#blue and white striped armchair

[notredamedeparisfans]

Traditional Living Room - Formal Large, formal living room with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a plaster fireplace, and no television in an enclosed, elegant setting.

[queercecil]

Beach Style Bedroom in Grand Rapids

Bedroom - mid-sized coastal master carpeted and beige floor bedroom idea with blue walls and no fireplace

[zaynmajor]

Living Room Formal Large, enclosed, formal living room in beach style with gray walls and no television.

[emvozbaixa]

Living Room Enclosed in Boston Example of a mid-sized transitional enclosed medium tone wood floor and brown floor living room design with gray walls, no fireplace and no tv

[allonsyblue]

Open Family Room

[p0orbaby]

Two in a Million

summary: you never thought you could love anything, or anyone, more

warnings: hospital setting, brief mention of some birth stuff

a/n: based on the cutest request

word count: 1.7k

-

Alessia is sitting in the corner of the hospital room, cradling a bundle that barely seems big enough to be real, and you’re wondering if it’s possible for a person to spontaneously combust from overwhelming, inconvenient levels of affection. It’s nearly midnight, and you’re both exhausted. She’s in this awful grey armchair that doesn’t look like it should belong in a maternity ward, but rather in an outdated office where everyone’s still doing things on paper. A flickering bulb above the chair gives the room a kind of low-rent horror movie ambience, but Alessia, hair pulled back in a messy knot and skin glowing with a sheen of sweat and exhaustion, somehow looks like she’s modelling knitwear for a Christmas catalogue.

The baby—your baby—is swaddled in a white hospital-issued blanket with a generic, utilitarian blue stripe, looking like a little bean bag that’s somehow fallen into her arms. She’s talking to it in that soft, breathless way that you didn’t even know she was capable of. The timbre of her voice is hushed and calm, like she’s afraid the baby might vanish if she speaks at a normal volume, or start screaming again, which you’ve already learned happens with the slightest provocation. It’s ludicrous, really. Alessia’s got a newborn in her arms, a tiny person whose existence just became official eight hours ago, and there’s something about it—her—the whole scene that makes your throat tighten and your chest swell with a feeling you can’t quite define but will probably overanalyse at three in the morning when Alessia’s asleep and you’re up Googling “how to stop obsessing over your own wife.”

You’re still in the hospital bed, wearing a gown that feels like it’s made from sandpaper and regrets. Your legs are aching, though for different reasons now. The baby had been a swift arrival, an early goal in the first half, but with enough of a dramatic finish that you’re already bracing yourself for when Alessia’s friends inevitably compare it to her scoring against Sweden. There’d been shouting, gripping the edges of the bed, Alessia almost crying, and then—everything seemed to go still, at least in your memory. Now you’re here, facing the surreal aftermath, and Alessia is behaving like she’s been holding babies since she was two, all natural and maternal in a way that is both endearing and, if you’re honest, a little unfair.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, glancing up from the baby’s barely-there face with her gaze too earnest, and too concerned, because this is Alessia, who plays for Arsenal and has been to World Cups, and yet when it comes to you, she always looks like she’s not quite sure how to fix things.

“Fine,” you say. You’re not fine. Your whole body hurts, your hair is still sticking to your forehead, and you’re fairly sure you’ll never sleep again. But she’s looking at you with the baby still nestled in her arms, and you’d rather drop dead than say anything that might make her worry right now.

Alessia smiles faintly. “Liar”

“Shut up. I’m enjoying the view”

And you are. She’s wearing the t-shirt she threw on at two in the morning when your waters broke—a white one with faded print of some bar in Ibiza that you both went to on a holiday five years ago, when everything was tan lines and free drinks and an overwhelming sense that your whole life would be one, endless summer. There are little details that rush back to you when you see that shirt: the way Alessia had tried to convince you to go skinny-dipping at three in the morning; the taste of tequila on her lips when you finally pulled her away from the bar; the sickening realisation, two weeks after you got back to London, that you never actually wanted to live without her.

You’ve become fixated on the way her hand cups the back of the baby’s head, as if she’s afraid that at any moment it might just float away, like a helium balloon. She hasn’t stopped staring at it since the nurse handed it over, which makes you wonder if there’s some kind of brainwashing involved, because you’ve seen her focus on a football before and she wasn’t this intense. She’s watching it breathe, which you suppose you should be doing too, but instead, you’re thinking about the shape of her mouth as she talks to it—small, slow movements, like she’s enunciating every word for the first time.

You half-laugh, half-sigh, trying to shift your weight in the bed without accidentally setting off some kind of alarm. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve gone soft”

Alessia looks up, a spark of mischief in her eye, because she knows exactly what you’re doing. “You should talk,” she says. “I heard you crying during labour”

“I wasn’t crying, I was pushing,” you argue, even though you were crying, and you both know it. “That was a push noise”

“A push noise,” she repeats, one eyebrow lifting. “Like a kettle”

“Like a warrior”

“A warrior who sounded suspiciously like she was going to ask for gas and air three times in a row,” she says, and you’re about to reply when the baby makes a sound—an indistinct sort of whimper that cuts through your bickering like a referee’s whistle.

You both freeze, your eyes locking on the tiny human, who has yet to fully open their eyes or make any indication of having a personality. But still, the room falls into that same unnatural stillness that seems to accompany the presence of a baby, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you should even breathe too loudly. Alessia is holding it—him—closer now, rocking him with a rhythm that is suspiciously perfect, as if she’s been practising in secret all these years. You wouldn’t put it past her. She’s probably been sneaking into maternity wards for extra training sessions after practice.

“He’s—perfect,” Alessia whispers, her voice softening as though she’s confiding in you some great, earth-shattering secret.

You stare at her, and then at the baby. “You say that now,” you mutter. “Wait until he starts throwing tantrums”

Alessia laughs, and it’s this little breathy thing that makes you want to do something reckless, like kiss her, or propose all over again, or tattoo her name across your forehead. You’re a mess. Maybe it’s the hormones, or maybe it’s just Alessia, who’s always been able to unravel you with nothing but the curve of her smile or the tilt of her head.

She looks down at the baby again, and you notice for the first time that her hands are trembling slightly, just a barely-there tremor that only you would recognise, because you know her in ways that no one else does, not even Ella, who’s still texting you memes about Arsenal’s latest loss. There’s something almost comically endearing about Alessia sitting there, trying so hard to hold it together, while holding a baby that weighs less than a football and smells faintly of baby powder and something else—something sweet, and soft, and human.

You find yourself thinking back to that night in Ibiza again, when Alessia had told you, in a drunken slur, that she wanted to have kids with you someday. You’d laughed, not because you didn’t believe her, but because the thought seemed so insane, so far away from the lives you were living then. It was all sunburns and sandy sheets, overpriced rental cars and bad pop songs; the idea of a baby, of this, was a fantasy you didn’t know how to hold on to.

And now he’s here, eight hours old, and Alessia is looking at him like she’s never looked at anything before. Not the football pitch, not you, not even the last slice of pizza on a hungover Sunday morning. It’s like she’s seeing the world for the first time, and you’re seeing her see it, and the whole thing makes you feel like you’re floating just above the surface of the room, hovering somewhere between disbelief and a kind of maddening love.

You clear your throat. “Alessia?”

She looks up, startled, like she’d forgotten you were even there. “Yeah?”

“Don’t drop him,” you say, and you’re half-joking, half-serious, because you’re still getting used to the idea that this is your life now—a life where Alessia Russo is holding your son, and you’re trying not to pass out from the sheer, outrageous joy of it all.

“Please,” she scoffs, but there’s a glimmer of anxiety in her eyes, just enough to make you smile. “I’ve got it”

And you believe her, because she’s Alessia, and if there’s one thing she’s never done, it’s let you down. Even if there was that one time in Paris with the mix-up at the airport and the missed flight, but that’s a story for another time.

For now, you’re content to watch as she carefully places the baby in the small, plastic crib beside your bed, and you realise, with a sudden and startling clarity, that you’re not scared anymore. Or at least, not scared in the way you thought you’d be. It’s more of an excited kind of fear, the kind that prickles at the edges of your consciousness and makes you want to grab Alessia’s hand and run, just for the thrill of it.

She straightens up, stretching her arms above her head, and you notice that her t-shirt is still riding up slightly, exposing a strip of skin that you’ve kissed a thousand times but which still feels like uncharted territory now, because everything feels new, like a fresh coat of paint on a familiar wall.

“Hey,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Come here”

She does, and you pull her close, ignoring the ache in your legs, and kiss her like it’s still that night in Ibiza and nothing else matters except the taste of salt on her lips and the way she laughs when you tell her you love her. She pulls back, her forehead resting against yours, and you can feel the dampness of her breath on your cheek.

“We did it,” she whispers, and there’s a kind of wonder in her voice that you haven’t heard in a long time.

“Yeah,” you say, your eyes drifting towards the baby, who’s sleeping now, as though nothing in the world could ever disturb him. “We really did”

[paceprompting]

An Unexpected Gift

written for ‘alone’ | wc: 999 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, pre-relationship, fluff, steve has a crush on eddie, eddie has no clue

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Part One Part Two

Winter break was in full force in Hawkins, complete with a post-Christmas Day bash at the Harrington residence. And after a full day or more stuck with their extended families, the student body was desperate to let loose.

Cue Eddie and his little black lunchbox.

The timing was perfect. His usual customers would have run through their stashes from before school let out, and he could even up charge a little extra when people tried to give him shit. Even then, he was still their cheapest option.

The extra cash would be worth having to convince Wayne to drop him off, still without his van. If he played his cards right, his haul from the party might be enough that he could finally take his van into the shop and stop having to share the pickup with his uncle.

So, perched on his usual armchair and nursing a watered-down rum and coke, Eddie pilfered out the goods. Only a few people noticed the lightly higher prices Eddie asked for, and even then, they wanted their weed more than they wanted to argue.

The house wasn’t decorated very extravagantly, so most everyone looked like everyone else in the dim light of the living room. A customer was a customer, and hard cash was hard cash.

He cleared his lunchbox just about halfway through the party, though he wasn’t sure just how much he’d made in profit. He made a point not to whip out the cash from the pocket inside his jacket with so many people around.

After that, Eddie didn’t exactly need to lurk around. He pulled out his backpack for the lunchbox, and the heavier coat he’d laid on the chair’s arm next to him.

One last unlucky customer sidled up to him.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said, standing there in a trademark striped polo and dark jeans.

“Hey,” Eddie said back, settling his jacket over his front. He gave a strained smile. “Uh, I’m all out for the night. Sorry.”

Steve hadn’t always bought from Eddie, and he never seemed to mind when Eddie sold at his parties. But he rarely bought by himself, usually serving as the bank from which his friends funded their drug habits.

“No, I was actually wondering if I could ask you something.” Steve rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Upstairs, if that’s alright? Alone?”

This was a bad idea. It was one thing for Steve to associate with him in the anonymity of the crowded mall, but there were only certain thoughts that went through people’s minds when Steve Harrington took people upstairs toward his bedroom.

And Eddie was not one of those people.

More like the opposite.

“Five minutes,” Steve promised. “I’ll even walk you out.”

“Not necessary, Harrington.” Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped past Steve, his beeline for the stairs serving as his answer to Steve.

They weaved past the drunk and/or high partygoers lining the stairs. With Eddie going first, he assumed that the strange looks he was getting was less than he if he’d been following Steve.

Who knew who had seen him go straight into the King’s bedroom.

He took a place in the center of the room, hands tucked firmly in his jacket pockets and backpack on his shoulder. Steve closed the door behind him, but he didn’t notice Eddie’s highly-raised brows, instead heading straight for his dresser.

Steve picked up a wide, white box and turned, holding it straight out toward Eddie.

“I didn’t know we were doing a gift exchange,” Eddie said.

“It’s just…something I thought you’d like.” Steve shrugged one shoulder, still holding the box. “I don’t expect, like, reciprocation or anything.”

Eddie peered at the top of the box, where a line of blue text spelled out ‘Bloomingdale’s.’ Eddie leveled his gaze at Steve, but all he got in return was seeing Steve nervously bite at his lower lip.

Eddie took the box.

He heard Steve swallow hard as Eddie worked off the fitted cardboard lid, taking it before Eddie had to ask. Letting Eddie see the garment inside in all its surprising glory.

“It’s—”

“They had one in black, like you’d said.” Steve pointed to the gift, as if Eddie couldn’t see exactly what he was holding.

It was the jacket from that day at the mall. Stiff, because it was new, but clean denim with bright silver buttons on the breast pockets and down the front. The only difference: black, instead of blue.

Eddie dragged his hand across the fabric, remembering how warm the one he’d tried on had been. The warmth that came from nicely made stuff.

“You actually remembered that?” he said.

Steve fucking shrugged again, like he just went around remembering random bits of trivia from people he should never be associating with, much less buying Christmas presents.

The worst thing? Eddie wanted to keep it.

It would be a lot harder for Steve to try and take the gift back if Eddie had it safely in his own closet. Refusing the gift meant Steve could just return it.

Was Eddie supposed to refuse it?

He knew one thing for sure.

Steve Harrington was confusing the hell out of him.

“I’m planning another party. For New Year’s,” Steve said, breaking up the silence of Eddie’s indecision. His hand still on the jacket, Eddie looked him, mouth surely hanging open. Steve pursed his mouth, seemingly unsure of his own words. “If you want to plan…to be there.”

Eddie would have been there regardless. Didn’t usually get an invite to these things.

He narrowed his eyes toward Steve, who he was sure hadn’t not looked nervous since he first walked up to Eddie in the living room.

“I’ll think about it,” he said slowly. He lifted the jacket from the box, officially accepting the gift and tossed the bottom part onto Steve’s bed. As he headed for the door, he added, “And, thank you. For the jacket.”

“Don’t mention it."

Part Four

[luveline]

If you’re taking requests, I’d love to see something with domestic!Hotch, pure fluff and love.

hi thank you for your request!! hope this is OK!! fem!reader

"Alright," you say, hands in front of you, poised, "okay, I can do it."

"You can't. You won't be able to, and I'll have to take you to the ER with a broken neck," Aaron says, though he doesn't seem alarmed at all, sitting on the leather armchair of your apartment with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. 

"I can do it! Don't be defeatist. You always tell me that I can do anything." 

"You can do anything," he agrees, "and that includes breaking your neck." 

"It's just a handstand. I know you're jealous because you can't do one, but there's no need to put me down. I expected more from you Hotchner, I really did."

He hums as if to say, Well, what can you do? and takes a sip of his drink. You're thrilled he's home, jubilant that he's relaxed, and yeah, you're so happy you've decided to show off a little. You got to talking about being younger and getting old, how the lost mobility starts and never ends. You're not as old as Aaron is but you're not so young, either. 

"I can't actually remember the last time I did a handstand," you admit. 

"I'm sure it's like riding a bike." 

"Very funny. Okay, I'm really going to do it, handsome." You start to move forward toward the wall, but stop at a sputter, turning your head over your shoulder to ask, "Would you take care of me, if I hurt myself?" 

"I'd be very annoyed." 

"But you'd look after me? Shower me and stuff?" 

Aaron puts down his mug, smiling at you lovingly. "What sort of question is that? Of course I would. Now do your handstand, honey." 

"Are you kidding?" you ask. 

He looks nice in his pyjamas, new and ironed and the best you could find for him at the grocery store, knowing he'd be coming over and knowing he wouldn't bring anything comfortable with him to change into. You couldn't abide by another night of leaning on him in his slacks and button up shirt while you're in an old college t-shirt and sweatpants. It feels so disproportionate. Better now to get to sit with him in vaguely matching pyjamas, his trousers blue with white stripes, yours white with blue flowers. Better still to perform gymnastics in them and discuss how he'd nurse you back to health in the case of a concussion. 

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asks. 

"I break my neck?" you ask, incredulous.

He raises his eyebrows.

You wave your hand at him and he laughs, pleased to have set a successful trap. You're too nervous to run into the handstand, but walking feels like less than ideal momentum. 

"Don't look," you say eventually. 

"I'd like to look." 

"Don't look, Aaron. I can feel you looking." 

"I actually think you might be able to do it," he says. He sounds carefree, for once. He never sounds this relaxed over the phone, and it takes him a few hours to wind down after work every night, but on the weekends when it's you and him alone, Aaron laughs. He makes stupid jokes, he kisses behind your ears, he lets himself indulge in snacks and TV. And he encourages your bad decisions. "Take it slow, you don't have to impress anyone. Besides me." 

"You think you're very funny," you murmur. 

You finally give in. You bend at the waist and shift your weight onto your hands, and you collapse into a sideways ball before you have the chance to impress. "Woah!" you shout, your arm slapping into your face and your knee burning from carpet friction. 

Aaron starts laughing like crazy, like —you've never heard him make that sound before. You're startled enough by his boyish giggling to forget your embarrassing defeat for a moment, until he slides his hands under your arms to pull you into a sitting position, crooning, "Oh, my girl, that was really pathetic. I can't believe you knew how to do a handstand in the first place if that's what you're working with now." 

"Aaron, what the fuck." Your unhappiness wanes as he kisses you, the curve of his smile cutting your frown. "Pathetic was a bit strong," you mumble into his lips, hand in his t-shirt and pulling him down for another kiss. 

"How have you managed to get me on the floor again?" he asks on his knees, hand to your face, thumb glancing off of the highest point of your cheek affectionately. 

"Don't know. Reckon I can do a rolypoly?" 

"Not if it's anything like your handstand." 

Aaron rubs your arms and stands up, tugging at your hands to encourage you to do the same. You do, but as you stand, you notice something. 

"You won't believe this, handsome," you say, bending down. 

He grabs your waist. "You're not trying again." 

"I'm not!" You stand, holding out the palm of your hand. "Look, it's our missing puzzle piece." 

Aaron frowns at your jigsaw piece, a cream colour that blended in with the floor. "That's not good."

"Why not?" you ask. You and Aaron spent hours sitting around the coffee table doing that jigsaw together, and you'd both been genuinely disappointed to find it incomplete. 

He closes his hand over yours and pulls you in for a soft kiss. "I wrote them a very angry email," he confesses. "It was… unlike me." 

"You didn't." 

"I did," he says, nodding into another kiss, your twin laughter smothered by the other's gentle touch, "I really, really did." 

"You'll have to say sorry." 

"Return the new puzzle, too." 

"Or… we could never tell anyone." 

Aaron laughs warmly and wraps his arms around your shoulders, a big hand cradling the back of your head. "Good idea." 

[ladykailitha]

Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 12

Well, this story is complete. I finished it on Friday and will be fully uploaded in two weeks. With chapters 14/15 next week on the 31st and 16/17 on April 7th.

This has been one hell of a ride. I never thought I would ever do omegaverse. But this one just demanded to be written.

TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED

Eddie takes Steve shopping and they go the Grammy's.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

****

Steve loved shopping. It was his favorite thing in the world. He especially loved it when he went with Chrissy or Robin or sometimes even both. But he was finding out that shopping with Eddie was special.

“I’m going to rock your world, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured when they entered the shop.

It was all high end, naturally. But it was the type of stuff Steve would have bought for himself back in high school.

“Eddie...” he whined a little.

It was sweet, it really was. But he couldn’t wear the ‘uniform’ of a omega housewife. Not anymore.

“Just wait, darlin’,” Eddie whispered, “it’s gonna be good.”

Just then a man came over. He was short, barely 5’5”. He had warm brown skin and silver hair.

“Hello, loves,” he said, voice as warm as his skin tone. His accent was the vaguely British of someone who had lived in the United States for a long time.

“Hello,” Eddie greeted, kissing him on each cheek. “Steve, this is Raj. Raj, this is Steve Harrington, he’s a Starcourt omega.”

Raj clasped his hands together. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve.”

Eddie turned to Steve. “Raj is a professional stylist. He’s dressed me for many an event and he’s going to help you find your style.”

Steve smiled at him. Because of course Eddie was only trying to help and not make him feel inferior about liking a style that he couldn’t wear.

“Come on, love,” Raj said, “tell me what you like.”

And so Steve did just that.

They spent the afternoon trying on several different combinations and styles that Steve felt like he was a runway model to the crowd of one.

Eddie sat on a big, white, overstuffed armchair and made comments on everything Steve tried on.

Three hours later, Steve was walking out of the store in a navy blue striped polo and tight fitted jeans and several bags filled with clothes of a similar style.

Steve laughed when he exited the shop, twirling around with his bags. Just so happy.

Xander took the bags from Steve and put them in the trunk of the car to keep the bags from going flying.

Eddie pulled him in for a kiss.

“God, you are so gorgeous when you’re happy,” he murmured into Steve’s neck.

Steve hummed. “Well, it’s a good thing that the thing that makes me happiest is you, huh?”

Eddie looked up at him with a tender smile. “Back attcha, big boy.”

Steve wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

“Will I get to see you before the Grammy’s on Sunday?” he asked, softly.

Eddie sighed. “Unfortunately not. I have so many interviews and shit that I just won’t have time.”

“That’s okay. I still have other work I’ve got scheduled this week.”

Eddie kissed him deeply. “You have fun, babe and I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Bye.”

Eddie watched as the car pulled away from the curb. He had gotten to meet both Robin and Xander, the two people tasked with keeping Steve safe and he found that he loved them both.

And that fact settled one of the worries in his chest about Steve, knowing that his boy was being looked after properly when he wasn’t around.

****

“Troy’s coming,” Robin said, “I’m not asking, I’m telling you.”

Steve glared at her. “He’s creepy.”

“He’s really not,” she defended. “He’s very protective of the omegas in his care and I need a second pair of eyes on you tonight.”

“I don’t see why,” Steve said rolling his eyes. “I’ve done hundreds of events with only one handler in the past. What makes tonight so special?”

“The press.”

Steve huffed. “I literally when to an event for the press with Nancy, how is this any different?”

“Because these aren’t the civilized press, Steve,” Robin said menacingly. “These are the vultures. The bottom of the barrel. Sleazy, gasping, horrible people who will judge you, seek to tear you down, and humiliate you.”

Steve let out a long sigh. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “Eddie has his own security, but they’ve been coordinating with Troy and me all week. What’s your signal for needing to get out quick?”

“Moving my clutch from my left hand to my right,” he said.

She nodded. That was a good signal. Steve liked his right hand free to shake hands with people.

“What’s your signal if you need to get away from the alpha?” she asked next.

“I take out my earrings,” he dutifully replied.

Again, not something Steve would normally do, so she nodded.

“The code word to get both of you away from someone who is harassing one or both of you is ‘caveat’.”

“As in ‘one of the caveats for dating an escort is to be understanding when something work related comes up’?”

Robin grinned. “Perfect. All right, we’re good to go.”

Steve grabbed his black clutch and matching shawl. It was February in California, but it was still February.

He draped the shawl over his shoulders and walked out to the car.

Troy and Robin got into a white SUV with Troy at the wheel.

Steve slid into his car to find a waiting Eddie.

“Well this is a surprise,” he cooed, sliding up to press himself against his boyfriend’s side.

Eddie chuckled, lifting his arm to wrap around his shoulders. “Benefits of properly courting you, darlin’. Management is letting me know where you live. Ish.”

“Ish?” Steve asked, scenting along Eddie’s jaw.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “The windows were tinted so I don’t know exactly where we are, but I know enough.”

“Ah.”

Yeah, that made sense.

“You look so pretty, baby,” Eddie said, changing the topic. “You look good enough to eat.”

Steve chuckled. “So do you.”

And he did. He was wearing a black suit coat with black rhinestones embroidered into the lapels, with a white button up shirt that decidedly not, tucked into a pair of black slacks. On his neck were several necklaces and chains and his wrists were covered in bangles and more chains.

He had a single earring in his left ear which was an upside down cross.

Steve was enraptured.

“This is all for you, baby doll,” Eddie murmured into Steve’s ear. “I rarely dress up for these things, but I wanted to look good for you.” His hand reached around to cup Steve’s ass. “Especially with you looking like sex on legs in that short dress.”

Steve chuckled. “You keep this up and we’re going end up torturing poor Xander’s ears by having sex back here.”

Eddie’s eyes blew wide. “Shit Stevie, if we didn’t have to be there at a specific time, I would absolutely hold you to that.” And he pulled Steve even closer to him so that the omega could feel the reaction to his words.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from scenting Eddie again.

“Did I tell you that thing the attracted me to you second to you being the sweetest thing,” he murmured, “was your scent?”

Eddie licked his lips. “Right back ya. Together we smell of Christmas.”

Steve giggled. “A little bit, yeah.”

Xander caught Steve’s eye in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrow causing the omega to blush, ducking his head shyly.

Xander knew something that Robin didn’t as she couldn’t be in the car with him for things like this.

Despite a Starcourt escorts’ reputation for being sex pots, sex wasn’t allowed in the back of the car. Mainly because of the driver, but also because what they did was meant to be higher than just make outs in the back of a car.

It wasn’t a rule, like not giving out their personal number was a rule, but it was a guideline that Steve had adhered to almost religiously. So for him to even suggest jumping Eddie was completely out of character for him.

Eddie raised Steve’s head gently with his forefinger. “You look so pretty when you blush, baby, but there is nothing going on here that you need to be ashamed of, okay?”

Steve nodded.

Just then the car rolled to a stop, signaling that they had arrived at the red carpet.

Behind them Troy and Robin stepped out with Eddie’s two security members. All of them dressed in black suits and ties with pristine white button up shirts.

All of them pulled out their sunglasses and slid them on. Troy walked up to the door and opened it.

Eddie slid out first, waving to the crowd. Then he turned around and helped Steve get out of the car. Steve waved, too, then slipped his hand around Eddie’s arm.

“The first interview is with Vanity Fair, Kayla Brosnahan,” Troy murmured to them. “She’s very fashion orientated so she’ll ask about your clothes first.”

Steve nodded. He glanced at Eddie, who nodded.

They walked up to the beautiful alpha reporter in a long, slinky, red dress.

“Kayla, Vanity Fair,” she said to the cameraman, “here with Eddie Munson, frontman of Corroded Coffin who is up for three awards tonight, and Starcourt escort, Steve Harrington.”

She turned to them. “Wow! You two look absolutely stunning together. Who designed your clothes tonight?”

Steve smiled. “Omega designer, Lola Martinez and the jewelry is by St Giovanni.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “Those are some pretty big names. And how about you, Eddie? Who are you wearing tonight?”

“Jimmy Pantera.”

Jimmy was a known alternative style fashion designer. Chains, leather, denim, studs; basically the metal and grunge scene. What Eddie as wearing would have been very conservative for his collection.

“Very nice,” Kayla said. “I can see it now. Wow.” She turned to Steve. “Have you had any clients cancel on you because you’re being courted?”

Eddie bristled and was about to lay into her when Steve touched his elbow.

Steve batted his eyelashes with a simpering pout. “Oh, Kayla, you know all client information is confidential.” Kayla opened her mouth to say something snide, but Steve beat her to it. “Plus, I don’t kiss and tell. Not like a certain omega who’s been warming your bed.”

Suddenly she was sputtering and back tracking. “Eddie, you’re up for three awards tonight, what are your hopes for tonight?”

“Corroded Coffin and I are very happy to have been nominated for Best Metal Album, Album of the Year, and Single of the Year for ‘Hell’s Lookin’ Better Than Heaven’, but we were disappointed we weren’t nominated for more. Best Metal Performance is a prime example. Even though we made more money then any other touring band last year, we weren’t even considered.”

Again Kayla was forced to back track and try to start over but they had chosen that moment to move on. Kayla turned to her camera and made a slicing motion across her throat to tell him to stop taping.

All the interviews kept in the same vein. They would be chatty, ask about what they were wearing or who they were most excited to see perform and then drop shit like:

“Are you going to make Steve stop escorting once finish your courtship?”

To which Eddie replied, “I’m not so fragile that I need constant validation that my dick is big enough. Stevie is his own person and if he wants to keep working, why would I stop him?”

Followed by back pedaling and Steve and Eddie moving on.

Next asshole:

“Steve, are you angling for a bond to get out of being an escort?”

Steve and Eddie just blinked at him like he was too stupid for words. They just walked off.

Once Troy just moved them past an interviewer calling their name.

Steve looked down and a little behind him. “What was wrong with that one?”

“He’s been sexually harassing omegas that come through,” Troy muttered back. “Making lewd comments, making passes at them, touching them without their consent.”

Steve nodded and Eddie put a protective hand on his lower back. They made it through the gauntlet and into the Radio Music Hall.

They sat down at the table that already had the rest of the band and their plus ones and settled into enjoy the show.

****

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

@val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten

@vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @y4r3luv @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt @apomaro-mellow

@yellowdevilkitten @eyehartart @mangoinacan13 @demolvr @ellietheasexylibrarian

@rememberthatiloveyou @slowandsteddie @r0binscript @alyelf @melodymeddler

@mogami13 @annabanannabeth @disrespectedgoatman @manda-panda-monium @maya-custodios-dionach

[mrincrediblyblind]

“blue and yellow symbolism is only relevant in season three because of Robin-“ wrong!!

here’s all the blue and yellow stuff i could spot in season two from episode 5 onwards

episode 5

the background is blue the scientists in the foreground are yellow

the aprons behind them as they heat the water up with the bunsen burner are blue and yellow

the tv static at terry’s is blue, yellow, green and white

terry is wearing a kakhi/beige cardigan with blue flowers on her shirt

eleven is wearing a blue and yellow flannel

terry’s dress in the flashback is white with yellow and blue flowers (and orange as well)

bob and joyce being in blue and yellow

when bob and joyce are looking for hopper in the tunnels, will and mike are standing infront of hopper’s car (that’s light brownish yellow colour, beige?) both in blue

will’s pyjama pants when he’s having a seizure on the ground are blue and yellow

when will is being sedated, the carpet is beige/dirty yellow and literally like everything else is blue

in steve’s car, blue lighting, only colour that can be distinguished is the yellow of dustin’s shirt (its orange-ish but looks yellow in the lighting, trust 🙏)

opening scene episode 6 of season two is the byers’s house, the lighting is blue and the curtains and armchair is yellow. the paper seems yellow and the drawings of the tunnels are blue

packaging envelopes with blue pen writing (murray’s house)

jonathan’s pyjama pants are yellow, the stripes on his sheets light blue and the blanket green. blue and yellow makes green

the entire scene being blue and yellow when

before nancy and jonothan kiss, nancy has a blue pillow on her lap, yellow blanket, blue and yellow cushion cover

erica’s entire room is blue and yellow

the walls of lucas’s house is yellow

his quilt is blue and yellow

lucas’s shirt in this scene i’m talking about is is blue with murky yellow stripes

when they’re talking to hopper, the lighting is blue and one of the scientists shirts has a pale yellow undertone

when they go into the upside down, the gate area? is yellow next to the blue glow of the upside down

in the upside down is the part that’s “growing like cancer” (- Dr Owens) is yellow, the lamp is yellow

when murray makes breakfast, he makes eggs(yellow) drinking out of yellow cups, murray’s shirt is blue now

murray gives nancy and jonothan vodka (yellow label) water (blue label)

max’s room is blue and yellow, blue pillow and yellow endless summer poster

max’s front door is yellow, we get an over the shoulder shot of lucas, in which he had a blue backpack on

when billy checks out front for lucas, we can see his car is blue and yellow letters on his blue number plate

most of the scenes with mike and will are blue or green, when they’re the one colour, it’s usually where there isn’t any conflict between the two

steve is wearing blue and yellow with a green backpack

when they’re looking at the red spots on will’s brain, we see the scientists under their white coats they have blue shirt, one man with a yellow shirt and one with a blue shirt and yellow tie

when dr owens goes to think, his pot plants are yellow and theyres a book? file on his desk that’s yellow

will’s IV needle is yellow with blue tape, you can see when Mike snaps him out of the trance (i believe? i can just see blue and yellow on his hand)

as dustin and lucas are talking behind the car at the wreckage, we can see max in the window of the car, the only colour we see if her is her blue jeans and the yellow board she’s lifting

when they’re suiting up after will says there’s something he’s not meant to see, it’s all blue and yellow 😭

max’s watch is yellow, the neck of her shirt is orange-ey yellow, her jeans are blue and jacket green (the outcome of mixing blue and yellow)

when we’re looking at the command section as the soldiers are in the upside down, the screen is blue and the buttons glowing yellow

when the demodog growls, dustin and steve look out the van’s yellow gridded window and theirs a blue piece of fabric

steve walks out the caravan with a bat, in which theirs a yellow piece of metal in the foreground (blue lighting)

when he’s swinging the bat by the pile of meat there’s a yellow piece of metal behind him (blue lighting, again)

the van is blue and yellow with green (and red too but no other colours matter, okay?)

when steve’s steps out of the van after the demedogs nearly attack, with the kids behind Steve, it has a wide shot of the wreckage and as established, the blue lighting makes yellow standout. you can see a yellow car and yellow streetlight

when hopper is in the control room when all the soldiers die to the demedogs, he’s in a blue shirt with yellow light on his face

the gateway has yellow glass, we see hopper standing there infront of it (in a yellow shirt once more)

ep 7

terry’s flashbacks flash between the yellow sunflowers and a heap of blue, contrasting the amount of yellow in her house

eleven has a glass of milk, the blue and yellow stripe on the mug are next to eachother

the file eleven goes through to find Eight/Kali is pale yellow with blue tabs

eleven laying on the yellow bedding, flashing to the “rainbow room” with Eight/Kali, which has blue walls

eleven went through becky’s bag on the counter, yet the cards are sprawled out on tye bench

news channel has a screen that’s blue with yellow checkers

illinois has yellow lighting, el walks past a club? with blue LED lights, some streetlights are blue, when she first gets off the bus theyres a bunch of blue cars and people in blue.

el walks out the alleyway and there’s blue and yellow graffiti

the whole hideout of the Kali & her friends is blue and yellow

the dottie girl has a blue button up and bow, light yellow on her shirt underneath and there was yellow on her skirt

the id cards that the punks (Kali’s friends) put on the table are blue and yellow

when they’re plotting the way to find the lab, the pages in the book of destinations are yellow and the book cover blue

blue tarp on the van (the faded light yellow van)

they drive threw an alleyway where presumably homeless man is putting up a blue and yellow tent

when they’re in the supermarket, eleven sees waffles in the freezer. in the freezer, everything is blue and yellow (or white)

dottie has a yellow flyswetter (she’s wearing blue, remember)

when they drive off from the gas station, the store across the road has blue and yellow (and white)

tv is broken in blue in yellow, the man (Ray) watch tv is wearing blue, the lamps casting a warm yellow on the wall behind him

his bedroom is in yellow lighting, the jeans they take the wallet from, blue obviously.

when eleven is strangling Ray, earth vader style, there’s a shoulder upwards shot of him on the yellow tiles, his upper half shirt blue

when the cops get there, it’s yellow and blue lighting in Ray’s neighbourhood

the fight scene between the punks and the police, blue and yellow lighting

when eleven is talking to Kali (eight) the lighting is green (product of blue and yellow)

there’s a lady with a blue shirt and a dark yellow/brown jacket on the seats across the isle to el on the bus. the lighting is green and the stripes on the seat are rainbow

episode 8:

max’s house is shown after the intro, the door is yellow, the light is blue. max’s mother is in blue and yellow, the lighting in the house is yellow, max’s stepdad is in dark blue

nancy, steve, jonothan, max, dustin and lucas are at the entry for hawkins, blue lighting, yellow car, yellow billiards etc

rubiks cube that bob gave will, mike picks it up talking about how bob started up the AV club. he put it on the table, the cube is wrapped in blue wrapping paper with yellow rubber bands

blue lighting when dustin is apologizing about “Dart” to lucas, dustin called max lucas’s girlfriend, saying that they were holding hands and that’s all. Lucas goes on to deny

ep 9:

karen wheeler is in the bath with blue tiles in the background, yellow candlelight

ted wheeler is having a nap on his arm chair, his sweater blue and yellow

the blanket that steve uses to wrap the demodog in to put in the byers’s fridge is blue, yellow and white

billy pulls up to the byers house looking for max, blue and yellow numberplate (as mentioned before) numberplate also says california

eleven and hopper are in the lab car park and she’s having flashbacks, it cuts back to the both of them. the lighting is blue and yellow.

when el and hopper are hugging after she closes the gate, the glow is blue with a yellow light in your middle

after the month timeskip, hopper meets dr owen’s in a restaurant which is blue and yellow

jonathan is taking photos at the snowball and there’s a girl in blue and yellow

the lights just being blue and yellow

the amount of people being in blue and yellow???

shout out to season 2 byler, love y’all so much

[tsc-malec]

“Wasn’t Magnus around? Why didn’t he go with you?” Luke interrupted, clearly upset.

“I was healing Maia, that’s why,” Magnus said, coming into the living room smelling strongly of grapefruit. His hair was wrapped in a towel and he was dressed in a blue satin tracksuit with silver stripes down the side. “Where is the gratitude?”

“I am grateful.” Luke looked as if he were both angry and trying not to laugh at the same time. “It’s just that if anything had happened to Clary—”

“You would have died if I’d gone out there with them,” Magnus said, flopping down into a chair. “She and Jace handled the demons just fine on their own, didn’t you?” He turned to Clary.

She squirmed. “You see, that’s just it—”

[....]

Luke began to kick back his blanket in preparation for rising, but before he could get to his feet, the front door banged open and Jace came in, followed by Alec, who was carrying a white box. Magnus hastily pulled the towel off his head and dropped it behind the armchair. Without the gel and glitter, his hair was dark and straight, halfway to his shoulders.

—City of Ashes

[stupidsagestars]

𝐬.𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐱 (𝐟) 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a famous chess player who's shy and quiet has a bit of fun with a bold,fun photographer.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut,cum eating,fingering,cunilingus,riding, degradation.

'★- i watched queen's gambit a while ago and I just couldn't stop thinking of an oblivious chess reader having to deal with an eccentric Tendō, enjoy!!

--𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑--

--•--•

It had been approximately 6 weeks since you had won the national chess championships being the first woman to do so in the last 50 years. This obviously made it in papers around the world. You had been in interviews,adverts,signed contracts with brands all in the space of a month. Now it was a time for yet another photoshoot. You dressed in a simple sundress since you knew you would have to change anyway and brought along a bag with a chess board in it. According to your agent, your destination was a manor in the countryside, you were taking pictures for Vogue's spring magazine.

You knocked on the door and waited for someone to hopefully open it.

It slowly opened and you found yourself face to face with an extremely attractive guy. His hair was a cherry red which was unusual but it fit him so well. He was super tall so he towered over you. His eyes are wide and seem to be analyzing you with ever glance. He's dressed in a blue and white striped polo shirt with beige trousers and green socks.

"So you're here!" He said welcoming you in.

"It's a pleasure to meet you miss chess champion, I'm Tendo Satori, your photographer" He says offering his hand out for you to shake it.

"This place is incredibly beautiful,do you own it?" You asked, observing the space around you.

"Yep. Although I wasn't the one who decorated it." He notes, leaning on an armchair behind him.

"Do you have a girlfriend who did it all for you?" You ask.

He scoffs, "Nope, I'm quite lucky to be honest this place is passed down from my dad who got it front grandad who got it from his dad- you get what I mean."

You nod.

"So, we'll be working all around the house today. Let's start in the kitchen, do you have your clothes?" He asks, adjusting the lens on his camera.

You freeze. "Oh uh I thought they would be here."

"Don't worry about it. I'll call 'em and see what they say." He plunges his hand in his pocket for his phone and leaves you for a moment to have a chat with whoever was in charge.

You were left to sort of just stand there, you decided to take out you chess board. You walked over to the kitchen and placed it on the island. You didn't take the pieces out so you didn't look rude. Instead you just played it in your head, just like you did when you were kid. It was a last resort but it worked,at least it did for you.

"Move the rook forward 2 spaces." You muttered to yourself, hands tracing the board.

Suddenly you heard a voice from behind you that made you jump, "you really are great aren't you?" Tendo said, his eyes wide with interest.

"Thank you." You said quietly feeling your face burn.

"How'd you do it, like the whole playing in your head thing?"

"It sort of just happens, as a kid I'd didn't have a board so that was all I coul really do."

"That's so cool."His eyes brightened and he couldn't help but smile at this delightful woman.

He cleared his throat and began to speak. "Right so we've got a few issues. The first being that they've decided they want you for Victoria's secret today and Vogue tomorrow. It means you're going to have to wear some lingerie." He says slowly.

"But! I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable so you don't have to if you're not up to it."

You looked away, "I guess I can do it."

His eyes light up,"Great. Come with me."

You can't help but feel the tension in the atmosphere, it felt like he would say anything, those tiny praises were making your heart twist and he was so casual and cool it gave you butterflies.

"Right so the room on the left is the dressing room you'll find a red lingerie in there. I'm just going to get some equipment so I'll meet you back at the kitchen."

"Great." You say, giving him a small smile.

You walk into the dressing room which most definitely had the red lingerie you were looking for but it wasn't just that there were many, many, colours and patterns. You took off your dress and your underwear and put on the lingerie it had floral patterns on it, definitely something Victoria's secret would sell.

You take a deep breath and leave the room. You walk down the stairs to find Tendo already waiting for you.

"You look lovely." He said, eying you up and down, his breath hitched,the sight of you made his heart twist, he could feel an erection building up inside of him.

"I can't help but feel like you're giving me too many compliments." You say, innocently. Now for some reason you didn't find any of this extremely uncomfortable or lewd maybe because your brain was filled with chess pieces, competitions and strategies you didn't spend much time thinking about sexual thoughts or lustful feelings, now that you were 23 years old, although these things were common in the adult world it had still been difficult for you to adjust,coming from an orphanage that was completely disconnected from society.

"I could give alot more but I'm a professional man." He replies, running a hand through his hair. Tendou wasn't lying when he said this, he could bathe you in praises if he wished to but he didn't want to creep you out but then he couldn't help but get even more aroused, you were so innocent and just unaware, would you be different in bed, oh how funny would that be! You with a completely different personality whilst he relentlessly pounds into you, happy to be his slut.

"Right so what'd you want me to do?" You say standing Infront of the island.

"Uh, well I've put all the pieces on the board because I think we can utilise it, act like you're using it."

"Okay." You pick up the bishop and hold it in your hand.

"Nice now bend over slightly."

The camera clicks a few times.

"Perfect now I want your right hand on your hips and look like you're trying to figure something out, take some of the pieces off the board." He orders and you oblige.

"Move your hand a little up." He says and you do but he decides to walk towards you.

"Do you mind if I do it for you?"

"Go ahead."

He bends down and holds your hand gently. He moves it right above your panties, you can feel his breath on you whereas you could barely breathe. His hands were so cold against your warm body.

You couldn't help but curse in response to this odd feeling in your stomach.

"You alright y/n?" He asks slowly getting back up and putting his hands on your shoulders.

"Don't be worried, you're doing a great job." He said and you quickly nod, "t-thanks." You say but it barely comes out.

What was this feeling? This man was reducing you to feeble expressions and quick nods how did he do it. Ever since you were 7, playing chess with the old cleaner, you hadn't thought about anything but chess but over the past year or two you had become more exposed to the ideas of sex,money, alcohol and freedom, now here you were at 23 years old stealing looks at this hot photographer who couldn't stop complimenting you.

"Like that." He whispers mouth millimetres away from brushing against your ear.

He walks back behind the camera and takes more shots.

Tendou could feel the atmosphere eating him alive, god was he horny. The feeling in his dick could not be mistaken. He remembered the first time he heard about you. It was Saturday morning and he was sitting in the living room going through his emails.

"vogue spring shoot with Y/n l/n next week." He reads out slowly. He'd opened another tab to search you up.

He found himself staring at and abundance of articles.

"FIRST WOMAN TO WIN NATIONAL CHESS CHAMPIONSHIPS IN THE LAST 50 YEARS."

"𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝟮𝟯 𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗢𝗟𝗗 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗬 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗡 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗥𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗠𝗣."

His eyes fluttered with interest. Tendo had a thing for smart girls, he didn't know if what he had could be classed as a kink but he just loved seeing this completely different side of them in bed. He was watching an interview of you now, you were exactly what he wanted, what he needed, you sounded like an intellectual,dressed casually, was extremely beautiful, he had to have you.

"She seems fun."

--★--

"Okay next up is the living room. They want a super casual mood, kind of like your recovering from a hangover."

"Oh okay."

"You're gonna have to look a little messy." He says placing a few cameras around the area.

"How messy?" You question.

"Like you've just had sex for a few hours and you've been drinking a mix of vodka and coca cola?"

You make a slightly grossed out face which he laughs at.

"Just try and look unkept it's not too hard."

"Yes it is, how am I meant to look messy??" You asks, crossing your arms.

"Ever had a hangover?"

"Surprisingly, yes, alot." You say, your voice laced with embarrassment.

"Really? Why do you seem so embarrassed about it?"

"Well you don't expect that type of behaviour from someone like me would you?" You say looking down at the floor.

"So what if I didn't, it makes you so much more interesting and it tells me you know how to have fun."

You can feel your face getting hot,"thank you."

He walks over to you and places his hand on your shoulder and examining your face.

"Now I see why you're struggling, this little face of yours is too damn pretty." He mutters, it's taking everything for him to not just pull you into a kiss.

Again, you freeze like that's all you know how to do. But you take a breath and think of it like a chess game. He was your opponent trying to rattle you.

"Again with the compliments,you really need to control yourself Mr Satori." You say, placing your hands on his and slowly pushing them off.

He looks at you surprised, but your outburst had appealed to him much more than you'd ever know.

"Why don't we take a break, like a chess break, play me, I want to know how good the chess champion is." He says breathless,a hand on his collar.

"Okay that sounds great."

"Let's play in my room, it's got a nice view." He offers.

"I would love to, lead the way sir."

--★--

You and Tendou had been sitting in his room for a good hour now, next to his large window which gave an extraordinary view to his room.

Little did you know, he had been eye fucking you ever since you had entered his room. You still hadn't taken off that red lingerie and he couldn't help but steal glances,red was his favourite colour.

You had beat him 15 times and you were both a little bit tipsy. He had offered you one of your favourite bottles which you just couldn't decline.

"Checkmate." You yawn, leaning back on the fancy armchair.

He pouts. "Seriously??"

"Yep." You chuckle.

"I would love to teach you something." He says quietly looking away.

"That would be nice, what's on your mind?"

His eyes light up.

"Stand up." He orders and you oblige.

"Do you mind if I touch you?" He asks first, standing up, his hands inches away from your hips.

"Sure."

He places one hand on your hips and another hovers around your panties.

"F-fuck." You curse, his grip becomes tighter.

"You want to continue to the game??" He whispers.

"Yes, yes." You say.

"You're a smart girl, I want full sentences, you think you can do that." He says latching his mouth on to your neck causing you to moan.

"I-I want to continue your game."

"Perfect." That consent from you was the final box ticked. He shoved his hands in your panties and let his fingers explore.

"So fucking wet." he mumbles.

Your sweet moans made him even more hornier, he wanted to fulfill all of his dirtiest fantasies right here right now.

"Little miss champion, letting herself get fingered by her photographer." He taunts, increasing his speed.

"I can see it on the papers now, little mis chess champion gets fucked outta her brains by Tendo Satori." He exclaims, slotting his lips into yours.

He notices your breath hitch and your legs shake a little which tells him you were about to cum.

"P-please go faster." You gasp, feeling yourself about to crumble.

"Ever been fingered like this y/n??" He continues, plunging his hand even deeper.

You respond with moans which tells you both everything you need to know.

"Didn't think so either." He sighs, slowly removing his hands. He shows his hand which is covered in your cum. He licks it all off, sticking his tongue out at you and smirking at your fucked out face, he was going to ruin you.

He pushes you onto his bed and you both quickly undress.

"You're so lewd." He chuckles placing his hand on your cheek.

"If anyone your the lewd one here, Mr Satori." You retort.

"Oh am I? You wanna see how lewd I can be y/n??"

He unbuttons his shirt and continues speaking, " how am I gonna explain this to my boss huh?" He clicks his tongue, giving your pussy a small slap.

"Tell him you were busy." You say and he laughs.

"I think we're gonna need more than that y/n." He say, slipping his trousers off.

You crawl over to him fiddling with the band of his Calvin Klein boxers.

"Tell him you were busy turning me into your slut."

He blinks a few times before looking at you.

You pull his boxers down and move your mouth down on his cock.

You slowly bob your head but before long he's forcing his cock down your throat, moving his hips and impeccable pace and destroying your throat. Sooner than later, there's a salty taste in your mouth, in response to his taunts earlier you stick your tongue out at him before swallowing it.

"My dirty little champion." He says, pulling you into you a long kiss.

You position yourself onto him, causing you both to let out a string of moans.

You start to bounce on him, your pussy sucked into his thick,veiny cock. He places his hands on both sides of your hips and helps you keep balance.

"Fuck,didn't know you were so nasty babe." He moans out, feeling his orgasm about to come.

"You might wanna take a picture Tendo." You breathe out, pushing yourself as deep as possible into him.

"No way, this is for my eyes only." He responds, equally breathless.

"gonna cum, gonna cum fuck." He swiftly lifts your dripping cunt onto his face leaving you in complete bliss. He lets his tongue swirls around you, eating you out like a starved man, he lets himself release, thick ropes of cum spread over his thighs.

"I'm thinking we go for round 2."

"No time to waste babe. Lets do it."

--★--

"I must say your game was pretty fun." You say arms wrapped around him.

"All thanks to you." He yawns giving you a small peck on the cheek.

"It's only 12pm and we're in bed." You chuckle.

"It's fine, I mean we did fuck for 2 hours."

★★★

[corvusalbus93]

Recovery & Mana Strudel

After escaping the Dark Heart and being resurrected by Anduin, Khadgar wakes up in Dornogal two days later. There he’s properly reunited with his gf/so, who thought him dead for weeks, and runs into the first issues with being partially paralyzed.

The last thing he remembered was the rushing wind and a warm embrace. Followed by darkness. No dreams either, not from what he could tell, just a deep sleep, born from utter exhaustion. Then he heard the crackling of a small fire, far in the distance, yet something told him it was very near. He could smell it, almost taste it, but his mouth felt dry. Come to think of it; he really was thirsty.

Khadgar shifted, his senses returning to him as he slowly woke, his mind finally putting together that he was in bed. He was no longer wearing his heavy robe and coat, but was dressed in something far lighter, while a warm blanket was covering him up to his neck.

Where was he? His first instinct was Dalaran, but memories of what had happened to his city made him quickly dismiss that possibility. Sorrow filled his heart, nonetheless. How many survivors had reached Khaz Algar safely? How many had been killed or abducted? No, questions for later, first things first. Alleria and Narami had mentioned a place...

Suddenly he felt wide awake. Narami.

His eyes flew open, but he immediately squinted again, as even the light of the fire proved too much after however long he’d slept. The accompanying groan, meanwhile, did not go unnoticed.

“Archmage?”

The youthful voice was familiar, the name was on the tip of his tongue, but somehow Khadgar couldn’t say who it was. Turning his head, while still keeping it on the pillow, he spotted someone sitting by the fireplace. It was a vulpera with white and dark grey fur, covered in black stripes like a tiger, who he didn’t recognize. Given the robes and the tome he was reading, the vulpera appeared to be a fellow mage.

“You’re awake!” the stranger exclaimed, jumping off his stone chair and rushing to Khadgar’s side. “How are you feeling? Should I get someone?”

“I’m fine, I just need a moment,” he assured the young vulpera, as he attempted to sit up. His legs refused to respond, making the task somewhat awkward. “Where am I exactly?” He recognized the architecture as distinctly dwarven, but that was about all he could tell.

The vulpera’s ears twitched. “Oh, right. You we asleep when we arrived. Welcome to Dornogal, capital of Khaz Algar and home to the earthen dwarves.”

Earthen dwarves? How fascinating. But Khadgar had picked up on something else and his mind finally put the pieces together. “Wait. ‘We’? Thyellagos?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve chosen your visage. It suits you.”

The blue drake smiled, incidentally presenting his small, sharp teeth. “Thank you, Archmage. Guess there’s a lot to catch you up on. Maybe I should get Narami or Alleria.”

“Are they alright?”

“Everyone’s fine. They’re just all worried about you; so many came by to visit. I didn’t know half of them. And Narami has actually been sleeping here the past two nights,” Thyellagos explained, pointing at an armchair next to the Archmage’s bed. Only now did Khadgar notice the more than reasonable amount of pillows and a blanket draped over the backrest. Given how tall night elves were, this had to have been uncomfortable.

“But scolds me for not taking better care of myself,” Khadgar mused with a smile, feeling that familiar warmth in his chest. “You know where she is?”

“She went to get some dinner a while ago.”

“Then don’t trouble yourself or her; I’m sure she’ll be back soon enough.” As much as he longed to see her, he could wait a little longer. But, as if it had heard the mention of food, his own empty stomach suddenly rumbled. “I guess it’s been some time, since I’ve eaten anything myself.”

“I could conjure something,” Thyellagos suggested excitedly, eager to help in some fashion. “I’ve been practising, so Narami and I could travel lighter.”

“Wonderful. Would you mind if I made a request?”

...

A couple of minutes later Thyellagos was sitting with him on the bed, each with a plate in hand and enjoying the freshly conjured mana strudel. It was quite good, clearly not the first time the young drake had done this. The fresh water also had pleasant taste to it, quenching the thirst, which had plagued Khadgar since waking. This didn’t give them a chance to speak, despite the growing number of questions he had. There was so much he had missed.

Eventually, the Archmage’s thoughts were interrupted, when someone opened the door, slowly and with an effort to do so quietly. Instinctively, as someone, who had survived his fair number of assassination attempts and just barely escaped death yet again, Khadgar tensed, if only for a moment. Glancing over to the drake, he saw Thyellagos’ sniff the air, his vulperan nose twitching as he did, only to remain relax and return his attention back to the strudel. His young friend knew who was coming in.

The door swung open with hardly a sound, despite being quite heavy looking. Khadgar’s heart beat a little faster as he looked upon the one person he’d wanted to see most.

“Narami.”

She stood in the doorway, light coming in from behind, obscuring her face. “You’ve been trapped within the Dark Heart for weeks, slept for two days straight and the first thing you do once awake is have a mana strudel?” It was no accusation; her tone was teasing, almost playful.

Thyellagos apparently didn’t quite pick up on any of this, however, as he lowered his ears. “Are sweets bad for humans, while they’re recovering?”

“My dear, you should not underestimate the restorative properties of a well-conjured mana strudel,” Khadgar reminded the night elf cheerfully.

Narami stepped in, the light of the fire finally illuminating her face, and he glimpsed a tear in her misty looking eyes. “I would never,” she said softly.

Presumably, taking this as his cue, Thyellagos decided to give them some privacy. He jumped off the bed, grabbed his tome and headed straight for the door. Narami mouthed a silent “thank you” as he passed her, the blue drake nodding in response and waved at Khadgar before he closed the door behind him.

For a moment Narami just stood there, as they looked at each other. She must have thought him dead for however many weeks he’d been trapped. Had she mourned him? Very likely and Khadgar felt a pang of guilt for being the cause of that pain. That he was suddenly back was probably a bit of a shock in its own right.

After what felt like an eternity, Narami approached the bed, giving him just enough time to set his plate aside. “I missed you,” she whispered as she sat down beside him and reached out to frame his face with one of her hands, thumb gently brushing across his cheek. “I thought I’d never...” She couldn’t quite bring herself to finish that sentence.

He leaned into her touch, and grasped her hand in turn, keeping it in place. “It’s good to be back. I’m sorry for what you had to go through, my love.”

“I’ll be fine. I still worry for you, though. How are you feeling?”

“Still tired, a little weak. No pain, if that’s any consolation.”

She smiled. “It’s one worry less. Your legs?”

Khadgar let go of her hand to run his fingers over a thigh, and Narami too lowered her hand as they both looked at his leg. “I can feel them. I can feel the clothes and the weight of the blanket, but they don’t react, when I try to move them.” He remembered her kneeling beside him, using the skills she’d learned in the temples of Pandaria. “What did you sense?”

“When I tended to you at the priory, guided the flow of your chi... it is difficult to describe, but your chi doesn’t flow properly through your legs.” She traced a path with her finger. “It’s not gone, yet what should have been a river, felt more akin to a rill. The healers said you are physically fine, but without knowing what happened to you, they could not give a proper diagnosis or prognosis.” Her golden eyes met his, and Khadgar got the sense she had as many questions as he had for her. One was the obvious first. “How did you survive?”

He shifted, shuddering to remember his prison, the time spent being formless, trying not to lose himself; another experience he didn’t care to repeat. “The Dark Heart was created not to destroy, but to capture and harness all manner of power. When I felt what it was doing to me, and with no way out, I transmuted myself into pure arcane energy. Allowed it to capture me. Though it seems my transformation without the aid of Atiesh, and my time spent in the Dark Heart, was something my body couldn’t quite handle,” he added, patting his leg. “Admittedly, I didn’t have much of a plan, but I was sure Alleria would continue her pursuit of Xal’atath and trusted she would eventually be able free me.”

“With her powers she was undoubtedly the best suited for such a task. Quite the gamble, nonetheless.”

“Knowing you, I doubt you sat this one out.” Since he’d gotten to know her on Draenor, she’d never been one to ignore a call to action; something he loved about her, yet also made him worry at times.

He watched her reach out, until her hand rested on his chest, right on his heart. “You were dead. At least I thought you were. I mourned you. There was no funeral, but I had to say goodbye.”

“Narami...”

“Only after, did I join Alleria’s hunt,” she continued, before biting her lower lip. Her hand travelled up to his face, her touch light, but affectionate. It almost seemed, as if she was making sure he was really here. “In the temples on the Peak of Serenity, they taught us to seek spiritual balance, and it took everything not to throw it all aside. Especially, once we reached Azj-kahet. It would have been worse, if Thyellagos hadn’t been there with me the entire time.” Finally, Narami wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned her forehead against his. “You are lucky the people who love you are very persistent.”

Without hesitation, Khadgar embraced her in turn. “I consider myself very fortunate indeed.” It felt so good to have her in his arms again, to be in hers. He was alive, he was back and he was grateful. And as much as it comforted him, he dearly hoped it gave her just as much solace. For a while he allowed himself to simply take in the moment, the warmth that spread through his chest, and share it with her.

After a while her embrace tightened, and Khadgar could feel her grasping his shirt. “I shouldn’t have left you. Remember what I made you promise after the vault?”

Khadgar lifted a finger, though she couldn’t see it, as it was behind her back. “Ah; that was about never rushing into a fight with another Incarnate without getting you first. So, technically...”

Narami leaned back, bringing her hands to rest on his shoulders. “You know what I mean.” This time she really was scolding him, despite her tone remaining gentle. Perhaps it was too early to get back to their usual banter just yet, despite her earlier jest. This wound was still too fresh.

The pang of guilt struck him once more. She’d refused to take his portal and leave Dalaran without him, until his assurance to be right behind her with Alleria. Gently, he stroked her back, his hand slowly running across smooth fabric. “Yes, I know. I also remember we talk about this happening. An adventure one of us wouldn’t come back from. The good chance one of us would outlive the other.” Without Anduin, he certainly would have died this time, the thought sending a cold shiver down his own spine.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t do everything within my power to prevent it. You wanted to look for Alleria and escape. Why confront Xal’atath?”

“I didn’t think I could defeat her, if that’s you believe. Still, I was hoping I could at least disrupt her. Spoil her plans for the moment. I had to try something. But the Dark Heart simply consumed my spell. All I could do was to help Alleria escape, with what little strength I had left.” He grasped her hands, bringing one up to his lips for a kiss. “Think you can forgive this fool one more time?”

“I’ve watched you do a lot of foolish things since Draenor. Not like I’m one talk, considering everything I’ve done, sometimes at your request,” she admitted, her gaze softening again with each word, and leaned closer. “You are forgiven.”

“Ah, you are too kind.”

“But please be more careful. Losing you, going through that pain; it’s not an experience I wish to relive any time soon.” Unexpectedly, a grin graced her lips. “Still, I think I would very much enjoy punching that smug smile off Xal’atath’s face, if I get the chance.”

Khadgar chuckled. “I’d very much like to see that.”

And yet deep down the thought troubled him. Dark Heart or not, Xal’atath was one of the most dangerous enemies they’d ever faced, but confronting her again was inevitable. Khadgar could only hope they would have the tools and allies necessary, when the time came.

No, he shouldn’t entertain these thoughts right now, not when they were finally reunited.His eyes darted to her lips, the warmth now spreading to his face, and it seemed the same idea was crossing her mind in that moment. He knew that look; it never failed to make him blush, to make him feel loved.

As she closed the gap between them, her fingers ran though his hair, a sensation Khadgar had missed dearly. But not as much as her supple lips against his, a tender touch at first, until he leaned in and returned the kiss. Ah, there was that fire he remembered and he felt it too; something about the first kiss after a brush with death. Khadgar arms went around Narami’s waist, needing her closer.

Still, his legs were lying straight on the mattress, while his upper body was angled towards her, which was starting to be a little uncomfortable. And so he tried to move, without interrupting the kiss, only for his legs to not respond, and his hip to sway uselessly. He would either need his arms or more momentum. Curse this.

For most of his life he’d believed, internalized, his aged appearance would quash any chance of finding love. He’d been so happy to have been proven wrong by her, to get to experience what he once feared he’d always be denied. Only for his body to fail him now. It frustrated him how even the simple task of sharing a kiss with the woman he loved was giving him so much trouble. How would he be navigating everything else in the future? A small part of Khadgar didn’t want her to see him like this, not until he’d figured this out.

“Something wrong?”

Oh. Apparently he’d been too distracted and noticing, she’d broken the kiss to study him with a worried expression. His first instinct was to play it off like everything was fine, but Narami knew him too well. She would see right it through it. And so he gestured to his legs, demonstrating another failed attempt at moving into the desired position on his side. “I’m sorry. You already settled for an old man and now...”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, cupping his face and pressing her thumb against his lips. “Don’t think that for a moment. I love you. Nothing about that has or will change. I’ll be there for you.”

Khadgar hadn’t truly doubted, nonetheless, her words filled him with relief and made his heart flutter. “I love you too.” And he meant it with every fibre of his being.

Her beautiful smile returned, her eyes glowed a little brighter and she shifted a bit more to better accommodate him. To his surprise she went on to hook her leg around his waist and pulled him closer. Khadgar couldn’t help but chuckle, when he finally found himself lying on his side and in a snug embrace. This time as they kissed, there were no distractions.

[shywhumpauthor]

Gowns and Green Jello

Y’all I wrote this in maybe ten minutes right after I woke up. The words wrote themselves. Was just gonna be a dialogue prompt.

Cw: recovery, hospital, bad caretaker, emotional trauma from both sides, past torture, descriptions of scars/permanent injuries/healed gore, infection

“Dunno why they call this a gown,” Whumpee grumbled, their frail hand raising to tug at their other sleeve, fixing the thin fabric from where it had begun to fall off their shoulder again. “I don’t feel fuckin’ fancy.”

“Whumpee,” Caretaker chided, giving them a moment to fumble on their own before reaching over and fixing the small tie on the back of Whumpee’s hospital gown that they wouldn’t have been able to reach on their own.

Whumpee huffed, swatting Caretaker’s hand away when they didn’t immediately pull back after retying the strings.

Caretaker looked back at their friend—their best friend. The one they had promised to themself that they would protect. A promise they’d now broken for the second time. The first when they’d let Whumper take them, a crime stained across Caretaker’s sleepless nights and Whumpee’s broken body. You shouldn’t blame yourself, Caretaker’s therapist advised them every time they brought the topic up. You couldn’t have known. You weren’t home.

Whumpee was right, though, the gown certainly was not the most flattering thing in the fashion industry. As thin as paper, made of white fabric with some awful blue and green polka dot and stripe pattern, caretaker doubted it would look good on anyone. Certainly not… not on Whumpee. Not with their too-thin body or their twisted limbs, evidence of broken bones never properly healed laying just below the skin. Their scarred, burned, flayed skin which was now the evidence of caretaker’s second failure, the ugly, red infection creeping out from a wound on Whumpee’s thigh, now concealed by bandages and the hospital’s sheets. Their hair, cut shorter than Caretaker’s ever seen it, falling awkwardly and unevenly as if it had been cut with kitchen scissors—which Caretaker wouldn’t doubt.

Their face was worst of all. Whumper seemed to have targeted every ounce of brutality there, and the rest of their body was just in the danger zone of the attacks. Sometimes, Caretaker couldn’t bare to look. Their throat would close up and the guilt would swell to impossible amounts, and Caretaker would have to quickly excuse themself from Whumpee’s presence. They were sure their friend has seen it. That their forlorn, self-conscious expression was undoubtedly of Caretaker’s doing. They tried to make up for it in any and every way they possibly could.

“You look just as beautiful as ever,” Caretaker took Whumpee’s hand, the one that had just smacked them, using that as a bit of leverage so Caretaker could lean forwards out of the plasticky armchair to press a kiss to Whumpee’s temple. Something in their chest twisted as Whumpee complained and pushed them back, but they couldn’t conceal the flicker of emotion behind Whumpee’s gaze, the weight to their movements. God, how long has it been since they’d kissed Whumpee? Affection was a thing Caretaker used to dish out by the dozen, and they still did. Just… not to Whumpee. Not like they used to. Caretaker tried but, honestly, it felt weird. Wrong. And they hated themself for feeling that way, they tried to make up for it, but half the time their so called casual displays of admirable would come out feeling strained and forced, which they knew Whumpee could feel.

They could see the tug in Whumpee’s expression before they turned away, the heartbrokenness just swimming behind their remaining eye. The atmosphere in the small hospital room faded into something heavy, and Caretaker was tempted to reach for Whumpee’s hand again, but the way they were angled now limited Caretaker’s access from their right hand, their good hand.

Their left rested inches away, just over the bed rail. Mangled fingers and flesh that barely resembled a hand resting on top of the pillow propped in Whumpee’s lap. Two and a half fingers remaining, scarred flesh raised like veins. The back of their palm layered with so much they couldn’t tell on mark from the next, burns from stabs from breaks.

Caretaker let their own hands fall back to their sides. Both Whumpee and then knew just was a lie rested between them.

“I’ll go see if the nurse can sneak us some jello,” Caretaker said after a moment of tension, slapping their palms against their knees with a newfound purpose as they stood up. “I saw someone with a green cup earlier, I know it’s your favorite. Be right back,” they promised, quickly moving towards and out the door.

“Bye,” Whumpee mumbled, looking over their shoulder as Caretaker practically ran out of the room. Only once they were alone, Whumpee raised a palm to their eyes, scrubbing away the tears before they could fall.

[ricky-tiki-tah]

Egos and Others

Dave joins the Family Iplier.

—Story Time—

Dave had no idea how he got to the manor. He remembered falling asleep in the dream walker’s village, then opening his eyes to a large oak door. He frowned in confusion, turning around to get a look at his surroundings. He appeared to be on the porch of a large mansion, it’s grounds spreading out to a forest that seemed to circle the place.

The door opened then to reveal a boy with what looked to be peanut butter spread all over his face. “Uh, hi? I don’t know how I…“

The boy blinked up at him before turning to yell back into to house. “Dark, Wil, Mark made another one!” He turned back around with a smile. “Hi, I’m Artie, King Of The Squirrels!”

“Uh, Dave Torres. Nice to meet you? Do you know where we are?”

“Yep! Iplier Manor!”

“Home to the Egos and Others of one Mark Edward Fischbach.” A monochrome figure appeared behind Artie, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am Darkiplier, head of this household. Who might you be?”

Dave stepped back a little bit, watching the figure warily. They seemed to be cloaked in chromatic aberrations of blue and red while remaining black and white. “I’m David Torres. What were you saying? Egos? Who’s Mark?”

Darkiplier smiled, not unkindly, and stepped aside. “Come on inside and I can fill you in. Artie, will you grab Wilford for me? I believe he was in the kitchen.”

The boy nodded and raced off as Dark showed Dave inside and to what looked to be a living room.

“I’m sure you have many questions and I will be happy to answer any after I explain.” Dark started, gesturing to the couch as he sat in one of the armchairs. Dave took a seat, deciding to go with whatever the hell was happening in what he was still assuming to be a dream.

“As I said before, this place is called Iplier Manor after a man named Mark Fischbach, more commonly known by his media moniker of Markiplier. The people who live here are called Egos. As you may have noticed, we share a face. Everyone here shares the same face, though some might be younger than others such as King, who you’ve just seen.”

Dave was starting to think that this was entirely too detailed to be a dream. “You mean like clones? Like in Star Wars?”

At this moment, a bubbly man with a pink mustache and pink striped hair bounced into the room, plopping down on the arm of Dark’s chair. “Oh hey, a new one! Wilford Warfstache, pleasure to finally meet you Dave!”

Dave blinked. “How did you-?”

“Dark was thinking especially loudly.” At this the pink man turned to the other with a raised eyebrow. “I can hear you just fine without you shouting all the time you know.”

Dark rolled his eyes. “Yes, I was only making sure you were paying attention. Dave, this is Wilford, my partner. As I was about to say before I was rudely interrupted,” he shot a glare at the bubblegum man, “No, we are not clones of Mark. Most of us are characters made from videos on the man’s YouTube channel, given life by his audience. The few Others, who you will assuredly meet in time, are characters that he has played for something else. Egos already have previous knowledge of Mark, and as you appear to have no idea who the man is, that would make you an Other.”

Dave took a minute to let that sink in, staring at the two and pinching himself in hopes that he would wake up from this dream that was rapidly getting weirder. “But that-that doesn’t make any sense! You’re saying that I’m just a character that some guy’s played in a story! That I’m not real?!”

“Oh no, you’re real alright.” Wilford spoke up in an attempt at reassurance.

Dave frowned. “But you said-“

Wilford put a finger to Dave’s lips, startling him. “No ifs, ands, or buts about it! You’re here right? We’re all here, every single one of us. Just because we were all made to be characters by one man, doesn’t mean that we’re not real. Being a character doesn’t make us not real. I mean, think of who you are, who you were before you got here. That was real, right?” He ruffled his hair. “You certainly feel real.”

“What Wilford is saying is that though we may all be a byproduct of someone else’s imagination, we do, in fact, exist.” Dark interjected. “Everything you experienced before you Arrived was real for you. That’s the special thing about Others, you all have your own stories that the rest of us were not a part of. You could even say that you’ve lived more than most of us with such a detailed backstory. If it’s easier, you can think of this place as a sort of parallel universe where other versions of yourself live.”

That was a little easier to accept, Dave figured, thinking it over. “Can I go back home?”

Dark and Wilford exchanged looks before Dark replied. “I will have to ask Mark about that when I speak to him later. You would be the first Other who wants to go back. Most of us do not have …fun backstories.”

Dave thought back on the past couple days and the horrors he’d seen with a grimace. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted to go back to a world like the one he’d apparently just left.

Wilford seemed like he wanted to say something, his eyes glittering like he knew something, but he kept his mouth shut, instead hopping to his feet. “Well Dave, let’s go find your room! Everyone has one and I’m sure the old place has made yours by now!”

Dave glanced between the two before following after the pink man at Darkiplier’s nod.

Dark sighed after the two disappeared from sight. “Oh Mark, when will you make someone with a happy backstory?” They slipped through the void to their office, already planning out the text he’d be sending to the man himself.

[infecto-groovalistic]

From the first moment I laid eyes upon him, I decided I liked him. That was saying something, because I don’t much like anyone. I can’t afford to like or trust anyone. Not anymore.

He slunk in one morning, head down, eyes x-raying the floor, shoulders tense and overall trying to look like he didn’t exist. I saw him appear in the doorway and quickly slip into the armchair Magda pointed out to him. He didn’t look around or make a noise or speak. He just sat there, as straight as he could in the sagging cushions of the blue and white striped armchair. He clasped his hands together tightly and placed them carefully on his lap, the thumbs facing the ceiling. A moment later his hands unclasped and one hand flew to his mouth where he began gnawing on a fingernail. Then, as though realising the full extent of his habit, he removed his fingers from his mouth and reclasped his hands back in his lap. Then he began to twiddle his thumbs instead. My eyes drifted away from the distracting hands and to his face. God, he was young. Too young to be in a place like this. He must be pretty fucked up. His face was pale, like it had been cast in moonlight. I twisted my head to check his eyes. His face may have looked like moonlight, but there were definitely no stars in his eyes. They were hazel, I could tell. I couldn’t see. But I didn’t need to see. I just knew. He had the whole ‘poor baby’ thing going too, but, to his credit, he wasn’t exploiting it. On my first days I would’ve killed to have the “poor little victim baby” thing going.

A shout of laughter rippled through the room and he jumped. Scared, he cautiously looked up only to find everyone fixated on the stupid television. He took a quick glance around the room, assuming everyone was watching the television. I wasn’t. I was still watching him. I focused on his lips now. Straightaway I could tell that those lips had touched another person and was disappointed. But there was no love on his face. There were no remnants of who had kissed him in his eyes or mouth or soul. He had hidden the memory of them inside of him and that distinctly annoyed me. If people hide things, then they have to actually look to find them. It’s okay if you lose them, or misplace them, or put them somewhere else, you can still stumble across them. Just like your first kiss. If it was a good memory, don’t try and hide it somewhere – just put it somewhere. If you hide it, you’ll never just stumble across it. But, if you forget it or misplace it, you never know when it might come back. You never know when it’ll pop up in your subconscious and give you a nice surprise. But if it’s a bad kiss, you try to forget and lose the memory so you’ll never stumble across it again. It’s quite sad actually when people forget to lose a memory and are haunted by it for the rest of their lives. But the brain is not just like a filing system, or a big tunnel with two exits saying ‘keep’ or ‘chuck’. You can’t physically file your memories; you don’t actually get to decide which ones you lose for good or which ones you simply misplace. I’m the only one who knows this, so, naturally, I know how to do it. If I’m really bored and Jasper is not here I sort through the week’s memories and file them, but a lot of the time I just let them go, it’s no big deal once you’ve cracked the secret. Though I bet if anyone else did it would be groundbreaking. Imagine being able to lose memories of a tragic childhood incidence or forget all the deaths you’ve witnessed. Think of how much a doctor or an ambulance officer would give to be able to forget things like that.

So, that’s how all memories work. Don’t ask me how I know – I just know. And now you know, so if I hear of a groundbreaking new study about memories I’ll know. I’ll even understand if you don’t credit me. After all, I’m just a teenage kid and that doesn’t give me much credibility, does it?

Back to the new kid. He’s taken up staring at the TV now, instead of his lap. I hate that TV! Doesn’t anyone realise how easily that box kills your brain cells? Annoyed, I ground my teeth together so hard Ben turned around.

“That’s not a good idea now, is it?” he said in his annoyingly calm, orderly way.

I purposely rolled my eyes and ceased the grinding. I don’t want to be here. I hated TV time. They think that we’re all so interested in who gets voted off American Idol. Who cares? Half of them can’t sing anyway. My money’s on the chick, and I don’t even watch the show. She’s gonna win though, I knew it. I shuffled in my armchair so my back is resting against one padded arm and my legs are propped over the other. Another ripple of laughter courses the room and I glanced at the television, wondering what was so funny about American Idol. Only, it’s not Idol that on but some crap TV sitcom. Holy shit! Quick! I need something to gouge my eyes out with and deafen myself with before too much of this stupidity seeps into my brain. Somebody must’ve changed the channel because now that I think about it, I don’t recall the sounds of American Idol at all this session. I must be slipping. How could I let such a little observation slip past me? Oh yeah, it was the arrival of that new kid. The one with messy, once-styled black hair. I could still smell the gel he used to use in it. Yeah, of course he’s washed it since he came here, but, like I said, I know stuff. And I know he used to gel his hair.

There is a quiet click but to my ears it is so loud because I have been awaiting it all day. The TV is off! Hallelujah!

“Lunchtime!” said Magda in an overly cheery voice, beaming at us all.

I moaned and purposely took my time unhooking my legs from the arms of the chair. I desperately hoped Ben didn't decide to wait for me. However, he’s not waiting for me but instead for the new little black haired kid who was sitting trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in his armchair. He offered a hand to the kid to pull him out of the chair. The black-haired kid learnt the hard way how difficult it is to extract yourself from the cushions of that particular chair. It swallows you in; sucks your arse in the base of the chair. I chuckled as he gripped the arm and tried to haul himself out.

“Here, let me help. Can I touch your arm?” Ben asked carefully, his hand still extended and quite close to the boy’s.

The little victim shook his head violently and retracted his hands, terrified, clutching them close into his body, staring up at Ben like he was threatening him. Ben holds up his hands hastily, indicating no contest.

I raised an eyebrow to myself and passed Ben on my way to the door. I paused, my back facing the two and shook my head slowly. I turned back around to face them both, smirking.

“What are you smirking at, Gerard?” Ben snapped, watching the kid and looking defeated.

I raised a finger to indicate patience then began to slowly undo the tie around my neck. Slowly, systematically, and carefully I undid it, preferring to reverse every step rather than loosen it. I took it off my neck and dangled it in front of the kid’s chair. He’s watching me with such intense scrutiny I’m quite affronted. If I was mocking him, he would know, and would not have to resort to attempting to read me. He finally decided my intentions were pure, or whatever; he just finally took the loop of the tie I held out to him. In one swift motion I hauled him out onto his feet. He staggered for a bit but I didn’t move to steady him. He didn’t want anyone to touch him. I had to respect that. If he fell and cracked his head, I wouldn’t touch him. If it was against his wishes to be touched, then I wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t that hard to comprehend.

Once out of the chair he was steadily going bright red. I let go of the tie and it fell, slack, in his hands. He bundled it up and held it out to me. I shook my head and made my way to lunch; I was hungry, after all.

I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE IM GOING TO SMASH YOUR DANGER DAYS CD ALSO KILL YOURSELF