Fizz [Félicité] died of an accidental overdose, I thought I could never be happy again,” she says. “I found the lead-up to Mother’s Day devastating without my sister as well. It was a constant reminder that I was now different from my friends. In my dreams, my mum was still there; she was alive. I woke up feeling comforted, only to realise that she’d gone.”

Tomlinson, who is now 25 and a patron of the bereavement charity Sue Ryder, moves easily between telling you how to apply the best tan and how to talk about death. She cares passionately about both subjects and takes them equally seriously, worried that I’ve never tried a bronzer or used foundation before asking how I coped when my mother died during the pandemic. Her soft Yorkshire accent is both reassuring and no-nonsense.

Born near Doncaster, she was only two when Fizz was born and six when the first twins arrived. “I’ve always been the big sister — Fizz and I each got one and then more twins six years later.” While Louis had his own space, the girls all shared one room with bunk beds. “It was chaos, but my mum, Johannah, was a midwife and loved being pregnant and having so many babies,” she explains. “I used to be in awe of the way she could feed the twins at once, one on each hip. She would do the night shifts, while I held the fort at home.”

Within a few years, Tomlinson would be touring America, Asia and Europe, flying first class with Louis, part of the biggest boy band in the world, but until she was 15, the family had only ever gone to France once a year all packed into a seven-seater car, with her mother’s new partner, snacks laid out in the middle. They stayed in a caravan park. On a Sunday, a treat was to go to their mother’s hospital to see the babies.

While Louis just wanted to sing, play the guitar and listen to Oasis, the girls were obsessed with make-up. “From the age of 12, I struggled academically, but I loved cropped clothes and my mum’s highlighters and mascaras.” She learnt how to apply everything from YouTube tutorials, rather than doing algebra. “We didn’t have much money — we sometimes couldn’t afford to top up the electricity meter so used candles — but everything my mum earned she spent on us. We all looked immaculate — I remember her being horrified when I dyed my hair orange. So it was lovely later when we could treat her.”

Saturday nights were spent watching The X Factor. “My mother and brother kept applying; in 2010, he got in and the whole family went for the audition. We believed in him, but we never thought it would go that far.” One day the family were going to the live shows, the next the boy band was formed with Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. “He was 18. For my mum it was a big shock. It was all so sudden. The press and fans were in our front garden every day.”

The older twins had already made their first TV appearances — they sound like Doncaster’s Von Trapps. “My mother was gently pushy,” Tomlinson says, smiling at the thought. “When I didn’t get good enough GCSEs to stay at school, she sent me off to join Louis on tour as work experience. I was so scared. I remember her ringing up Lou [Teasdale], their hair and make-up artist, and saying, ‘Lottie has not got through to sixth form; she’s going to come and assist you.’ I was in the car going, ‘No, please don’t.’ But it ended up being the best thing that happened to me. I went for a week and stayed two years. Lou and I are still so close.”

Suddenly, the two eldest Tomlinson children were circling the world, eating room service and ducking the paparazzi hanging out of helicopters taking snaps. “At first Louis didn’t really want his little sister gate crashing his new rock-star life, but now it feels like the best time of our lives — we experienced that craziness together,” she says.

The teenage Tomlinson found it harder to cope with being photographed wherever she went. “I had some puppy fat which made me very self-aware, and the filler culture was coming in and I felt I had to look perfect.” She had her lips done first at 17. “Then I became addicted: cheek filler, jaw filler, more make-up, blonder hair, slimmer and more tanned. My mum thought I looked perfect, but I was always searching.”

Five years later, when she became pregnant with Lucky and her lips started to swell and crack, she realised she didn’t need the enhancements any more. “I had everything removed, the false eyelashes too. It was liberating.” She kept her boob job, however. “That was just enhancement,” she says laughing. “The rest radically changed the way I looked. My breasts also got huge when I was pregnant and it was a bit painful. But I still breastfed. I loved carrying my child. I felt fantastic even when I was sick and exhausted.”

She leans forward, wraps her bronzed arms around her stomach and whispers, “I am pregnant again. We don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl. It’s only 13 weeks, so this is the first time I’ve said it publicly. I think I want a big family. I loved having Lucky but after a year I wanted to give him siblings.”

Tomlinson’s influencer career began once she established herself on tour. Soon everything she did, even dying her roots rainbow-coloured, went viral and fashion companies from Asos to Dior wanted in on it. “I was just going for it. I couldn’t believe the money I was making and spending — money I didn’t know existed as a child.”

Then suddenly her mum came home from holiday with flu. “She didn’t want to get out of bed. The doctors quite quickly told her she had leukaemia and she went straight to London for treatment. It all happened so fast. I remember being in London at work and getting a call from her partner — she couldn’t say the words herself, it was too hard for her.” The family were told it was treatable. “We kept so much hope.”

Her mother asked the family to keep her illness secret. “It was hard because you feel so isolated, but I understood. Louis was in the public eye and she didn’t want him questioned. She was determined to fight it and didn’t want everyone pitying her. My friends noticed I was acting differently for a few months. But I wanted to respect her wishes. It was her one request.”

She also dropped everything to go back to Doncaster to help her grandparents with the twins. “The younger ones were two and I wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. I can’t imagine what my mum was feeling leaving her kids to go to hospital.

“I would take them down and treasure seeing her — we tried to keep it light, no serious conversation. The only way Mum could cope was to keep it normal. Then, when the doctors said the transfusions hadn’t worked, she came home to die.”

Tomlinson tries to sound matter-of-fact. “We went to see her in hospital in Sheffield and the next morning we woke up and were told she had died. We felt numb. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Now I am involved with the Sue Ryder charity, I am surprised we were offered no support or counselling at all, from the GP, the teachers, the professionals. They all kept away.” Her nan and grandad picked up the pieces.

It’s not surprising she can’t remember the funeral. “I just remember getting really drunk to numb the pain. I couldn’t come to terms with it. I can’t even remember how we organised it. My instinct was to take over as the eldest girl and step into my mum’s shoes so that is what I did.” Meanwhile, her older brother, who was launching his solo career, ensured there was enough money. “He’s incredibly generous. We looked after each other.”

Tomlinson returned to London months later, after her grandmother said she needed to become a role model for her siblings. Her younger sister Fizz worried her most. “She was very academic — she got straight A’s without trying — but she always said she felt different. She was bottling her grief for so long; it was too much and made her turn to other things. I think Mum’s death destroyed her. Only my mum seemed to understand her. If she had been offered some help at the start, things might have been different.”

Meanwhile, Tomlinson’s self-tanning brand was soon being sold in Los Angeles, New York and Australia, while her own fanbase grew; she hardly ever needed to pay for drinks, meals or holidays. However, she finds the term influencer obnoxious. “I don’t want to act like I tell people what to do. I am more of a content creator,” she explains. “I get paid by brands to create content for their clothes or beauty products and promote that to my followers. I also wanted my own business. I was quite aware that, at the end of the day, I was just working with an app. That’s why I started Tanologist with my business partner. I was always using tanning treatments that would end up turning my sheets orange and my face would break out in spots — this is more natural.”

Louis was also forging his career as a solo artist, eventually creating the song Two of Us about his mother’s death. “We were always so proud of Louis and what he was doing. We were not going to match up to being a global superstar, but we didn’t want to — ‘successful’ looks different for everyone,” she says.

But her sister Fizz was slipping and struggling. “She was old enough to do what she wanted at 19; she was partying and taking stuff to numb everything. She did go into rehab but to me it didn’t feel like an addiction problem, but a way to blank out her grief.” When Tomlinson was invited to Bali, she asked Fizz whether she wanted her to stay behind. “She said she was OK, and then it happened while I was away,” she says. (Fizz accidentally overdosed on cocaine, an anxiety drug and painkillers, her inquest found.) “Louis called me…” She stops talking.

The shock of a second death must have been devastating. She doesn’t speak for a minute while she twists her huge diamond engagement ring. “We weren’t mentally prepared,” she eventually says. “I can’t even remember if the two funerals were in the same church. I think grief has affected my memory a lot and that’s quite common. Grief is such a powerful emotion; it takes up a lot of your brain.”

Five years later, she now knows how to remain positive. “I had an amazing mum for 18 years. I have the most amazing family, my little boy and my career, and that is because of her. The same with Fizz — I had an amazing sister. It’s heartbreaking they aren’t with us any more, but they are together and they are looking out for me,” she says, sounding as though she is repeating a mantra.

Having a baby made her feel closer to them both. “He was a boy — it’s funny, he actually looks a lot like Louis did — and I thought, this is what my mother must have felt. But then I had so many questions I couldn’t ask, even more because she was a midwife.”

Her biggest problem was her terror that something terrible would happen to her son. “I became fixated [on the idea that] something bad would happen to him, so I couldn’t sleep. You go to the worst-case scenario, because that’s happened to you twice, to two of the closest people in your life. I couldn’t turn the lights off at night; I needed to see him all the time. Luckily, it calmed down quite quickly.”

We are still flitting between her story and advice on make-up, exercise and clothes.

“I like sharing advice. If a child lost their mother, I would say there is no magic answer. But the point of this book is to show that you can have tragic things happen and still keep going.”

What would the 25-year-old now say to her younger self, struggling at her second funeral at the age of 20? “I would say, ‘You are going to be OK; you will live a nice life.’ I didn’t think I could. I thought this will be a really sad, lonely life without my mum and sister. I wouldn’t have believed then that I could be happy again. But it would have been nice to hear.”

Lucky Girl by Lottie Tomlinson (Bonnier, £22). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members