#border duvet covers

[tangelosuk]

Border Duvet Covers: Redefining Bedroom Elegance

Transform your bedroom into a luxurious haven with the timeless charm of border duvet covers. Combining sleek design with superior functionality, these covers add a touch of sophistication to your bedding ensemble.

What Makes Border Duvet Covers Unique?

A border duvet cover features elegant trims or contrasting edges that highlight its clean lines, making it a focal point in your bedroom décor. Perfect for those who appreciate minimalist designs with a hint of luxury, these covers exude class without overwhelming the space.

Key Benefits of Border Duvet Covers

Refined Aesthetic: The subtle border detail creates a polished, tailored look, instantly elevating your bedding style.

Versatile Design: Border duvet covers complement a variety of interior styles, from modern to classic, and blend effortlessly with other bedding accessories.

Premium Materials: Crafted from high-quality fabrics like organic sateen or percale, these covers offer long-lasting comfort and durability.

Easy Maintenance: Designed to be functional and stylish, border duvet covers are often machine-washable, making them an excellent choice for everyday use.

Styling Tips for Border Duvet Covers

Contrast for Drama: Choose a duvet cover with a bold border in a contrasting color to create visual interest.

Pair with Coordinating Bedding: Match the border color with your pillowcases or fitted sheets for a cohesive look.

The Sustainable Choice

Opt for border duvet covers made from organic materials like cotton. These options not only enhance your sleep experience but also reduce your environmental footprint. Sustainable bedding is a step towards a healthier lifestyle and a greener planet.

Explore the Tangelos Border Duvet Cover Collection

At Tangelos, we bring you a curated selection of border duvet covers that blend elegance with comfort. Crafted from eco-friendly fabrics, our designs offer the perfect balance of style and sustainability. Whether you're refreshing your bedroom or looking to make a bold statement, our border duvet covers are the ideal choice.

Redefine your bedroom décor today with Tangelos border duvet covers. Experience the perfect blend of sophistication and comfort—shop now!

[miistersunshin3]

HIHI no clue if your requests r open but OMG I LOVED UR SAL X MEANGIRL!READER SMM 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ IS THERE A CHANCE WE CLD GET MOREE? 🫶🫶 🍰

Star struck pt. 2 ☆

Sal Fisher x meangirl!reader

a/n : part two yippeeee!! And yes my request are open so feel free to send more *\(^o^)/*

Enjoy!

-...he just couldn't keep staring as you slowly walked away, your hair swaying perfectly with each and every step, did you really just say that to him? it couldn't be, right? he must be dreaming

"sal, dude.. Sal! cmon bro we're gonna be late again, lets go" Larry said slightly annoyed, not having quite witnessed what just happened a few seconds ago.

Sal, having finally just snapped out of the trance you put him in, turned back around to face him and then coming at him with a little sarcastic

"pfft as if you care, weren't you the one that skipped first period today?"

"yeah yeah, lets just go now"

-needless to say you had that boy Star Struck (hihi see what I did there ^_−☆)

-even in the afternoon when the group hung out together, he just couldn't get his mind off of you and that stupid thing you said. Yet he was too nervous to tell his friends, knowing they were opposed to the idea of him liking.

-his friends, of course noticed his behavior, but decided to not comment on it thinking it was probably just him getting into his own head again.

.............................................................………………………

-at night, when everyone was fast asleep, he still caught himself thinking about you. you. you. you. and bless his poor soul, he just couldn't stop.

-with his mask off and his face in his pillow curling up in his bed, the duvet softly covering his body and hair falling freely, he couldn't help but wonder about your reaction to him without the mask. his face, his scarred broken then patched together again face, as he not so much liked to think about it.

-and god you were right, he's just so pathetic: laying in his bed thinking of you while a tear slowly makes its way down the less scarred side of his face. you and your friends make fun of him every day and yet he still feels so deeply connected to you, wanting you to hold him, to love him.

-once he does fall asleep, you even manage to follow him in his dreams: laying side by side together on his bed, with your arms around him and his head on your chest, he didn't have that uncomfortable border between the two of you, just his bare face touching the soft fabric of your shirt. your soft voice in his ears "you know Sal, for me you are truly the prettiest thing" it was like heaven...

-friday, the ninth of august, 06:45. is what the alarm clock read as he softly stirred awake despite not wanting to wake up from his dream. finally after so many nights of restless sleep, he had an actually dream, not one of those nightmares people would also only describe as dreams.

...................................................................…………………

-between periods, as Sal and Ash were making their way to art class, one of the few classes they share, they hear slight laughter and rambling behind them, knowing who it is by the obvious smell of perfume you always use. god it made him crazy.

-his thoughts were quickly disrupted by an obnoxious voice

"hey, you. yeah I'm talking to you blue hair and pigtails, you enjoy being a walking joke?" one of your friends snared.

"no wonder you only hang out with other weirdos, how about you all go back to the freak show your supposed to run?" another one joked making you laugh harder than you should have.

"oh yeah, you'd be the main attraction" you cockily say as you walk past him still smiling.

"fuckin' weirdos" the first one say as she purposefully bumps into Ashley while walking by.

-gosh why did you have to be so mean... and beautiful at the same time

....................................................................…………………

-its not that you hated Sal.. you didn't even dislike him. its just that... he's just so fun to mess with, I mean cmon he's the perfect target, mask and everything. you still weren't quite fond of his friends tho, but they were also okay.

-you did feel bad sometimes after saying something to him, even if he wouldn't react, your first thought with him was always 'did I take it to far now?' which was weird since you've never thought that when you'd do the same things with other people.

-but the sight you were going to witness in a few minutes was unbelievable to you..

..................................................................……………………

-this was truly the worst thing that could happen to him, he was defenseless. so vulnerable, so miserable, so pathetic.

-two of your male 'friends' had caught him alone in one of the storage rooms of the art classroom and decided they wanted to find out what lies under that mask of his.

-with one of them trying to take his prosthetic off and the other holding his hands so he couldn't defend himself even if he tried, he was done for... or so he thought.

-the creek of the door halted their movement only to reveal you, looking as beautiful as ever yet you had a bewildered looking on your face from seeing the scene in front of you.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?" you say as you look the one wanting to take his mask in the eyes.

"oh cmon, we were just having some fun here, no need to ruin it" the other one spits.

"this is what you call fun? that's pretty sad if you ask me, I mean I get the verbal stuff but don't you think this is a bit too much?" you snap back.

"why the fuck are you defending him right now? he's fucking pathetic look at him" "and...? you know what I think, I think you're being just as if not more pathetic than he is right now, you are nothing (friends names), without me most people in this school probably wouldn't know you so shut it. and don't you dare tell anyone what happened here" you snarl.

"oh and what if we do tell, what are you gonna do, huh? tell your mommy? or the principal?" your other friend says in a fake whiny tone.

"I know what you did to that girl, you know she really did love you so much (friend name 1) it would be a shame if everyone knew that you're a lying cheating skank and not that you guys just broke up normally and oh (friend name 2) I didn't know you had room to talk when literally all you do is hook up with Mrs. Miller every Friday, do you wanna get kicked out of school, I don't think so. and trust me, once I confirm the rumors its over for you"

“You’re no fun” one of them says as they leave.

- silence. pure silence and you decide to break it.

“You okay?” You ask in a genuine tone. He takes a moment to reply speaking with a stutter “yeah, all good”

“Don’t worry I didn’t see anything” referring to his face, you cross your arms and lean against the door frame, he looks down at the ground in shame, his hands slightly shaking.

"do I make you nervous Sal?" you ask teasingly and after that you chuckle slightly as he's frozen in place "its okay, I get it"

a few moments pass when he finally has the courage to look at you again, god why was he like this when he was around you. "you owe me, big time" "yeah" he finally answers "what do you need?" he asks in a slightly nervous voice, he cannot talk to girls for the life of him (look at his first encounter with Ash in the game (=´∀｀))

you start to think, what do you need..? he then speaks again "I'll get you anything you want" nervousness still ringing in his voice "woah, don't get to ahead of yourself weirdo" you tease.

as you slowly leave the room you say "I'll think of something, sweetheart" you send him a quick smile while leaving and not to forget that wink you shot him once before.

-meanwhile he thinks he’s died because of that nickname, but don’t worry your smile brought him back to life, you just really know how to make his heart flutter. ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

..................................................................……………………

a/n : I hope you guys enjoyed(≧∀≦) if you have any wishes feel free to send me requests!! (P.s I love bullying Sal hihi)

[starrysturnz]

baby, it’s cold outside!

pairing. matthew sturniolo x reader

summary. when a harsh blizzard hits boston, matt and y/n get snowed in. with the power out, they brainstorm an alternative way to keep each other warm— and where better to do that than by the fireplace?

warnings. smut; softdom!matt, fingering (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, implied creampie, overstimulation (fem!receiving) if you squint. so much fluff. they love each other so much it’s gross.

word count. 1k

author’s note. sorry i’m posting so late… BUT it’s 10:30pm EST so technically it’s on time. the smut is rushed… this was supposed to be longer but i was traveling today and i didn’t have the energy to keep writing. whatever!! it’s just a blurb! kisses!

masterlist | taglist | starrysturnz’s christmas countdown

© starrysturnz. all rights reserved. dividers by @cafekitsune.

“i think that’s enough candles, matt,” y/n laughed, the flickering of the flames reflected in her already shining eyes. “you’re going to wear out the lighter.”

matt glanced up just long enough for her to catch the mischievous grin on his illuminated face, setting the pine-labeled jar down. “it’ll last, baby. i can always go get us another one if it dies.”

“not in this weather, you won’t,” the girl scolded, gazing out the window at the white void and snagging a blanket out of the nearby storage closet. “i don’t care how close the corner store is, you’re not going out in that.” she shivered at the thought, coming up behind her boyfriend and draping the fluffy material across his shoulders. her fingers tickled their way around his waist, clasping tightly and hugging him close so she could relax against his back. 

matt’s shoulders jostled her as he chuckled. “c’mon, you know i’m not that stupid. i’d just go next door and ask mr. martínez to lend me one.”

“please. mr martínez hates us. he’d probably let you in just to push you off his balcony.” 

turning around in her grasp, matt opened his arms and ushered y/n into his embrace, securing the blanket to cover her frame. “then it’s a good thing there’s four feet of snow on the ground waiting to catch me, huh?” he swiped the tip of her nose with his knuckle, pulling her in to lay a kiss against her forehead. 

“whatever. i’m not going down there with a hairdryer to thaw you out. you’re on your own.” 

“a space heater would work better, no?” he mused with a smile. “speaking of… we gotta get some heat going in here, it’s freezing. how ’bout a fire, hm? keep us warm ’til they get the power lines back up?”

he felt her nod against his chest. “you do that. i’m gonna go grab the duvet.”

⁺⁎˚

“m-matt…,” y/n whined from beneath him, “please, don’t stop. please.” 

“i’ve barely gotten started, baby,” matt spoke lowly, nosing at her flushed cheek, “why would i stop now?”

a breathy sigh filled the space between them, “because you’re evil, and you’re a tease.”

“if i was evil, would i do this?” she gasped sharply as she felt his fingers curl inside her, hitting that special, spongy spot that always left her weak in the knees. his thumb worked hard on her clit, and a shiver shot down her spine; this time, not from the cold. 

actually, they were quite warm. matt was the one to suggest they build a makeshift bed by the fireplace, and in hindsight, y/n should’ve known he was scheming for more. but she couldn’t lie and say it was uncomfortable or impractical— the many pillows and blankets beneath her made for a really soft mattress, and she was nothing if not cozy. 

but the girl was bordering on impatient. it’s not her fault! it’s just that they’d been doing this for a while now, and the poor girl wanted more. matt’s a giver at heart, and she knew this could go on all night if she didn’t say something. 

“matt…,” she whimpered desperately, hands finding purchase in his hair. a dull ache bloomed at the base of his skull as she tugged. “m-matty—”

“matty?” he laughed. “someone’s desperate… poor thing.” his fingers never relented, and it wasn’t long before her first orgasm finally took over. 

“oh… oh, my god, matt!” y/n’s voice sounded through the small living room, her hips lifting off of the sheets and grinding into matt’s hand as she started coming down from her high. 

“’s right, baby,” he pulled his fingers out, and a whine of discomfort tumbled from her lips. “that’s it, you’re all right. i got you.” 

matt took the opportunity to take his girlfriend in. the sight of her beneath him, half aglow in the firelight, laying like an angel in their improvised bed surrounded by candles. he felt like the luckiest guy in the universe. 

“baby,” his hand came up to her face, stroking her cheek softly with his knuckles, “you’re shaking.”

y/n’s brow furrowed just so, eyes opening to meet his. “oh… sorry….”

“’s nothing to be sorry about. are you cold? i can grab another log to throw in there, or maybe we have another blanket—”

“i have a better idea.” reaching between them, she palmed him through his calvin kleins. 

matt, sucking in a breath through his front teeth, hung his head low as he gathered himself— if he came from one touch alone, he’d never live it down. y/n would make sure he never heard the end of it. 

“you sure you don’t want some water first? maybe just a minute to relax a little? i can wait, promise.” 

the girl leaned up, pressing the tip of her nose to his. “matt,” she whispered, “please fuck me.”

matt smiled and wasted no time ridding himself of his boxers, almost losing his balance and toppling onto her in the process (she laughed at him and offered no help, naturally). he groaned as he sunk in, swallowing her moans with his mouth, fingers finding her clit once again. a shudder ran through her spine at the stimulation. 

“you’re perfect,” he breathed against her neck. wet kisses littered the area, a roadmap of his favorite freckles and blemishes. “what did i do to deserve you?”

y/n wanted to tell him he was born deserving of everything good, but her lips were stuck in a permanent ‘o’ shape. she was putty in his arms, his thrusts jostling her back and forth against the pillows. 

“love you… so much, baby,” those the last words she heard before her second high, matt following soon behind her. a few moments came and went before she nudged his shoulder, and matt took that as his cue to ease up. 

“i love you, too,” y/n broke the silence. “but i think mr. martínez probably wants us evicted now.”

taglist: @toslayy

[moonstruckme]

Hi I love your fics so much first of all!!! You’re literally carrying my tumblr reading rn!! Also I was wondering if you would be comfortable with writing a smut request? I love what you’ve written with the poly!marauders boys and I’d love to see more smut with their dynamic. Totally fine if you’re not comfortable but I bet it would be amazing!!

Hi gorgeous thanks for being so so patient with me, I intended to come up with something for this sooner but writing sex with 4 people is one of my biggest challenges with this account haha. Hope it's okay and you like it!

cw: smut mdni

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 602 words

“Hey,” Sirius laughs, hands smoothing along the outsides of your thighs. “Take it easy, sweetness.” 

“Sorry.” You try to steady your breathing and, ideally, your shaking along with it. Sirius begins kissing his way up your leg, spit cooling from just under your knee upwards. You yelp when he gives the inside of your thigh a love bite. 

“Fuck,” Remus hisses when your grip tightens on his cock. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, head tipping back against the pillows. 

Sirius slips a finger inside your underwear, and you squirm, a humiliatingly pleady sound rising in your throat. 

“Aw, baby,” he croons. “You’re feeling pretty ready for us, huh?”

You’re not going to dignify that with a response. 

“Anything to report?” James asks jokingly. Remus groans as he pulls out of him before thrusting back in. 

Sirius lets the material of your underwear snap back into place, covering your mound with his palm and rubbing consolingly. “Soaked,” he says simply. “But I think she could still use a bit of warming up. Don’t you, gorgeous?” 

“No,” you say, half desperate as he presses a chaste kiss to the cloth covering your cunt. It’s an effort to keep your hand moving on Remus’ cock. “No, I think I’m all warmed up.” 

“I don’t think so,” Sirius tuts sympathetically, mouthing his way over to your hip. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you there.” 

It’s all you can do to keep from crying as he turns you over slowly, kissing the backs of your thighs and lingering at the crease under your ass. They’ve been playing this game with you on and off all day, starting with a particularly salacious kiss from Remus in the kitchen this morning and culminating now, after you’ve attempted to proposition your boyfriends and they’ve rewarded you with foreplay so prolonged it borders on torture while they get each other off. 

Sirius’ touches have you panting and gasping, entirely unlike the soft, beggy sounds James likes to work out of you (and, in fairness, you out of him as well). His grip is harsh and kisses searing, ever closer to your cunt but stopping just short of it. Before long he has to pin you down by your thighs, and you can feel his devilish smile against your skin as he kisses the dimple in your back, ignoring the way you squirm underneath him. 

Remus makes a soft sound when your grip on him loosens. He reaches for your hand, rubbing your wrist sympathetically. 

“It’s okay, dovey,” he says, amusement lilting in his tone. “You don’t have to.” 

You let your hand fall to the bed. It bunches in the duvet. “Sorry.” Your voice comes out breathless and teary, bordering on a whine. 

He coos, his own voice somewhat strained as he leans over to kiss you sweetly. “S’alright. You’ve got enough to worry about, yeah?” 

“Remus.” Tears prick your eyes, and you use them to your advantage, looking up at him beseechingly. “Please.” 

“Please what, doll?” There’s a wet suctioning sound as Sirius lifts his lips from your skin. You close your eyes. Swear to god, if you have a hickey on your back tomorrow… “Am I doing something you don’t like?” 

Remus starts to laugh, cut off halfway through by his own cursing as James picks up his pace behind him. He drops down for another kiss, hot and fast, not quite as sweet but no less savored. 

“In a minute,” he promises you, voice growing taut. “I’ll help you out in just a minute, dove.” 

Sirius chuckles darkly. He intends to make the most of the time he has left.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑬𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔/𝑴.𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝑰.𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒏

I don’t normally write player x player fics, but after these pictures came out, I had to make an exception 🫶🏻

The morning started like clockwork. Ingrid stirred awake before the alarm even had a chance to go off, her internal body clock as reliable as ever. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the faint light creeping through the curtains. She turned her head to the side, smiling softly at the sight of Mapi still fast asleep. Her girlfriend was sprawled on her stomach, the duvet half-kicked off her back, revealing the faint golden tint of her skin. Her hair was a messy halo of dark blonde and brown, and the tiniest snores puffed out against her pillow.

Ingrid didn’t wake her immediately. Instead, she took a moment to watch her, committing the peaceful scene to memory. There was something almost childlike about Mapi when she slept, her usual cheeky grin replaced by an expression of pure tranquility. Reaching out gently, Ingrid brushed a strand of hair out of Mapi’s face, her fingers lingering for a moment on her cheek. “Maria,” she whispered softly, her voice low and affectionate.

There was no response, only a soft mumble as Mapi shifted slightly, her face burrowing further into the pillow. Ingrid smiled to herself, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss to Mapi’s temple. “Maria, det er morgen,” she murmured.

“Mm-mm,” Mapi groaned, shaking her head weakly and pulling the duvet up over her head. Her muffled voice drifted out, half in Spanish and half unintelligible. “No. Sleep.”

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Ingrid said, sitting up and stretching before turning to tug the duvet back down. Mapi clung to it like a lifeline, her face scrunched in protest. “Maria, you have to get up. We have training.”

“Cinco minutos más,” Mapi mumbled, holding up five fingers weakly from beneath the covers. Her voice was hoarse with sleep, and Ingrid couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Five more minutes?” Ingrid teased, leaning down to pepper soft kisses along Mapi’s exposed shoulder. “You say that every morning, cariño.”

Mapi groaned again but didn’t move, her resolve to stay in bed as strong as ever. Ingrid sighed theatrically, standing up and moving to the window. With a quick tug, she pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with warm sunlight. Mapi let out a dramatic hiss, pulling the duvet back over her head.

“Eres cruel,” Mapi muttered, though there was no real heat in her words. Ingrid turned back to the bed, arms crossed over her chest, her expression fond but firm.

“Come on, my love,” Ingrid coaxed, sitting on the edge of the bed and tugging at the duvet again. “You’ll feel better once you shower.” She punctuated her words with a kiss to woman’s forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose. Then finally, her lips. Slowly but surely, Mapi began to stir, her brown eyes cracking open to glare at Ingrid half-heartedly.

“Eres demasiado feliz por la mañana,” Mapi grumbled, her voice still thick with sleep. Ingrid laughed, brushing another kiss against her lips before standing and pulling her up by the hands.

The shower was a ritual they shared most mornings. Ingrid adjusted the water to Mapi’s liking—warm, bordering on hot—and guided her under the spray. Mapi leaned heavily against Ingrid, her arms loosely wrapped around Ingrid’s bare waist, her head resting against her shoulder as her eyes fluttered shut.

“You’re hopeless,” Ingrid murmured with a soft smile as she manoeuvres them both beneath the water, her hand resting on the back of Mapi’s neck for support. Once the Spaniards hair was wet, she reached for the shampoo and squeezed out a decent amount into her palm, rubbing them together to create a lather.

Her fingers then worked gently through Mapi’s hair, massaging her scalp in slow, circular motions. Mapi let out a quiet hum of contentment, her eyes closed as she relaxed into Ingrid’s actions.

“Besito,” Mapi whispered after a few quiet moments, tilting her head up slightly. Ingrid leaned down without hesitation, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. And then another. And another. Their kisses were languid, unhurried, the kind that spoke of a love both deep and familiar. Ingrid’s hands continued their work as Mapi’s head dropped back to her shoulder, rinsing out the shampoo before reaching for the conditioner.

“Du er så vakker,” Ingrid murmured in Norwegian, her voice low and affectionate as she pressed another kiss to Mapi’s temple.

“Hmm?” Mapi hummed sleepily, her eyes still closed.

“Nothing,” Ingrid replied with a small smile, finishing with Mapi’s hair and turning her attention to her own. By the time they stepped out of the shower, Mapi was more awake, though her movements were still slow and slightly sluggish as she dried off and wrapped a towel around herself.

Ingrid dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of training shorts and a fitted white shirt. She glanced over at Mapi, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with her towel still draped around her shoulders, her hair dripping onto the duvet of the unmade bed. Ingrid shook her head fondly, grabbing a brush and sitting down beside her.

“Princessa,” Mapi said suddenly, her voice teasing.

“Hmm?” Ingrid responded, gently working through the tangles in Mapi’s hair.

“Tú me mimas,” Mapi murmured, a cheeky grin spreading across her face. Ingrid laughed softly, setting the brush aside and turning to press a kiss to Mapi’s forehead.

“Only because I love you,” she replied in English, her accent soft but clear. Mapi’s smile grew, and she turned her head to kiss Ingrid’s cheek, murmuring the words ‘te amo’ against her warm skin. As Ingrid headed through to the kitchen, Mapi briskly dries off her hair and pulls it back with a claw clip before slipping into a shirt and pair of jeans.

Breakfast was another shared ritual, though it was often less structured than the shower. Ingrid prepared their usual—toast, fruit, and yogurt—while Mapi hovered around the kitchen, occasionally sneaking bites of fruit from the counter.

“You’re supposed to wait,” Ingrid said, her tone amused as Mapi popped a piece of pineapple into her mouth.

“Tengo hambre,” Mapi replied, shrugging innocently. Ingrid shook her head with a smile, setting the plates on the table before sitting down.

Halfway through the meal, Mapi abandoned her chair entirely, plopping herself down into Ingrid’s lap with zero warning. “You’re not a cat,” Ingrid teased, though her arms instinctively wrapped around Mapi’s waist and squeezed tight.

“No, pero soy lindo.” Mapi quipped, grinning as she leaned her head against Ingrid’s. The Norwegian chuckled, pressing a kiss to Mapi’s jaw as they continued eating, their plates now shared between them. Mapi stole bites from Ingrid’s plate with a cheeky grin despite having her own, and Ingrid didn’t have the heart to protest.

By the time they were ready to leave, Mapi’s usual energy had returned, her cheeky grin firmly in place as she shrugged on her jacket and helped Ingrid into her own. It was an off white colour and oversized, burying Ingrid and making her look extra adorable.

In the elevator, Ingrid pulled out her phone, holding it up to take a picture. “Smile,” she said in English, nudging Mapi gently.

Mapi turned her head toward Ingrid, brushing her nose against Ingrid’s cheek and closing her eyes. Ingrid snapped the picture, smiling at the result. “One more,” she said, and this time Mapi turned to kiss her. Ingrid took the photo mid-kiss, their faces scrunched up playfully with smiles.

“Otro,” Mapi demanded in Spanish, her grin wide as she pulled Ingrid in for a proper kiss, her hands linked together at the small of the taller woman’s back. Ingrid, whose body was now flush against Mapi’s own, obliged, snapping one last picture before tucking her phone away with the intention of uploading them to instagram later.

As they stepped into the parking garage, Mapi laced her fingers with Ingrid’s, swinging their hands lightly as they walked toward the car.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[flowerchild28]

Taking care of you

Louis Tomlinson imagine

Warnings: fluff, making -out

1.3k

It started with a slight scratchiness in Y/N’s throat, something she brushed off as seasonal allergies or maybe a reaction to the brisk autumn air. She’d been bustling around all morning, cleaning, organizing, and keeping busy as she usually did. But by the afternoon, a small headache began to press against her temples, and her throat had worsened to the point where even swallowing her tea felt like sandpaper. Still, she tried to ignore it, hoping a good night’s sleep would chase it away.

Louis, however, was quicker to pick up on her fading energy.

“You alright, love?” he asked, watching her from the couch, his gaze narrowing as she stifled yet another sneeze.

“Yeah, totally fine,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively as she sniffled. “It’s just a bit chilly, that’s all.”

But Louis wasn’t convinced. The way her eyes were drooping, and her normally lively voice sounded raspy and thick, didn’t escape him. He got up, making his way to her, and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. She attempted to pull away, but he held firm.

“Y/N, you’re burning up!” he said, concern lacing his tone. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” she replied, her voice weakening as she said it. “Probably just a little cold. It’ll pass.”

“Just a little cold?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen this before. You always say you’re fine until you’re practically bedridden. Not happening this time.”

She gave him a weak smile but couldn’t fight him as he steered her gently toward the bedroom. “In bed, now. No arguments,” he said firmly, guiding her with gentle hands.

“Alright, alright,” she murmured, barely resisting as she climbed under the covers, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She was too tired to argue, really.

Louis disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with a glass of water, a fresh box of tissues, and a soft, cool cloth. He pressed the cloth against her forehead, his thumb brushing her cheek as he gently swept away a strand of hair.

“Here’s what we’re doing,” he said as he sat beside her, his tone gentle but commanding. “You’re going to drink this water. I’ll make you some tea with honey for that sore throat, and then we’ll see how you’re feeling.”

“Lou…” she started, but a coughing fit interrupted her, making her whole body shake.

He gave her a sympathetic look, squeezing her hand. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have to be tough with me. Just rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

She managed a soft nod, and he left to make her tea, returning minutes later with a steaming mug and a worried look in his eyes. She sipped the tea slowly, feeling the honey coat her sore throat. Louis never once left her side, making sure she drank all the tea and had enough pillows to keep her propped up.

“You need to rest, darling,” he murmured, brushing a soft kiss to her temple. “Close your eyes.”

She drifted off, and Louis watched over her until she was sleeping deeply. The next morning, though, she was even worse. Her fever had climbed, her cough was harsher, and she could barely lift her head from the pillow.

Louis gently placed a hand on her forehead, his worry deepening. “Alright, love, I’m taking you to the doctor. No arguments.”

Though she protested weakly, she didn’t have the energy to truly fight him, and he bundled her up in her thickest sweater, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and helped her to his car. Louis drove carefully, glancing over every few minutes to make sure she was comfortable. She dozed in and out of sleep, her head lolling gently against the seat as he reached over to tuck the scarf more snugly around her.

At the doctor’s office, he stayed with her every step of the way, holding her hand as they waited, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on her skin. The doctor confirmed that it was a bad cold, maybe bordering on the flu, and gave her a list of medications to help ease the symptoms.

Once they were back home, Louis didn’t let her lift a finger. He practically carried her to bed, tucking her in and propping her up with all the pillows he could find.

“Alright.” he said, grinning as he stood at the foot of the bed, “today, we’re having the ultimate movie marathon. You can pick whatever you want—rom-coms, action, musicals, you name it. You’re not lifting a finger.”

“Lou,” she rasped, giving him a small smile. “You really don’t have to… I’ll be fine…”

“Shh,” he interrupted, placing a finger over her lips. “You know you love this. I’m not going anywhere. Plus,” he said, flashing her a playful grin, “I’m kind of amazing at picking movies. You can’t resist.”

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the gratitude in her expression as she settled back into the pillows, her hand reaching for his.

They started with one of her favorite series criminal minds, and as the opening credits rolled, Louis climbed into bed beside her, keeping a safe distance but staying close enough that she could lean against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, letting her rest her head on his chest as the episodes played. Every so often, he’d pass her tissues, rub her shoulder when she coughed, or help her sip some tea.

The hours slipped by as they moved from one episode to the next, occasionally pausing to let her nap or take her medication. Louis stayed beside her through it all, making sure she was comfortable, rubbing her back when she felt achy, and keeping her laughing at his dramatic commentary. When she started feeling chilly, he brought out an extra blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders and tucking it in securely.

As the sixth episode of the day came to a close, Y/N’s eyes began to droop again. She tried to fight it, wanting to stay up with him, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. Louis noticed, gently brushing her hair back from her face.

“Sleep, love,” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll be right here.”

She gave him a sleepy smile, murmuring a quiet “thank you” as she drifted off.

By the next day, her fever had gone down a bit, though she was still weak and hoarse. Louis was already up before her, moving around the kitchen with a quiet efficiency as he prepared her breakfast. He brought it to her on a tray, complete with toast, soup, and fresh orange juice.

“Look at you, getting the royal treatment,” he teased as he set the tray in front of her. “Feeling any better?”

She nodded, taking a careful sip of the soup. “A little. Thanks to you, honestly.”

He gave her a proud smile. “Well, you’ve taken care of me enough times. It’s my turn.”

They continued the criminal minds marathon that day, both of them cuddled under the covers. Louis didn’t seem to mind being cooped up indoors, laughing along with her at every joke.

That night, as they wrapped up the season and the house fell quiet, Y/N turned to him, her eyes soft and grateful.

“Lou, really… thank you,” she said quietly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you these past few days.”

He smiled, leaning in to brush a tender kiss on her forehead. “You’d have been just fine. But I’m glad I could be here.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s warmth and the gentle quiet of the room. Though she was still weak and tired, Y/N felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and love in his presence.

“Next time, though,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips, “you’re not getting off so easy when you’re the one sick.”

He chuckled, his arms wrapping around her protectively. “I’d expect nothing less.”

[igotanidea]

Confinement of the flesh: Jason Todd x reader

Warning: suggestive

***

She really thought she was strong.

That all those years of loneliness made her somewhat resistant and that she would not become clingy and needy, bordering desperate girlfriend.

Foolish little girl.

The first time Jason touched her, the first time he undressed her, changed everything.

She was lying in her bed, her brain consumed with lust and her awakened body needs getting out of control.

So hot, so freaking hot from the urge to have him in bed with her, and not even the opened window nor the turned off radiator helped.

Sleep was impossible in such circumstances.

Ever since their first time, all she could think about lying alone at night was his hands, his lips, his body, even his sweat on her.

He did her both a favor and the damage, since it felt like the only time her brain was producing any sort of endorphins was when he was near her.

Body coming alive was a blessing and a curse, especially when a girl is not capable of satisfying herself at all.

Squirming in bed, squeezing the duvet and brushing her thighs together to find any sort of comfort and relief to the burning inside her.

Rolling from side to side, imagining his body on hers, pressing her into the mattress in the sweetest way possible. His grunts and moans as he feasted on her body, taking and giving pleasure from the simple act of making love.  

Oh lord have mercy on me….

She wanted to give him pleasure, to make him feel good, to touch him right, to love him right.

To be the one to make him happy with her body.

But how was she supposed to do that when he wasn’t even here?

Again.

Groaning from the pain and spasm that seemed to take over her body, she rolled over and walked to the bathroom.

Standing naked in front of the mirror and tracing hand over her body.

Soft neck still healing from the last time they got together and he became a little carried away.

Sensitive, heavy breasts, already covered with goosebumps and with peeked nipples.

Smooth expanse of the stomach, a plain made for worship.

The curve of her waist and crossroad of her hips leading the way towards the hidden treasure in the center.

It all felt different.

Her body felt different, almost foreign to her.

As if he turned her into someone she couldn’t quite recognize and wasn’t sure of how to make friends with that other person. Approaching the changes with hesitation and a bit of fear from the evolution, but yet, feeling the excitement coming from the unknown.

Especially if it brought so many wonderful sensations in her.

It was like seeing the color of the sky for the first time, breathing the fresh air for the first time, feeling free and rootless in the best possible way.

Only to fall down from the high, crashing with the concrete walls of the cage she was trapped in.

Why did he do that?

Why did he take everything from her (everything she gave willingly but still), only to leave an empty shell of a person?

This was what she was fearing deep inside.

Letting go and being left with nothing.

Giving in and being alone again.

And her nightmare came true as ever since their first time he was always busy. Constantly. Almost as if he was avoiding her. Letting her down slowly, waiting for the moment she would break to be able to put all the blame on her.

She didn’t want to be clingy and needy, bordering desperate girlfriend, but she was exactly that.

Feeling bad for uncovering her own baser woman’s instincts and  drive for the warmth of a man’s body, touch and support.

Weak.

Pathetic.

This was not how it was supposed to turn out.

She was to be strong and independent, standing her ground and handling her own.

Instead ending up broken into pieces.

Broken by the man she loved.

[3liza]

the other thing about duvets is i dont like that theyre a big pillowcase. this is more trouble than its worth imo. i think duvet covers should actually be two separate pieces, or one long piece in a taco format, and you just spread it out on the bed or floor, spread out the duvet on top, and THEN fasten the top of the duvet cover closed with either buttons or a concealed zipper along the edge. zipper texture unpleasantness could easily be tucked inside a padded border so it doesnt scratch you at night.

duvet covers were introduced to the usa in the 1960s as a part of the "scandinavian" interior decor movement during midcentury modern (they were brought from Sweden, so not actually scnadinavian, but americans dont know the difference and we dont care [edit: i am being informed sweden is actually considered part of scandinavia, i had been previously misinformed]), apparently from the Habitat store in London. i thought Biba was involved for some reason but I may be confusing a bit of documentary i watched with something else. in the documentary, the older lady they were interviewing who used to work at the department store that she claimed popularized the duvwet (either Habitat or Biba) talked about how the sales girls were trained to "demonstrate" the "convenience" of the duvet vs the traditional British method of quilt+sheets, and she remarked she got so good at it she could put the duvet in the cover in about 30 seconds. however when she tried to demonstrate for the presenter she got completely flummoxed by the damned thing. it was at that point i knew duvets were a mistake

anyway im finding some interesting gadgets for securing duvets rn, the one that looks least ugly is a thing that looks like a fabric-covered button that snaps into another button using a tack that pierces the duvet and cover layers. the other solutions also seem fine but are all ugly plastic doohickeys that would bother me on an aesthetic basis. the tack would probably damage the fabric but if you're not using your nice linens i bet it doesn't matter much, especially if the duvet cover is a rustic textile of some kind

the wikipedia article about the duvet is very interesting. i especially liked the part about how previous attempts to introduce it to england were failures

one of the other home bedding issues in the usa is that home washers and dryers and apartment washers and dryers are generally not big enough to effectively wash a down duvet or a quilt thats larger than about a Full, depending on thickness. this bothers me. feather down is especially irritating in this respect because it will get mildewy instantly if it isnt bone dry immediately after laundering. mentioning Sweden yet again, a friend showed me her shared laundry facilities in her Swedish apartment once and they DID have large, industrial machines that could easily take a duvet. she said this was typical. america continues to be difficult to live in for no good reason. its like literalyl everything you do here is 160% harder and more expensive than any other "comparable" country

[little-pondhead]

[inspired roughly by this post. My brain snails started going nuts so I thought it'd be easier to post this separately :)]

…

It was a lovely day in Gotham. Well, as lovely as it could be. The sun was up, peeking through the overhead cloud cover and making the buildings gleam in the rare sunlight. The air was fresher than usual, and faucets ran clear of strange and unusual toxins.

Somewhere in the Upper East Side, in a little neighborhood tucked away from the rest of the city, marched around the new boss of the area. She was a young girl, just barely in high school. But despite it being the middle of a work day, she wandered around her chosen streets, content to do whatever she wanted. Above her, a pair of siblings watched on and discussed the unique situation.

"So let me get this straight: that fourteen-year-old goth girl is a crime boss?"

Mia smiled at Leon, her older brother, and his dumbfounded expression as they rested on her balcony. "She's fifteen, actually. Her birthday just passed. We all got together and threw a block party for her!"

"You know how insane that sounds, right?" Leon turned to her, a bit miffed that she dared to say those words to his face. "She's a kid. Why do you all listen to her?"

Mia shrugged and sipped her beer. "She does good work. Holds her own pretty well, and the kid has connections. Good ones, too. That can be the difference between life and death in Gotham."

Leon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I just don't get it. How did she end up in this line of work? Do child labor laws even apply here?? Why aren't the Bats doing anything?"

"Don't think about it too much, dipshit." Mia crushed her now-empty beer can in her hand and tucked it into a paper garbage bag hanging off of a hook on the balcony rail. A familiar set of green arrows was printed on the side.

"And now you're recycling?!" Leon realized. "When did you start doing that, Mia??"

The woman shrugged and got up, stretching. "Probably around the time Brambles absolutely reamed out Mrs. Zalinski for littering at the park."

"Wait, who's Brambles?" Leon scrambled upright and followed his sister inside.

Mia laughed. "Brambles is our fifteen-year-old crime boss!"

...

"I can't believe you got a cool name right off the bat," Danny grumbled, flopping onto Sam's bed face-first. Sam smirked and shoved him off with her foot. Danny just squawked and let himself ragdoll to the ground.

"It's your fault for not having a better gimmick." She said to his prone body. "Besides, it could've been worse."

"I think Inviso-Bill is the worst possible nickname for anyone." Danny groaned. "But you got something cool immediately. Who even thought up 'Brambles'? That's such a unique name!"

"Well the kids call you Grim; that's pretty cool."

Danny flopped over, twisting himself much farther than any human was supposed to just so he could glare at her face. "They only call me that cause one of the is obsessed with Harry Potter." He grumbled, pouting.

Sam just rolled her eyes and went back to sorting through piles of papers scattered all across her duvet. Since moving to Gotham several months ago, Sam had taken it upon herself to turn the experience into something useful rather than just moping all the time, as she originally wanted to. That 'something useful' had landed her as the newest crime boss in Gotham, with about a third of the Upper East Side as her current territory.

So many problems had popped up in the last year, and the group had decided that taking it on alone would never work. The GIW had been trying to close Amity's borders, Danny's parents had a scientific breakthrough, tensions in the Realms were high, etc. There was a lot on their plate! Sam's solution was to create a foothold in Gotham City. She would lay the foundations for Jazz to work in Arkham and forge a safer environment for the residents of Amity Park to sneak off to if the GIW went too far. She was essentially weaving a cushion for everyone to fall back on.

Danny, using the power of duplication, was splitting his focus between foiling his parent's plans and resolving issues with his rouges to create a united front. He was the main distraction, and Sam's own heavy hitter when she needed help establishing dominance.

Tucker planned to gather intel with the help of Technus and Jazz. They were trying to gather as much evidence as possible so they'd be in the clear when the whistle blew. The GIW would crash and burn, legally speaking. They were the bugs of the operation, spreading themselves thin and hoarding information like it was candy.

Dani was their wild card, their jester. She was keeping the JLD's attention focused solely on her and all the supernatural hijinks she was stirring up. When the time was right, she'd point them in the direction needed and let them loose. After winding them up so much, the hope was that the Justice League Dark would descend upon the GIW like hellfire.

But those were their future plans. Right now, Sam was in possession of specific files from Arkham Asylum and the GCPD. She was looking for anything to give her an edge in the upcoming meeting with a few other crime bosses. Some annual thing they host to renew Goonion contracts, see who's still alive, and examine how much the territory lines have changed. Stuff like that. Red Hood was supposed to be there, and she knew she needed an ironclad defense against him and his nosy colony of Bats.

Danny untwisted himself all of a sudden, making a weird face. "Sorry, got to go." He apologized. "Vlad just showed up to my house."

Sam waved him off. "Go, I'll be fine for today. Just be on time for the meeting on Friday. And I want you, not a double."

"You got it!" Danny did finger guns at her and promptly melted into a pile of green goo. Right on her bedroom floor!

Sam sighed and got up to throw a towel over the puddle. The ectoplasm would evaporate eventually, returning to the original Danny little by little. But for now, this would keep anyone from asking about it until it was all gone.

Sometimes she really hated living in student dorms. People always felt the need to burst into her room for no reason.

Who even made dorm rooms for high schoolers in the first place??

...

Jason couldn't help but stare at the new recruit.

Well, 'new recruit' wasn't exactly accurate. 'Potential to be the most headache-inducing supervillain' was more like it. Standing at a solid 5'10" with platform boots, Brambles, the newest crime lord who had taken over half of the Upper East Side in under four months, was almost tall enough to look him in the eye straight on. Which she tried to do anyways, tilting her chin up oh-so-slightly (in that stupid way aristocrats do when they want to look down at you) and glaring at him with open hostility.

Brambles was young, way too young to be in this line of business. At the start of the annual underground crime meeting (yes, they couldn't come up with a better name), she had announced that she was fifteen, went by she/her, and would snap the dick off of anyone who looked at her funny. Most everyone laughed at her, thinking it was an empty threat. Brambles proved it wasn't by sucker-punching a younger lieutenant who tried to get handsy with her five minutes into the meeting.

When the lieutenant's boss protested and threatened a gang war, Brambles had snapped her fingers and summoned what could only be a fucking pit demon from the depths of hell to threaten the man back. The creature looked like a teenager, just like Brambles, at first. But it was...off. The longer you looked, the worse it got.

It wore a draping black cloak that covered most of its body, with the ends turning to mist when it reached the floor. It had a pale, young face and white hair. Its eyes glowed just like Brambles', except they were a toxic green that made Jason's heart skip a beat in fear. The creature was snarling, with a fucking muzzle on it to keep its sharp teeth away from wandering fingers.

With a nod from Brambles, the creature bounded forward and knocked the guy to the floor, its arm elbow-deep into the guy's chest. The dude looked terrified, and a little sick "Would you rather lose a lieutenant or your life?" She had snarled, sounding almost a bit demonic herself. The other boss had backed down without another word, writing off his subordinate as dead and gone.

Instead of killing the guy, however, Brambles simply banished her little guard dog to a corner of the warehouse to play with its new toy in peace.

"Is she allowed to do that?" Someone whispered.

"They weren't unionized, so the Goonion won't say anything." Another answered.

It was the most awkward meeting in the history of the criminal underworld. No one even died since they were all focused on the newcomer.

Jason could feel a headache forming as the meeting came to an end. Brambles was still sitting in her chair. The creature had grown bored of its toy and was leaning against her, sprawled out lazily and barely flicking an ear at the onlookers in acknowledgment. A few people were idling around her, mostly women, trying to talk some big game and get on the kid's good side. Brambles was humoring them, taking tight control of the conversation when they got too prying.

Jason sighed. He knew he'd have to go over and have a talk with the kid, even if it was just for Bruce's files. He hauled himself upwards and stalked over. "Pardon me, ladies and gents, but I'm going to borrow the kiddo here for a moment."

The creature hissed at him, tensed at his approach. Brambles kept a tight grip on the back of its muzzle, keeping it grounded. The other criminals scattered like flies. They were the only two (three?) left in the warehouse within minutes.

Bramble rose to glare at him. "What." She spat. "If you're here to convince me not to get involved with anything, I will set Grim on your ass after lighting it on fire."

The creature, Grim, growled in agreement. The sound echoed strangely like he was hearing it from underwater.

"Relax, I'm not here to do any of that." Jason raised his hands in surrender, immediately abandoning that possible line of thought. "I'm just here to talk business. You're young, and while you don't want to admit it, inexperienced."

"Stop the fancy words, Red Hood." Brambles' eyes glowed again, and she released her hold on Grim's muzzle. "If you want to make a deal, say it to my face. If you're here to dig for information, either ask me or hit the road. I prefer honesty over flower talk, so tell me what you want before I take over your area, too."

Jason bristled. His vision was tinted green as he snapped, "What the fuck is your problem, kid?! I just wanted to make sure you were safe and not being forced to do this. I was even going to offer my support and protection if it was too much! I know you aren't going to stop, but that doesn't mean I want a kid to die just because they got into something they shouldn't and they think their fancy guard dog will always be there to protect them!"

Brambles' eyes stopped glowing, and her stare softened a bit. Grim went deadly still, just floating there, staring at Jason. His heart beat like crazy in his chest. What was he saying? It was all true, but he could've been nicer about it. Dick would've found a way to be nicer.

-krrrk- "Ibis, reporting in. I think you can trust him, guys. Even if he's a Bat, his connections and experience would be useful in our plans. Ibis out." -krrrk-

Jason flinched from the sudden noise, looking around to find the source. It sounded like it had come from everywhere, even inside his own helmet. Brambles immediately switched out her hostile look for an annoyed one, tapping an earpiece he hadn't noticed before.

"Ibis, you really have to stop opening up our comm lines to the public." She snapped, but there was no real heat to it. "And I thought I told you to stop eavesdropping!"

-krrrk- "Sorry, can't help it. I'm everywhere now! You shouldn't have given me this power." -krrrk-

Grim hissed.

-krrrk- "Don't hiss at me, young man! You were the one who suggested this!" -krrrk-

"I'm sorry, time out!" Jason made a T with his hands. The green from his vision had completely disappeared now. "What the FUCK is going on now?"

Brambles sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know what? Fine. We'll trust you. My name is Sam. Nice to meet you, Jason Todd."

Jason stepped back, immediately reaching for his gun. Grim darted forward and promptly flew through him, stealing all his weapons in one go. "I'm Danny!" Grim-Danny?-chirped in a human voice, giving him a shit-eating smile. "Sorry for the act, Mr. Hood. And sorry about the name drop, I'm the one that told them."

-krrrk- "I'm Tucker! There are more of us, but they're busy. I have literally so many questions for you, Mr. Hood." -krrrk-

"Now that introductions are over-Danny don't eat his smoke bombs, you're not gonna look like Dorathea-we'd like your help."

Jason squinted at them. "You understand this is all suspicious as fuck, right? And how did a pit demon find out who I am?"

-krrrk- "Yeah, we know. But lives are on the line here, and I think you'd really be a help!" -krrrk-

Brambles-Sam-sighed and pulled out a flash drive. "I was going to use this as leverage, but I guess it'll have to be useful in other ways." She tossed it to Jason, who numbly caught it. "Look over it if you want. If you don't, then just burn it. Do not try to plug it into the Batcomputer. Don't try to send it to the Batcomputer, either. A virus will target that specific IP address as soon as it makes contact. Any other computer is fine."

"Look it over, and we can go from there," Danny added, spinning in midair while chomping on one of Jason's knives. (His good one, too!) "And I'm not a pit demon, but I am dead. That's how I knew about you. Whatever brought you back to life gave the Realms a real headache for a while. It wasn't hard to look you up in the records."

"This is so much information. Lives are on the line? And two, three kids are dealing with it? By becoming crime bosses?"

-krrrk- "Technically, Sam's the only crime boss here. And that was kind of an accident. She was supposed to create a safe foothold in Gotham in case we needed to evacuate our town. But we all got cool nicknames out of it! And you're the only adult we've told this stuff to!" -krrrk-

"I'm what?"

"The only adult." Sam's unwavering gaze seemed to pierce his soul. "There are quite literally no other adults that can help, Red Hood. None that we trust, not really. Any adult intervention needs to be planned carefully so it doesn't backfire on us. We're trusting you here, Jason. Not only are you like us, which technically puts you in danger too, but you have power and connections to support a whole town of people the government wants to eradicate."

Jason looked at the little green flash drive in his hand. He didn't want to ask. "And this...?"

"A fruit basket," Sam said simply. "Originally, it was supposed to be blackmail. But instead, this is a present to show our goodwill and faith. To show you our skills. That drive contains information on other gangs, upcoming rogue attacks, chemical breakdowns of Joker Venom and Fear Gas, unfinished antidote formulas, etc. Tucker and his team scoured the underbelly of Gotham and gathered dirt on every single prominent figurehead. Including Bruce Wayne, should you choose to use it."

"I would never-"

"But you've thought about it." Danny cut in and scratched his neck. Jason's hands shook. "It's not a bad thing. It's just the nature of the dead. Wanting to right the wrongs left over from their time with the living. Even if you walk and breathe now, that doesn't mean desire disappears."

"The point is, we need help. Even if I'm loathe to admit it." Sam rolled her eyes, and suddenly, Jason didn't see a potential supervillain in the making. He saw a teenager trying her best, shouldering the responsibility of hundreds of people, both in Gotham and her hometown. Danny looked the same, no matter how other-worldly he was. What battles were they facing? Why weren't there any adults to turn to? What kind of lives were they leading if they immediately trusted a known crime lord with their lives upon the first meeting?

"I'll think about it." Jason finally said. Danny trilled in excitement, and some tension bled out of Sam's shoulders. "If the situation is bad enough, however, I'm calling in someone else for help."

Danny shrugged. "As long as it ain't Batman! I don't think he'll appreciate us smuggling a town of liminals into his city."

Sam poked Danny's shoulder, prompting him to look at her. "Let's go, before you break his brain with more info-dumping. Bye Red Hood!"

"Uh, yeah. Goodbye!" Jason stuttered. He watched the two kids walk towards the exit door, before shimmering out of sight before they even touched the handle.

What the fuck.

[gulliblelemon]

Chapter 5 - final chapter

Wille and Simon spend another day together. And this time, it's definitely a date.

At first, it’s unclear why Wille is so warm. His apartment’s central heating system seems good enough, but he hasn’t managed to figure out the timer, so his mornings usually consist of him burrowing under the covers for as long as he can get away with before shuffling across the flat with his duvet wrapped around himself to turn the heating on.

This morning however, Wille is warm. In fact, Wille is bordering on hot. He’s also incredibly comfortable, something keeping him half in his dreamlike state for longer than usual. Maybe he can just drift off again. His alarm hasn’t gone off yet so that means—

Something moves and Wille’s eyes whip open only for his vision to be filled with masses of dark curls. 

Oh. 

Read the final chapter on AO3. Or start from the beginning. (rated T, 20k words).

[riiverdancer]

toji x fem!orthodox!reader, THE LONG AWAITED SEQUEL!

to whoever is reading this as of now: please do not sexualize my work as it was not written for that purpose and i worked quite hard on this piece alone. i would find that course of action extremely disrespectful on your part. also, if themes of religion make you feel uncomfortable, DO NOT READ THIS.

to anyone interested, you can find this work on my ao3 @/riiverdancer under the title "moths in my abdomen" !

synopsis: toji doesn't know how neither how to pray, nor how to sleep, so it gets awkward.

contents: events set in 2008, toji being timid around reader, toji is not familiar with his surroundings, post gege clarity, bare with me everyone.

Toji was used to keeping watch during the night while his companions slept in the tent and curses and curse users were always lurking around their campsite. In those moments, he would risk his arm going limp just by gripping onto his heavenly inverted spear in case an enemy was close by. He did not play games. Toji however, was not used to having to keep watch over nothing in the middle of the night. He was becoming less cautious and more fearful of the dark, almost like a child. His heavy heart pounded in his chest moderately faster the more he refused the offer of a good night's sleep, he was getting dizzy from staring at the hallway light that peered through the bedroom door in a single vertical line. He was going mad and he knew it. He saw that light as a string of hope saving him from his suppressed childish fears, which he blamed on his son for always asking to come over to his and his late wife's bed to sleep with them while his fear faded. Now another woman lies in his bed. A beautiful soul that is in so many ways more than Toji's. The love she had left to give poured onto him like lava and hardening so imperfectly, his heart could only beat in slow intervals, just not to crack the obsidian forming around it. But within those borders, his heart was begging for guidance of any kind. A thump at a time made the gold lightweight crucifix bounce on and off of his chest. It was the peak of his anxiety, he was beginning to choke.

This was the very same sensation he felt when he went to church, the guilt he had was seeping through the tip of his tongue, mumbling away his remorse, behind him, he knew he could feel the Devil himself creeping up behind him and in a moment of weakness, he wept. A whisper scream, if you will.

"I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it." He was genuinely spilling tears, pulling his hair by the handful, too stressed to even think about going back to bed.

This woke up his partner, who rolled from her side and groaned rubbing her eyes: "Jiji...mmh. What's wrong?"

"Ugh, forget it. I feel like a piece of shit already." Toji scoffed.

"No, don't say that." She lightly placed a hand on his chest, still sleepy. "Hold my hand."

His large hand wrapped around hers, covering it entirely and he sighed, still tired of the mental baggage.

He did the cross with his right hand and moved her curls covering the side of her face to kiss her warm cheek, a stray strand of hair getting caught in his lips. He smiled and looked at her as her head was stuffed knee deep in the pillows.

"Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner." She muffled, her head on the pillows, somehow urging Toji gently to repeat her words, soon becoming a coeval prayer of three times, that made Toji drop the weights he already beared.

"I'm gonna marry you someday." His heart throbbed in place as he looked at pale moon pouring over his skin. "By God, I'm gonna marry you someday." He covered himself in their shared duvet, almost instantly going to sleep after he closed his eyes.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

reader x mel, where mel calls reader daddy for the first time ;)

This feels (for me at least) like it follows on from the Dom Reader x Melissa fic (which can be found here) but can definitely be read alone.  As warnings go – too short and NSFW unless you’re reading wearing your best poker face.

~*~

Your hands grip her hips tightly, anchoring you and giving you leverage as you thrust into her.  She’d asked for this, said she needed not to think and only feel.  As much as you love it when she uses her words, you know sentences are hard to come by at this point.  Now, you get to revel in the downright sinful sounds you’re able to pull from her.

Looking down at her, you can’t help but bite back your own moan as you continue to pound into her, relishing the sounds of your flesh coming together as the strap you’re wearing sinks to the hilt.  Half collapsed on the bed before you, having fallen forward onto her elbows when her arms would no longer support her, her face is partially obscured by the duvet, but her glorious hourglass figure is still on full display.  The day you’re not affected by those curves is the day you’re dead.    

“Don’t stop, daddy, don’t stop.”

Your hips stutter, and you’re not sure if you really heard what you thought you did, half gasped and muffled as it was in the covers.

“Please don’t stop,” comes the plea from the red head.

Shaking your head, you pick up the pace once more, your movements becoming more fluid.

“Yes daddy!”  The words are hissed out on the heels of a gasp.  “Just like that.  M’so close.”

So you did hear what you thought you did.  You’re not entirely sure how you feel about it.  No one has ever called you daddy before.  But the more you think about it, the more you think you might like it.  You reach around with one hand to let you fingers find her clit, feeling her hips jerk in surprise at the added stimulation.  From the way her hands grasp at the covers and the sounds that fall from her lips become more high pitched and breathy you know she’s close. 

When she does come this time it’s with a scream that you’re slightly disappointed is half muffled in the bed covers.  She falls forward, breathing hard and you follow her, the strap still buried within her.  You lean down, pressing kisses to the expanse of her back, tracing nonsensical patterns with the fingers of the hand you’re not leaning on as she catches her breath.

Canting your hips to test her willing you’re rewarded with a low moan, making you grin.  She’s not done yet.  You trail your kisses higher, nuzzling the back of her neck, building up your courage.  Stretching over the red head, you let your lips hover close to her ear before you finally ask her; “You want daddy to keep fucking you?”

Her head whips to the side, hair flying as she looks as you with wide eyes and you realise she has no idea she’d said those words out loud.  There’s a sudden vulnerability to her features you don’t often see.

“Did I...?” she asks, worry creeping into those emerald green orbs you love so much.

“Call me daddy?” you ask with a smile you can’t help borders on a smirk, hoping to reassure her that you don’t mind.  “Yeah, you kinda did.”

Her cheeks flame an even deeper red and her eyes flit over your face.

“You can call me it again, if you’d like,” you grin, bucking your hips gently in encouragement.  You don’t want to push, but you want her to know that as surprising as her words have been, you’re willing to explore this. 

She turns her face away from you, burying her face in the covers.  Her hand, however, finds yours where it rests near her shoulder and she pushes her hips back into yours.  “Fuck me good, daddy.”

The words cause your breath to hitch in your chest.  There’s power in those words.  A trust.  A thrill. 

You squeeze the hand holding yours, leaning down to press a kiss to the bit of her cheek not hidden in the bed covers.  “Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.  Don’t you worry.”

It feels odd as you test the words out on your tongue, but you find you rather enjoy them.  You have a feeling you’re both going to enjoy them.

[shewassaying]

💛💫1000 DOWNLOAD CELEBRATION -- PART TWO💫💛

And now, for part two of our celebration, everyone's favorite ornery editor: Oscar!

Also, you all are wild. We didn't even get halfway through our 1K celebration before we hit 2000 downloads. Thank you all so much!! <3

Art by @minthe-drawings

DEBUT

by Cath, edited by @crescencestudio

No way. No way, no way, no way. Nope. No. Way.

There is no chance whatsoever that you're going tonight. It's not happening. This… It's all wrong!

You stand before the full length mirror in Oscar's bedroom– 

No, it's your bedroom now too. The mental correction is taking longer to come into effect than you'd thought it would, despite you having had nearly two months to adjust. And despite you redecorating… or rather, decorating the place.

To call it a bachelor pad would be a compliment, since that would imply at least furniture to begin with. Oscar's place had just been... empty.

"I'm always traveling. What is the point of a–What the fuck did you call that? A duvet?-- Whatever the hell it's called, if I'm in hotels most of the time?" 

His huffing had done nothing to stop your determination to bring the aesthetic of the place from "utilitarian holding cell" to an actual home. Where people live. On purpose. He'd groused the whole time, but little did he know, you had seen every one of his slight smiles as you chose which bedsheets, towels, curtains matched your shared space best. He'd enjoyed watching you make your small—and not so small—claims on the space. 

You stare at yourself in the full-length mirror (a purchase he had been surprisingly on board with) for a heartbeat more before half thrashing your way free of the clothes and adding them to the ever-growing mountain on the bed.

You can't do this. Nope. Too much pressure. 

You shove on a tattered sweatshirt (Oscar's, stolen, smelling like old books and his spice-scented cologne) and a pair of shorts just as Oscar enters the room. 

"You're not dressed yet?" He arches an eyebrow at you, and you immediately scowl. It does not escape you that he isn't ready either–he's wearing the same jeans and tee-shirt from his morning errands.

"I'm not going." 

He leans against the doorframe, his broad shoulders near filling the entranceway, his expression shifting towards one he always seems to save just for you, a wry kind of amusement bordering on exasperation. 

"You sound like a toddler," he says. You think you hear the beginning of a chuckle in his voice, and it fans your stubbornness into outright defiance. 

"I do not. I sound like an adult who can make their own decisions, and I decided I'm not going." 

Your earlier suspicion is confirmed: his chuckle evolves into a snort that does a poor job hiding his laughter.

"It's the launch party for your book. You quite literally have to go." 

You throw yourself backwards onto the bed with a loud groan, covering your face with your hands. He's right, of course. But there's no way in hell you're saying that. 

"How about this, Oscar? You edited the thing. You go schmooze in my stead and make good impressions and whatever else is expected for something like this–"

You feel his presence moments before he reaches down for you. It's that familiar tingle that fills the air every time you two are in close proximity, a ticklish kind of static. He grips you firmly but gently by the shoulders, prying you up from the bed. He'd probably release you if you put up a fight, because he was annoying like that. So instead, you switch tactics and go entirely limp, forcing him to drag your stubborn, slumping form up. Your head lolls from side to side, but he, equally as stubborn, hauls you up into a seated position. 

"What's the issue, sweetheart?" he asks, the note of annoyance in his voice the only acknowledgement of your ragdoll display.  

You lean against him, winding your arms around his hips and burying your face into his stomach. Your face feels warm with embarrassment, and you don't want him to see. You don't want to admit the actual problem—to hear how frivolous it sounds when it's spoken aloud. All that would do is make you feel… small. Ridiculous. 

The silence stretches, and soon you feel the weight of his hand against the back of your head, cradling it gently. He leans just slightly into you, pulling you closer, and begins drawing soothing, rhythmic circles on your back. The soothing effect is near instantaneous, and you sigh loudly before turning your head so he can hear you. 

"I have nothing to wear." 

His hand stills for a moment, and his thumb twitches at the base of your neck. His chest shakes a little, and you pull back to glare up at him. 

He's laughing. That bastard!

"Stop it, I'm serious!" 

This, of course, only makes him laugh harder, the tone warm and genuine. You expect the shame and embarrassment to overcome you at any moment, but it doesn't. He's not mocking. You find yourself struggling to maintain your glare, your lips twitching into a smile. 

"That's the issue? We can fix that! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

He drops a kiss on your forehead before untwining himself from your arms and walking to your closet. 

"No, it's not! I– Nothing feels right, and it's too late to go and buy something new...!"

"It's just nerves. It's making it hard to make a decision."

You grunt in response, wrinkling your nose. You know that, of course. Doesn't make it any easier. 

"Here." Oscar withdraws an outfit from the closet and presents it to you nonchalantly. "What about this one?" 

You eye the fabric skeptically. It's pale in color, the material looks buttery smooth, and you're almost entirely certain you've never seen it before. 

"I-Is that mine?"

"What? What kind of question is that? It's not mine."

"I– I don't know! Where did that even come from?" 

Oscar's brow drops to a decidedly annoyed expression. 

"Scribbles. You cannot seriously expect me to know where you've obtained your clothing." 

You practically hiss at the nickname, snatching the clothes hanger from him. 

"Fine, I'll try it! Now get out so I can change."

Oscar arches his eyebrow at you. 

"Seeing you change? That's where we draw the line of privacy, is it? Even though I've seen you–"

"Beat it, Spellcheck!"

He's cackling, and you're flustered and overheated by the time you succeed in banishing him from the bedroom. 

—-—-—-

"Come out, Scribbles. Let me see you." 

You sigh softly to yourself before leaving the safety of your bedroom, having finished your final grooming touches. The outfit Oscar picked feels suspiciously new. When did you even buy this? 

Still, the color is more complimentary than you'd expected, and the cut of it is undeniably flattering on your body. You still feel anxiety creeping up your throat from its nest in your belly, but your boyfriend had been right. Having the choice made for you was helpful. The quality of his choice certainly didn't hurt either. 

Stepping into the living room, you look around for a moment before spotting Oscar leaning against the far wall. 

Your mind goes blank, a slate wiped clean. He's changed as well, it seems. He wears a light brown vest paired with a cream colored jacket–colors that distinctly compliment your own outfit. The lines of the suit follow the contours of his body perfectly, and your pulse suddenly feels very loud. It's not wholly unusual for Oscar to dress up for work events or the like but… 

Damn. He's hot. 

Your gaze slides up his body and to his face, and you finally see the expression he's wearing. Any last scrap of insecurity you feel is banished by the look he is giving you. It's more exalting than desire, more sinful than reverence, more devoted than hunger. It's... all of those things and more. 

You can barely breathe. 

"I knew it." 

He drags himself from the wall and stalks towards you, the movements reminiscent of a prowling cat. 

"I knew that would be stunning on you the moment I saw it." 

You're flushing, your breathing coming unevenly. The effect he has on you is dizzying, but one question rises from the haze that's overcoming your mind. 

"The moment you saw it...?"

"You like my gift, Scribbles?"

"Wait, you… you bought this for me?"

"Well, you're always going on and on about everything needing to match in this damn house, so..."

"You bought this so I could match with you?"

He's only an arm's length from you now. The intensity of his gaze as he rakes his eyes up and down your body is such that you can practically feel his touch sliding over your skin. 

"Don't be absurd," he says quietly, his eyes finally meeting yours. The smile he gives you is wicked, but you don't miss the tinge of pink settling over his cheeks. 

He finally closes the gap between you, pressing you against the wall in one swift, easy motion. His hands find your hips, and his face nuzzles into your neck. For a moment, you wonder if he chose that spot to strategically hide his blush, just as you had before, but the thought quickly leaves you, as Oscar distracts you with the warmth of his breath against your skin, the nip of his teeth on your earlobe. 

You shudder. 

"I bought it because I knew it would look incredible on you. I bought my suit after to match." 

His arms wind around your lower back and fit you to him, and you nearly purr, pulling him closer. His touch is intoxicating—soft and sweet from his kisses that barely graze your skin, rough and scratchy from his beard lightly scraping against you. He trails his lips along your body. First, nibbling at your ear, then brushing over your jaw, before finally finding its way to the corner of your mouth. 

You turn towards him to close that torturous distance, wanting your mouth upon his. All you can think about is the feeling of his lips pressed against yours. Your whole body is on fire, set alight by his touch, but still he holds himself just beyond your reach.

"Maybe we shouldn't go after all," he hums. The rasp of his deep voice is more pronounced than usual, and you arch your back into him in response. He grins wolfishly at you, and you almost snap. Enough with the teasing. 

You want him to kiss you so. Fucking. Badly.

But before you can give voice to your wishes, he grants them as if he knows the effect he has on you.  He kisses you with a languid, searing intensity. You tangle your fingers into his soft curls and he groans into your mouth, his fingers digging hard into your body. You can feel his control dangling by a thread–

He pulls back, his breath hitching, and nips at your lower lip before truly breaking the kiss. 

"But–" you begin, but he shakes his head. 

"Tonight is to celebrate you. What you accomplished. I want you to have that, you deserve it. You've earned it."

He raises his hand to your cheek, brushing his knuckles over the heated skin. You smile. 

"... Fine. We'll go."

"Good." 

He separates from you, and the cool air isn't as soothing as you'd hoped. It's mostly lonely. He crosses the room to grab the keys, and shoots you a smirk over his shoulder as he goes. 

"Because I deserve it too. I had to edit the damn thing, and I think you would actually perish if you had to come up with a synonym on your own–let alone place a comma properly–"

"Asshole!" 

His laughter drowns out your stream of obscenities, and you depart for your book's debut.

[hannahssimblr]

“Jude,”

A small finger prods my cheek. My Forehead. My chin. “Jude. Jude. Judie.” I groan and pull the duvet over my face to stop the sun from searing my eyeballs. 

My voice is hoarse, “Did you open the blinds?”

“It’s eight. You’re supposed to get up.”

“God, why?”

My sister repeatedly slaps my head through the covers, “There’s no baguette.”

“No baguette?” What is she talking about? “Ivy, stop, stop,” I grab her little wrist and pull it away from me, awake now and not pleased about it. “Why did you come in here, huh? You’re not supposed to come into my room.”

She whips her arm out of my grip, “But it’s eight,” She says, “and there's no baguette left.” 

“Oh, for breakfast,” I rub sleep from my eyes, “Okay yeah, I get it. We’re out of bread.”

“You have to go to the bakery before they all sell out. All the old grannies get there first and they buy up the baguettes,” She throws herself down at the foot of my bed and kicks her feet up in the air. She’s dressed herself already, I see, in scruffy clothes that she’s usually only allowed to wear when she’s staying home. “And I think I feel like a chocolate croissant today.”

“A chocolate one? Since when are you a spoiled little brat?”

She sticks her tongue out, “Uh! You always sneak me a chocolate one when mom and dad are away.”

She’s right, I was just teasing. “Okay, get out of my room and wait for me, I need to get changed.”

She runs obediently out while I drag myself out of bed and into yesterday’s shorts, cursing every other teenage boy who will get to sleep in until midday and beyond today, blissfully free of all responsibility and all little sisters. And Jen too, in the guest room next door, probably sleeping soundly and won’t have to deal with anything like this, and will run free all summer, sleeping under the same roof with different rules to the ones I must adhere to. 

It’s a bright morning. The tide is in and the air is salty and fresh as seagulls circle over the strand. The beach cleaners are always out at this time, in their high visibility jackets and yellow rubber gloves plucking up the debris left over from yesterday's holiday makers. Ivy skips alongside me with her worn out sandals crunching on the sand that’s blown in over the ground, gleefully kicking the fallen palm fronds over into the low stone wall that borders the path. 

“What are you so happy about?” I say accusingly, though her joy is unfortunately contagious. 

“Everything. I’m going to kids club and it’s sunny today and mom and dad are working in Dublin for the whole week and I’m getting a chocolate croissant,” She sings that last word with glee and skips and spins ahead of me, flapping her arms around with free, unfettered delight like she could take off and fly. 

“C’mon, you’re hyper. Save some energy for the club. What are you going to be doing today anyway? Art or sports?”

“Yesterday was sport. We did dodgeball but with those soft, squishy balls.”

“The foam ones?”

“Yeah, and one of the boys took a bite out of one of them, it was disgusting.”

I laugh, “You know I used to take bites out of them too.”

She comes back and gives me a slap in the thigh, “You’re a smelly, disgusting boy too, then.”

“Yeah, I am, but I don’t care. Foam has an interesting texture, huh?”

“No it doesn’t, and it’s filthy and it’s all rolled all over the floor and had dirty old hands all over it.”

I shrug, when I was a child the last thing I cared about was whose dirty hands touched what, nothing like Ivy. I shoved everything I could find in my mouth with abandon, I didn't care. Honestly I still don’t really care, because at this point I’ve put the kinds of filthy, unregulated things into my mouth that make a foam dodgeball seem gourmet. “So if you did sports yesterday, does that mean you’re doing art today?”

“Yep.”

From where we stand in the queue outside the bakery, the smell of fresh bread and buttery pastry floats right toward us and makes my stomach growl, “So what do you think you’ll be doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Well… once, in school, we did paper weaving.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She looks at me incredulously, “You know what paper weaving is.”

“No, I don’t.”

A scoff, “You already know everything about art, so you definitely know about this.”

“Well let's pretend I don’t and you can tell me about it.”

And she does, she goes into incredible detail while we wait, and then I buy a baguette and three chocolate croissants, one for Jen, and I get Ivy some juice for the hell of it and a coffee for me even though I’m not sure if it’s coffee I like or the idea of it. 

I’m happy to let her talk like that. It fills a gap, and I like it, because when she’s talking so much it means that she’s comfortable and not conscious about annoying our parents or saying something that they think is silly. I want her to be silly. It’s what seven year olds are.

Back at the beach house I even put on music while I make some breakfast, Low by Flo Rida, because our mom hates music like this and always turns the radio off when it comes on, which is all the time lately because it’s plagued the charts for months. 

“How can she have apple bottom jeans and baggy sweatpants?” Ivy wonders as she munches on her buttered baguette. 

“I guess she has four legs,” I say, and she flinches as I try to grab her nose, “you shouldn’t be listening to the words of this song anyway, they’re for adults.” Last week she asked me what ‘promiscuous’ meant after I let her listen to Nelly Furtado and then I had to pretend I couldn’t find it in the dictionary.  

“Why? Because of her big bum?”

“Ivy!”

The boat club is busy that morning with hoards of parents leaving their children at the kids club. Children and parents and me, a sixteen year old brother. I feel self conscious as we wait to sign her in. 

“Good morning Ivy,” the activity leader beams down at her with a toothy grin, “Where’s mammy today?”

“Home in Dublin. She’s working.”

“And daddy?” I want to laugh at the absurd impression this woman has that our dad has done anything meaningful or useful for either of us in his life. 

“He has to work too.”

“They’re very busy,” I explain, “They usually need to be at home during the summer for several weeks on and off so I’m just stepping in for now.”

“Well lucky that they have you to take care of it all.”

Yes. Lucky me. I pass Ivy off to her and wave goodbye, and as I’m making my way back towards the exit I pass the dining room. I stop and peer through the door curiously, just in case, and alas, in the bright sunlight from the windows, the sound of cutlery and glass and the smell of breakfast in the air, she crosses the room, a flash of blonde in tight black clothes.

“Hi, Clóda.” I say. I’ve caught her off guard. 

“Jesus chr- Hello,” She puts the tray she was holding onto an empty table with a clatter and tucks the two front strands of her hair behind her ears. “Where did you come from?”

“I was bringing my sister to the kids club.”

“That’s nice of you.”

I shrug, “I like to give my parents a break from parenting sometimes.” I peer into the chaos behind her, “You busy?”

“Yes, I-” She turns around anxiously, “It’s very busy at breakfast time.”

“Okay well I’ll leave you alone then.”

“No, I-” 

I stop, and she pats her silky hair, twisted into a bun at the top of her head, “Are you hanging out on the beach later?”

“Uh, no.”

“Oh right, well, that’s fine then I was just-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I interject quickly, “I’m just looking after my sister all week while my parents are away, I can’t really leave her alone at night or anything so I won’t really be around.”

She blinks, “Your parents left you alone for a week?”

“Yeah they always do that,” I say casually, “It’s fine. Jen is staying with us so sometimes she helps, but actually, no, mostly she doesn’t, which is fair enough.” I move away from the door to let a patron pass by and Clóda comes to lean with me against the wall, “But if you like, and it’s not weird for you you could always come over and babysit with me sometime.”

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s seven.”

“Cute.”

“She’s not cute, she’s a brat, but she goes to bed at half past eight, so,” I shrug, again, attempting to be cool and casual, and it seems to be working because Clóda is blushing now. “If you’re free tonight? We can watch a film, or… something…” I trail off, privately delighted by her pretty smile, evidence that she’s forgiven me for not touching her boob last week. Maybe I’ll remedy that tonight if she gives me another chance. 

There’s a man behind the bar watching us now, “Clóda,” he says sharply, “you have to work faster, get busy please.”

“Oh, um,” She wipes her hands on her trousers and reaches around awkwardly to retrieve her tray. “That’s my dad. He gets annoyed when I chat too much. Especially to… non-customers.”

I grin at the older man and wiggle my fingers at him while he practically snarls, his face jowled like a bulldog. “Nine?” I say to Clóda.

“Yeah, I’ll try.” And she’s gone. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

Chapter 2

As Stevie walked through the threshold of Ella’s house, Lou ran over to her, his tail wagging. She knelt down and buried her face in his neck, kissing him. He smelled like bubblegum and puppy. His coat was freshly washed and soft. She kissed the bridge of his snout then rubbed behind his ears.

“He got his stitches taken out yesterday,” said Nora. Nora was Ella’s aunt, and by extension, Stevie’s aunt.

Stevie and Ella spent much of their childhood spring and summers within Nora’s flower-filled, clover-carpeted farm house, bordered by willows, poplars, and a river.

When May arrived, Nora would plant sweet pea flower seeds beside a tall and wide bamboo tent structure. As the vines began to grow she wound them around the structure. The vines would completely fill out the polls and the pastel pedals would burst open, releasing their heady, sweet scent. Nora would then lay out a thick quilt inside the flower tent. She placed fluffy square pillows along the edges, then brought in her duvet. Draped in the cool, green shade, Nora read to them her favorite novels.

When the warm winds of June swept through the county, the two sisters would slowly slip into their fae selves in their fae attire. Nora would sew for them linen shorts and linen tank tops so they could run comfortably about under the tender yet bright spring sun. They then collected flowers from the garden — petunias and pansies, chrysanthemums and zinnias — to dye their new shorts and tank tops with. Ella enjoyed covering almost the entirety of her shorts and tank in the heads of the flowers, pounding steadily their thin, fragile petals onto the thick, coarse cloth. Stevie would leave white space between the flowers, and arrange a dispersed diverse arrangement of flower species. No purple pansy was next to another purple pansy, but rather neighbored by the bright yellow or red of a zinnia head. As they worked, Nora would dye her own linen pants, or color napkins or a table cloth commissioned by a friend.

When the July sun was too oppressive, they would swing on the swing hanging from the rafts of the barn in which Nora often worked on her oil paintings. The scent of terpintine and the sulfur from the indigo would hang heavily in the cool, dim light.

As the summer progressed, so did Stevie and Ella’s sense of wild exultance. Daisy crowns draped over their strawberry blond and red hair, they would clamber up their oak tree that grew beside the river. They had named their tree “the pee tree” because they would stand squarely on a branch over the river, and press out the water in their bladders. They found satisfaction in watching their pee splatter into the rushing waters below.

With Nora, Stevie had always felt like she could be herself. Whatever emotion she was feeling, Nora gave her the unlimited space to express herself.

Nora knelt down beside Stevie and asked Lou to roll on his back. As he rolled over, Stevie noticed the long jagged, white line where the barb wire had caught and tore.

“The neighbor helped pay the bill. Felt bad for leaving it laying about like that in the weeds.”

They sat there with Lou, lightly rubbing his belly.

“I have a friend who believes dogs are still beings of heaven,” said Nora.

Stevie bent down and kissed Lou on the snout. “If I believed in heaven, I would believe that too,” she said, then pushed herself to her feet.

When Stevie entered the kitchen, she found Ella’s parent’s Tom and Jodie, and Nora’s fiance André sitting at the kitchen table playing the board game Carcassonne.

“Hi Stevie,” called Jodie, standing up and walking over to her to give her a hug. “You smell like you had a hard practice in the sun,” she said, kissing her forehead.

“She’s saying you stink,” said Tom with a wink.

“I’ll wash up,” said Stevie, then poked her tongue out at Tom.

“Stinky girls are working girls,” said André.

“Women. They’re women now dearest,” said Nora as she and Lou entered the kitchen. She went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.

Ella then walked in, also still in her sweats and swim suit. Stevie smiled, realizing she had waited to shower with her. It was something they still liked to do together.

“They say we stink,” said Stevie.

“I don’t stink,” said Ella with a laugh.

“Yes you do, you smell like chemicals,” said Nora, pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Fine then. We will both go get clean,” said Ella, pushing Stevie lightly on the center of her back and out of the kitchen.

When entering the bathroom they began to pull off their clothes. It was just Ella’s bathroom, and clearly stocked and decorated exactly how she needed and wanted. On the pale pink counter tile she had placed a ceramic shell and pearl light, the pearl glowing softly in the dim room. The pearl illuminated a painting of a mermaid on the wall. The mermaid stretched out over a rock and stared up at a full moon. She had woven cowrie shells in her red hair. Though clearly intended to be a romantic scene of solitude, Stevie found the boniness of the mermaid’s torso strange, her long hands almost like talons. She was strangely pale too — perhaps she only submersed during the night and stayed in the dark depths of the ocean during the day? All Stevie was certain was that this mermaid was nothing like the mermaid she had grown up with. Next to the shell light rested a small gold mirror trey on which Ella placed her gold rings, small gold hoops, and her gold watch when she wasn’t wearing them.

As a sprinter, Stevie needed only Cetaphil to moisturize her legs after her workouts. As a swimmer, Ella was always lotioning — her skin, her hair, her lips, her cuticles and even her eyelashes. She refused to dry and shrivel up from her constant immersion in chlorinated pools. Tom and her had, through research and trial and error, developed her a soap and lotion routine to maintain her bodies’ moisture barrier. Yet, even with their careful experimentation, there were times in the winter when the sides of her mouth began to crack, and she had to layer on a gob of petroleum over her hands, nipples, and face.

As Ella switched on the shower, Stevie opened the glass cabinate above the sink. The many colored and different sized moisturizers and balms were nestled neatly next to each other on the top two shelves. On the bottom shelf rested the gentle face wash that Stevie kept there for when she slept over, along with a lighter shampoo for her hair (it was much finer than Ella’s).

When Stevie stepped into the shower, Ella had already got to work washing her hair. Stevie told her to turn around then began to scrub her scalp. Ella bent her head down, eyes tightly closed. Even though she constantly douse herself in the pool, she had always been fearful of getting soap in her eyes. Stevie gently pressed Ella under the shower head, rinsing out the suds. When all the soap had been rinsed out, Stevie pulled her out of the water stream, and wrung out her hair. She then grabbed Ella’s deep conditioner and took a large scope from the container. She ran her fingers through Ella’s hair, the orange and vanilla scent filling the now steam filled bathroom.

Then they switched roles.

After they were both soaped, rinsed, conditioned, rinsed, Stevie left the shower. Ella wanted to shave her legs, and such things can be tricky with two in the shower (especially since Ella liked to shave sitting). So Stevie wrapped herself in the fluffiest of fluffy baby blue towels, and left the orange scented cloud to dress and make the bed in Ella’s room.

Like her bathroom, Ella’s bedroom was composed of pastel and whimsical objects. Her dresser and beside table were made of of a hazy, greyish pink glass, so that when you set a water cup on the surface is made a soft klinking sound. On top of the dresser rested a rosegold, arched mirror. In front of the mirror stood a light pink, murano mushroom lamp. Its gentle, warm light reflected off the polished mirror and filled the cream painted room. Ella rarely switched on the paper lamp that hung above — only the times she needed to find something quickly in the dim morning before rushing off to swim practice.

Stevie walked to her dresser and opened the top drawer and pulled out a set of boxers and shirt she kept there. She slid into her boxers and shirt.

“You might want to put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, mom is on an air-conditioning kick,” said Ella as she entered the room, hair wrapped in her dark blue micro towel.

Ella opened her closet doors and pulled from her hanging cloth shelves two sweatpants and two sweatshirts. She threw at Stevie the dark green set, then slipped herself into the light grey set.

They sat on Ella’s bed, and brushed each other’s hair. Since Stevie’s was shorter, Ella always brushed her hair first.

“Tristan asked me out this morning,” said Ella, her voice flat.

Stevie bit her bottom lip, her breath catching in her chest. She knew this moment would eventually arrive. Tristan was a part of their friend group. He was Fieldridge’s star quarterback and president of the math-baking club (yes, they would bake bread and pastries, cakes and biscuits, then settle down to munch and practice equations for their next competition). This last spring, Ella and him walked home together after movie night, or after basketball in the park.

She also knew this was coming because she could sense when Ella reached towards an inflection point. She could sense it because they had shared multitudes of inflection points growing up together. And as she began to braid Ella’s hair, wanting to choose her reply carefully, she remembered a consequential inflection point in Ella’s life two years ago.

It was a rainy autumn evening, and they decided to go to the independent movie theater. They bought two tickets to Todd Haynes Carol,then settled into the small auditorium with with red velvet seats.

Stevie would never forget Ella’s response to the film’s muted, mid-century aesthetics of New England. The long shots inside houses and along snow dusted highways. The soft cashmere sweaters pressed against Therese’s bare skin. The leather gloves Carol slapped lightly against her hand. The red lipstick. Carol slipping into her thick, fur coat. Carol resting her hand’s lightly on Therese’s shoulders. Red nails. The blossoming desire and fulfillment of longing between Carol and Therese. The thrill of their separation and reunion. How she felt the pounding of Ella’s heart when Kate Blanchett gave Rooney Mara that bright, confident, flashing smile of hers that said, I knew you would come back. I knew we were meant to be.

Stevie would never forget how the heat flushed Ella’s face as awe and confusion washed over her when she fully realized an essential truth about herself: she was intensely attracted to women. She witnessed an undeniable truth about herself, and there was no going back.

Whereas her family and friends knew the Ella before Carol and the Ella after Carol, Stevie watched her best-friend’s epiphany in real-time. And because she was there, because she had always been there, nothing about Ella had ever startled her.

And now another inflection point had arrived. And again Stevie wasn’t surprised. But it did matter how she responded. After watching Carol, she had held Ella and told her she loved her. She told her when you’re brought up to only like boys, and only see girls as competition, it’s sometimes hard to notice you like them.

“I think Tristan is really nice and smart,” said Stevie, carefully tying the end of Ella’s braid.

Ella turned around and looked at Stevie, searching her face.

“I also know you want to focus on training and competing,” continued Stevie. “I’m not saying you can’t find the time to date. I just know you have already a full schedule.”

Ella gave out a sigh of relief and nodded. “Thank you, I was needing to hear that.” She got off the bed and stretched up high towards her ceiling. “The truth is, I think he’s pretty hot and kind, but I am pretty fulfilled,” she said, bringing her arms and hands down and walking over to the dresser. “Besides,” she continued, putting on a pair of white socks, “he’s going to Virginia Tech. Would suck to catch feelings then go separate ways.”

Stevie nodded. She tried to mask her sense of relief. She did not know what was best for Ella. But she did know Ella’s academic and athletic goals. And she also knew the long, entrenched history of women choosing men over their personal, long-term aspirations. So yes, she felt relief that Ella had stayed the course she had set out on their freshman year.

***

Stevie and Ella walked through the neighborhood back to Ella’s home barefoot. After they finished dinner and played a round of Carcassonne, they had decided to walk to the corner store and get chocolate milk.

The chocolate milk was really an excuse for them to go out on a walk. They wanted to exit the pizza smelling house, and chattering, drinking adults.

Stevie also loved evening and night walks, almost as much as she loved running.

The sidewalk had managed to keep the sun’s warmth, even long after her decent. They walked in silence, listening to a dimming night full of all sorts of sounds — a dove, perched in the mesquite tree on the street corner, gently cooed. Behind someone’s house, kids splashed the pool water, laughing and calling out as they were pushed off their plastic rafts and collided against the pool’s surface. A screen metal door squeaked open then closed. A recycling bin full of glass bottles and cans rattled as it was dragged down a driveway to the curbside. The occasional car drew to a stop at the stop sign, almost paused, then continued to glide down the recently re-paved cement street. A window was flung open and a fan switched on. An exasperated voice sighed out, “I don’t remember it ever being this warm in June.”

A hush fell over the delicate tuning of the summer-night orchestra, broken only by the final, delicate adjustments — the mockingbird’s trill. Then suddenly, the rotary sprinklers erupted from the ground in unison, their designated amount of water spurting and sputtering forth over lawns and garden beds.

8:00 pm at Rosenberg Heights had arrived.

Stevie and Ella stopped their walk, exchanged a smile, then raced across the street to the lamplight park whose lilacs, rhododendrons, and thick, perpetually mowed grass was now drenched in a mist. They leapt onto the wet grass.

Stevie laughed out as she darted across the green. The ground felt soft and forgiving with each light bound. Ella followed close behind, then surged forward and began to run small circles around Stevie, her arms held far out and she mimed dipping and rising like a hawk circling on high.

The sprinklers suddenly stopped spurting water and sank beneath the ground. The two slightly out of breath and very wet friends left the grass and continued their silent walk down the block.

But before they left that section of the large city park, Stevie stopped and pointed at the tennis courts. Before them the floodlights illuminated a delicately suspended scene of suburban nightlife — their classmates Daniel, Charles, Lucy, and Nathaniel dashing about the tennis court in a loose but fierce match of doubles tennis.

Ella and Stevie walked to the dark green chain link fence that encased the red court. Stevie’s gaze quickly latched onto Lucy who now stood at the back line, her white shoes, socks, skirt, and salmon pink sports bra illuminated by lights.

Lucy sighed out forcefully, bounced the bright green tennis ball firmly against the court, then snapped it back up with her right hand. In her left hand she tightly gripped her racket, and rested it lightly against her taught thigh.

She then relaxed, seeming to momentarily forget the task at hand. She tilted her head slightly up and closed her eyes. A warm breeze swept through the park — the oak leaves rustled restlessly, Daniels dark curles, wet from sweat, lifted up from his furrowed brow, Lucy’s pleated skirt lifted, revealing her blue tie-die spandex underneath (which her mother still shamed her for wearing by themselves), from across the street an American flag fluttered and wind chimes that hung from a lemon tree gently tinkled in a minor key. The breeze carried with it the suburb’s scent of jasmine, the bodies of almost-ripe lemons, hot and wet cement, wet, fertilized dirt and grass, dry grass, the sweet and salty scent of the tennis player’s sweat, and however one is to describe a night sky dense with the burning bodies of stars. Lucy breathed in deeply the warm breeze. Her head still tilted back, her wide chest and shoulders expanding, Lucy disregarded Nathaniel’s shout, “for fuck’s sake Lucy stop star gazing and serve the ball already.”

“Nathaniel told me that Lucy signed with Chapel Hill,” said Ella.

“I’m sure he’s jealous, but I don’t know why. He’ll do amazing at Azusa Pacific,”said Stevie.

“Sure, but he wants to be at a D1 like her.”

“Well the sooner he accepts his current constraint the sooner he can become a better athlete.”

“That’s easy for us to say. We still have a season to improve our times. Also,” Ella leaned forward and pressed her stomach and face against the fence, “his parents expect so much from him. My parents just think its cool I do well in swimming. They care way more about my grades than what division I compete in.”

“So because he feels pressure he can yell at Lucy.”

“No, but that’s probably why he’s yelling at Lucy.”

Stevie sighed and turned back to the court. Lucy had regained her contained, tight stance. Stevie’s felt her fingers begin to tingle. She knew how it felt when wound tight, almost trembling, almost frozen on a spacetime coordinate, heart a loud thudding.

And then, the most violent and graceful of explosions.

Lucy tossed the tennis ball into the air, as if releasing a dove into the night skies. Her bright gaze tracked the arc of the ball as it reached its zenith, then began its decent. As the ball entered her humming aura, she began to gather her energy — she pressed down onto the hard court, shifted her left hip back, and sharply brought back and up her left arm and racket. Then with a sharp breath in she volted into the air. Like the ball, she reached her zenith, floated, and then began her decent. With a rough gasp out she snapped her flashing racket down on the ball. The collision of hollow ball against the flying, taught racket rung out through the park and neighborhood.

Charles lunged for the ball hurtling towards him, but it was useless. He dashed to meet it. His missed. Nathaniel sighed. Daniel turned back to Lucy and called out, “nice one.”

So it goes playing with the woman who knows she is the best in her state.

“Can we keep walking home,” said Stevie, still watching Lucy as she rummaged in her skirt for another tennis ball and stepped to the back line.

“Yeah,” said Ella, turning away from the group and beginning to walk through the grass back to the sidewalk.

The neighborhood had grown more quiet of human noises, but the crickets had picked up their cricketing and a gentle breeze continued to rustle the oak tree leaves, the tall stocks of the Bermudagrass, and the vertical blinds of someone’s sliding door which had been left open. Yet though silent, the neighborhood had not gone to bed yet. Most upstairs bedroom windows and downstairs living room windows glowed warm, and figures sometimes crossed by, slow in their drowsy state.

When Stevie and Ella arrived at Ella’s house, they heard the soft tones of Ella’s parent’s voices coming from the backyard. “Let’s just go up to my room. Dad will drag you into showing you his new kiln, or his new design of mugs. I’ll let him know we can check it out tomorrow morning before you take me to practice,” said Ella as they walked up the pathway through the neatly trimmed lawn and up the porch steps.

As they walked inside Stevie felt the cool, air conditioned air gently collide against her warm body. The Halloways had always kept their house much colder than Stevie’s father kept their house. The tall oak tree on the right side of Stevie’s house did help keep the house cool, and only when temperatures rose and maintained scorching temperatures did George turn on the air conditioning units in the bedrooms, living room, and kitchen.

The tv was now switched on in the living room. On its screen a crest toothpaste commercial flashed through its narrative. A middle school girl felt conscious about smiling for picture day because of her braces. Yet a fellow classmates smild widely, revealing her own set of braces, which empowered the first girl to also smile with her wired encased teeth. A low, smooth fem voice said over the scene, “smiling first can help someone else to do the same.” The toothpaste commercial then quickly switched to a shot of a red jeep wrangler zooming though a spacious, dessert landscape.

Stevie tore her eyes off the screen, uncomfortable about how she had always wanted a shiny, expensive-to-fix jeep. She brushed the thought away and followed Ella into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of chocolate milk, then went back to Ella’s room.

They stripped down into their underwear and put on loose tshirts, then climbed into bed.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” said Ella, scrolling through her phone and sipping from her glass of milk.

Stevie leaned over to look at Ella’s screen. She was scrolling through Blake’s instagram feed.

“And I don’t see any photos of her with a significant other,” she said with a smile, handing Stevie the phone.

“What, you like her?” asked Stevie, taking the phone.

“No, not like that. But I think you will,” said Ella with a smile.

Stevie snorted. “I thought we just talked about you being busy with sports and school. Why would I be any different?” she said, glaring at Ella who was now taking a long swig of the milk.

“For fuck’s sake Stevie. Just look at her,” said Ella, taking her phone back. “Besides, you’ve always been able to multi-task better than me. You’ve always had a greater emotional bandwidth.”

“Okay, sure. But we don’t know if she likes women, or if she would like me.”

“She for sure likes women, and who couldn’t fall for you,” said Ella.

Ella leaned over and gave Stevie a kiss on the brow. Her lips were wet with the chocolate milk. Stevie knew if she leaned over and kissed her on the mouth, she would taste sweet. But they had decided to stay sisters and not lovers a long time ago, so the desire came and left.

Stevie got out of bed and turned off the light. She clambered back in bed and Ella turned away from her, still on her phone. Stevie smiled and embraced Ella from behind, kissed her neck, then rested her now heavy head on her pillow. Tired from that morning’s workout and the day’s intensive sun, she quickly drifted off to sleep.

[beemused-a]

@scrrowblue asked: [  sick  ]  receiver  cares  for  sender  while  they  are  sick (for Marilyn)

      Pale,  flushed  cheeks,  a  runny  nose,  a  sweat-covered  face  and  a  voice  scratchier  than  sandpaper...  yes,  her  little  boy  is  certainly  as  ill  as  he  claims  to  be.  This  simply  won't  do.

      With  a  sigh  that  borders  on  disappointed,  as  if  his  illness  is  something  he  can  control  and  is  at  fault  for,  Marilyn  gestures  toward  her  son's  bed,  guiding  him  back  under  his  duvet  with  a  sort  of  care  that  only  seems  to  surface  in  times  like  these.  She  tucks  him  in,  makes  sure  he's  comfortable  and  shoves  a  hand  under  her  chin,  contemplating  what  to  do  next,  because  they  can't  have  him  staying  in  this  condition  for  long.  They've  got  things  to  do,  he's  got  things  to  do,  and  she  won't  tolerate  putting  them  on  hold  for  longer  than  necessary.

      ❝Stay  in  bed,  sweetie,❞  she  says,  her  voice  dripping  with  sickening  sweetness.  ❝Don't  overexert  yourself.  Mama's  going  to  make  you  some  nice chicken noodle soup.  Then,  you  can  get  some  rest,  and  hopefully  you'll  be  better  by  tomorrow. We don't want you missing anything important now, do we?❞