#brace while scribbling it is!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

ok so scribbling w/ a wrist brace is kinda hard! but i'm glad i finally found it again. my bones are so secure and my tendons are so compressed

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

HOUSE CALLS.

Professor!Terrence x Aaliyah

Summary: Aaliyh has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his college buddies bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student.

Part One.

The combined elements of dark wood and a silver-painted metallic finish gave his desk an exquisite appearance within the lecture hall. The theater–like room was cloaked in silence and a gloomy ambiance from the constant downpour of rain. The occasional clearing of throats or shuffling of papers could be heard, but everyone clung on to his words as he leaned casually against his desk.

He was situated in front of the class, one hand reclined back to brace himself, while the other held a book within his grasp by its withering spine. He crossed his feet at the ankles, rounded, gold–rimmed specs hanging onto the bridge of his nose. His full lips moved in tandem with his educated words, blue–grey eyes flicking from the passage he was reading to the class of over thirty students before him.

“…Brain size in mammals is generally proportional to body size. Relative to body mass, humans have the largest brain. The chimpanzee brain has an approximate volume of 300 cm3; a gorilla’s is slightly larger. The human adult brain is more than three times larger, typically between 1,300 cm3 and 1,400 cm3. The brain is not only larger in humans than in apes but also much more complex. The cerebral cortex, where the higher cognitive functions are processed, is in humans proportionally much greater than the rest of the brain when compared with apes…”

He articulated his words fluently, deep baritone drawing you in like a breath of fresh air.

Aaliyah scribbled across her notepad with her iPad propped up in front of her, occasionally highlighting passages from the same book she’d downloaded. She had one too many books creating an almost mountainous pile within her bedroom. Thank goodness this was her last semester. She’d put off taking this combined Ethics and Psychology course, realizing she needed it to graduate.

The magnetic allure of her gaze blinked away from the Professor, the end of her red, ink pen situated between her heart–shaped lips. Her upturned eyes followed the movement of the Professor licking his thumb to turn a page. She crossed one shapely thigh over the other, the thick material of the navy blue sweats she wore cozy. Her small foot covered in old Vans bounced slightly, a habit she couldn’t control.

“…Humans live in groups that are socially organized, and so do other primates. But primate societies do not approach the complexity of human social organization. A distinctive human social trait is culture, which may be understood here as the set of non-strictly biological human activities and creations. Culture in this sense includes social and political institutions, ways of doing things, religious and ethical traditions, language, common sense and scientific knowledge, art and literature, technology, and in general all of the creations of the human mind. Culture “is a pool of technological and social innovations that people accumulate to help them live their lives…”

His patience, communication, and passion helped her pay attention, even though she couldn’t help but to fantasize and escape to a place where she could dream. It was the intuitive feeling within her. Beyond her squared, black frames, she found herself memorizing the shape of his elongated fingers cupping the book. The way he talked with his hands. So expressive. Voice so even toned and soft at times. She couldn’t be the only one captivated by her handsome Professor.

“I know it’s nearing time for us to leave,” He strolled lazily towards one of the large windows, “It’s really coming down out there. Well…why don’t we pick back up on Friday? Make sure you all submit your midterm papers. I’ve extended the due date…”

The class began to gather their things. Aaliyah didn’t make a fuss to leave just yet. From the Professor’s view, he peeked up at her from behind his desk, still sitting in her seat, chewing on her pouty, bottom lip with so much focus on her IPad. He didn’t bother her, taking that time to check his curriculum. Aaliyah’s silent presence didn’t bother him. So why bother her?

After thirty minutes, she stood, stretching her arms that were drowning in an oversized, graphic hoodie. Her silk pressed hair was styled in a low bun and medium–sized silver hoops decorated her ears. She threw her school bag over her shoulder and slipped from behind her desk, leaving the room. Before she reached the door, she turned back and caught the hypnotic eyes of her Professor. She gave him a silent wave and he returned the gesture with a small smile, watching her disappear from his eyes.

He couldn’t shake the twinge of sadness in her leaving.

——

As Friday rolled around, Aaliyah found herself running late for class. It was her own fault. She’d started a side hustle that earned her more money than what she’d gotten paid working remote for Verizon. It required a lot of her time, and she’d become so obsessed with it that her sleep schedule changed. Dressed in a pair of heather–gray leggings with a matching oversized, slouchy sweatshirt, Aaliyah opened the door to the lecture hall, quickly finding herself scurrying to her usual seat in the middle of the Professor’s speech.

“Excuse me…sorry��”

Aaliyah squeezed into her seat and hastily worked to fall in line, cursing herself internally. Her sleek hair framed her face as she buried herself into her work.

“Aaliyah?��

Her eyes held slight bags beneath them. They connected through her lenses at the Professor. She could feel eyes on her in other parts of the room as well.

“Is everything okay?” He questioned with concern.

“Yes, Professor Richmond. I had a late start today…”

“Okay…do you know where we are or do you need me to fill you in?”

A faint smile graced her shimmering lips.

“I know where we are. Thank you.”

Professor Richmond nodded his head slightly before turning his attention back to the whiteboard. Aaliyah swooped some of her long hair back from her face and behind her ear, reaching for her Stanley cup to quench her thirst.

In the middle of lecture, Aaliyah’s phone vibrated within the front pocket of her school bag. She groaned slightly, distracted by the noise while jotting down notes. After a while she couldn’t ignore it. Professor Terry caught sight of her reaching for her phone, and he took note of the stress lining her pretty face.

Meanwhile, Aaliyah’s eyes scanned two texts from a friend and former coworker of hers, asking if she was free to meet up after class. Aaliyah had an inclination of what it was about, but ultimately she agreed to meet up for lunch. After settling that distraction, she pulled herself back into her work, not aware of Professor Richmond’s eyes on her.

“Class dismissed. See you all on Wednesday…”

And as expected, Aaliyah held her spot. Professor Richmond had his back facing her while using an Expo eraser to clear the board. He wore a black sweater that molded into his sinewy upper body in all the right places. The black slacks he wore to match accentuated his ass and strapping thighs.

After recapping the marker, he gave Aaliyah a once–over. He studied her for another minute before placing his hands within the pockets of his slacks, making his way towards her. Aaliyah looked up at him, her posture straightening. He settled next to her, a soft smile on his face. Aaliyah waited for him to say something, an arched brow raised in question.

It just dawned on her that she’d never been this close to him.

Professor Richmond was thinking the same thing.

“How are your studies coming along?”

The deep vibrato of his voice was so smooth she found herself smirking. Aaliyah blinked away from his overwhelmingly handsome face, trying her best to focus on the text before her instead of the man that occupied her space with a fragrance so utterly charismatic with a blend of basil notes, bewitching lavender, and sandalwood accords.

“As well as it can to pass this class, Professor.” She responded.

The sound of her melodic voice, the way it lulled him into a trance. He couldn’t shake it. His long fingers drummed against the desk, the ability to control the urge to catch a more…invading whiff of her sweet perfume paining him. And was that…a tongue ring?

He had the biggest crush on Aaliyah.

“You sound put out. I hope that paper is coming along.”

Aaliyah cut her tantalizing eyes at him and those sinful lips parted to speak, “I’m finished. Mostly. Just need to do a bit of editing.”

“Good…good. Hey,” Professor Richmond leaned in closer, removing his glasses, “Can I ask you a question?”

Aaliyah focused on him with a steady gaze. Never wavering. She turned her curvy body in her chair to face him fully. Professor Richmond’s blue–gray eyes did a quick sweep of her frame.

“Depends on the question…then I’ll determine if it warrants a response…”

Sassy.

“Ha, okay,” Professor Richmond exhaled, “I would like to take you to lunch sometime. Away from campus…my treat.”

He pressed his large hand against his solid chest and tilted his head at her. Aaliyah blinked at him slowly.

“Today if you’re free…how does that sound?”

Aaliyah twisted her lips to fight a smile. It didn’t work however. That smile of hers broke through and it was beautiful. It was one of those smiles that captivated you. So sexy. Oh so sexy.

She was just…sexy.

“I can’t,” Aaliyah turned away, her hair sweeping her back, “I’m meeting a friend for lunch already…”

Professor Richmond’s thick brows flicked up and he groaned softly. He was hoping for a yes.

“Then…we can plan a lunch next week?” He persisted.

Aaliyah tucked her chin and giggled softly. It was a sight to behold. He wasn’t going to back down.

“Next week…hmm…maybe. I have a lot going on.”

Her dismissive tone didn’t stop him. Maybe it was because he was her Professor. She probably didn’t want to get caught up in that. Probably didn’t have time for that mess. A beautiful woman such as herself probably gets approached every damn day by men. What makes him any different?

“Whenever you’re free then,” Professor Richmond widened his thighs to appear more relaxed, “I hope I’m not being too forward…”

Aaliyah trailed her eyes from his thighs to his face. He caught that. He knew she found him attractive. He knew his potential. Felt her eyes on him plenty of times.

“I’m not looking for anything right now. I appreciate the gesture though,” Aaliyah turned those beautiful eyes away, “I’m sorry.”

Professor Richmond looked away from her, trying his best to hide his disappointment. He clenched his sculpted jaw, accepting defeat. A slight smile graced his lips as he stood, fixing the hem of his sweater.

Better luck next time. And there will be a next time.

“I’ll leave you to it then, Aaliyah…enjoy the rest of your day, beautiful.”

The way he called her beautiful…the bounce of her foot stilled.

“You do the same, Professor,” She replied, eyes never leaving her iPad, although a smirk graced her succulent lips.

He paused in his descend, turning to look at her over his shoulder. Her eyes connected with his again, dark brown meeting bluish–grey. The way her hip sat, jutted out from her thigh crossed over the other. She was doing things to his psyche. Her feet in flat, black sandals. Those pretty toes. That beautiful hair. It was all too consuming.

“I’m Terry by the way.”

He felt he needed her to know him on a first named basis. Aaliyah blinked at him with those curled lashes. She smiled again, smaller this time, but it still held a seductive quality.

“I know.” She responded impertinently.

He shook his head and released a soft chuckle. Sassy indeed.

Terry returned to his desk, gathering his things. He shut his laptop and the sound of Aaliyah walking down the steps towards the exit brought his attention back. Although she always wore loosely fitting tops and occasionally bottoms, the sway of her hips didn’t go unnoticed. No matter how hard she tried to cover it all up. He knew she was shielding a body beneath those layers.

Her dainty hand grasped the handle to the door. Aaliyah glanced over her shoulder at him one final time. Terry waited, hands finding its way into his pockets.

“I’ll see you Wednesday, Professor.”

A slow, half smirk crept up his face.

“Same as well, Miss Aaliyah. Enjoy your weekend.”

She waved goodbye with a flutter of her fingers in a flirty manner before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was taunting him.

——

Aaliyah climbed the short, concrete steps leading her inside Elsie’s Plate and Pie. Home to legendary pies and authentic taste in Baton Rouge. It wasn’t far from her Shotgun House. She removed her shades, spotting her friend, Keisha, sitting near a window. Keisha is a tall, thick woman. Her hazel eyes ignited when she spotted Aaliyah, one hand with long, red acrylic nails waving her over. Aaliyah scooted past a crowded table, holding her arms out to accept a hug from her longtime friend.

They did the squeeze and sway motion, big smiles on their faces.

“Y’at?! Girl it’s been forever. Baby, you look fucking good. How’s school and shit?” Keisha questioned boisterously.

“It’s going, girl. Almost done. You?”

“Still doing my thing at Crazy Horse. We miss you there,” Keisha gave Aaliyah sad eyes and a pout.

“You know I miss ya’ll too,” Aaliyah grabbed her glass of water, opening a straw, “What you finna get?”

“I don’t know…”

They scanned the menu, both settling on crawfish queso as a starter when their waiter sauntered over.

“Brittany still sleeping with Mack?” Aaliyah asked while sipping from her straw.

“Girl…” Keisha rolled her eyes, “He still breaking that down. She ain’t hopping off that dick…”

“Ugh,” Aaliyah scrunched her face up in disgust, “Mack though? That’s why I had to go. How do you do it? That nigga irks me.”

Keisha laughed, “I have my ways. I do what I gotta do to survive.”

Their appetizer arrived. Aaliyah didn’t hesitate to dig in. She was starving. The turkey bacon, fried eggs, and croissant breakfast she had earlier didn’t stick to her stomach.

“Li–Li, I wanna know if you’d be down for this new thang I got goin’ on.”

And here it comes…

“Keisha…” Aaliyah rolled her eyes.

“You’ll love it. Trust me.”

“I want to, but then I’m like…Keisha a wild girl. Whatever it is, I know it ain’t simple.”

They both laughed.

“Let me fill you in, bitch!”

“Go ‘head,” Aaliyah cackled, “I’m waiting.”

“Awrite, so…We both know working at Crazy Horse ain’t shit. Half the money we earned went to Mack ass…”

“True…”

“So, I do this side gig. House calls.”

Aaliyah have a half shrug before crossing one leg over the other beneath the table, “Okay?”

“Andddd…I want you to join me.”

Before Aaliyah could respond, they placed their orders. Seafood pot pies.

“Keisha, I got this online content thing lined up and it’s hittin’ off. I made 350 dollars in one night,” Aaliyah scooped up the last bit of dip.

“What’s 350 to two grand?”

Aaliyah snorted, “Two grand? Serious?”

She sat up straighter in her seat. Aaliyah inclined her head towards Keisha for her to continue. That two grand sounded promising…

“Tell me what you do for these house calls.”

“It depends. It could be an all woman thang…a little toy party situation…most of the time it’s bachelor parties and believe it or not, men in uniform…”

“Men in uniform?” Aaliyah gawked at Keisha, “Like, military men?”

“Military men, policemen…tomorrow it’s firefighters. They pay good money for you to show up and perform. You don’t gotta go further than that unless you want to. That’s where the real bandz come from.”

Aaliyah let Keisha’s words sink in while she swirled the ice in her glass around with her straw. Aaliyah couldn’t deny that she missed dancing on the pole. It was exciting. Made her feel sexy. The best full body workout. She often craved the neon colors against her skin beneath the black lights. Her gravity-defying moves around the dance pole, sky-high heels and perfect hair, it was nothing short of magical.

Part acrobat, part athlete, part artist.

“I can see the wheels in your head turning…sounds good, huh?” Keisha asked with a knowing grin.

Aaliyah hummed, her eyes scanning Keisha’s face, “Almost too good…”

“Like I said, tomorrow night I have a gig at the fire house. I was bringing this other girl, she go by Diamond. She was cool…but I feel like me and you are a dynamic duo. Miss Dark Angel…”

Excitement tickled her nerves.

“So? You wanna go?”

“…I don’t know, Keisha…”

Aaliyah hung her head, deep in thought. She crossed her arms over her chest, breasts sitting up invitingly.

“Just…think it over tonight. Hit me up and let me know.”

Aaliyah dragged her tongue over her upper teeth. Keisha giggled at her, causing Aaliyah to snap out of her deep thoughts. She only had tonight to decide. Stripping was such a hard hustle for her. She had just found her niche. But, if what Keisha was saying is true, she could make the most money she’d ever made as an exotic dancer. Tempting…

Their food arrived and they fell into gossip, laughing about wild shit, falling into their usual routine. Aaliyah finished her entire pot pie while Keisha packed hers to go.

“We gotta do this more often, Li–Li,” Keisha slapped some money down, paying the tab, “You got your nose in ‘dem books! You’ve always been so smart…I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Keisha. We definitely have to link more. This last semester is kicking my ass. It’ll all pay off.”

“Seeing anybody?”

“Fuck no,” Aaliyah’s shoulders bounced with her laughter, “My professor did ask me on a lunch date today…”

“Oh?” Keisha’s eyes widened with interest, “Do tell.”

“Nothing to tell,” Aaliyah replied, “He’s very handsome. Sweet…I’m not tryna get tangled in that. I know how that can go…”

“I hear ya. Best to keep focused. Men come and go, girl. I ain’t got time either.”

They both stood, walking out together. Aaliyah had parked her Jeep behind Keisha’s all black Hellcat. They hugged again, giving each other a kiss on the cheek.

“Let me know!” Keisha shouted at Aaliyah’s retreating frame.

“I will!”

She waved goodbye, climbing into her Jeep and revving it up.

——

Aaliyah moved across her cramped kitchen with a swiftness, standing in her naked glory, body mimicking a glazed delight with how shiny and glistening her honey skin looked beneath the lights. She’d just finished filming some content, nothing too wild, just twerking and nasty talk.

“Don’t forget to tip, baby…”

“You gonna pay my tuition just to kiss me on this wet ass pussy, daddy?”

“I need some company, can’t stand looking edible alone…”

She used her same stage name. Liyah Allure. The Dark Angel. She used a video shot from a long angle, the white wall as her back drop. Lil Wayne–She Will instrumental playing in the background. Her sleek hair fell down her back and she would turn her head ever so slightly, giving teasing glances up and down while making that ass bounce and clap. She could move it with little no effort. Her hands glided over her sultry body, showing her viewers just how edible she is. And they wanted to take a bite.

Aaliyah racked up five hundred dollars. Friday’s were Freaky Friday. She showed more skin. You had to pay extra for a pussy shot. Aaliyah took pictures and videos for that as well. She spent a pretty penny on equipment. An elongated tripod held her camera in many angles. Her favorite shot was always from behind with her juicy thighs spread and shaking that big ass. Her wet, hairless pussy popped in the camera white those siren eyes looked back at it.

It was time for a bath. She wanted to spend the rest of her evening finishing up editing for her paper before submitting to Professor Richmond. Her Ethics and Psychology Professor. Aaliyah blew steam that wafted from her ceramic coffee mug as her slipper–clad feet shuffled towards her room. Placing the mug on her side table, she made her way towards her dresser and began wrapping her hair. She hated doing it, but she wanted a straighter look this time around so pin curling it wouldn’t work.

After securing her hair with three silk scarves to ensure she didn’t sweat it out, Aaliyah grabbed her mug and headed to her bathroom. She’d already prepared the bath with her bubble bath and essential oils. She loved using lavender and vanilla. There is a rack across her tub that she could place a book or even a drink on while enjoying her bath. The glow of the candles created a beautiful and relaxing environment.

Aaliyah listened to her Neo Soul playlist while reclining her head back and resting her eyes. She had her timer set for thirty minutes, making sure she didn’t fall asleep in her tub for longer than that like she’d done many times before. Her head went limp on its side, the tiredness of her body finally succumbing to sleep. As she slept, the eyes of her Professor appeared.

Intense. His gaze is intense.

It’s also attentive. By now, she was sure he’d memorized every subtle detail of her face. Images from earlier appeared. She took note of the way he leaned in towards her, like he wanted to smell her perfume. Juicy Rose, Black Cherry Liquor, Moss Accord. He wanted to be swept up in it. The tops of her breasts peeking through the soapy surface moved up and down with her sleeping breath.

For a while, Aaliyah caught on to the Professor checking her out. It wasn’t obvious to her at first, but she caught on to how he would position himself directly in front of his desk, exactly within her line of vision. If he focused forward, she would meet his gaze straight away. He made it a point to allow those striking eyes to linger on her for a beat longer. She’d walk out of that classroom on Wednesdays and Fridays knowing he was watching her. She’d caught him staring at her ass through the reflective glass of the lecture hall door.

She honestly hadn’t expected him to approach her. For a while, he’d just admired from afar. Most men do. The boldest a man ever got with Aaliyah was when she’d worked at Crazy Horse. Plenty of men there would ask her out. She’d even received flowers and gifts. At one point she had a stalker. Professor Richmond; Terry was different. She’d read many smutty stories about forbidden flings with a Professor. She’d save her fantasies for that.

Ding Ding Ding

Aaliyah’s eyes snapped open and with a long yawn she stopped the timer on her phone. She reached out for her mug and gulped down the warm tea. It should help put her to sleep. After bathing, she did all her necessary nightly routines before slipping on an oversized T-shirt that dangled from one shoulder. Aaliyah put on YouTube for background noise while opening her laptop to finish editing. Her eyes took note of the time.

11:30 pm.

She pushed her laptop forward and positioned herself onto her stomach, moving her hips from side to side and absentmindedly swinging her legs. Why couldn’t she shake the Professor from her mind?

Sent!

One assignment down, more to go.

Curiosity got the best of her. She started doing some digging. Aaliyah took to social media to find him. It wasn’t hard. She studied his LinkedIn.

PhD in Psychology. Fluent in French. Ex Marine.

From her place in class, he appeared shorter. Today however, when he walked up to her, he was massive. The same smirk he held in the picture she was currently staring at is the same he gave her before taking a seat.

Her body hummed with desire. This man is FIONE.

It wasn’t just the eyes. His entire face was just…

Aaliyah went down a rabbit hole of stalking. She found his Facebook and his Instagram both accounts were private, and she wasn’t about to follow him. That was a big no–no. This man could be hiding a wife. He could have kids. He could be crazy. All three of which she experienced with previous men. Aaliyah stopped herself before she could even go further.

But those lips…his voice…that body…

She wanted to see it…

Buzz Buzz

“Keisha…shit.”

Keisha: 👀👀

Fuck it. She already had her mind made up earlier. If she could leave that gig tomorrow night with two grand or more…she wasn’t going to pass up on that.

Aaliyah: I’m in 😈

Now, it was just a matter of figuring out what she was going to wear.

——

“Why is it so cold out here…”

Aaliyah followed closely behind Keisha inside of the Fire Station. She could hear the distant voices of the riled up men below. They entered a locker room, the lingering smell of smoke wafting from uniforms that hung from compartments burning her nose. Aaliyah cast wary eyes around her, making sure it was safe to take off her black, body con dress.

Keisha didn’t waste time stripping down to her very revealing monokini. The thin straps failed to hide her wide, brown areolas. That ass was rotund and sitting up like a shelf. You could sit a cup on that ass. Keisha wore her hair in two space buns with bangs. Her deep brown skin shimmered with gold–tinted body glow. The eight–inch heels on her feet made her six feet tall.

“They’re already in rare form and we ain’t even get started yet.” Keisha spoke with excitement.

“How many we expecting?” Aaliyah asked.

“About twenty. Why? You nervous?”

“No. I just want to know what I’m walking into.”

Aaliyah slipped out of her dress, the Wonder Woman two–piece she wore making her look edible. She wore gold six–inch pleasure heels to match. The low ambience of the locker room made the glitter on her skin stand out. She did a slow turn, Keisha nodding her head in approval.

“Looking real good. They’re gonna love you. Tip you off real good, bitch.”

“They better,” Aaliyah flashed Keisha a lustrous smile, “When do we go?”

Petey Pablo Freek–A–Leek started playing. The deep base of the southern banger from the early 00s vibrated the floors. Aaliyah locked eyes with Keisha.

“That’s our queue. You ready?”

Aaliyah flipped her hair over her shoulders and exhaled a shaky breath.

“Let’s do this shit.”

“Well already then…”

Keisha slipped past Aaliyah to lead the way, popping her on the ass for good measure. Something they did often back at Crazy Horse before working the floor and the pole. It was a way of saying, ‘break a leg’.

Aaliyah strutted towards a set of red spiral stairs. She allowed the music to flood her mind, putting her in the proper head space. She could do this. She’d done this many times before. A wolf whistle from a firefighter below gave her stomach a little flutter.

“Wooooweeeee!”

“Dayum! This what we got tonight, boys?!”

“Keisha!”

Keisha worked her way down the spiral staircase. She held a big smile on her face, teasing the men with a wink and a bounce of her big titties. They cheered and didn’t waste time throwing cash.

“Take your time wit’ it motherfucka’s we got all night!”

She looked up at Aaliyah and elevated a brow, her way of saying, Bitch! Let’s get to it!

Aaliyah shook off her nerves and descended the staircase, another massive uproar filling the room.

“Holy shit…”

“Fuck! She’s a baddie!”

“Look at that ass…”

“Hey, baby!”

Aaliyah scanned the room full of rowdy men pumped with testosterone and arousal. They each wore Baton Rouge Fire Emblems across their navy blue t-shirts. Black and white men. She could smell beer and liquor in the air with a hint of cigarette smoke. She noticed parked fire trucks and two gold poles. The poles they used to swing down during an emergency.

She worked her charm, flicking her jeweled tongue and biting her lip.

“Hi, boys…”

The seductive power she possessed put them all in a trance. The sound of heels against the concrete floor added to the desire. She moved around the men with confidence, eyeing them up and down while touching her body, focusing on her assets that earned her cash.

“Big fine woman…”

She looked up into the eyes of a carob–skinned man with a burly body. He looked like those men from the Jabari Tribe in Black Panther.

Aaliyah took advantage of that, arching her back and bouncing her ass on his crotch. Shouts and grunts filled the room.

“Damn…look at that pussy from the back…look at the way it’s sitting…”

“You like the way this pussy look, huh, baby?”

Aaliyah folded herself forward, trailing a finger over her covered pussy through her bikini bottom. A hefty chunk of cash smacked against her cheeks before raining down on her from above. She took it up a notch, grabbing her ankles and making that ass move from left to right.

Keisha was already on the pole, the straps to her monokini down and her titties bared for them all to see. Aaliyah felt a few bills being slipped into her blinki, and she looked back at the man that did it with low, wanton eyes.

“Gorgeous baby…what they call you?”

“Liyah Allure…”

“I want you.”

“You know to pay for what you want, right?”

Aaliyah flashed her titties before covering herself back up. That had them losing their damn minds. She slithered her way towards the second pole. It wasn’t exactly the pole she remembered, but it would do for this occasion. She did a back hook spin into a fireman spin. Some Three Six Mafia song started playing and Aaliyah went harder.

Green cascaded over her body while she popped ass and showed out. She locked eyes with Keisha, the exhilaration flowing between them like electricity.

Aerial Invert

Fan Kick

Drop Into A Split.

Aaliyah pulled out all her tricks and worked up a sweat. After doing her thing on the pole, she gave personal lap dances and even entertained face sitting on a timid firefighter while he was on his back. She crouched down over his face and started bouncing over him like she was riding a dick. She laughed and her eyes noticed a large wet spot in the front of his pants.

This man came on himself.

“I can smell her pussy! So good!” He shouted weakly.

Aaliyah missed the thrill.

They wouldn’t stop giving her money.

“Can I smell your perfume?”

*Tip*

“Show me those perfect, brown titties.”

*Tip*

“Put my face in it!”

*Tip*

They worked that room for two hours and then called it a night. After getting dressed, Aaliyah pinned up her sweated–out tresses and secured her bag. She’d just finished rubber banning the last of her money she’d split with Keisha. Keisha dropped her off, both of them cracking up and doubling over with laughter in her Hellcat.

“Bitch! That was so much damn fun!” Aaliyah said.

“I told you! This is where it’s at, girl. They loved you. I knew they would love you.”

“It felt so good being on the pole again.” Aaliyah smiled.

“Make sure you count that cash and let me know how much you made tonight. Until next time?”

Keisha wagged her brows at Aaliyah playfully. She giggled at her friend, opening her door to leave.

“When is next time?”

Keisha grinned.

“Next week. I got a bachelor party lined up. A fine ass groom. I got Diamond and Precious coming too. That’s gonna be wild…all black men…so you know…”

Keisha twirled a bottle of water in her lap to mimick a well–hung dick. Aaliyah threw her head back and laughed hard.

“Bitch! I’m not playing with you.” Aaliyah spoke between giggles.

“You down? We both know you want to…might as well say yes.”

“FUCK. YES. I’m in there. You picking me up?”

“Yeah I gotchu, Li–Li. Listen, we can’t be late for this, okay? You gotta be ready by eight. No later.”

“Okay. I’ll be in my best and ready to shake ass. I promise.”

Keisha pulled Aaliyah into a tight embrace and watched her enter her home before pulling off.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @helloncrocs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[biteofcherry]

Milky Sweet

Bad Moon Rising Masterlist

Alpha Ari Levinson x omega female reader

warnings: none; pure fluff, domestic bliss and happy news; Ari being slutty as always; shifter!Ari; shifter!Reader

Author's Note: This is a short fluffy fic written as a result of this poll.

The soft click of the door being open and closed, then the tiny creak of the floorboards under the weight of a massive body made you smile. 

Your Alpha was the type of a man who walked with purpose and barely contained threat, making his approach a reflection of the beast that he shifted into. Not in your home, however. 

Well, not since the argument two months ago. 

You were attending online classes, sitting in front of the sleek new laptop (a gift from Ari) and listening to the lecture, when your mate all but burst into the living room in all his bold glory. Shirt unbuttoned, exposing his chest and belly. His jeans were tight enough to draw attention to the outline of his cock. 

Okay, so maybe only your attention dropped that low, but the point was that he strode inside unabashedly cocky and loud, while you were in the middle of the damn lecture. 

Fortunately, you had your camera and microphone turned off at that moment, but if he walked in a half an hour earlier, everyone would get an eyeful. 

There was a lot of your yelling and hissing, and poking Ari in the chest, calling him an uncultured caveman. He apologized, though it didn’t stop you from poking him some more. And calling him a slutty beast. Which resulted in said beast fucking you on the table, while the last minutes of the lecture were still going on. 

Since then, Ari made sure to be very quiet and stealthy when he returned home on days you had classes. 

“It’s okay,” you called out softly. “The lectures are over. I’m just finishing some notes.”

A heartbeat later Ari appeared beside you, bracing one hand on the table and the other on the back of your chair as he leaned down to kiss you. 

There were aspects of being Alpha’s mate that tied to his dominance and control, but then there were small things - like the way he kissed you good morning, goodbye and hello - which shone light on the soft, precious bond between you. 

“How was it today?” Ari glanced at the notebook scribbled with colorful notes and stickers. 

“Honestly, rather dull.” You sighed, returning your gaze to the notes, but not before glancing at Ari’s bare chest. Typical. 

“Hungry?” He straightened. “I’ll toss on some quick stir fry.”

“Sounds good.” You were eager to finish, so you could join Ari in the kitchen. 

As much as you fought for your independence of being limited to an Alpha’s mate, you couldn’t deny that spending time with him was enjoyable. It was always a spark, filling your chest with a variety of warm sensations. 

The feeling of safety and contentment; sometimes a bubbling joy and carefree wilderness; the need so deep and burning it made you itch to claw at skin. 

Sometimes you wondered if it was the mating ceremony that enhanced that connection between you two, for you have never felt anything as intense with your previous partners. Even the ones you thought you’re in love with. 

There, that light fluttering in your belly returned as you walked into the kitchen a few minutes later. The scent of food, the sight of your mate preparing a meal for the two of you. It reminded you of the comfort of your childhood home, where you got to see your parents be true partners. 

Ari did his best to make you feel as his equal, even though it was an undeniable truth that you weren’t. Not by the designation of your wolf nature, nor the laws ruling the shifters packs. But in the way he gave you freedom and shared responsibilities with you, you felt respected. 

“After dinner I’m going to check on Dante’s crops,” Ari mentioned as you slid onto a barstool at the kitchen island. “Wanna come with me? You’ve spent all day inside, some fresh air will do you good.” 

You narrowed your eyes slightly, watching him closely. 

Despite the bloody way your packs were joined into one, Ari proved to be a good Alpha. He held the reins, but was open to listen to his packmates. Especially the inner circle, who combined both people from his old pack and some of yours. 

He was also willing to give new ideas a chance.

Like the one Dante had: to use a portion of your lands to farm crops which would profit the pack. He had this idea before, with some specific type of plant that was rare, but becoming very popular. Dimitri, your previous Alpha, didn’t agree to it. He was adamant on maintaining as much of the wild, free area as possible. 

He had his rights, but if Dante’s project succeeded, then in a few years your pack would be able to buy more lands.

However, faith in Dante’s plans and supporting him in this project, didn’t change the fact that he was your ex and Ari was a very primal, possessive man. 

Ari may deny it, but you noticed all the micro possessive gestures he displayed whenever your ex was nearby. More of them than usual, that is. 

He was also right that you needed some time under the open sky. 

It was bliss when an hour later you walked down the narrow paths between growing plants. The scent of watered and sun-stroked ground wiping away the mental tiredness, soft breeze tickling your skin and the sun peeking from between cloud layers making you squint your eyes. 

And your Alpha’s hand moving between squeezing the back of your neck and your butt, despite Dante not coming anywhere near you. 

You rolled your eyes and continued beside Ari as you listened to Dante’s promising report. The way Ari talked with him spoke of appreciation and pride, and you knew it meant a lot to any pack member. 

Later, as you stood at the edge of the field, with your back pressed to Ari’s chest and his arms wrapped around you as you watched the sprouts of the new chapter for your pack being tended to by Dante and his coworkers; you felt a surge of pride, too. 

Of your Alpha. Your wild, untamed mate, who scared you a bit, but who showed you and the others that he was worthy of putting your trust in him. 

You sighed softly and titled your head to the side as Ari brushed the shell of your ear with his lips then placed a kiss behind it.

Tip of his nose nuzzled into that spot. Paused. Then slowly dragged down, into the crook of your neck where two biting marks were crossing. 

“You got new perfume?” Ari hummed, curiously sniffing at your gland. “You smell a bit different. Sweeter. Nutty? Milky?”

With another sigh, you rested your head against Ari’s shoulder as your gaze drifted from the beautiful greenery to the puffy clouds in the sky, their creamy shade taking a hint of the first lick of sundown. 

“I guess I’m pregnant.” 

You surprised yourself with how calm you sounded. A part of you expected more shaky emotion to come with the admission, but somehow it wasn’t scary at all to say it. 

You felt Ari go very still. A wolf who had all of his instincts alerted. 

“I suspected it,” you continued when he remained quiet. “I planned on getting a pregnancy test tomorrow, or the day after. But having your mate distinguish a difference in your scent is a better proof than peeing on a store-bought stick.” 

Ari spun you in his arms fast, but any dizziness didn’t get a chance to settle as he cupped your face in his palms and made the sparkling blue of his irises your sole focus. 

There was so much emotion shining in his eyes. Disbelief. Hope. Joy. 

He held your gaze for a long moment, until you reached your own hand to touch his cheek. A split of a second, just a faint curve of your shy smile confirming your words, and Ari was pulling you into a fierce kiss. 

He was still kissing you as his arms slid lower and in a swift move he picked you off the ground. With a squeak, you broke the kiss and laughed. The sound of it was muffled by the long, loud howl that ripped out of Ari’s throat.

“By the gods!” You huffed, half amused, half annoyed when he continued his howl, despite your attempts to cover his mouth with your hands. “There goes my hope to tell my parents before the whole pack knows.”

Ari’s eyes crinkled and he purposely let out another deep bellow, before it faded into laughter and he was putting you back on your feet. Though his hold on you didn’t ease an inch.

“They don’t know what’s the reason for my howl.” He grinned, not the least apologetic. 

“You’re in the middle of a field with your newlywed mate. What else is there to howl about?” You gave him a pointed look. 

“You know how packs work,” Ari shrugged. “We could tell your parents over dinner and before we made it back to our house the whole pack would know already, anyway. Besides-” 

Ari leaned in. The spike in his scent was enough to have a heat flush you from the inside, but the way his eyes shadowed with that animalistic hunger had your pussy clenching.

“ -I want to test first if you taste sweeter, too.”

[diamonddaze01]

Could you do 81 “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” with Woozi please?

to you

pairing: jihoon x reader | wc: 1.1k prompt: "you weren't supposed to hear that." a/n: 10 points to anyone who can guess my fav svt song lol

A faint melody drifted down the hallway, tender and unguarded. It wasn’t unusual for Jihoon to work late in his studio, but tonight felt different—like the music itself was reaching out, calling you closer, a thread pulling gently at your chest.

The door was slightly ajar, spilling a sliver of golden light onto the hardwood floor. You paused outside, your fingertips brushing the frame as if crossing that threshold might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment. Jihoon rarely sang aloud when he was writing—his process was usually silent, deliberate, private. This felt like stumbling into something sacred.

Peering inside, you saw him perched at his desk, completely immersed. The faint hum of his keyboard filled the air, a soft counterpoint to the rich timbre of his voice. His headphones hung around his neck, one hand resting lightly on the keys while the other scribbled furiously in his notebook, the paper already riddled with lines and corrections.

“Today I'll go to your arms too, I'm grateful to you, who greets me whenever I open the door…”

Each word carried a quiet intimacy, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You stood frozen in the doorway, heart catching in your throat. His voice wasn’t as polished as it was during performances; it was raw, vulnerable, like he was singing just for himself—or maybe, you realized with a quiet ache, for you.

Jihoon leaned closer to the keys, his lips moving faintly as he sang, his hair falling forward to shadow his face. The golden light softened the angles of his features, making him look impossibly gentle, almost unrecognizable from the focused, sharp-edged Jihoon you were used to seeing when he worked.

The creak of the floorboard betrayed you.

His fingers stilled mid-chord, his head snapping up. Wide eyes met yours, and you saw the flush rise immediately, creeping up his neck and settling high on his cheekbones. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he blurted, the notebook snapping shut under his hand as if to shield its contents from view.

You stepped inside slowly, your heart twisting at how flustered he looked. His shoulders were stiff, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk like he was bracing himself for impact. “Why not?” you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jihoon, that was beautiful.”

“It’s not done,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze flicked anywhere but to you, darting from the keys to the notebook to the wall behind you.

“Done or not, it’s incredible.” You took a careful step closer, your eyes searching his face. “Is it for a new project?”

Jihoon hesitated, his jaw tightening. His fingers drummed against the closed notebook before he let out a quiet sigh. “No,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s for you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was blink. “For me?”

He groaned, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Yes, for you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled. “I was… I was going to use it to propose.”

The admission stole the breath from your lungs. You stepped closer, the edges of his words still sinking in. “Propose?”

Jihoon nodded, lowering his hands just enough to peek at you, his ears burning red. “I wanted to finish it first,” he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I wanted it to be perfect, and then I’d play it for you. But you just—” He gestured vaguely toward you with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “You ruined the surprise.”

Your heart swelled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Jihoon,” you whispered, stepping into his space until you were standing between his legs. Your hands found his shoulders, feeling the tension still coiled in them. “You could’ve sung me the alphabet, and I’d still cry. This? This is everything.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his head dropping forward. His bangs brushed your collarbone, and for a moment, he stayed there, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

You smiled, your hands sliding up to cup his face, coaxing him to look at you again. His cheeks were still pink, his eyes wide and uncertain. “Sing me the rest,” you said softly, your thumbs brushing against the sharp curve of his jaw.

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to protest, but the words never came. Instead, he let out a resigned sigh, his hands resting lightly on your waist as he steadied himself. His voice was quieter now, but still full of that same tenderness that had stopped you in your tracks.

“You've given me a piece of happiness, You've placed all of the smiles in the world in my hands.”

His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t stop.

“In a swirling wind, If there's an eternal love, Then you're that person.”

Tears blurred your vision by the time he finished. Without thinking, you slid into his lap, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Jihoon,” you murmured, your voice trembling against his skin. “I already know the answer. You didn’t need a song to convince me.”

His breath hitched as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms locking around your waist like he was afraid to let go. “I wanted to say it the way I know best,” he whispered, his voice raw and thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your hands cradling his cheeks. “Say it, then,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears. “No music, no lyrics. Just you.”

Jihoon swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, every detail sharpening—the warmth of his hands on your waist, the golden light framing his face, the faint hum of the keyboard beneath you.

“Marry me,” he said at last, the words tumbling from his lips like a confession, raw and unfiltered.

Your heart swelled, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you leaned your forehead against his. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Yes, a million times yes.”

Relief washed over his features, and he let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Good,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around you. “Because I don’t think I could rewrite those lyrics again.”

You laughed too, brushing your lips against his. “Don’t change a single word,” you said, your voice thick with love. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[powdermelonkeg]

Cheat Code #4 for accommodating disabled characters in sci-fi/fantasy:

If you want to show a character's personality in the aids they use, you need to add customization, accessories, and/or specializations.

i.e.: You'll have a more three-dimensional character design if you take the time to consider what you can make unique about an aid; it should be as much a part of your design thoughts as the clothes they wear or the hairstyle they keep, and there are several ways to go about it. For example:

Customization would be things like colors and lights. A prosthetic arm can have colored guards that slide in and latch; a rich person might have those guards gilded, while a scientist might have a whiteboard arm panel to scribble notes on, and a stage performer could have theirs painted black with a bone on it to give the appearance of a skeletal window. A visor that replaces vision could have a screen that shows expressive pixel eyes for a happy-go-lucky hacker, or a practical black shield for someone in strict uniform. ⠀ To customize: make yourself a base, then take that base and imagine what each character you apply it to would WANT it to look like; prioritize aesthetics or practicality based on their personal preference. ⠀

Accessories are add-ons to your aid, rather than part of it. A cane could have ribbons wound around it if it's used by a magical girl, or a secret compartment stopper to hide notes in for a paranoid detective. A wheelchair might come with paragliding wings that open with a pullstring for a daredevil, canvas bags full of tools for a mechanic, or hubcaps that detach and can be thrown as weapons for a soldier. ⠀ For accessories, you're not necessarily thinking of "what can I add to this aid to make it special?" The process is better defined as "what would they want to have, and how can I merge the two in a way that's easy to use?" ⠀

Specializations are sort of a deeper combination of the two above features. They're a more advanced way of making your aids stand out, down to the materials they're comprised of or their intrinsic properties, that uniquely suit your character. They're typically hard to come by without being specially made, and can't be quickly modded in. ⠀ A spine brace being made of magic, living wood that grows to fill gaps when damaged would be available to a wood elf, and probably specially given to a warrior who WOULD damage it. A wheelchair made of magic-resistant metal could have use for a battlemage that can't turn to deflect spells quickly, or a witch hunter who wants immunity from the mages they're hunting. A cane that lights up when it senses radiation would be useful to a planetary explorer or warp drive mechanic, but not to a marine xenobiologist studying the starwhale population, who instead has a whalecall whistle built into theirs. ⠀ A specialized aid takes into account not only your character's wants and needs, but also their profession, their common risks, and occasionally their class—especially if you're using rare materials.

When you want to design an aid to be unique to your character, go through this checklist:

What do they want it to look like?

What would they want to add to it, and how do I make it convenient?

What would their setting offer them for their job or status?

What modifications would they have to seek out themselves, and would/could they?

Ask yourself these, and you're well on your way to making your disabled characters as varied as your abled ones.

Cheat code 1: How to avoid eliminating disability in your setting

Cheat Code 2: What kinds of aid to use to accommodate disability

Cheat Code 3: How to make your setting itself disability-friendly

[ggidolsmuts]

Fromis App Part 15: Cost of Free - Fromis_9 Seoyeon

"I'm busy."

"Don't mind me," you answer smoothly. The room is dark save for a single desk light, letting Seoyeon see and write. The justifiable reason fed to Saerom is that Seoyeon needed it to focus and make good jingles for Marketing, but it also had other side benefits. "Keep going."

Hey you, what are you doing right now?

Seoyeon scribbles on her notebook as you wrap two hands around her waist, lightly and quietly unbuttoning her jeans.

Come out for a bit, I want to see you.

Seoyeon's cheeks match the color of her panties as they peek out in the darkness. She wiggles her hips, helping you slide them past her thighs. You rub two fingers against her, making sure she's wet enough to welcome you in.

Hello come into my place, yeah yeah, yeah yeah.

Seoyeon squirms in your arms, but she keeps her hands on the desk, doing her best to write. 

How far do you want to go?

You answer her with action, driving two fingers deep inside her to make her gasp. Her lips are dewy, wet, and her walls are hungry—subtly she pushes her hips back, leaning over her desk.

I just wanna have some fun.

There is an errant stroke at the very end of the sentence, one of many people would find if they read her notebook: One when you smoothly enter her for the first time; One when you brush against her g-spot, stroking it with your head; One when you besmirch her flawless neck; And finally—

Come with me now.

One when you make Seoyeon drop her pen, filling her reservoir with your ink as she is consumed by her own peak, her body rolling against you, like the pen rolling across the page.

Seoyeon braces against the desk as she recovers, legs going weak when you pull out. You silently pull her panties back up, soaking up your load. Buttoning up her jeans again, you kiss her neck once more.

"Sorry for the disturbance."

"Mm." Seoyeon already has her pen back in hand, scribbling something.

Ping pong, on repeat.

Like nothing ever happened.

You let yourself into Seoyeon's place. There's a loud thumping sound, and you find Seoyeon in the kitchen, pounding some dough.

"Making something?"

"Chaeng wanted mochi, so I'm making it for her."

"That's sweet of you." You get a sense of just how sweet Seoyeon is when you pull down her boy shorts and kneel between her legs, pulling her underwear aside and helping yourself to her nectar. It is a slow flow at first, but once she warms up the liquid begins to flow.

"Nngh..." Seoyeon groans, fingers kneading into the dough, twisting and tearing at it. Oh how she wanted to grab your head, to push your tongue into her! A jolt goes through her as you swirl your tongue tip around her clit, but the feeling is gone soon after.

"Don't tease."

"Not going to. Tear a piece for me?" you ask as you stand up and lower your jeans and boxers.

"It's not ready—"

"Just do it." Seoyeon tears a piece of the mochi dough off. Her breath hitches as you dip two fingers back into her before bringing them back up. You slather the piece with Seoyeon's juices liberally, rubbing it into the dough. It is filthy, unhygienic, and—

"You're going to taste so sweet." You yank her hips away from the counter, and in one sob-driving stroke plunge fully into Seoyeon.

"Keep pounding." It is both your instruction to Seoyeon and yourself as she weakly thumps on the dough while you start fucking her from behind. With the sturdiness of the counter (as opposed to her work desk) you slam into her with loud claps, driving unbidden moans from the baker with her batter.

You can't see her expression, but her hands express her pleasure well enough—one hand works the rolling pin, thumping away mindlessly while the other hand jerks and convulses in pleasure. Sometimes she reaches back, as if intending to stop or slow you down, but on the next meeting of your hips you watch her hand hesitate, jerking back in front of her, as if to say:

Fuck it, just fuck me.

Seoyeon's fingers dig into the dough again, and eventually her other hand just lets the pin roll, giving up all pretense and just tearing chunks of the dough out with both hands.

"Cum for me." She sinks her teeth into the uncooked dough, muffling her moans tastelessly. Seoyeon makes a mess of her counter, sputtering and spitting raw mochi everywhere as you command and fuck her to her peak. Her legs go weak, but as a testament to both your strength and her petite frame, you hold her hips up, letting her feet dangle off the floor while you fill her with your baby batter.

You slide out, and her underwear slips back into place, keeping the load in her. Seoyeon lands gingerly on her feet, and she resumes her work as you pull her shorts up again.

"Are you coming by later tonight?"

"Is that an invitation?"

"No, I'll just be washing my hair from 9 to 10 pm."

"Got it." You'll definitely drop by then.

You're back at Seoyeon's place at half past nine, letting yourself in and heading to her bathroom, the shower loudly running. You leave your clothes in a pile on the floor and join her in the shower. The sight is breathtaking—Seoyeon's nude form dripping wet, her hands running through her hair giving you a perfect look at her body.

"Let me help." Seoyeon hands stay on her head, thoroughly shampooing her hair as your hands lather the rest of her body with soap.

"Mmmm..." She leans her head back as your bring both hands to her neck, giving her an impromptu massage before working your way down her body—her chest, her tummy, her sides, her thighs, the insides of her thighs; you make sure Seoyeon is clean for the filth you'll be doing to her.

"Mmm!" Her moan bounces across the shower walls as you push into her, pressing her flush against your body as you move her to the wall. "Ahh, sensitive!" Seoyeon cries as you rub her nipples on the cold glass wall. Oops, something you've forgotten about her body—you rarely took her naked anymore. You make it up to her by flipping her around, warm breath and hot tongue playing with her breasts, feeling her tighten around you just from your mouth work alone.

"Gonna, gonna cum..." Seoyeon whines, and she clenches around you hard when you gently pinch a nipple, tweaking it just enough to trigger her climax. She pulls at her hair as she cums, no doubt tearing loose a strand or two in the process.  She wraps a leg around you for support, trusting you to keep her steady.

"Shampoo my hair?" Seoyeon nods, pumping a dollop of shampoo in her palms before working it into your hair. You start working on her as well, moving your hips and feeling her scalp massage increase in intensity. Seoyeon's back scoots further up the shower wall as you fuck her higher and harder. She tugs on your hair painfully, so you sit her deeper on your shaft.

"Cum, nngh, already!" Seoyeon tightens around you exponentially, and she pulls your face into her chest as you cover her walls with man-made Cetaphil. Her fingers massage your scalp languidly, the fuzzy sensation squeezing a few more spurts out of you. You open your eyes to Seoyeon's neck breathing heavily, and you leave your mark on her before letting her down.

"Don't forget to lock the door," she reminds you as you exit the shower.

One Wednesday you're working from home, typing away and working on your report when you hear your door being opened.

Slam. Seoyeon was always careless with your door. 

Tchpshh. She's drinking your beer.

Crinkle. She's eating your chips.

Knock. She's in your room.

"I'm working."

"Sure, don't mind me." Seoyeon slithers her lithe and petite body under your arms and into your lap—the situation is now SEBCAK. She's dressed in a casual spaghetti top and short skirt, her hair a little messy from the wind outside.

"Won't you catch a cold," you ask, trying to look past her pretty face and at your work.

"I wore a jacket." Of course, she must have tossed it somewhere on your couch.

"Good," you manage to grunt out as she pulls your shorts down enough to reveal your stiffness.

"Yes, very good indeed," Seoyeon grinds on you briefly, letting your cock feel her get wet in real-time as your productivity grinds to a halt. You make a typpo as she sinks herself over your head, your brain short-circuiting while Seoyeon makes a closed circuit between the two of you, her lips capturing yours playfully.

You pull away, rebuking her with a flick of your tongue on her lips.

"I'm at work."

"Fine, I'll finish fast." 

You keep your hands attached to the keyboard, haphazardly typing shit that doesn't make sense—it is appropriate, as Seoyeon moves her hips in ways that blow your mind, snapping back and forth, making her walls massage your shaft in time with her movements.

You look down briefly, and it is a mistake. You're mesmerized by the mole on her abs, her midriff moving hypnotically, thoughts of work replaced with nothing but pleasure.

"Gonna cum, cum with me?" Seoyeon moans softly, and you hiss approval, already on the edge yourself. With a sharp thrust Seoyeon slams her hips into yours, driving your cock all the way before she peaks wetly in your lap.

"Yesss..." Joining her, you let out a strained breath, ropes of cum turning into strings of cum as Seoyeon milks you for everything, leaving you a drained mess in your chair. She pecks you on the lips before getting up—

"Wait, tissues!" But it's too late, the load leaking out of Seoyeon has dripped all over your clothes and chair and floor. "Damn it I have tissues right here, you always make such a mess."

"Can't help it, you always feel so damn good, my orgasms aren't normally this wet," Seoyeon answers like a wronged puppy. "And blame gravity for the rest, and you! You always cum so much in me, how about cumming less next time!" She storms off petulantly.

"Fine, maybe I'll fuck Jiwon or Saerom before you come over, that way I won't have as much for you!" Seoyeon whirls around violently, coming back around and grabbing your chin.

"Don't you dare." Despite appearing aloof, the tsundere in Seoyeon rears its head when you bring up other members of the company. Of course, she knows your relationship with all of them, but mentioning it in earshot of Seoyeon drives her possessiveness to eleven.

"It was your suggestion," you challenge.

"Hmph, I take it back!" Seoyeon fires back before walking away again. You watch her stride closely—a long stride meant she was pissed, and you'd have to really make it up to her somehow; a short one meant she wasn't pissed, but she would be if you actually let her leave now. The stride is short.

"Seoyeon," you call out. The first offering you know she will reject. She keeps walking. You wait a little longer.

"Seoyeon!" She takes a longer stride, as if urging you to quickly call her back. You get up from your chair, timing your own strides just right so that she'll get to the door before—

"Lee Seoyeon!" You reach her just as she opens the door, and you swing her around, slamming her against it and smashing your lips into hers. This is the real price of a free panda; reciprocity is a given, and Seoyeon is free to hop in your lap whenever she wanted. More importantly, you needed to make her feel wanted, and nothing demonstrated that more to Seoyeon than to take her whenever and wherever, and you learned that there was no better way of doing so than threatening to take her in public.

You've fucked her in the middle of her online meetings (hastily she had to turn off video and mute her audio); you've pressed her between office cubicles midday (you made her cum just by playing with her nipples for the first time then); you've slipped a hand beneath her pencil skirt in the company elevator (just before pulling her to the nearest stairwell, bending her over the railing, and fucking her up and down the building). The only reason you haven't used her in front of others is because the two of you were in the wrong meeting room, and Seoyeon had to muffle her moans as you pumped her full of cum while Saerom was discussing KPIs on the other side of the wall.

Which brings you back to now. You take off her top and throw it on the floor, pinning her wrists above her head with one firm hand. The other one goes under her skirt, feeling what you already knew to be true—Seoyeon's soaking wet and dripping by the second. It's not that Seoyeon had an exhibitionist kink or wanted to be used in public, it's that she wanted to be used in public by you.

"God, look at you Seoyeon, so small," you emphasize it by pulling her up slightly, getting her up on her toes. "Do you know who lives next door? It's a nice middle-aged couple, very nice, quiet people." Seoyeon's eyes dart to briefly look at the hallway through your open door. "And next to them? A kind old man, his son visits him every week." She tightens around your fingers. "And across from me? A small bakery operating out from that apartment, the ajumma's home bakery, it always smells so good. She sometimes comes over, bribes us with baked goods to keep her operation a secret." The implication was clear, and Seoyeon's juices are leaking on your hand—anyone could come by and see her, arms pinned above her head, topless and powerless, your hand underneath her skirt doing god-knows-what. They would know, would see you using her like your own personal plaything—

Ding!

"Oh, looks like someone's coming now." You raise her leg higher, making sure she's opening herself to the hallway, for anyone to look at, to show whoever's there just how many fingers deep you are inside her. "I ought to just fuck you right now, maybe I'll say hi to them as they come by, introduce you to them properly." Seoyeon's sputtering, mouth opening and closing, as if she can't decide if she really wants to go through with this. The thrill of it goes up her spine, god she might actually cum just from imagining things, and now she hears the rustle of a plastic bag—groceries perhaps? The son bringing his dad some food, or the ajumma buying baking supplies, or maybe just some random delivery person, a complete stranger coming to watch her get fucked—

You kick the door closed just as whoever it is turns the corner. With a hand around her shoulder and another under her knees you're bridal-carrying a climaxing Seoyeon to your bedroom, leaving a trail of her juices on the floor. You drop her on the bed, stripping yourself naked while she manages to recover and squirm her skirt and underwear off. Seoyeon is just as urgent and needy as you are, wrapping her arms and legs around you as soon as your tip rubs her entrance, wanting you to split her in two since about 10 seconds ago. You do just that, and her breath hitches against your lips, walls contracting around you in another orgasm already—you can never get used to how easily Seoyeon cums for you.

Seoyeon shakes her head as you start to move your hips, even while she's still cumming—not because she's overstimulated and wants you to stop, but because she's overstimulated and wants to say Don't slow down! Her legs spread on their own, and your own hands push her thighs further apart, pulling her against you on every thrust. You drive her mad with pleasure, your pillow subjected to Seoyeon's shear stresses of sheer satisfaction.

"God Seoyeon, so fucking tight, so fucking wet, all for me right?"

"Mm!" You take that as a yes, her hips bucking in confirmation, wanting to take more of your cock into her. "Ah, oppa! Oh— Ah! Nngh, yes..." Her moans, light and airy, almost girly sometimes, becomes huskier and come out almost as a rasp, revealing the raw voice of the songwriter—you're not freely using Seoyeon, you're freely taking her. You pound her small frame so hard, bruising her hips and grabbing her so tightly that any other onlooker would worry for her; but you don't, you've already done this, done her, before just like this. She begins to gasp and grunt, unable to keep up with the pleasure as you begin your own ascent.

"Hey," you huff, wanting to get her attention. "Seoyeon!" She's unresponsive, not unconscious, but just minding her own business and cumming once again. "Lee Seoyeon!" She manages to open her eyes, the bright, aloof glint you would normally see dimmed and dulled by pleasure.

"I want to fucking cum in you."

"Ah..." That's all she manages before her eyes roll into her head while you do just that. You freely help yourself to the space in her womb, using it as your personal cumdump and unloading an even larger torrent of cum than earlier in a few violent thrusts. Seoyeon cums with you, milking you for all that you have. Mid-orgasm she does the most possessive thing she can think to do, biting you shoulder, breaking skin, like a puppy that hasn't learnt how to control her strength.

"Fuck that hurts Seoyeon!"

"Mm, nngh, sorry, sorry." Painfully you come down from your orgasm, but having fucked your brains out right into Seoyeon, she's the first one to recover, gently removing herself from your cuddle. "I'm going to go." The aloofness is back, and you watch Seoyeon carelessly walk around naked in your apartment, picking up her clothes while dripping your load all over your floor.

"Bye."

"Lee Seoyeon."

"What."

"Text me when you get back safely." A small blush is the only sign of her acknowledging your concern.

"Fine, see ya."

You slowly take account of things as you sit up in bed.

Beer, drunk by Lee Seoyeon.

Chips, eaten by Lee Seoyeon.

Work, incomplete, distracted by Lee Seoyeon.

Clothes, in need of washing, dirtied by Lee Seoyeon.

Floor, in need of cleaning, also dirtied by Lee Seoyeon.

Balls, drained by Lee Seoyeon.

Lee Seoyeon, happily and thoroughly fucked.

Worth it.

A/N: Wanted to make this a shoutout to Free Panda (really hot series!) so a free use Seoyeon is a given! Originally the title was going to be (Hands) Free Panda, so there's a lot of emphasis of the sex not involving the hands, that both you and Seoyeon are resolutely focused on not being "distracted" by the other, hands doing whatever they're supposed to be doing (I had read a separate fic for this that is done really well!). But then it kinda spiraled into "why" you have this arrangement with her, and so "Cost of Free" made for a more interesting title. Thought about making a Mastercard reference at the end but eh, too on the nose lol. Thanks for reading!

[tadpolesonalgae]

The Libraries

Helion x reader

a/n: I haven’t written for him in a long time so I hope he isn’t insanely ooc! 🧡💛

word count: 1,287

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“What may I find for you today, High Lord?” You ask, peering over the bright red rim of your pointed glasses. 

“So cold to me,” Helion drawls, bracing his forearms on the lip of your desk, the golden snake that bands around his bicep digging into the dark skin as the powerful muscles shift. “Didn’t you miss me while I was gone, peaches?” 

“It was certainly emptier,” you reply neutrally. “Now, what may I find for you?” 

“Can I not visit simply for the pleasure of your company?” The High Lord inquires, faux hurt showing in his sturdy features. “Pleasure certainly seems to be the main motive for your scholarly trips,” you reply, returning you gaze to the charts spread out on your desk, marking which books are due to be switched out and moved, and which sections are due to have new additions to their already full shelves. 

“Anything new?” The High Lord asks, and you can hear the wicked grin on his mouth without having to glance up. “A few things, since your last visit,” you reply, reaching over to the short list you’d scribbled down, now pulling it over and handing it to him to look through. Helion raises a brow as he scans through the short compilation. “Fully illustrated?” He repeats, clearly reading the note you’d added beside one of the titles. “Fully illustrated,” you repeat back in confirmation, ink pen scratching as you make an annotation for some sections to be swapped around. “And you verified that personally?” Helion asks, his deep voice taking on a low, suggestive drawl. 

“Personally,” you repeat back, again in conformation, still not paying him the attention he’s seeking. 

“Will you show me to it?” He asks, trying to pry you away from your desk. 

“You know the section,” you reply, a hint of amusement in your tone, but still annotating. 

“I don’t see anyone else requiring your attention,” Helion drawls, “and I didn’t come just for the book…” 

“To.” You correct, without looking up. 

“…to?” Helion repeats, blinking. 

“And I didn’t come just to the book, is what you meant to say,” you answer, a faint upward tilt at the corners of your normally straight-pressed lips. “Your humour is as sharp as your tongue, I see,” Helion says, huffing a low laugh that has the hairs on your forearms raising. 

At last you look up, and Helion resists the urge to stand upright, keeping his positioning casual as he looks into your eyes, partially warped by those red-pointed glasses. “Have you returned the last one you borrowed?” You inquire, reaching for a blank piece of parchment. Helion raises a brow, “you’ve let me borrow tens at a time, why does this book require an urgent return?” 

“It’s on the list to be shipped out to the continent. I take it you haven’t yet returned it?” You ask, and Helion shakes his head. You nod, scribbling something down before handing it to him. “A reminder,” you say when he takes it from your fingers, “to please return it at your earliest convenience. I understand you have a lot on your plate.” 

“Like a troublesome librarian who looks at me with a particularly…” —you shoot him a sharp glare over the red rims— “…bloodcurdling, expression,” he finishes. You hum, the doubt clear in the sound. You both know he wasn’t going to say bloodcurdling. 

“Now, will you do me the honour of showing me where this particular book is being kept?” He requests, a faint grin on his lips. 

“I suppose it is part of my job,” you reply, “even if you are taking advantage of that.” A distinctly satisfied expression appears on the High Lord of Day’s features as you stand from your desk, the knee-length robes that sit over your clothes swishing with the motion, and you set off down one of the long aisles, knowing Helion is keeping close behind. Able to feel the direction of his attention, too, despite the coverage of the robes. You shoot him a look over your shoulder, and he offers a questioning smile that has you rolling your eyes. 

It takes some minutes to reach the darkened corner of the library this particular book has been stored, and a while longer for you to climb the ladder that will carry you to the shelf it sits on, but at last you find it, handing it over to the High Lord who opens the first page with slight interest. 

“And to think you’ve looked through all of this already,” he remarks, eyes scanning across the few lines of writing beside the illustration. “I’m surprised you could tolerate such lewd imagery,” he muses, glancing at you with a faint grin, “did it bother you, much?” 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you reply blandly, waving your hand dismissively. Helion hums, flipping the page over, eyes passing over the parchment with surprising restraint, then raises his brows. “You’ve seen things like this before?” He asks, half teasing, half serious. 

“Are you surprised?” You reply, brow slightly furrowed, “I’ve been working in these libraries for centuries now, I’ve seen all sorts of things. I doubt anything could shock me anymore.” 

“So if I got to put you in some of these positions…” 

“How very inappropriate of you, High Lord,” you reply, shooting him a look from over top your glasses, before making to move past him. 

You’re vaguely surprised when his large palm wraps carefully around your upper arm, prompting you to pause but not tight enough you couldn’t continue walking if you’d like to. 

You glance back up at him, listening. 

“Do my advances bother you?” He asks, sincerely. “I assume you don’t mind them from your occasional jokes, but I don’t wish to bring discomfort to where you’re required to work.” 

“I had no idea you were attempting advances, High Lord,” you reply, lightly shifting your arm, and he releases you without complaint. “I find that hard to believe,” the High Lord replies questioningly. “You’re flirtatious with most people you encounter, I wasn’t under the impression I was receiving any special treatment.” 

“Would you like special treatment?” He asks, his voice lowered a little, and you narrow your eyes on him. 

“I like genuine interest,” you reply, “I like commitment, and certainty—things I don’t believe you’re yet interested in.” Something shifts behind his eyes, but you wave your hand again, “which is fine. We seek different things.”

“You aren’t interested in finding out what might happen?” He asks, lips curved with a gleam in his eyes. “I would have thought that by nature you’d want to satisfy your curiosity.” 

“I have lived a long life, and I have seen a lot of things, as I’ve said. There are very few topics I’m still curious about, High Lord,” you reply. 

“Not even how it might feel to lay with me for one night?” He asks, that mischievous look on his features. 

But, “no. I’m afraid not.” 

Your lips twitch faintly at the slight surprise in his features before its swiftly concealed. “You’re free to continue as you like, though, so long as you don’t cause any trouble for my coworkers,” you say. “We had a new one in a few days ago and I don’t want you traumatising him with your literature tastes.” 

Helion grins, mischievous look returning, more promising than it was before. “Very well,” he replies, eyes glinting, “I’ll return the book as soon as I can. And I’ll remember to make my advances more clear, next time.”

You turn to head back to your desk, but not swiftly enough that Helion doesn’t catch the upward tug of your mouth. “I look forward to it, High Lord.”

————————————————————————————��—————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

[clockwayswrites]

This is not me writing Danny meeting someone special.

Masterpost WC: 1114

Danny looked from the scribbled address on on the slip of paper and back up to the building in front of him. The addresses matched, but Danny couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong about it. Yes, it looked like a gym shaped building, but all the windows were blacked out and there as no sign. Yes, there were a few people going in and out looking ready for a work out, but the way the pair lingering on the stoop were looking at him made the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck stand up.

Still, so far at least, Jason had only been helpful and kind to him— more than kind. Danny had clothing because of him. Danny didn’t think the other would have sent him into some sort of a trap. Besides, if Jason had wanted to do something nefarious there had been plenty of other opportunities. Danny squared his shoulders and headed up to the building.

He was halted by a large hand on his chest from one of the pair at the door. Danny had to stop himself from pushing it off.

“Whatcha need?”

“Ah, um, Jason told me to come here at this time? He thinks I need self defense lessons and said he set up someone to teach me?”

“Name?”

“Danny.”

The guy looked Danny over before giving a nod. “Yeah. Go on in. You can’t miss who you’re supposed to meet.”

“Okay,” Danny said, doubtfully, but slipped in the door that the other guy (goon? Were these goons?) was holding open.

It just looked like a gym inside. There were weight machines and treadmills. A boxing ring dominated the middle of the room and mats took up a lot of the rest of the space. The back of the building was divided off into rooms that Danny assume were showers and lockers. Someone to his right was bench pressing what Danny felt like was an impressive amount, but what did he know.

Everyone in the building looked like they could kick some real ass— muscled or fit in a dangerously wiry way. Most of them were looking at him. So he didn’t have a lot of muscles, sue him, being a ghost hero didn’t exactly help him build up the bulk. The goon out front said he couldn’t miss…

The bright red helmet caught his eye. The figure wearing it was impressively broad and dressed so that not a sliver of skin was showing past the black and brown outfit. Danny couldn’t really tell, not with the way the eyes of the helmet were whited out, but that the person was staring right at him. It was almost like…

Oh. That was Jason.

Danny didn’t know how he knew, but Danny knew that person wearing the helmet was Jason.

Why didn’t Jason just tell him he was meeting him? What was with the helmet—

Holy shit.

That was Red Hood.

Jason was Red Hood.

Jason had a secret identity and Danny had just figured it out.

Well, fuck.

Danny took a deep breath and headed over towards him. He stopped several feet away and for a long moment they just stared at each other (or at least Danny thought Jason was staring at him).

“You Danny?” Jason— Red Hood— asked.

Because apparently they were doing this whole secret identity thing.

Which… to be fair, Danny shouldn’t be able to tell. Jason did a good job of disguising it. Jason was a big person, but Red Hood looked like a fucking tank. Red Hood even stood in a more imposing way— feet braced, shoulders pulled back, a king looking over his kingdom. It was different than the way Jason, while wary in that way everyone in a big city like Gotham was, still seemed relaxed and approachable.

The sheer power that Jason exclude as Red Hood was honestly a little sexy.

Which was a road Danny did not need to go down. Nope. He cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. Act natural, Danny. “Yep! Jason sent me here? He’s worried I’m going to get stabbed or something.”

Wow Jason was really a lot less expressive as Red Hood. Sure, there was the helmet, but it was more than that. Jason would have shook his head at that, body slumping slightly. Red Hood just watched. It was interesting.

“You were mugged.” Even his accent was slightly different.

“Yep.”

The silence stretched out again. Okay, apparently he needed to say more than that? It was weird being on the other side of the secret identity business. “But I’m fine! I didn’t get hurt and I knocked the guy unconscious. But now Jason’s worried about me.”

You’re worried bout me, Danny thought. Enough to bring him to meet the alter ego and risk him connecting the dots. Huh, Jason really was worried about him. This was no small favor like he played it off as. Even if Jason hadn’t been Red Hood, this would be a huge favor because this was Red Hood and he was being asked to give Danny self defense lessons. Okay, Danny could work with that.

“And I don’t want to, like, get in the way of your business so if it’s easier I can just go—”

“Get on the mats and start stretching,” Red Hood ordered. His voice was harsh through the modulation of the helmet.

“Sir, yes sir,” Danny chirped.

It turned out, he did not know how to stretch properly. Red Hood has a lot to say about that and a lot of corrections to make, nudging Danny with his steel toed boot or pressing with his gloved hand. Danny pondered over the complete lack of skin showing.

It was a really extreme way to go about it. A little skin wouldn’t have given Jason away, so it must be more than that. Was it for Jason’s own good? To have that complete separation of appearance between them. Jason was Jason but Red Hood was Red Hood- they didn’t even share skin.

Danny could get that.

Whoops, he needed to focus up, it was time to spar. And okay, they were getting right into it apparently. Show Hood what he could do, right. He could—

Danny was flat on his back, half across the mats before he could blink.

So maybe he couldn’t. But Ancients if that didn’t give him the same rush as his early ghost fights. He was out classed and unskilled and Red Hood wanted him to know that. But Danny had been there before and he had won. No ghost fucked with him now.

Danny twisted to his feet and grinned. Oh it was on.

-----

AN: Not actually 100% sold on this part yet, but I think jumping to Jason's POV and seeing Danny go a little feral might sell it for me. Maybe a little overlap in timeline from Danny saying 'sir, yes sir'.

I think I'm starting to care too much about this fic, which is dangerous, so I'll prob jump to somewhere else in the story next to keep things loose! Now what will that be...

I'm no longer tagging people due to the new post editor and being shadow banned (likely for tagging), so go here to subscribe to be notified!

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 14

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 14/? 18k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ An invitation to The Hideout answers some long burning questions.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter CW: kissing, heavy petting, jealousy, protective!eddie, drinking, smoking, fluff

Tuesday, December 10th 1985

Winter crept in like a lamb. It nipped at your ankles when you got out of bed, beckoned you to hibernate in the warm cocoon of soft sheets and heavy blankets. The room was a lightless cave, the sky still as dense as midnight. Feet shuffling blindly at the floor to find your slippers, you clicked on the small lamp atop your nightstand to offer some light to your habitat. 

Standard routine — making shadows on the wall as you brushed your teeth, emerging out the door to the dark hallway, squinting under the harsh light of your kitchen. Two eggs over easy. Two pieces of toast. One phone that hung to the right of your small kitchen table like an omen as you dipped the crust into the yolks. Looming. Waiting. You swallowed a feeling with your next sip of coffee; flutters that danced down your throat and settled in the pit of your stomach. 

By the time you returned to your bedroom, the sky touched your sheer curtains with the palest blue. Your clothing was already laid out neatly on your dresser, poised like soldiers in a row — thick ribbed stockings; plaid wool skirt; stiff white blouse; cream knit sweater. 

As you suited up, stripping yourself of warm pajamas to brace the chill of your formal attire, your eyes drifted to an object on your desk. Powder blue and collecting a fair amount of dust; an IBM Selectric II typewriter. It was more or less a decoration now, pushed against the wall to make room for piles of papers in need of grading. Still, you liked the way it looked; cheery against the drab apartment wall, like something a real writer would have.

It was a trusty old thing, still chugging along despite countless college essays hammered into the grey keys. It had been your only company in the wee hours of many mornings such as this one, only then there had not been sleep to separate you from the night before. Sturdy and dependable, it captured your imagination too, letter by black inked letter. 

Fastening the buttons of your blouse in a methodical rhythm, you could almost trick yourself into believing it was any other morning, except today there was something else you needed to do before you left, and the clock on your nightstand let you know in glowing red that your window to do so was closing.

Cold linoleum creaked under your stocking feet as you padded into the kitchen, stomach twisting into knots as you approached the phone. If you were going to do this, it had to be now. 

Running your finger down the laminated tabs of the well-loved address book on your counter, you flipped to the section labeled “J”. After scanning a dozen hand-written names, you found the one you were looking for. It was a mess of chalky white-out and hasty scribbles. Last name replaced, same with the phone number and address. You weren’t sure why you didn’t just write it all fresh under “P”, perhaps it was something about not wanting to erase the history entirely.

You took a deep breath and snatched the phone off the receiver. Pressing the cold plastic to your ear, you glanced down at the numbers in blue pen and whispered them quietly to yourself as you slowly, hesitantly, clicked them one by one into the cream button pad on the wall. 

You stared across the kitchen in sober contemplation of your life choices as the phone rang. Again. And again. And again, until a familiar, groggy voice answered.

“Hello?” 

“Hey! Janet!” you greeted brightly, sounding far too awake for 7:06 AM. In your nervous haste, you almost forgot to tell her who was calling. 

“Oh… hey there,” came a hesitant voice on the other line, a sharp squeal cut through the static followed by a hush.

“Hey, um, I know it’s like, super early and totally last minute but I wanted to catch you before I left for work. Listen, I’ve had a hell of a week already and I was wondering—and I totally get it if you can’t, but—well I was wondering if you’d be up for going out tonight. Like say around eight-ish?” You bit your lip and grimaced, twisting the gummy cord around your finger. 

The pause was filled with the rattling of tiny fists against plastic. “Oh! Well let’s see,” she said in a voice that was suddenly very awake. “The kids will be asleep by then, or at least they should be,” she chuckled, “and Bob doesn’t go to bed till after eleven anyway, so I’m sure he’ll be fine if I escape for a few hours. I mean I’ll check with him but I really don’t see why not.” 

It was equally as promising as it was a relief; the excitement that crept through her voice. 

“Great! Yeah, I figured you could probably use a night out.”

“Oh gosh, you don’t even know the half of it,” Janet laughed. “So where were you thinking? You wanna just go to Pal-Joeys again?”

Pacing toward the counter, you braced to offer your suggestion. “Actually, I was thinking we could go to The Hideout, I hear there’s a band playing tonight.”

“The Hideout?” she asked through an incredulous smile. 

“I know,” you breathed nervously, “it’s not really our um, regular haunt, but that’s kinda why I want to go, you know? Shake things up a bit. Everything’s just been feeling so… routine lately, you know?”

Janet’s sigh was deep and heavy. “Oh trust me, I know.” A bright coo crackled through the telephone line. 

“Like, I kind of want to just…” you coiled your finger deeper into the phone cord, glancing at the glaring red clock above the stove, “I dunno…pretend to be somebody else for a change.” 

“You know,” she started, a quiet mischief creeping into her voice, “I could really stand to be somebody else for a night too.”

You paused in your pacing as a smile cracked across your face. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Gosh, do you know your birthday was the last time I went out? Seriously! And before that I don’t even remember. Sometimes I look around and it’s like, man I used to be fun. You remember when I was fun, right?”

You chuckled, drifting back to memories of truths and dares, of creeping down her dark basement steps with freshly painted toes. “You still are fun, Janet.”

“Well maybe you can help remind me because sometimes I look in the mirror and I swear I don’t even recognize myself. Really! I swear I see my mother more and more and that’s what’s really terrifying.” 

“You mean you don’t see Bloody Mary anymore?”

Janet’s cackle would have woken the whole house had it not been wide awake and eating Cheerios already. “No that’s just at my parents’ house, remember?”

You snorted, leaning back against the counter. “I think we screamed so loud we woke the neighbors. I swear that bathroom is haunted.”

“That’s what I’ve always said! You feel like you’re being watched, right? My parents still don’t believe me. Oh well, not my problem anymore.”

You laughed, the knot in your belly releasing slightly before you glanced at the clock again, 7:13. “Crap, I’ve gotta get going. So I’ll see you at eight tonight? At The Hideout?”

“Yeah, should be fine. I’ll call you if anything changes. Ah!” she squealed, “I can’t wait.”

“Glad you’re excited,” you chuckled, gripping the smooth plastic. “Ok, see you later.”

“Bye now!”

You hung the phone back on the receiver and stood in the blaring silence of your kitchen, frozen by the impact of your choices. It was real now. In a matter of about thirteen hours you would be getting in your car, driving down a dark road, and parking it at a seedy bar where you would see Eddie for the first time in public. Your feet felt glued to the floor, but as the clock blinked to 7:15, you willed them to move.  

Before taking the dark road that led to a seedy bar, you would first need to get in your car and take another road — to work.

You cursed the cold. Cursed it as you hurried across the parking lot to find your car covered in fractals of frost. Cursed it vehemently as you worked the glass with your feeble plastic scraper, shaving holes just big enough to see out of your dashboard and rear window as the clock on your wrist ticked on minute by precious minute. You cursed it audibly when you turned the key and the engine whirred, and whined, and refused to turn over. It must have heard you, because after the fifth time of stomping on the brake and snapping your wrist forward, the engine roared to life.

You rode in on a wave; a daze like the fog that escaped your lungs in shallow breaths. The sun rose above the frozen farmlands, casting its golden-pink light across the empty fields. Out here the roads stretched on for miles. Flat and straight, with little variance in elevation. There was nowhere to look but straight ahead. No curves to surprise you, just you and the rumble of the salt-dusted road, bumping along in silence as an anxious fog rolled across the landscape of your mind. 

A sea of students swept you through the front doors of Hawkins High and into the bustling office. Amidst the flurry of ringing phones and voices settling into the cadence of their roles, you grabbed your punch card and stamped the date and time in line with the rest. Pushing the metal handle of the heavy glass door, you exited the humming reprieve of the office and into the din of the main hall. Your boots made hollow clicks against the glossy tile, wind at your face as you marched forward, dodging roughhousing students and hall monitors rushing toward them. 

Goodness was a mantle. A strap that dug into your shoulder; heavy with books, and papers, and responsibility. You wedged your thumb beneath it, shrugging it up onto the padded wool collar of your coat as you strode on, vision locked ahead as chaos swirled around you.

Your mug left a ring on the big desk; a remnant from where you’d sloshed it coming down the hall. You’d tried to be careful; slow and deliberate in your pacing when you left the teachers lounge with it, but when a blur of wild curls drew your gaze, your footing faltered. At least you missed your shoes. 

Coat hung on its solitary hook and grade book stationed at the center of the desk, you took your place in front of it. Clutching your clipboard, you glanced across the rows of desks, down at the rows of names, beside the rows of boxes that your green pen would fill with neat little P’s and A’s like it did every day. Bell after bell, swipe after swipe of your eraser at the board, the fresh sticks of chalk dwindled to nubs. Question after question, the patience in your voice grew thin. 

Between the bells at the top of fourth period, you stood poised like a sentinel outside the door to your classroom. Arms folded across your knit sweater, you sighed, shifting your weight back and forth between your tired feet, offering gentle smiles as your students filed through the threshold of the door. You smelled him before you saw him; the waft of leather and cigarettes with notes of shampoo more prominent than usual. 

Against the flow of traffic, Eddie Munson brought his salt-licked combat boots to a halt in front of you. Thumb hooked under the heavy strap of his backpack, he offered you a smile so broad it crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your knees want to give. 

You tightened your arms around your sweater, over the hard plastic of your faculty lanyard, and breathed a shy, girlish greeting. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he mimicked, shifting his weight with a less than subtle restlessness as his dark eyes drank you in. They darted back and forth between yours, plush lips parted and primed with words. You felt them brimming impatiently behind his eyes, saw them in the pink flash of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. 

Out here in the bustling hallway, with eyes that watched and voices that echoed off the polished tile, Eddie edged a bold foot closer, dove in, and ghosted the shell of your ear with his burning question.

“Will I see you tonight?”

The words were a low, hot rumble — rippling from your ear down your spine, pooling deep in your belly. His heat thawed your shoulder as he hovered there, lingering for each aching second it took you to eke out your response. 

“Yeah,” you whispered into his curls.

Pulling back with a blinding grin, he tipped his head and ducked into the door of your classroom.

The slam of a locker made you jump. Arms crossed to shield your pounding heart, you stood there in the middle of it all, swimming in a sea of passing bodies, struggling to keep your head above the waves. It surged with images of a lighted stage, of bottles, and tables, and a dark corner for both of you to hide in. The bell echoed loudly down the hall, shrill enough to wake you from the dream you were surely having. Donning your mask, you took a deep breath and dove in, shutting the door behind you.

______

Eddie swung open the heavy back doors to his van, piercing the darkness with the dull yellow overhead light. Gravel crunched under his boots as he leaned in to grab the first amp from the stack, like a pile of black Christmas presents awaiting unwrapping. The night air bit at his fingers, stars twinkling in the patches where the clouds gave way above the tree line. Tightening his grip around the thick gummy handle, he hoisted it and followed the pale path the moon offered out of the side parking lot toward the patio behind The Hideout.

It wasn’t much; a stout fence in dire need of a paint job that caged in a few meager picnic tables. They still had umbrellas in the middle, wrapped tightly like mummies for the winter. He knew the back door would be open, it always was. Turning the weathered knob with his free hand, he welcomed the heat that wafted toward him. He could almost say he welcomed the piss smell coming from the bathrooms as his heavy boots thumped down the dark linoleum hallway, but that would be a stretch. Accustomed was a better word. Familiar was a better word. 

Stale beer and cigarettes soon drowned it out as he entered the dimly lit bar, stopping to plunk the heavy amp down to his left on the stage, which was little more than a raised platform painted black. The thud drew the attention of the five usual suspects at the bar, and Eddie wondered which one of them was responsible for playing “Free Bird” on the jukebox.

Bill raised his hand, tipping his baseball cap back in a friendly nod as his fingers splayed. “‘Ey, Eddie!”

He returned the gesture of a single raised hand and flashed a smile before turning down the hall again. Eddie took a deep breath at the door to calm his pounding heart before pressing it open. He couldn’t believe he had been crazy enough to suggest something like this. That soon enough, you would be perched atop one of those rickety stools at a tall, sticky table, watching his every move, listening to his every note. The chill of the night air was a welcome thing, sobering and distracting from the heat that was creeping up the collar of his thick, leather coat. As the gravel crunched under his boots again, headlights blinded his vision. 

He could hear the bass pounding from the outside of the small sedan as it rolled up beside his van, followed promptly by another. After a moment of squinting, the headlights shut off with the rumble of the engine, leaving him in the darkness once again. Seatbelts clicked and laughter emerged from the open doors as his friends tumbled out into the parking lot. 

“What the fuck took you guys so long? We left at the same time,” Eddie groused.

Dave lumbered over and sighed, a smirk playing on his broad features in the moonlight. “Jeff had to take a shit and he parked me in.” 

Jeff rolled his eyes, swinging the door shut with a huff as Gareth laughed into the night air. 

Eddie sighed, glancing toward the tall stack of amps and drum heads sitting backlit in the rear of his van. “Ok, well we’ve got like forty minutes to get our shit together so start hauling.” 

Dave groaned, cracking his back with a twist of his hefty torso. “Ugh, can you at least let me hit this doob before you put me to work?”

On any other night, Eddie would have welcomed the suggestion, but his nerves were traveling to his hands now and he itched to move them. “Dude, it takes us like an hour to set up, we don’t have time right now. We can smoke after we get this shit on stage.”

Jeff quirked his brows suspiciously, “Dude, since when do you care that we’re on time for anything?”

“Yeah seriously, we’re late like every week,” Gareth added.

Eddie balked, searching for the answer in the treeline, one that excluded you. “It just—if we’re ever gonna play anywhere else besides here we’re gonna have to start getting our shit together.”

There was a lukewarm pause as the band considered his answer. By the looks on their faces, Eddie wasn’t entirely sure if they bought it, but it was the best he could come up with and the statement was true. Dave broke the silence with an exasperated sigh. “Come on. I’ve been jonesing since we got to Gareth’s. His mom is so anal we can’t even smoke outside.”

“That’s ‘cause you reek when you come back in,” Gareth defended.

“At least I don’t reek of ass like you,” Dave chortled.

Jeff didn’t miss a beat. “That’s debatable.”

Gareth’s cackle wafted into the frigid air as he pointed a pale finger at Dave.

“You wanna find out the hard way?” Dave’s eyes glimmered wildly as he hooked an arm around Gareth’s shoulders, locking him into a power noogie position.

Gravel shuffled under their stumbling feet. “Let go of me you asshole,” Gareth gritted through a strangled laugh. Jeff only egged them on, howling uproariously like he had tickets to the show. 

Eddie dragged his hands down his face with a deep, seething breath as Dave ground his thick knuckles into Gareth’s mop of hair, kicking up rocks and pivoting as Gareth attempted to pry away. This was his circus, his monkeys, and he would have to step up and be the ring leader if they were going to take the stage at all tonight. “CUT IT OUT!” he hollered. 

Dave paused, arm still locked around Gareth’s neck. “Come on, we’re just having a little fun. You remember fun, right?” 

Gareth groaned weakly, looking up at Eddie with pathetic eyes. “Who’s we?” he choked.

Eddie’s expression didn’t budge from its scowl. With a roll of his eyes and a resigned huff, Dave released his arm and Gareth stumbled backward, gasping. “Fine, captain killjoy.”

A heavy plume of fog left his nostrils as Eddie stormed toward the back of his van, weaving his arm through a thick ring of cables to rest on his shoulder before hoisting another amp from the stack. Gravel shuffled behind him as the others followed suit.

You were risking a lot to come here. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you.

______

The silence gnawed at you, filled you with an itching discomfort as you thumbed your dresser knobs. Staring into your open shirt drawer, you faced off with your biggest decision yet — what to wear tonight.

The chasm of options laid before you in neat, folded rows. An excavation site of cardigans, and turtle necks, and things you hadn’t unearthed in years. You ran your fingers through the layers of folded cotton, peeling them back with deep consideration. 

Nagging thoughts crept in like whispers over the softly ticking clock, pinball plunger pulled and ready to fire. With a determined huff, you stepped back from your dresser and padded down the hallway, out into the living room. 

Your skirt pooled around your stocking feet as you crouched down in front of the long wooden cabinet that housed your records. Fingers dancing over the worn cardboard spines, you flipped them softly forward as you perused one by one, walking steadily until one of them fell open to a scene; a painting of a man hunched over with sticks tied to his back that hung on a wall of peeling paper. You paused, pulling it out to scan the track list. This would do.

Placing the the record softly on the felt pad, you lowered the needle to the ridges, and with the press of a button, a crackle roused the room. 

Hey hey momma said the way you move

Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove

A smile, like a crocus peeking up from the snow, bloomed across your face. You cranked the volume, wrapping yourself in a sound that would carry to your bedroom. 

Your fingers found the tiny metal tab behind your waist, and with a downward tug of the zipper, your wool skirt became a puddle on the floor. Peeling back the layers, your tight sweater joined it in a heap, your thick stockings lay deflated on the pile, the buttons of your stiff blouse worked free until it was a crumpled afterthought. The chill that kissed your skin was a welcome thing. Goosebumps raised like the current flowing through you as your near-naked silhouette danced across the wall to approach the open drawer once more. 

Emboldened with a curious delight, you began to dig. Past the crust of crisp blouses, beneath the squishy mid-layer of cardigans, down into the sub-layer of camisoles and tees, deeper and deeper until finally your fingers made purchase with a soft treasure. 

It fell open as you unearthed it, the solid black gone grey from washing, the white letters and arched angel cracked and faded: Led Zeppelin — United States of America 1977. 

It happened on a Sunday in April, which began as most Sundays did, with you hunched over your powder blue typewriter in a race between the clock and the keys. You had it down to a science. At the speed you were typing, a rough draft could be finished by dinner, and the final could be churned out by cutting into a few hours of your sleep. A worthy sacrifice, as your final grade was on the finish line. This, like countless others, was how you planned to spend your day — until your roommate found you. 

You remembered the way she leaned against the wooden frame of your bunk bed, amused, watching the paper you hammered with black-inked letters grow longer and longer. Finally she spilled it; as of an hour ago, she was down one boyfriend and up one ticket, and now it had your name on it. When she dangled it between you and the tidy rows of text, your hands froze over the keys. 

You eyed the invitation — temptation printed on a neat, orange strip. Free admission, at a price.

The show was sold out. It had been for a long time. 

Your class was at 9:00 AM tomorrow. A late paper took twenty percent off your grade. 

You loved the band dearly, had a bigger crush on Robert Plant than you’d openly admit to anyone. Fights had broken out over tickets nation wide. You had no idea when they would play the states again.

The clock ticked on beside you, the long hand grazed past three. Maybe you could churn out the rest  in the next few hours. Maybe the rough draft would be enough. But the realist in you knew neither would happen if you seized the ticket. Your grade would never recover, your streak of straight As you’d kept since grade school would come to an end. Your GPA would dip for the semester.

On April 17th, 1977, you left your paper sitting unfinished in the typewriter to see Led Zeppelin play Market Square Arena. You didn’t know it then, but it was the last time they ever would.

On April 18th at 9:00 AM, you showed up to class with empty hands and a brand new shirt. 

You had altered your souvenir; taken scissors to the collar so that it draped off your shoulder. Time and your washing machine had made Swiss cheese of the bottom hem, so you cropped it. You admired the handiwork as it draped off you now, the way the black strap of your bra peeked out from the slope of your shoulder like a coy secret. 

Pulling open the lower drawer—opened far less frequently than you would like—your knuckles grazed the bottom of the smooth wood interior as you peeled back the layers of folded denim. A crease of black jumped out from the sea of blue, and you examined it. It had a nice worn-in fade for only having lived in your dresser a few years, a flatteringly high waist, and most importantly, tapered legs that could easily be tucked into the tall, black boots sitting in the back of your closet. Your bare legs welcomed the barrier against the chill, and you caught a glance at your rear as you hiked them snugly upward. They hugged you in all the right places, as the music electrified the air, you transformed.

A vision of you — sprawled across a blanket on the quad with your face in a book. Making shadows on your dorm room wall while transmuting fantasies to black-inked pages. Strolling down a lamp-lit street, face to the stars, fueling your wild imagination. Here, in your reflection, the ghost of you looked back.

You painted her darker than normal, swapping the usual chapstick for a deep, dusty red exhumed from the bottom of your makeup bag. Eyes smoked and cheeks dusted, you drew out the beauty from angles of your face with every stroke.

Coat donned and purse in hand, you paused at the front door, glancing over your shoulder, down the hallway, toward your coffee table piled with papers. There was another ghost of you here — tucked into her slippers and cozy robe with the voices from the television as her only company, flicking her green grading pen down rows of questions. 

On December 10th, 1985, you left the papers sitting on your coffee table to see Corroded Coffin play The Hideout. With a decided twist of the handle, you pushed out into the cold night air. 

Light pooled in sparse puddles as your boots echoed off the rough pavement. Stillness whispered on the wind as crisp remnants of fall scuttled across the asphalt. The apartments behind you were a tapestry of glowing squares, pictures of the rest of Hawkins tucking into their slippers and washing their dishes, grabbing their blankets and turning on their televisions. 

You grabbed your keys and unlocked your car, and when it roared to life with a swift flick of your wrist, a strange exhilaration coursed through you. 

It rose like the moon over the barren fields, thrumming in your chest, spreading to your limbs, alight with something wild and teeming as you drove past rows of lighted windows—vignettes of tired routine—and stopped at the same red sign you did this morning. Your fingers twitched over the turn signal leaver — an impulse to flick up, to turn right, to settle into the familiar rhythm of your muscle memory. This time you pressed down, pressed your foot to the gas, and cranked the wheel left.

Cruising boldly down the straight and narrow road, fields and farmland faded in your rearview mirror and soon there were trees on the horizon; dense and dark. Gripping the wheel as the silhouette closed in, the corners of your mouth drew upward, pulled by a wild, awakened force. Headlights illuminated pale, naked limbs. Eyes beamed back at you from the shadows. You cranked the volume on your stereo, and as you braced for your first bend, something deep within you—dormant and restless—howled.

______

The water was so cold it burned. Eddie cursed the old plumbing, instantly regretting having the decency to wash his hands in the first place. Soap just barely rinsed, he twisted the lime-scaled handles and shut it off. With a trembling hand, he grabbed one of the last paper towels. Gareth’s kick drum echoed down the narrow hallway, thundering just like his chest. He glanced at his watch again. 7:56. 

Eddie took a ragged breath, chucking the crumpled paper at the overflowing trash bin in the corner. It bounced dejectedly off the wall and onto the dirty tile. With a deadpan glare, he left it where it lay. Hands barely dry, he felt for the flask in his pocket. Screwing the tiny cap and flicking it open, he tipped it back. Eddie welcomed the burn. It chased down his throat and settled in his stomach with a warmth that radiated, instantly numbing his nerves.

Meeting his own eyes in the tiny, smudged mirror, he gave himself a final glance over. His curls were holding; fresh and clean from this morning, fluffed by the icy wind in the trips from van to stage. 

Here, in the dingy confines of The Hideout, words like freak and loser lost their stick. Words he could shake like a dog at the door. He’d fashioned them like armor in the daytime; a shield in hallways and in lunch lines. What was stickier were feelings. The feelings that came with chewed pens and answers left blank. The feeling of lectures slipping like a sieve through his brain. The feeling of stares and stifled laughter, of staring numbly at the board, of filling the silence with bullshit instead of an answer. 

Microphone feedback squeaked outside. The dull, heavy walk of a bassline. Laughter. Cymbals. That kick drum again. Eddie took another swig, searing the flutters in his stomach.

He wanted to be good for you. Seen under stage lights instead of fluorescents. 

Good like an answer he knew.

-

You saw the sign first, peeking from behind the trees — simple, effective, and yellowed with time. The Hideout: a hole in the woods. Tucked around the bend you now braced against, it sat like a neon beacon. The chipped, grey exterior faded into the shadows, leaving only the holy glow of Budweiser and Miller Lite signs to guide you to the promised land. 

Pulling into a spot along the narrow parking strip, you faced off with your destination. Looming and real. Frozen as reality stared back at you in the glare of your blinding headlights, you gripped the steering wheel and looked around. There were a few other cars beside you, but none of them Janet’s. Around the left of the building there appeared to be more parking, and the stout silhouette of a two-tone van you did know the owner of. Pinballs hammered in your chest. 

When you arrange a time to meet someone, you are always punctual. Perhaps a life organized by bells on timers trained you to be this way, but the thought of entering alone filled you with dread, and part of you wondered whether you should wait out here for her. Your hands were starting to shake, and not from the cold. 

The list of crazy things you had done in your life was a laughably short one, but this made the top by a long shot. As you turned the radio down and sat in the wake of your rumbling engine, the questions grew louder. Serious questions about where you thought this night would go, about where you wanted it to go and if you would truly go there. 

Suddenly your headlights felt too bright, like a beacon drawing eyes from the woods, or even more terrifying, eyes from the building. You promptly flicked them off and waited, staring dead ahead at the chipped grey siding. It was fine. You were fine. At least you could no longer see your breath. You could hide here as long as you wanted. 

-

“Alright man, it’s doob o’clock,” Dave said with a satisfied stretch as he took in the stage setup.

Eddie ripped another frantically scribbled setlist out of his spiral notebook and shoved it at him. “No it’s eight fifteen and we still need to do soundcheck,” Eddie scathed, glancing at the door. “You can start by plugging your mic in, Jesus Christ.”

Dave huffed annoyedly through his nose, squatting down to find the cord with exaggerated difficulty. “Yes sir,” he mocked. Eddie shot back a testing glare. “Dude, what’s up with you tonight? You’ve been on one since Gareth’s.”

“Yeah, you ok man?” asked Jeff.

The knots tightened in his stomach as the attention of all three of them closed in around him. “Just—let’s just get our shit together…please,” he deflected.

-

Glancing around frantically, you wondered, for the hundredth time, where the hell Janet was. You couldn’t be that surprised that a woman with two small children was late, but your exhaust was making a smokescreen of the parking strip, and you wondered if anyone inside had noticed, if anyone could hear the low rumble of your engine and questioned why this strange woman was idling. With an irritated sigh, you turned the key, leaving you in deafening silence and leeching cold. You could hear your breathing now, your pounding heart, the squeaking of leather as you shifted in your seat. What one of the kids got sick? What if she called after you left? 

What if she isn’t coming?

Eddie’s eyes lingered at the door as he clicked the pedals with his feet, plucking a soft, testing melody into the mic. His watch glared under the stage lights, confidence fleeting with every minute that ticked by. Gareth snapped his foot petal with a deep thud. Dave walked out a bassline before squealing feedback made the whole bar flinch.

The strum of a chord made you jump. Booming and electric, you heard it through the walls. They were starting. They were starting and you weren’t there. Gripping the steering wheel, you tossed your head back in an anguished sigh. You sure as hell weren’t going to stand him up. As you glanced around the parking lot one last desperate time, the bitter conclusion rose like bile — you may have to do this alone. Seatbelt clicking under your gloved thumb, you steeled yourself for the cold, for the eyes of strangers in a strange new place. With a decided pull of the handle, the door opened to the frigid night air, and you emerged from the heat into the unknown. 

You met your reflection in the glass of the entrance as your hand gripped the weathered knob. Pinballs fired off at lightning speed — a jackpot multi-ball bonanza. Checking your hair one last time with eyes locked on your own, you turned the handle with a determined sigh.

A bell dinged above your head, and winter’s chill gusted in on your heels.

The whole room turned at once — at you. You, from the front of the classroom. You, from behind the big desk. You, in the doorway of The Hideout. Across a dark sea of scattered tables, poised on an altar of sound and light, Eddie Munson smiled at you — brighter than all of it. 

The door fell shut behind you. Hot under the gaze of what seemed like the entire bar, it suddenly felt like you were the one on stage. Standing there like a deer in headlights in your long wool coat and clean black boots, you surely must have looked as out of place as you felt. Shoulders rolling back to counter your thrumming nerves, your boots left the rug and found the tacky linoleum as you approached the bar that lined the left wall. 

Eddie busied his shaking hands with tapping another test melody into his mic, pausing when he heard a voice over his right shoulder. 

“Is that…?” Jeff pointed toward the back of your head.

Gareth’s eyes lit up in recognition. Dave peered over with a shit-eating grin. “Did you invite her?” he mouthed.

Eddie’s face betrayed him, burning like it did under the fluorescents. Burning to greet you at the bar, for the liberty to patronize it, to offer you something more than his aching gaze. 

“No,” Eddie lied, “but I may have told her we play here on Tuesdays.” He struck the strings with the weight of his frustration, drowning out any further questions with the opening chords to the first song on the setlist. The others took their cue with chuckles and shaking heads. Heart pounding like the kick drum behind him, Eddie’s fingers found the frets, tugging a muscle memory from deep within as his eyes stayed fixed on you. 

There was an older man in a sweatshirt behind the bar. The owner, you figured, by the way he was standing — arms crossed, stance wide, unafraid to take up space. By the way he was looking at you, like he wondered what would drive a new face to his establishment on a random Tuesday night in December. From the glances the others passed between them, the feeling seemed unanimous. 

“How can I help you?” he half shouted against the chugging chords, leaning against the bar with a curious smile.

You braced with your brightest grin, placing your gloved hands down flat on the waxy bar. “Hi! Yes—um,” you scanned the selection under the neon lights, the liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes reflected in the dirty mirror behind them. The bar back was tightly cluttered with old stickers and hand-written notes taped behind the cash register, with half-empty bottles of bitters and bobble heads nodding to the palpable vibration. Having no interest in standing there awkwardly while he fixed you a cocktail, you selected a bottle of Coors. 

He nodded and ducked to open the steel, magnet-plastered fridge beneath the cash register. 

Your gaze, like a magnet, drew back to the stage. It was all you could do just to watch him — the way his curls fell gently at his cheek, the way they bounced with every strum. There was a tension lingering just under the curve of his lashes. The music was fast and loud, purely instrumental. You recognized nothing about it but the genre. Head dipped in concentration as his left hand tapped a frantic melody into the frets, he raised his eyes bravely to meet yours.

He wasn’t the only man staring. It was hard to ignore; the man in the baseball cap to your right as you stared right through his line of sight. You pinched off your gloves and shoved them in your pockets to occupy your hands.

A bottle cap plinked against the bar top. “Two bucks,” the owner stated, slinging a towel over his shoulder. 

You fished through your purse, feeling those eyes on you as you opened your wallet, as you slid the bills right under his gaze across the waxy counter. You snatched the cold bottle and raised it to your lips. Turning over your shoulder, your eyes clung to Eddie on stage, to his tendons as they flexed to pick a rhythm at the strings. His was gaze a soft and yearning thing, a contrast to the sharp and punchy chords that left his fingers. 

“You know these guys?” the man in the cap asked finally, pointing to the stage. Your eyes shot toward him in surprise, lips still pursed at the bottle. He had that working man sort of look. Average features, subtle crows feet, a whisper of sandy stubble across his strong jaw. His grey-blue eyes were gentle, but brimming with a heated curiosity.

You used the much needed swig to buy yourself a second. Did you? The cold, bready fizz sparkled down your throat. You supposed you didn’t have to specify how you were acquainted. “Yeah,” you answered simply, plugging your mouth with the bottle like a dam.

A bell rattled behind you. Grateful for any disruption, you whipped around quickly to break the connection. Janet lit up as soon as she saw you, a mixture of relief and apology playing out on her face as she strode across the room. Tight blonde curls emerged from her lowering leopard print hood. “Oh my god I’m so sorry,” she lamented, arms opening to embrace you. 

Relief washed through you like a warm buzz. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it!” you said as your nose took a dive in her soft, perfumed curls. 

“Sarah would not stop crying, it took forever for me to finally get her to sleep. I swear babies have a sixth sense, they always know when you have fun plans,” she said through a laugh. Her lashes were long and thick with mascara, eyeshadow a solid sky blue so vibrant that it popped even in the dim neon glow. 

Janet ordered a margarita. There was nothing new to speak of, really, over the electric roar of the band, but you tried to listen. Intently, you tried to listen to the new words her son was saying, to offer some lukewarm update about how work was going, but your eyes had their own agenda.

The rolled cuffs of Eddie’s tight, acid-washed jeans bunched against the pull tabs of his boots as he tapped the rhythm with his heel. There was no jacket for him to strain against, no flannel to constrict him, no sleeves on his T-shirt in December. It was more than you’d seen of him yet. Ink flexed with each generous swell of his bicep, and with every attack, he would flash you his ribs through the hand-hacked holes. 

“Mmm,” Janet mumbled, sipping off the top of the very full, salt-rimmed rocks glass. “Come on, let’s get cozy,” she said with a wink and gestured toward the tables. The air was thick with smoke wafting from the bikers at the bar. Eddie tapped out another lick and peered through a few stray curls as you followed her across the room to a high top, back and center.

You wanted to be closer. Close enough to see the umber of his eyes, the ridges of his knuckles as they plucked the strings. There were a few shorter tables down in front, back about five feet from the stage. But as the beams of light bounced off the glossy wood and over the seats in blinding white, you were grateful for the shadows ten feet would afford you. 

Janet stripped off her coat to reveal a tight black dress with long sleeves and sequined, padded shoulders. It hugged just above the knees of her sheer hose, punctuated with sharp ankle boots. 

“Look at you all dressed up! You look stunning.” You meant it, she really did.

Janet’s smile was a shy deflection, but hiding just beneath it, a glimmer of belief. “Thanks, this thing’s been sitting in my closet for like a year now. Can you believe it? I just felt like, you know, if I’m going out I’m gonna dress up goddamn it,” she laughed, punctuating with a slap against the table. “We coulda gone to Benny’s, I still woulda worn it.”

You laughed, for the first time since you’d talked to her that morning. Unbuttoning your coat, you let it drape over the metal back of the stool behind you. 

“You’re not looking too shabby yourself,” Janet said with a wink before taking a sip.

“Honestly I’ll take any excuse I can get to dress down,” you said with a sheepish huff, propping your elbows on the sticky table before bringing the bottle to your lips. 

A nervous crackle wound its way through Eddie’s stomach at the vision of you. You, perched on a stool in a dive bar. You, in jeans and a t-shirt. You, arching forward just enough to grace him with a sliver of your back. It was real — you, here.  He soured a note, and those words he shook off came creeping back in as he fumbled through the next lick. But you didn’t seem to notice. You propped your cheek against your knuckles and let the warmth of your eyes usher his doubts away. 

When the song came to a ringing conclusion, Janet’s cheer was uninhibited, clapping her hands above her head. It drew eyes from the couple seated at one of the lower tables, from the bikers at the bar, from the band. Your applause was more demure, but you couldn’t mask the brilliance of your smile. 

“Thank you, thank you,” Eddie said into the microphone. “Looks like we really have a crowd tonight. Seven drunks.”

The room erupted with hollers and cheers. 

The bassist muttered something to the other guitarist and the two shared a laugh, casting their eyes towards you. Suddenly your face grew very hot. Of course they recognized you, Jeff was in your second period class. You anticipated this, and yet it was the realness of it all that shook you — the hard stool beneath you, the stares you could feel as your finger idly traced the cold condensation on the glass. Pinballs fired off at rapid speed. You drowned them with a tip of the bottle. 

Eddie shifted, clicking the pedals with his foot. “Ok, so this next one is uh, definitely not an original.” He breathed a laugh into the microphone, glancing up at you — at your shoulders, hunched in shy defense, at your worried brow and downcast gaze. He wished he could reach across the room, lift your chin with his words and draw you from your shell. “Anyway, you’ll uh, probably recognize this one,” he said, to you.

Eddie nodded to the band, counting off silently before they struck a chord together — a low, droning thing, gritty and slow as the bass walked steadily over the foundation. Eddie swayed back and forth, rocking in time with the beat like a march, resting his heavy-lidded gaze on you. Across the divide of scattered seats, you — at the small table, saw him — on the big stage. His nimble fingers struck the chords with an ardent conviction, and the ice in you began to thaw. 

Suddenly the beat changed pace. Gareth smacked his drum sticks together to count off, and the first two chords sparked instant recognition. A smile rose up in you — a wild and thrumming thing, radiant and rising until it cracked through. 

You knew what was coming. Two chords, quiet taps for a count of sixteen, and then those two chords again, like a one-two punch, booming and building with anticipation. Again, and again, as the energy rose in the room. You caught the wicked glint in his eyes as his hands—those hands that fidgeted and fumbled with dog-eared pages and chewed up pens—wielded power. A surge of electricity swirled through your stomach, crackled because you knew what was next. 

Eddie took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. 

Generals gathered in their masses

Colors. Warm and bright, tingling like a shockwave from your chest down to your seat. 

Just like witches at black masses

In your secret daydreams, you often wondered what his voice sounded like in song. 

Evil minds that plot destruction

Tried to guess from his deep hums and brilliant laughter.

Sorcerers of death’s construction

Now, it suspended in the air like a battle cry, reaching out across the chasm of tables and chairs.

In the fields the bodies burning

Surging like a wildfire.

As the war machine keeps turning

Swirling through the darkness like a strange magic.

Death and hatred to mankind

Reaching out like it wanted to touch you. 

Poisoning their brainwashed minds

And so you let it.

Oh lord, yeah!

The music rocked and swelled. Like a balm reverberating through the air, it softened the hunch of your shoulders. Like an antidote, it dissolved the knot in your stomach. Like an arrow, it pierced the shell of you. 

Janet took a generous sip of her margarita and bobbed her head to the rhythm. You caught her gaze from across the table and shared a laugh, a mutual knowing through squinted eyes and shaking heads that this was, in fact, a Tuesday night in December, and the two of you were here.

As the cold drink warmed your limbs, you became acquainted with the hard curve of the stool beneath you, with the of rings left behind on the glossy table, with the crowded ashtray. Acquainted with the smoke that wafted through the air and the darkness that enveloped you like a blanket. The music settled over the room, and as you settled into that heavy buzz, you started to get the feeling you might actually enjoy yourself tonight.

Janet needed no convincing. Her first margarita went down easy, leaving nothing but the ice and her hot pink lipstick on the rim before they finished their fourth song. When she returned from the bar with one in each hand, she placed the extra in front of you. Her treat, convinced they were better than Pal Joey’s, insisting that you try it even with a few sips still lingering in your bottle. 

It surprised you — the balance of lime, and liquor, and something else you couldn’t quite place. It surprised you how it easy it melted the tension in your stomach, how it encouraged you to lean in a little more, to let your shoulders drop.

Eddie noticed it, peeking out from under the coyly dipping collar of your shirt; bare and soft as you leaned against the table — your shoulder. He missed a note. Cursing silently, he glanced down at his fingers and tapped into that deep, subconscious part of his brain again where they knew just where to go. But when he closed his eyes to find it, the image remained painted to his lids — a ripened fruit, tempting but too far to taste. Across it, a stripe of black hazard tape, a trail he itched to follow. 

There was a hunger in you, stirring more with every song, with every decadent flash of his pale ribs. He was good. Stadium good. Those nimble fingers tapped the frets, making them sing in a way that made you wish you were wire and wood, looking at you in a way that made you think he wished the same. He stroked the neck of his instrument with a reverent touch, attacked the strings with a holy power, like a wingless angel with a spotlight halo. You whispered a silent prayer, venerating him from your faraway pew in the only way you could — with your eyes.

The animal stirred in its icy den, roused by the warmth of his voice as it stretched across the bar. It stirred in that place you rarely acknowledged, rarely indulged as you considered what other talents his hands might have. You considered the shades of those sighs and swallows he took before painting the air, considered what they might sound like if he showed you. It settled and throbbed in that low, blooming place, and you smothered the feeling with a cross of your legs.

Busying yourself with what remained of your beer, you shifted your shoulders to face him directly, leaning your free arm against the metal back of the stool with an ease that Eddie considered looked almost as good on you as the shirt did. Your lips lingered on the rim of the bottle before parting with a soft pop. He swallowed.

There was a gap between you; a sea of scattered tables and wide open ears and eyes amongst them. What could he possibly say from his position? From a microphone on stage? A thousand words ached on the tip of his tongue and he swallowed them with a sloppy chug of water as the applause bought him a moment to consider. 

The white lettering across your chest jumped out at him from the shadows like a bright idea. Eddie swiped droplets from his mouth and turned to his bandmates, bringing them into a huddle as the noise drowned out what he was saying. Whatever it was, after some deliberation, they seemed in agreement about it.

You hadn’t seen Janet like this since the summer between your junior and senior year of college. She was always a happy drunk; talkative and bubbly, spilling over with laughter and the sort of wild enthusiasm that a child at a carnival might have.

“I wanna dance,” she said longingly, glancing toward the stage as she slumped in her seat. 

“Maybe we can go to a club next time,” you joked as you downed the remainder of your sweating drink.

The band assumed their positions again. Eddie tapped the pedals with his feet and rolled his shoulders back with a deep, collecting breath. His eyes found yours across the room, brimming with such a longing you wondered anyone else could sense it too. After the longest second, he snapped his head over his shoulder with a steely conviction and nodded off a count before making his attack — the opening riff to Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”. 

Your hands shot to your face.

Suddenly Janet perked up, inspired by the catchy rhythm and her own suggestion. “We should dance! Will you dance with me?”

You balked, shrinking down. “There’s like… six people here! I don’t think it’s really that kind of—”

“Oh come on, please? What’s there to lose, huh?”

Oh, only my last remaining shred of dignity in front of my students. But you couldn’t say that. “Janet,” you hissed. “We are not—I can’t—”

Her three margaritas had a different opinion. They reached across the table and grabbed your hand. “Come on, live a little! That’s what we came here to do, right?” 

You buried your face in your other. The truth was you wanted to. You wanted a closeup of that smart smirk, of the sweat beading down his temple as he strummed the punchy chords he hand-picked just for you. You wanted the fantasy, the memory, the experience. It was convincing — her pouting pink lips and pleading eyes, almost as convincing as the tequila coursing through your veins. The truth was you left your better judgement at home on the coffee table. To her giddy satisfaction, you surrendered. Dragging you from your seat, she led you to the front of the stage.

Eddie’s smile could have blinded you, even through the shy web of your fingers. Cheers erupted from the bar, from the whole band, as Janet shimmied her sequined shoulders to the beat.

Eddie opened his mouth again, this time with an ardor you could feel in your bones.

You need cooling, baby I’m not fooling

He crouched down to level with your eyes. I’m gonna send ya back to schooling

You lowered your hand to mask the girlish grin that cracked across your face.

Way down inside, honey you need it

They were breathtaking up close — his eyes. Sparkling with an energy you’d never seen before. Rich umber alight with something you couldn’t quite place, too mesmerized by the promise his tongue wove through the air.

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you my love… oh!

He straightened with a backward toss of his head, and you found the word you were looking for in the droplets that flung from his curls. Power. 

Wanna whole lotta love?

Wanna whole lotta love?

Janet—having an absolute field day over the spectacle—offered you her hand like she wanted to tango. Freeing your face with a brave sigh, you accepted with a slap of your palm in hers. She tugged with a childish delight, and you took your cue — spinning into her waiting arm and shooting back out with a flourish dredged up from some long forgotten place. The room became a blur of sound and light, of cheers from the bar and the stage. You stilled to find your footing, landing on his eyes. 

You’ve been learning, and baby I’ve been yearning

He dipped down again. All them good times baby, baby, I’ve been lear-er-nin’, he punctuated with a shake of his head. He could see the whole vision of you, bright and clear under the stage lights. A wildness lingering just behind your eyes, a fragment unseen until now. It pounded at the cage of your chest, rose up in the shallow breaths you caught before Janet snatched you away again. He swore—silently on a deep inhale—that he would do everything in his power to coax it out of you.

Way, way down inside, oh honey you need it

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you my love

You couldn’t remember the last time you really danced. The last time you felt a rhythm with your body and followed its blind inspiration. No rhyme or reason, no plans or choreography. It felt awkward at first, like trying on skin fresh from the wash. Feeling your feet shuffle against the tacky linoleum, finding the rhythm of yourself with a room full of strangers as witness.

Somewhere between the beams of light and the wink of Eddie’s rings beneath them, you found it. Like a memory rising up, sweeping through you like a current. Visions of a stadium, roaring as a lion struts the stage with his golden mane, as he commands a sea of thousands with his voice. There was an animal in you too, wild and careless. 

It grew wilder when the music dropped to nothing but percussion. When the room fell away to nothing but the heat from Eddie’s eyes, sparkling with play. It made your hips want to sway a little more, your legs want to dip a little deeper to match his wildness with your own. Imbued with a sudden, potent energy, he struck his wicked instrument as the rhythm and melody unraveled. 

Janet took it in stride, leading you in a rocking shimmy as you swayed to the change in tempo. Light danced on her sequined shoulders as she tipped her head back in a blissful cackle. You followed her lead, eyes fixed on her with a surging power in the knowing of whose eyes were fixed on you.

The air was a cool kiss against the sliver of skin where your shirt left off, daring you to show a little more. With a twist of your arms toward the spotlights, you blessed him with the dip of your back — the alluring shadow of your spine that trailed into the high waist of your jeans. He panged with the urge to follow it, fell to his knees and wailed through his fingertips.  

You broke from Janet’s pull to face him, eye-to-eye level, watching reverently as the sweat glistened in his clavicles, as his pelvis jutted into his weapon to eke out his solo. Howling for you with each stroke of its neck, each bend in its strings as you matched his rhythm with your hips. A secret world, just you and him, the rest fading out into nothing. He swore, like a spell in each note that he wove through the air, that somehow he would make it last.

From his knees, Eddie grabbed the mic off the stand, and with a wordless nod earned by years of friendship, Jeff took over the melody. To the delight of the crowd, he stripped himself of the weight of his instrument, setting it carefully off to the side. 

You’ve been cooling, baby, I’ve been drooling, he crooned as he crawled forward.

All the good times, baby, I’ve been misusing

You played with him there. With your shoulders, with your eyes locked no more than a foot from his. Desperate to touch him, you worshiped every bead of sweat that fell from his temple, every wet curl that strayed from the nape of his neck and hugged the strong angle of his jaw. What left his lips next dripped with such fervent intention you that you couldn’t keep your hand from your face.

Way, way down inside

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you every inch of my love

I’m gonna give you my love

He was pure energy; raw and manic. Free in the way that wild things are. He snatched your breath away, dragged it to his den and had his way with it as he queried the chorus to you. There was wildness all around; in glinting sequins and megawatt smiles. In the flashes of limbs under the lights. In the rhythm you carried with your whole body now, moving in a way that was both so foreign and natural all at once. 

You wondered how it looked from the outside; you and him. From the bar it might have looked like drunk spontaneity. From the stage it might have looked like a stint of support for the arts. You wondered, with a twinge of fear, if the others could feel the longing too or if you had masked it well enough as a performance. 

The music dropped out to make way for the final lyrics.

Way down inside, he belted into the silence, punctuating with a deep inhale. Woman, he shouted, locking eyes with you for a pregnant second as the world came to a halt, you need… he drew a deep breath in the space the two chords allowed him before wailing the final word at the ceiling — loooooooove!

You felt it with every cell of your body in one suspended moment. Felt—for the first time since you could vividly remember—truly and completely alive. With a crash of cymbals and an electric instrumental boom, the rhythm—and the world—reconstituted around you, swirling with a vibrant energy that swept you away.

His dark eyes opened with a wicked glint, and his next breath left his chest as a command. 

Shake for me, girl. I wanna be your backdoor man!

You obeyed with a shimmy of your shoulders and the room went wild. 

______

Janet left you with a tight, perfumed hug. A gentle reassurance that yes, she was fine to drive home. She left you in the vacuum of slamming guitar cases and distant voices as the jukebox picked up where the band left off. Left you to sober up to how idle and awkward you felt sitting at the table you once shared with her, picking at the peeling label on the wet, empty bottle.

When you heard footsteps approaching, a part of you was grateful for the prospect of someone—anyone—to talk to, though it wasn’t who you hoped. Instead, it was the man in the cap from the bar.

“Hey, love the shirt,” he remarked, glance lingering a little too long over the text across your chest.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, gaze drifting back to the bottle.

He stepped closer, setting his can on the table. “I take it you went to that concert?” 

“I did, it was really last minute actually.” You told him the story. You told him with your words and gestures, twisting in the tall stool to face him, but it was Eddie that drew your eyes. Crouched down with one knee bent beneath him and the other straining against denim slits, he collected his pedals into a tiny, vintage suitcase. There were words coming out of your mouth, but faced with the rigid angles of his thighs, you were helpless but to stumble over some of them.

It was then that you noticed he had already been staring, though not at you, at Bill — with a simmer behind his eyes.

“Man, I woulda killed to go to that show. I was working a double when tickets went on sale and a buddy of mine said he was gonna camp overnight for us. Well, he ended up getting into a fight with his girlfriend and flaked out. ‘Course they were sold out and closed by the time I left work.”

You expressed your genuine sympathy.  

“Boy I was pissed at him then, but even more pissed after Bonham died. Like damn, that was my last shot, man!”

“I’m sorry you had to miss it. It was quite the show.” You told him what you could remember. The setlist, the stage, what they wore.

Eddie watched closely, carefully darting between you amidst the gathering of cables and closing of metal latches. He watched your hands come to life like he loved so much, like you always did when you were explaining something with fond enthusiasm. Helplessly, he watched the way Bill leaned closer, the way his hand and forearm made themselves at home on your table. The simmer hissed and bubbled behind his eyes.

“Anyways, it’s good to see such a lovely new face around here. One with great taste, I might add. Made my night.”

The simmer kicked up to a full, licking flame. 

“Oh, well thanks. I don’t get out much,” you said with an awkward chuckle.

Bill stepped closer, as if his next point was something he had to lean in for. “By the way, and I hope this isn’t too forward, but… you’re a great dancer.”

Eddie watched your hand dive behind your neck, your face contort into a feeble smile, your shoulders hunch, your eyes glance down. He could hear the distress in your beautiful laugh and he boiled so hot he could have seared a hole into the back of Bill’s head.

He extended his hand. “I’m Bill, by the way.” 

Eddie wrapped the cable in hasty circles around his forearm. Heat rose behind behind his tight lips and exited in short fumes.

“Hey man, have you seen the drum key anywhere?” Gareth called from behind him.

It barely registered. The world was a fragment now. A red-hot, narrowing tunnel reduced to a singularity — Bill’s hand. 

Bill’s hand; hovering like a salacious invitation, too close to the soft swell of your belly. That open, rugged palm — weathered, experienced, and free. Free to reach into his wallet, to reach across the bar, to hand you a drink, to wander all sorts of places where Eddie could not.

You, ever polite and always accommodating, reached back.

He touched you. 

Eddie’s vision narrowed red. Helplessly, he watched Bill’s fingers snake around the back of your hand and squeeze, linger at your palm as they released. A coil wound through his body. It rose up like bile — up through his spine, into his shoulders that rolled forward and back with a deep, seething breath. Up, up, into that primitive space at the base of his skull where words and civil manners had no place.

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

Eddie dropped the cable. 

The world blurred in the wake of his target and in five swift steps he was at your side. “Hey, Bill. Uh—” his senses ebbed back to him with a curious look from the man he’d shared countless drinks with. A man he would call his friend had he not breeched a sacred distance, a contract he knew nothing of. His vision was clouded, the coil tight and hot. 

“She’s um,” he continued quietly, a murmur he had to lean in for. An urge seized his hand. The urge to claim, to slip across the divot of your back and pull you close where you belonged, to but the noise from the stage and the eyes that followed forced his hand deep into his pocket. He swallowed his frustration, hoping the simmer in his eyes would be enough to convey what he meant. “She’s with me, man.” 

A throb from that low, blooming place, rose up in a full body yes. In the arch of your back, in the dip of your eyes as you caught the desperate heat from his. 

Bill blinked in honest surprise. “Wait, you mean,” he pointed between the two of you, eyes darting back and forth with a confusion that only deepened the insecurity of everyone involved, “you’re—”

“Yes,” Eddie hotly interrupted. The coil in him released slightly, a low rumble replaced by a surge that settled in his cheeks at the trembling, nervous laughter in your voice. 

Flutters roared through you all at once, spinning the room well beyond the scope of the liquor that lingered in your veins, heightening your senses to the warmth radiating from the aching nearness of his body to yours.

“Well, hey man, we were just talking—”

“Yeah—well,” he glanced at you, an apology playing out in the widening of his eyes as the coil cooled to sobering embarrassment. He wished he could bury himself, open a trapdoor and take you with him. A parade of stomping feet and slamming cases trudged on behind him from the stage. He prayed the din was enough to mask the conversation. 

“It’s ok!” you nervously exclaimed to both of them. “Really. Besides, I—I need to sober up anyway before I go home, so… it’s really ok,” you soothed to Eddie specifically. 

Eddie’s pulse thrummed in his hears, his body a livewire of stress and embarrassment. “Ok. Well, I just, um… thought I’d let you know,” he concluded to Bill, desperate to string together some semblance of dignity. He dipped his head toward you until his voice hummed lowly in your hear. “It’ll just be a few more minutes. I gotta get the rest of this shit cleaned up, and then we can, um—” his eyes darted back and forth between yours in wordless exasperation.

“Yeah,” your body whispered, overriding any protest of your noble mind. To what you were agreeing to was unimportant. Whatever he wanted.

Eddie nodded and pivoted toward the stage in a swift exit.

In the wake of his absence was an awkward pause, a space Bill was quick to fill with words. “Well, um, it was nice to meet you,” he said with an awkward dip of his head. 

“Yeah, you as well,” you said, a feeble anchor to the spinning room. Bill’s gaze hesitated with a flash of disappointment before returning to the bar. It was all you could do to just stand there a moment, heart pounding in stunned realization as the space whirled with the clammer of footsteps, the thud of equipment, the clinking of glasses. Suddenly the weight of your aloneness in the middle of it all was crushing. You retreated to the down the short hallway and ducked into the bathroom.

She’s with me.

She’s with me.

She’s with me.

In the muffled quiet of the dimly lit reprieve, the words echoed louder than ever. You were almost afraid to check your reflection, to look yourself in the eyes and face the person who ached to hear them repeated, but you did, and she surprised you. Something about the way your lipstick feathered clean in the center from the kiss of the bottle, the way your mascara settled at your lower lashes in the delicate lines beneath. It was oddly flattering, like the shadow of a good time. 

You liked who you saw, and perhaps that scared you most. 

Jeff’s laughter echoed down the hallway and the pinball trigger snapped again. What the fuck am I doing?

You would ask yourself this question as you pressed the tip of your boot to the dirty toilet handle, as the cold water woke your skin, as it dripped onto the salt-stained tile, as you dropped the soggy remains of the last two paper towels into the overflowing trashcan. 

When the clammer of footsteps and slamming of the back door faded to nothing more than distant murmurs from the bar, you slowly cracked the door and peered into the empty hallway. Your boots clicked tentatively against the tacky linoleum, emerging from the shadows as you drew a steady breath. The stage was dark, the men perched on stools had their backs to you, all roaming eyes cast down over drinks — all except one.

Eddie stood in the middle of it all; hands on hips, damp curls clinging to his neck, chest still heaving from movement and stress. He locked eyes with you, and you could feel relief in his sigh from the apron of the hallway.

Your smile was a shy, timid thing, blooming to a helpless grin as the softness of his features heightened into focus with each progressive step. As the distance between you closed to less than a foot.

“Hey,” he breathed like a soft apology.

“Hey,” you answered, like you always did. A nervous crackle of anticipation wound through your gut.

“I um,” Eddie wrung a hand behind his neck, flashing a dark tuft of hair that made the animal in you stir. “I need to cool down,” he admitted with a raw, candid urgency. He patted his pockets. “I’m gonna step out for a cigarette… if you… wanna…” he nodded toward the back hall. 

Yes. Anything, the animal growled. You simply nodded and went to grab your coat. 

Eddie snatched the heap of leather from the railing by the stage and draped it over his arm. He ushered you forward with a sweep of his palm through the air, catching your eyes with a softness that threatened the strength of your knees. A giggle escaped you — honest, uncontrollable, automatic. Clutching your arm with a coyness that surprised even yourself, you shuffled in front of him, the towering presence of his closeness like a tingle at your back, a safety in the thud of heavy boots behind you. 

The night air was a cold refreshment, a sobering reprieve from the hot, smoke-dense air of The Hideout. Your lungs helped themselves, filling to the brim, releasing just a little of the tension that was mounting before you arrived. It left you in a thick fog, drifting out into the empty patio, catching the glow from the singular bulb posted by the door. Eddie pulled it shut with a soft thud and shrugged on his coat in a rattle of zippers and chains.

Silence. A howl of the wind through naked limbs. A sigh that left both of you at once. 

Eddie dipped his head in subtle reverence as he crossed in front of you, placing his hands on the short, wooden fence to your right. He paused a second, drawing a deep breath before spinning around to face you, hands splayed in an open plead. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Your mouth hung open. “A-about what?”

He ran a hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. “About Bill, about how I acted, a-about…” he swallowed, “what I said…”

An O trembled on your lips but never made it out. “It’s fine, really—”

“It’s…it’s not. It’s just that,” he huffed, “Bill was hitting on you a-and you just looked so uncomfortable and…” it drove him fucking crazy. It lit his blood on fire. It made him want to grab a man who’d bought him countless drinks by the collar and ram him into the wall. 

You stepped closer, close enough to see the whites of his eyes in the darkness, the shadow of his pinching brow. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t stir something in you. Hearing those words. Hearing the ones he said now in profuse apology. “Eddie,” you soothed.

He closed his eyes; a split-second relish of his name on your lips. “It—” he sighed. “It wasn’t cool, to say that…” he shook his head before meeting your eyes in soft earnestness, “in public.”

The breath froze in your lungs. Out here the world fell away to the rustle of trees, to a darkness that cloaked you like a blanket. You were alone. Truly alone. A question tugged at your heart, twinged on the tip of your tongue but felt still too bold to leave it. What would he say, then, in private? 

It played out like a tape behind his eyes — the curl of Bill’s fingers around your hand. It was such a simple gesture, benign outside of context. Yet there was something deeper, something that wound like a serpent through his gut. It struck, and stung, that in one fell swoop, Bill had touched as much of you as he had. That Bill could do as much in public as he could only manage beneath a shadow. 

“Anyway, now that… that’s out of the way,” Eddie shook his head as he fumbled with the zipper of his pocket, curls feathering his delicate cheekbone, gaze cast down in weakly hidden shame. He procured a box of cigarettes, thumb flipping it open with an ease earned by years of habit. Popping one into his mouth, he paused before snapping it shut. “Y-you want one?” he mumbled. It seemed rude not to ask, but the question felt dumber by the second as it hung in the air. You were good. Good like 6 AM coffee, like the early morning sun. Good like the buttons on a crisp, white blouse. Yet here he stood, hand extended, offering what little he could — an experience.

Goodness was a mantle. A weight that kept your shoulders back, your lips pressed tight, your head cast down, your feet in slippers, your curtains drawn. Eddie Munson stood beside you, rugged and regal like a dark knight, arm outstretched in humble offering. With hesitance, you eyed the invitation. 

Out here you could be anything — a vagabond, a runaway, a princess escaped from her castle. A woman who spends Tuesday nights at dive bars and smokes cigarettes with men in leather jackets. Anything you wanted. 

You wanted to taste it. You wanted the flame, and the smoke, and the raw, ragged air that wound through your lungs and left like a beacon that soared toward the sky.

You wanted to be bad for him, and so you accepted.

The cigarette almost dropped from Eddie’s mouth in shock. He fumbled another from the box before tucking it into his back pocket. With a flourish, bending in its presentation as if it were a single rose, he offered it to you. 

Never in a million years could you have imagined it. You, in a position like this. Him, in a position like that. Least of all that it would be so wildly romantic.

You accepted with the tips of your fingers, your index and middle, brushing ridges of his knuckles with feather-light indulgence. They closed around the offering, pausing for an aching second before drawing away with it. 

Eddie closed his eyes, so quickly he could have masked it as a blink, but you caught it. The sigh, the swallow, the batting open with a burning hunger as he relished in the barest fulfillment of what he’d been craving since he saw you this morning — to touch you.

The cold nipped at your knuckles as you took in the foreign sensation between them, admiring it like a sinful adornment under the moonlight.

With a flick of his thumb, the parentheses of his mouth lit up in a warm glow. He took a few quick puffs, smoke billowing from his nose and the corners of his lips before taking a long drag. Satisfaction exited his lungs in a deep sigh, a billow that rose toward the twinkling sky. He turned his attention back to you. “Here,” he offered gently, beckoning you closer with a gentle come hither motion, readying his lighter.

You held your hand out gingerly, willing the trembling of your fingers to cease with little success. 

Eddie closed in, bringing a finger to his lips as a gentle suggestion. “Put it in your mouth,” he said, unable to suppress the boyish grin that surfaced from the words. 

You did as he told you, held it in your smirk, searched for your next instruction in the depth of his eyes but found only delight. Delight in the whole sight of you; the way it dimpled the swell of your lips, in the attention of those dutiful shoulders, like you wanted to be good at misbehaving. Delight in the fact he was teaching you something.

Eddie leaned closer. “Like this,” he instructed softly, framing his own with his long, ruddy digits before taking a quick drag. Obediently, you mirrored him, like a natural smoker would, like they did in the movies and inside the bar. 

The flame ignited between you, flickering in the wild wind. Eddie cupped it with his other hand, forming a shield with the curve of his knuckles — gentle and protective. The fire caught the tip of the slender roll, but his palm was far more captivating. Inches from your face, you could study it closer than ever, plush and glowing — the broad heart line, the soft meat of its heel. 

A deep inhale had smoke ghosting over your tongue. Eddie pulled away to reveal the ember and you took your cue. The drag you took, long and determined, left you coughing. 

Eddie couldn’t suppress his chuckle, couldn’t mask the crinkle of his eyes as you—from behind the big desk and before the big board—were swallowed in a clumsy cloud of smoke.

“Are you laughing at me?” you asked through a giggle of your own.

Like oxygen to a flame, his laughter only brightened.  “I’m sorry, you’re just… so…”

“So…what?” You gave him a look, trying to suck your dignity back through the end of the cigarette. 

A million words ached on the tip of his tongue. The wind ripped across the small, frozen field, shyly disappearing in the treeline. Out here there were no bells, no footsteps, no concrete walls to listen. Eddie watched those fingers of yours pull away from your lips, blow a billow toward the open sky, and one in a million came tumbling out.

“Beautiful.” 

A puff retreated back through your lips, froze in your lungs. The truth hung like smoke in the cold night air, rolled around in your chest, warmed your body from head to toe. Eddie plugged his mouth with another draw to prevent more from slipping out. 

There was space for the truth out here. Space like a vacuum, vast and quiet. A shyly muttered “Thank you,” was all you could manage to fill it with.

Eddie raked his fingers through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, cheeks pinking visibly, even in the dim glow of the single light on the other side of the patio. He leaned against the fence and met your eyes again, nervous breath rolling over his plush lips.

His movement, like a magnet, drew your feet across the pavement. Deeper into the shadows with the gentle pull of his eyes. The tobacco settled in your body with a comfortable heaviness as you drank him in, and you suddenly grasped the appeal.

Out here he seemed even taller, shoulders stacked over slender hips as he leaned into the fence, an ease that washed over him with each generous draw, like the stress was rolling off into the shadows. Out here he took on a different posture, different than the one under fluorescent lights. Different than the one in the small chair next to you, the one with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

You tapped the ash of the cigarette off with your finger, like a natural smoker would. He smirked at the gesture, and you caught the twinge of pride in it this time. 

Out here he could be anything. He could be clever and daring; a roguish enchanter. A man who casts spells with his fingers and charms with his words. Anything he wanted.

He wanted to make your eyes light up. 

Eddie took another drag, hollowing his cheeks before sending out smoke in deliberate puffs with his tongue. It left his mouth in rings, hovering in the gap between you before drifting across the patio.

He got what he wanted. A gasp left your lips, eyes twinkling brighter than the stars. “What?! I didn’t know people could actually do that!” You exclaimed, delighted like a child on Christmas.

Eddie blew the rest off to the side and returned a blinding smile. It was more satisfying than the cigarette — the fact that he could do it, make your face light up. The fact that he had the power.

“How do you do that?” you asked, ever inquisitive.

His instructions were simple; take a big drag, hollow your cheeks, make the shape with your mouth, and push the smoke out with your tongue. Simple enough, from the sound of it.

Your first attempt failed, miserably. Uproariously.

“The shape is critical,” he reminded through a chuckle, “it’s gotta be like, a perfect O, not an oval.” His eyes lingered over your lips as you tried his suggestion, struggling to will his mind away from the gutter.

Your smile made it hard to maintain. “Wait—wait, hold on I think I got it.” You tried again with great focus, sending out puffs with your tongue that looked nothing like rings. It was worth it though. Worth making a fool of yourself for the amusement that colored his face, for the bright laughter it earned you. “Ok, fine. Maybe not.”

It looked good on him, just like it did on stage. This knowing that drew his shoulders back, made him lean with a powerful ease. The knowing that he was really good at something, that he could show you.

“It’s a bit advanced,” he said with a wink before taking another deep drag. He puffed a ring and cast it forward with a push of his hand, like a spell through the air. It broke on your nose and you relished in the soft sensation of his life-force ghosting over your face. 

It was all you could do just to look at him — rugged and regal in the way that only he could be. It was dangerous and thrilling; how alone you were right now. His aura pulled you closer, eyes tugging at those burning questions, serious questions at war with your lingering buzz. You broke the silence with the truth; soft and sincere. “You’re insanely talented, I hope you know that.” 

The curve of his lashes dipped shyly with a little puff through his nose. They raised with a sparkle that cut through the darkness. “Thanks, it uh… comes a lot easier to me than chemistry.” He tapped off his ash on the pavement.

You tucked your free hand into your pocket with a bashful shuffle of your feet. “Well, good thing rockstars don’t need to know chemistry then.”

Eddie scoffed and gave his eyes a quick roll, unsuccessful at hiding the brilliance of his smile. Heat crept up his neck, and he soothed it with a wring of his hand.

There was a gap between you; a space you were too scared to breach. The two of you filled it with shy chatter as your cigarettes dwindled to nubs. It was easy, to talk to him. About music, about anything. Easy because you gave each other turns to take it; the space. It almost made it easy to forget who you were to each other before you came out here, who you would go back to being tomorrow.

The cold was wicked and relentless; biting at your knuckles as you tapped the last ash. Even the tobacco’s heavy warmth sinking to your feet couldn’t stave it off. It was a Tuesday night in December, and the wind made sure to remind you. 

Eddie followed your eyes toward the door. “It’s ok,” he reassured. “Nobody comes out here. We’re safe.”

His words sparked a tingle in your chest, a pulse of heat; low and thrumming. Neither could halt the shiver that seized your limbs. 

“You ok?” he asked gently, stepping close enough to almost feel the heat from him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You blew on your hands, rubbing them together feebly to fight the cold. You were stubborn to surrender, determined not to end your stolen moment by succumbing. 

It was all he could do just to look at you. You, shaking like a leaf in the wind. You, with longing eyes and trembling lips. You, with your soft skin and softer soul. His fingers burned, wrestled with the silence, and the distance, and the howl of the wind through the trees. They warred with the ticking clock, with the chill against his precious moment, with the threat of it winning. Suddenly his fingers—bolder than they’ve ever been in his life—twitched to animation. They toyed with the cold metal zipper at his neck, and in one decided tug, he opened up for you. “Here,” he offered. 

You froze, more than the cold could ever manage, as you eyed the invitation — the warm leather cave, the exposure of his heaving chest. Your lips parted but words would not come. You wanted it — the heat, the tight embrace, to be wrapped in his aura, to feel his laughter with your palms. 

Your noble mind as it cast its disapproval like a shadow toward your heart, but your hands and feet were deaf to it. Boots shuffling boldly against the rough pavement, they filled the gap between his. You accepted with the tips of your fingers, delicate and tentative, like his skin was a hot iron and yours at risk to burn. You watched them disappear into the darkness, felt the soft cotton warmth as it enveloped you. With trembling slowness, you traced the divots of his ribcage, settled into them like grooves, felt him gasp into your palms when the ice that you’d become found the velvet, heated skin under his arms.

“Sorry—”

“Hah—hmm—no-no it’s ok,” he grimaced, pinning your hands beneath his arms to stop your recoil, as if the pain of the freeze hurt less than the pain of its absence. “I—ah—I asked for this.” His chuckle was a warm vibration, a flutter as the cage which housed his heart contracted. 

A shiver racked your body as you thawed. Whether it was nerves, or fear, or the chill that had settled deep in your bones long before you stepped foot outside, you were helpless to control it.

“Come ‘ere,” he breathed with equal care and need.

You submitted, tracing his contours as he pulled you closer — head against his solid shoulder, into the soft pillow of his hair, into the source of his scent: leather and tobacco and the sweet, salty musk of his skin. You closed your eyes and basked in it, nose buried in his curls, drawing in deeply to steady your rattling chest. 

Broad palms splayed across the fabric of your coat, pulling you deep into the comfort of his heat, tracing your waist to settle in a place they burned to be — your lower back. “It’s ok, you’re ok,” he murmured into your hair, bracing you tightly as your whole body shook.

You could have died here, buried yourself in his arms and made him your tomb. They would find you in the morning; frozen like a sculpture. Left out for all of Hawkins to see, to point and say terrible things. It wouldn’t matter. You would have died happy.

His heart was pounding with disbelief. You, here, in his arms. You could feel it through your coat, hammering against your chest, into your palms at his back. Eddie felt your breathing slow, your body soften and relax. He crooked his forearm firmly to your back, to the place where it belonged, fingers curling like a cage around your waist. Out here he could be anything — strong and stable, a haven for your tired bones to rest. Anything, for you.

In the dark leather cave there was a landscape for your hands to study. The satin liner grazed your knuckles as your hands explored the angles of his shoulder blades with tentative slowness — down along the muscles of his back, the dip of his spine, the birdcage of his ribs; expanding and contracting, deep and steady. 

He was real, here, in your arms. Two swelling lungs. One beating heart. Two hands that clutched the wool barrier between you. One solid shield of a chest. One humming column at your cheek. Eddie Munson; wildfire. Close enough to thaw you. Close enough to burn you to the ground.

Your hands settled at the slim taper of his waist. Pliant and yielding under soft cotton, swelling with each ocean breath. His cage around you tightened, and you breathed him in, felt him swallow, felt his hips slot against the groove of yours with sensed belonging.

The animal in you keened with curiosity, emboldened by the dark. Your hands wouldn’t dare beyond the roadblock of his belt, but they would move in slow strokes up and down his back. A gentle comfort, a mask for your indulgence.

A quiet moan rose up in him, one he couldn’t swallow. The best he could do was cloak it in a sigh. It hummed against your ear; your cheek so close to the crook of his neck you could almost taste it. You breathed him in again, lips pressed to his soft curls against tough leather as the smoke, and musk, and crisp night air filled your lungs. 

His hands were less patient; dipping toward the slope of your hips, pawing at thick wool, thumbs drawing aching circles there. It earned an arch from your back, a grasp from your hands at the soft cotton barrier. 

There was an animal in him too, preening at the cant of your hips, at the rub of your neck against his. With a dip of his chin he could sink his teeth in, but his noble mind willed it away, settled for the scent of you instead — soft like powder, warm and inviting. The heels of your palms drifted toward his belly, and the animal threatened to rear below his belt.

“Ah,” it leapt out his throat.

Hands freezing before reaching the healthy swell, you drew back from his shoulder, checking in. Your lids hung with visible weight, pupils blown by more than just the lack of light, dizzy from his touch. He could do that with his hands, he thought; a split-second revel before concern sobered your features.

His disappointment was palpable, like he’d burst some great bubble. “Mm—no, it’s fine, please—” please don’t stop. His arms around you tightened, eyes pleading with words he wasn’t bold enough to utter, even in the darkness.

A shadow of guilt fell across your face. Guilt for your greedy hands, for your lost control, for your bad behavior. It was a pitiful sight; worse than the one he saw yesterday. Worse because it was here. Worse because he was closer than he’d ever been before.

There was a gap between you; space for the cold to seep between your hearts. Space for the fear that he’d broken the spell. That you didn’t see him anymore, but your student instead. 

You thumbed his soft cotton shirt, buried in the shelter of his coat. Eddie Munson — frenetic and compelling. Beautiful in the way that wild things are. Breathing life into your numb hands with each  ragged swell. You studied him closely; his soft cupid’s bow, his pink, plush pout, the angles of his worried jaw, the pining in his eyes.

Want. A wild, elusive thing. A summer wind. An admission at a cost. Want didn’t budge. Want looked you dead in the eyes and tightened its grip.

Eddie knew what he wanted, burning like a question on his tongue. He knew he had to be the one to ask. He was terrified — of the question, of the asking, of the fact that he may never get another chance. Your hands grappled with it, clung like they feared he would vanish. He felt the ache in them, the want, the fear, the frustration. It opened up a narrow passage, and he entered with the boldest thing he had ever done.

He asked you with his forehead first. A gentle nod forward; the softest collision. A tickle of curls. A rock back and forth of his strong, sturdy brow. A smile even you couldn’t hide. Your hands released, settled at the dip of his back in quiet permission.

He asked you with the bridge of his nose. A delicate slope. A tender nuzzle. Rigid bone under soft flesh. Cold, round tip. Roaming the map of yours with heated intention as he swayed like a dance in the moonlight. You closed your eyes, surrendered to the fantasy. Felt the heat of his cheek, the pang of his palm at your back as he pulled you closer.

He asked you with a tilt of his chin, and brought time to a halt.

There was a gap between you. A fractional distance bridged by the ghost of his breath. Within it; every party that you never went to, every basement you were never led away from, every page you never shared, every experience you never had. Goodness was a mantle, heavy from a lifetime on your shoulders. 

What did freedom taste like? The question brushed across your lips like a warm invitation. You were desperate for the answer. Wanted it more than anything, ever, in your whole entire life. Wanted it for you, for only you. For once.

Eddie asked the question. You closed the gap. 

A sigh left both of you at once. One you could taste this time, humming against the plush cradle of his lips. Freedom could have melted you. It threatened the strength of your knees, but his arms were stronger. Locked against each other in the shadows you borrowed, your lips began to explore, to express every secret wish the two of you had dreamt apart. 

Freedom tasted tentative at first. A slow drag of his lips, a languid slip that rippled to the dormant parts of you. Catching like tinder as they grazed over yours, hot with an ache you could taste. It was sinfully exquisite; tasting the curve of his smile, the hyper-real rasp of his stubble as those lips—the ones that shot you smirks from down the hall and spilled over with song—found a rhythm with yours. Broad palms clutched the wool at your waist like you’d slip through a crack if he didn’t hold on.

Freedom was slick. It tasted like cigarettes, like a thousand unsaid words ushered past the border of your mouth. You could taste every one on his tongue, soothed them with the slickness of yours. Every aching word, dripping in each soft caress. Diving like a dance, echoed in the soft, wet smacks when you parted. You devoured them like you were starving. Every sigh, every hum, every color that left his lungs slipped eagerly down your throat. 

The wool at your back was a nuisance. Eddie pawed at it, desperate to feel the shape of you through the fabric, to store it in the vault of his mind, to play with it later in private. He halted his hands at your hips, willed them decent, rationed with the small working part of his brain that your lips would have to be enough. He relished in the way you accepted him. The way you spread for him, parting eagerly for his tongue. The way your lips closed around him, rocking as he prodded like you’d done it before. Like you wanted to elsewhere. 

The spell was broken. The line, miles away. There was a hunger in you, sudden and surprising, roused by the very first taste. Eddie palmed your hips with an urgency that stirred you. Like a bear in the spring, thawed by the heat of his touch, you devoured him. Devoured him with the wholeness of your splayed hands, tracing up his pounding ribs, dragging across the expanse of his broad chest. It heaved under your touch; solid muscle under soft cotton. You devoured his moan; a hot, strangled thing that escaped his plush lips. Like a match to the strip your tongue, you ignited. 

His hands lost their patience. Breaking from your waist, they dove behind your ears to cradle your face. Your face. Your jaw, your delicate cheeks he caressed with the rough pads of his thumbs, as if the swell of them—the rigid bones under soft skin, the absolute realness of you in his arms—could wake him from the dream he was surely having. He was tasting you, tasting the want on your tongue. More satisfying than a four course meal, more satisfying than anything he’d ever tasted in his life. You wanted him. More than that, you savored him; the taste of his hot, eager tongue as it slipped against yours.

Freedom was delicious. Bold and complex, acrid and rich. Full bodied. A smooth, sweet finish. You could have drowned in it. Drowned in the angles of his hands, in his tender strokes, in the sopping heat of his mouth. Drowned in his eager sighs, in his scent. Drowned completely if he hadn’t held your head above the surging waves. 

Eddie was good like a midnight snack. Good like a wide open road. He was good at this. Good at knowing how to ask and answer. Good at at finding the rhythm of you. 

You broke for air, stilling against the bridge of his nose, afraid to look him in the eyes just yet, to break away from the safety his shadow provided. Safe from the world, safe from consequences, safe from the thoughts that battered at the door of your mind. Safety was fragile and fleeting. You knew it, he knew it. Your breath mingled in hot bursts as you steadied your spinning world for a quiet moment together. You felt him smile—heard it—big and bright as it cracked across his face. The air stung your cheeks when he took his hands away. Leaning back against the fence, he tugged you closer, further into the safety of the shadows, enveloping you in the crook of his heat. 

It was good like this — the angles of you and the angles of him, fitting like they always belonged. It felt safe to explore them, to paint his pounding chest, down the soft swell of his belly, stopping at his hips. With a thick bob of his Adam’s apple, he closed the gap again. It was chaste this time, peppering your lips with space to breathe between each kiss. They were slow and savory, steady and sure. They lingered long enough for you to get another taste, to capture that plush Cupid’s bow and let it melt across yours, to flick your tongue over his soft bottom lip and taste him there too. 

You could taste his need when he greeted your tongue with his own. It was safe to show it here. Safe to let the animal inside him bare its teeth. Safe to let the animal in you do the same. It growled when he nipped at you, hooked its claws through his belt loops and tugged. It was a quick, testing thing, and your sound let him know that he passed. He lapped it up hungrily, soothed it before inflicting another.

It ached in a frightening way, in that deep, low place. Throbbed awake with each delicious bite. It scared you how quickly the path was veering south, but the pooling warmth encouraged his travels, let him go wherever he wanted. When his lips strayed far enough to track your jaw, a shrinking voice shrieked danger, but the rest of you simply submitted. 

Claws braced denim and leather, offering yourself with a tip of your head. Reverently, he accepted, setting his pace with a dizzying slowness. He worshiped you with every latch, every press, every lingering smack, darting his tongue out to taste the forbidden angles of your jaw. It was greedy but good. To him, to you. Letting go this much. Letting him go this far. The trail cooled in the night air, and he settled at the precipice of your neck.

His breath alone was enough to melt you; heavy with the weight of his new position. Heavy with desire, with the weight of thousand fantasies he never thought would come to pass. He drank in the cocktail of your scent; concentrated, warm, deliciously real. In the throws of your own heaving chest, sobered just barely by the pregnant pause, you awoke to your position: open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. 

He tasted your swallow, felt your breath hitch when his warm, wet tongue found your pulse. Lathing there a moment, lingering and slow, he savored you. Savored the ridges of your neck, the way your head lolled to the side, like a feast laid out for him. He stored the image in his mind, packaged it carefully for when he would surely be starving again. His lips soothed where his tongue left off, over and over until your strangled sound stirred a fiending hunger. He bared his teeth, and you shattered. 

Freedom was falling apart in his arms. Crumbling into pieces and letting him grapple you whole. Letting him capture you in his maw and lap up your ruin. Letting him, letting him. His teeth dragged dull and slow, tingling every waking cell, turning you to putty completely. He dragged a moan out of you. A full one, loud and clear. He tucked it away, buried it deep alongside your squirms and your touch. 

The door opened.

Cold air shocked your lungs. Head snapping over your shoulder, you broke his latch and Eddie hissed a curse at the separation. With daggers, you both assessed the intruder. 

The silhouette of his cap gave him away. He might have even kept on walking but the gasps and the shuffling feet made him turn. “Oh shit,” Bill flinched back in surprise. “Sorry man I thought you left.”

Eddie’s arm tightened instinctively, pulling you as close as he wanted to earlier. Reflexively, you pushed away. It was a strange tug of war — his pride and your fear. “Yeah—no we’re still here,” he snapped.

You swallowed your pounding heart, sobering completely under Bill’s gaze. Suddenly your claws retracted, your hands felt wrong where they rested, shame bit at your neck along the cooling trail he left behind. 

Even in the backlit glow of the singular light, you saw it painted clearly on his features — the judgement, the disbelief, the questions rising up but not daring to come out. “Well um, sorry to interrupt. Have a good night,” Bill said with an awkward raise of his hand before making quickly for the parking lot. 

Footsteps faded over gravel and left a silence in their wake, thicker than the stillness from before. 

Eddie breathed a sharp sigh through his nostrils, brows lowered as he seethed toward the parking lot. The cold was setting in again. Your nose, and ears, and fingers stung with it. The rest of you stung worse; chest numbing, caving like a can under the weight of what you’d just done. 

When the flick of distant headlights made you brave enough to face him, frustration painted his features. He pawed at your coat, desperate to salvage what he could of his precious moment. “Anyway, where were we?” he muttered, eyeing your neck with a tilt of his head like he was about to dive in again. 

Your hand at his chest stopped him, and the look in his eyes was wounding. “Eddie,” you warned softly. A slow, heavy sigh left his nose, one you could feel with your palm. “I need to go.”

Crestfallen after a desperate, hesitant second, his arms went slack. Your hand dropped, leaving a fierce chill behind. One more, his lips begged, but struggled to release. Please. 

It hurt, to crumble like this after all you had built. With the roar of Bill’s engine, the fantasy shattered around you. The carriage became a pumpkin, your gown turned into rags. Shrill bells rang out in the distance, coming surely as the sun would rise. Pinballs thundered as that sweet oval face—the one from the back of the room and the chair next to yours—pouted with lips still swollen from where you had broken your contract. 

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed. 

Gathering himself with a deep breath, he straightened to a dignified height, conviction filling the cracks in his composure. “I’m not.” 

It was terrifying — the prospect, the consequences. What it meant for you, for him, for the world you’d have to face tomorrow. 

Most terrifying of all was how good it felt to hear him say.

______

A/N: Thank you all for your patience on this one. It took me nearly all summer to finish but I'm really proud of how it turned out. Please let me know what you think! I've missed hearing from and connecting with all of you. Next one won't take nearly as long, I promise. 💕

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @storiesbyrhi @cursedyuta @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @big-ope-vibes @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

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MASTERLIST ⎮ AO3 ⎮ KO-FI

[bumblesimagines]

Jake Sully

been a long time since i last saw you.

there are a lot of things i wish i could take back.

you deserved better than that, you know.

been a long time since i last saw you.

there are a lot of things i wish i could take back.

you deserved better than that, you know.

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, Gender Neutral!Reader

"And, Norm," You called to the tall man as you scribbled your findings on your notebook, your eyes never leaving the pages, not even to spare a glance at your coworker. Most other scientists preferred keeping video logs or typing their notes into their electronic of choice, but you'd always preferred the more traditional way. "I really need to check those samples you took yesterday with Dr. Augustine-"

"I know, I know, I'll get them to you soon." He promised. "We've been a little busy with the new guy, remember? Pretty sure you mentioned knowing him, right? Jake Sully?" 

"Yeah," You exhaled, the pen finally lifting from the paper. "Yeah, I... We knew each other on Earth."

"We dated." A new yet familiar voice chimed in and a quiet 'oh' fell from Norm's lips. You pressed your lips together tightly and inhaled deeply, leaning back in your chair and listening to Norm's footsteps rapidly retreat. Your eyes flickered upward to his reflection in the monitor, catching a glimpse of the man you once loved dearly.

It'd been nearly six years since the tearful argument where you'd dumped him for his callousness, for his drinking habits, and the fact he seemed perfectly fine spiraling into darkness while you and Tommy tried desperately to save him from drowning. The extroverted, outgoing, occasionally stupid boy you'd fallen for in high school had died in Venezuela and replaced with a bitter man too caught up in his own self-pity to care about salvaging what remained of the relationship. It'd been tough. Calling off an engagement and ending a long relationship had been like parting with part of yourself, but you managed to put yourself back together with work and Pandora. 

"Been a long time since I last saw you." He murmured, rolling his wheelchair closer to your desk and bracing his arms against the table, eyes skimming over the things scattered around your desk. Jake picked up one of the cutely decorated pencils, a gift from one of your coworkers, and rolled it between his fingers, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Still can't keep an area neat to save your life, huh?"

"You're one to talk." You clicked your tongue. "Last I saw you, there were bottles all over the floor at your plate."

"Last you saw me I was a different man," Jake said quietly. "And... there are a lot of things I wish I could take back. I was such an asshole... to you, to Tommy, to everyone. You deserved better than that, you know."

"I know. It's why I left, Jake." You tore your eyes away from the reflection to look at him. He'd buzzed his hair again for his new job on Pandora and looked... surprisingly better than the last time you'd seen him. The man you'd departed from had grown out his hair and distracted himself with drinking and barely sleeping. But the man before you looked healthier, stronger, and in better condition, likely from the five-year-long cryosleep he'd been put on for the trip to Pandora. "I think the program will be good for you, Jake. I'm glad you're here."

The ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "Me too."

[milliesfishes]

hiiii unsure if you’re taking requests currently, so pls ignore if you’re not. i was thinking maybe Billy has been super busy lately, maybes he’s running a ranch and he’s been super stressed but reader has just been so clingy and needy for him and just wanting some of his attention and it causes him to snap at reader due to all his stress? thank youuuuu!

- 🧸🎀

꣑ৎ౨ৎbilly snaps at you when you're being clingy꣑ৎ౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Toiling over a stack of paper while the candle melted into the brass dish, Billy hadn't looked up for hours. From your place in bed, you wondered if his neck had gotten stiff. But he hadn't lifted it for the entire time you'd been in, undressing and donning your thin nightdress for bedtime.

His back was to you as he scribbled furiously. Maybe some other time he would have turned his head, reached out a big hand to settle on your waist and give you a greeting kiss. But nowadays the only kisses you got were the ones he left nestled in your hair every morning when he got up. When he thought you were still asleep.

You shifted, purposefully ruffling the sheets just to see if he'd notice. Lifting one elbow, you knocked it against the wooden headboard you were propped up on. Nothing. You stared at the blanket in your lap, trying not to let the corresponding emotions to his indifference overwhelm you.

Ever since two ranch hands quit out of nowhere, Billy had taken up the mantle of both physical labor and bookkeeping, letting you assist with very little. You could practically read his mind. He was the provider. He was supposed to keep things wrapped in a pretty package for his girl. But if he bothered do unwrap it he'd see nothing but a growing mass of hurt feelings.

It was silly to miss him when he was here all the time. But you hadn't had a real conversation with him in weeks. He'd rise with the sun and take to the fields and horses while you awoke a little bit later, tending to the house and garden. Sometimes when he saw you on the porch or among the flowers from afar, he'd lift his fingers to his lips and hold them out to you.

The gesture was sweet. And it was the most interaction you had with him. Now Billy was in the same room while awake with you for the first time in who knew how long and his eyes were turned to his paperwork.

You ached for his arms, for his touch and caress. Every night your dreams taunted you with the dulcet memories of how it used to be. He'd wrap you up in his arms, ask you about your day. You'd kiss him between words, too excited to be near him to speak in full sentences. Right now you longed for him to abandon his pen and crawl into bed with you, let you listen to his heartbeat as you drifted off.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you leaned forward until you were lying on your stomach, propped up by your folded arms. "Billy?"

The chair creaked as he turned, hand braced on the back. Billy's eyes were tired, and you could see the exhaustion making a home in his bones, practically weighing him down. With a pang, you wished for the thousandth time that he'd let you shoulder some of the burden. "You okay, baby?"

Giving him a sweet smile, you lifted your chin with bright eyes. "Will you come to bed? It's so late."

He cast a glance to the clock on the desk, both hands pointing northwest. A bubble of hope swelled in you when he paused, sure he'd be tugging his boots off in no time and settling between the sheets.

"I've gotta finish this. 'm sorry, sweetheart." The bubble popped, and whatever strings had been holding your shoulders up were cut. You sagged like a broken marionette, the corners of your lips falling slow as molasses.

Straightening up on your knees, you reached out a hand, not giving up yet. "Please?"

Billy stood abruptly, messily gathering the papers strewn across the desk. "I'll move to the other room so the candle doesn't keep you 'wake."

Your brow knitted as sat back on your heels, heart sinking like a stone to the bottom of the river. "Billy-"

"Just go to sleep, darlin'." He ran a weary hand down his face, sounding impatient. You noticed the stubble dotting his chin that he hadn't the time to shave, his messy hair from running his fingers through it periodically.

Sighing, you got to your feet, hands finding his elbows like two butterflies to the centers of flowers. His mouth was a thin line and he released a sharp sigh as he let you touch him, look up hopefully. "I'll come with you to the other room. Keep you company-"

"I said no," he snapped, and your eyes went wide, arms falling flat at your sides.

The strap of your nightdress had fallen off your shoulder, delicately. You felt like a child, staring up at him with wide eyes and loose hair. He looked surprised too, lips parting slightly. Slowly, your fingers found your arms, slithering around them as your gaze fell to the ground by the worn toe of his boots. Your hair curtained your face, hiding you from him.

Billy tried, "Baby-"

"You're right." You cut him off, turning and padding back to bed, sitting at the edge and taking in a shaky breath. It was a trial to keep the upcoming tears from soaking your parchment words. "I should just go to bed."

The papers rustled as he set them down, and you felt a weight on the mattress next to you. You didn't bother to look up, instead letting your back do any talking. Just as his had for the past few weeks.

Billy touched your thigh, warm fingers bypassing the thin fabric of your nightdress as he rubbed up and down once, involuntarily soothing you. His eyes were burning into your head- you could practically feel it. "Hey...baby will you look at me?"

You didn't want to. Tears were pooling in your eyes and you didn't want him to see how badly you were hurting. How cutting three edged words from him proved to be, your feelings from before having rendered you sensitive. But he had asked, and so you lifted your eyes, angry at yourself when a single tear slipped down your cheek.

He exhaled through his nose, bringing you into his arms instantly. One palm pressed your face to his chest as your body felt safe enough to cry, and the other created warm spots on your back as he rubbed up and down.

"'m sorry...'m sorry, baby," he murmured, turning his head to press his lips into your hair. "Shh, I'm sorry. That wasn't right, sweetheart. Kinda man am I talkin' to my angel like that?"

Your arms found their way around his waist like it was home, and you breathed in his scent, your body molding to fit his like always. You might as well have clicked into place. Billy let his cheek rest on your head, still holding your face to his chest.

"'m so sorry," he whispered, and you lifted your head like a turtle from its shell. Billy's eyes were blue as lagoons, even in the dim candlelight. And they were brimming with emotion right now, as he held you consciously for the first time in so long.

You let out a breath, head falling to his shoulder. Pressing your lips there briefly, over the worn fabric of his shirt, you murmured, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he breathed, fingers drawing slow circles into your back. "So much."

A new kind of quiet perfumed the air, though the pollution of tension remained. You sniffled, wondering how long he'd hold you until he got up to finish his task. Would he wait for you to fall asleep? Or maybe disappear again in the morning? Dread poked at your heart even when you turned your back to it.

Billy smoothed his hand over your hair again, his quiet voice putting an end to any other thoughts. "How about I take the day tomorrow, hm? 'm sure they can handle a little time without me." He kissed your hair.

"My girl needs me more."

[luvliewriting]

❦❦❦

Imagine: First Kiss

Warnings: Mostly just fluff, maybe some hints of ns/fw for some

Notes: I'm willing to turn any of these concepts into actual fics if requested

Includes: The Gallagher siblings

❦❦❦

Fiona <3

You worked with her at the diner and it was time for closing, it was just you two cleaning up before you turned the lights out. You kept eyeing her from across the diner; seeing her bend over the tables, tuck her bottom lip under her teeth when she would scrub a stubborn spot, pushing back strands of hair that left her ponytail. It was torturous watching her like that. You knew she just got out of a relationship with Jimmy/Steve so you worried that maybe it would be too soon to tell Fiona how you felt but it was getting more to be harder everyday that you had to watch her and see her. Eventually you couldn't take it so you "accidentally" dropped one of the coffee cups and Fiona immediately offered to help you clean it up. When you two ducked to the back to toss the pieces of the cup, you pulled her back before she could return to cleaning and kissed her. To your surprise, she didn't try to push you off and even stayed back a bit longer after closing at the back of the diner with you

❦❦❦

Lip

It was the same as Karen, you were a little behind on history and Lip needed some extra money so he decided to tutor you. The first couple lessons were innocent enough, it stayed strictly as tutoring. But as the lessons went, you two got closer. He would scoot his chair closer to you, he would stay behind after the lessons for a bit to have a smoke and chill with you till it happened. You were scribbling on the paper aimlessly while Lip read the textbook to you and explaining what it meant in more detail not that you were listening, you were too busy admiring him and his voice but you tried to pay as good attention as you could. Your pencil slipped out your hand and rolled to the floor between you two. You both bent down to grab it, smacking your foreheads together as he groaned and you laughed. He was rubbing his forehead when he looked at you with those eyes, those eyes you could stare at for hours as you began to lean in, as did he till your lips touched. His hands snaking down to your butt and thighs, pulling you off of your chair and into his lap.

❦❦❦

Ian

Childhood friends, you two had grown up with each other and knew each other better than anyone else. He was your first crush and you were his but you were both two stubborn to admit. After Ian dumped Mickey, you were conflicted on what to do; you had a chance to either make your childhood fantasies come true or completely ruin a lifetime of friendship. It started with leaving little crumpled notes in places that he would find eventually, than turned into leaving articles of clothing at his place when you would sleepover till you eventually just flat out said that you wanted Ian in that way. You braced yourself for the rejection, turning to the door to leave his room till he grabbed you and smashed his lips against yours passionately finally admitting what he had wanted to say for years.

❦❦❦

Debbie

You met Debbie through Franny's school where you worked, she was by far your favourite of the mom's to converse with when they would come to pick up their kids. Debbie was typically the last parent to come pick up their kid, not that you complained. You absolutely adored Franny and you liked getting to catch up with Debbie. But one day, it was a Friday so you sat with Franny at one of the little tables waiting for Debbie to come pick her up while you ate lunch with Franny. Franny was eating her typical peanut butter and jelly, her mouth was full as she said "mommy keeps talking about you Mrs/Mr L/N". You weren't sure if you heard her right but she continued when her mouth wasn't full, "she says your name when she's in her room for private time." Okay you were sure you heard Franny right now and when Debbie came to pick up Franny, you decided to follow the two out to your car which was parked beside Debbie's. Debbie was in the car, Franny in her car seat and Debbie's window was rolled down as she talked to you. Eventually you just leaned in and pecked her lips, leaving Debbie flustered as you winked, "I'll see you tomorrow Miss Gallagher."

❦❦❦

Carl

You were at an arcade and challenged him to a game of basketball, Just for the fuck of it. You won of course, by pure dumb luck because athletics were not within your department. Carl tussled for the ball, demanding a rematch and you refused, screaming that he was being a sore loser. He chuckled and reached for the ball that your arms stretched to the back of your head, as it you really could evade him. It was like he planned it yet it also felt so improved, smug bastard. It was fast, his arm snaked around your waist and planted his lips on yours. You could be imagining things, but you could have swore Carl took a second to inhale you, taking you all in. For what felt like an eternity was over in a flash when you heard a thump on the floor. He got the ball and you were subjected to a rematch

❦❦❦

Shameless Taglist:

Thank you for reading

Please reblog because likes don't help with reach at all

❦❦❦

[curlybraceyourself]

The Case for Curly Brace

In July of 2024, a tumblr account by the name of "Curly-b-blog", themed after Curly Brace from Cave Story, began posting harassment towards prominent members of the "Lily Orchard Critical" community. These members include IloveKimPossibleALot, Courtney Peet (Lily Orchard's sister, who has accused her of sexual assault while both of them were minors) and Sai Scribbles, an artist from the aforementioned community.

Curly-B has gone as far as to involve people outside of the community in this harassment, sending unwarranted "critique" to unaffiliated artists, purely due to those artists having sent gift art to Sai Scribbles. Curly-B has used her anonymity as a shield to get away with this behavior and has expressed no remorse for her actions.

It should be made clear at this point that Curly-B is not an alias of Lily Orchard, nor is she Lily's wife Mikaila Orchard. Furthermore, the collator of this evidence requests that you do not harass the person behind the Curly-B alias; this information is collated for purposes of evidence only.

(Collator's note: tumblr has a policy of appending "-blog" to tumblr blogs that go inactive for extended periods of time. Due to this, some archived versions of curly-b-blog will simply be labelled as curly-b. Please keep this in mind if you wish to peer review the evidence presented)

Prior to her reappearance in July of 2024, Curly-B was already an established tumblr blog wth some history; as of this writing, a handful of posts dated to late 2011 and early 2012 still exist in Curly-B's archives. Moreover, there are a handful of posts dated to December 2023, that allude to some undetermined drama:

An Internet Archive snapshot from November of 2023 reveals the root of this drama: on November 15th, the Curly-B tumblr was used to post an anonymous screed detailing turmoil within the ranks of the Moderneopets art team. For the uninitiated, Moderneopets is a fan-run clone of the popular webgame Neopets.

(the full post by Curly-B can be viewed here: https://web.archive.org/web/20231123030516/https://curly-b-blog.tumblr.com/)

It seems Curly-B's post led to some friction within the Moderneopets community, as evidenced by its current absence from the blog. For more information, we have to go to the source; the Moderneopets Discord, which just happens to have public access:

From the above posts, we can ascertain that

Curly-B was an established member of the Moderneopets art team

Curly-B was removed from said art team on or around November 23rd, 2023.

Unfortunately, we run into a bit of a dead end here; see, the only archived instance of the Moderneopets artist roster dates to November 27th, 2023, four days after the discord posts mentioned above. In this snapshot, Curly-B has likely already been stricken from the record.

record of the Moderneopets art team as of November 27th, 2023 If we had an earlier snapshot then we could compare and contrast, but alas, we do not. Shy of combing the Moderneopets discord for all mentions of prior artists, this angle seems bust.

And then Curly-B did something incredibly stupid.

An anon ask sent to Curly by a mysterious figure known only as "K" According to the above anon-response, Curly's still on the Moderneopets art team. If we take this ask at face value, then either Hazer, the admin of Moderneopets, was lying about Curly's removal, or Curly was indeed removed… and then reinstated shortly thereafter.

And wouldn't you know, we have access to a list of Moderneopets artists, taken mere days after Curly's removal.

So let's compare:

Archived list of artists vs. list of artists, current as of August 20th, 2024.

One name appears on the current list that is not present on the November 2023 snapshot: Taffer. A quick search on the Moderneopets discord confirms that Taffer (aka Sneaky-Taffer) is not a new artist, but in fact an established artist with contributions to the Moderneopets project dating back to at least 2022.

It is not unreasonable to assume that Taffer got caught up in the drama of the time, and was briefly removed, before being reinstated at a later date. Just as what Curly is implying happened to her. So who is this Taffer? Well, she has a tumblr of her own:

As a reminder, Please do not send Harassment towards Sneaky-Taffer. This is merely a collection of evidence, not a call to arms.

The above evidence alone would not be enough to implicate Sneaky-Taffer as the individual behind Curly-B, however, a substantial quantity of evidence can be gathered from both Sneaky Taffer's and Curly-B's blogs that pushes this connection beyond the circumstantial:

Artistic similarities:

Curly-B draws herself in the above style in the margins of her redlining posts- this style is highly similar to one used by Taffer in several comic pages:

Artwork by Sneaky-Taffer, 2018 Note the similarities in how hair is shaded. Other comics by Taffer (viewable under "My Art" on her tumblr) use a similar means of shading hair, as well as the crosshatch shading and blush methods used by Curly-B for her avatar. Similarities in handwriting:

The above depictions of Curly-B feature handwriting in a consistent style. This handwriting is highly similar to that used by Taffer in her comics:

Note the shape of the Ws and the Ms in particular Edit: Taffer's Twitter account also features this piece of redlining that matches Curly-B's style and handwriting quite closely:

(Image links to the relevant Twitter post) The design of Taffer's OC:

On the 18th of August, Curly-B briefly posted an image of art that she claims is hers, before deleting it shortly thereafter. The image was, however saved by tumblr user Nivatar:

While no matches for this image have been found by typical searching, one of the characters depicted bears a striking similarity to one of Taffer's OCs, Sarnai :

more art of Sarnai can be found here

This suggests that the above artwork is either unpublished artwork by Taffer, or art commissioned by Taffer of her OC(s).

Prior involvement in the Lily Orchard circles

Would it surprise you to find out that Sneaky-Taffer had involvement in Lily Orchard discourse on Tumblr, prior to the appearance of Curly B? It turns out she's crossed paths with noted Lily Critic britts-galaxy-brain before:

(click on the image for link to the relevant post)

And Taffer has even responded to Lily Orchard's posts directly:

(click on the image for link to the relevant post) EDIT: Evidence has also been found of Taffer feuding with both KP and Courtney, on Twitter in June of 2024, shortly before Curly's revival. Both KP and Courtney were early targets of Curly-B's ire:

(Image links to relevant discussion and Taffer's twitter) and finally, as silly as it is:

Taffer had a Curly Brace phase in 2011:

EDIT: Taffer's former Deviantart account has been uncovered. Artworks in this Deviantart appear in an artist retrospective posted by Taffer in 2019:

This Deviantart account hosts a number of Cave Story-themed artworks dated to late 2011 and early 2012, the same period during which Curly-B was first active:

(Images link to their respective artwork pages on Deviantart) As an additional note; an archived version of Sneaky-Taffer's tumblr from 2013 links to a forum called Anime Maniacs United, which appears to be a message board for Anime Roleplay accounts. While no public archives of the AMU boards' content are available, it appears that AMU has a tumblr blog that persists to this day, featuring a list of affiliated character blogs:

... and wouldn't you know it, Curly-B is on the list. To quickly recap the things that we can be absolutely certain of:

Taffer is an artist on the Moderneopets art team, which Curly-B is also a member of

Taffer was not a member of the Moderneopets art team at the time that Curly-B was ostensibly removed

Taffer has interacted directly and negatively with ILoveKimPossibleALot and Courtney Peet, the first two targets of Curly-B's ire, prior to Curly-B's resurfacing.

Taffer was a member of an Anime RP Forum that is directly affiliated with Curly-B's tumblr. At this point, coincidence doesn't cut it. Sorry Taff, the jig is up. Noticed anything that I missed? Please let me know, and remember: No harassment. Thank you for your time.

-K

[crowleysgirl67]

Rescuing Romance

Author: @crowleysgirl67

Word Count: 661

Parings/Characters: Reader, Bobby, Buck, Hen, Chim, Maddie, 

Warnings: show warnings, broken bones, 

A/N: Thanks for reading!  

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”  

“I need fire and rescue and a couple of ambulances to 1515 Vista view court the medical tower. I’m currently hanging upside down by my leg on the twelve floor stairwell.”

“Ok ma’am can you tell me your name?”   

“It’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m a doctor, we had a patient have a psychotic break. Tried to throw me over the railing. I managed to wedge my leg in the bars. Definitely broke it but at least I'm not dead yet.”

“Ok (Y/N), I’m Maddie. Helps on the way. Where is the patient now?”

“I gave him a sedative right as he got me over the railing. I cant see him exactly but I’m pretty sure he was by the stairs when the sedative took effect. He might be on the landing on the floor below.”

“Alright. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure I’ll find out when the adrenaline stops.” 

“They’re arriving on scene now.”

Maddie stayed on the line with you until they arrived.

“LAFD; How’re you doin ma’am?” 

“Oh ya know, hanging in there.” you heard one of them fail to stifle a laugh “I’m Dr. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N) is it? I’m Bobby, we’re gonna get you out of there.”

“Cool, I’ve been here probably 20 minutes. I feel like a damn bat.”

Another poorly disguised snicker happens above you as Bobby, who you assume is their Captain, gives orders. Soon enough you’re being carefully hauled up and attended to.  

“How’re you doin?” the lovely lady who introduced herself as Hen asked.

“Eh, been better. Got a bit of a headache and my legs killin me. Which is about to get worse ain’t it?” you studied their faces.

“Yeah, sorry we’ve got to set this to be able to splint it properly.” the other one, Chim looked at you apologetically.  

“We can give you something for the pain.” Hen offers.

You shake your head, “No. I don’t take narcotics unless absolutely necessary.”

“So you’re just gonna do this, no pain meds?” the young one, Bobby called him Buck, asks incredulously.   

“Yup” you laid back as Hen stabilized your hips and Chim braced to put your leg back into place.

“Ready? We’ll do this on three.” Chim started.

You nod, “Let’s do it.” you took a deep breath.

Chim pulled on your leg and you ground your nails into the palm of your hand as you released a hiss of air. It hurt like a bitch. They splinted your leg as Buck looked at you wide eyed.

“Say what ya gotta say.” you looked up at him as you relaxed your hand.

“We just set your leg! No pain meds and you didn’t even make a sound!” he stared at you like you had two heads.  

You let out a weak chuckle, “Not my first rodeo.”

They loaded you onto the stretcher while Buck hovered asking all sorts of questions.

“Buck.” Bobby started. “Leave her alone and help with this gear.”

“Right uh sorry Cap.” he grimaced and began to gather gear to take down. 

 “I’m sorry, he can be a little enthusiastic.” Bobby addressed you.

“He’s alright, I don't mind. How's my patient?” 

“He’ll be fine, possible concussion but we’ve already handed him off to the ER downstairs.”

You nodded, “Well thank you for the rescue Captain I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t want to intrude. 

You pulled a card from your pocket and scribbled your number on it before handing it to him, “Give me a call if you want to talk. You look like you do, and we both know you don’t have time while on duty.”

He took the card looking bewildered as you were wheeled away. He looked down at it before stuffing it in his pocket. He did have questions, maybe he’d give you a call after shift. 

[aesthetic-bbyg]

SMOOTH OPERATOR- TOM K.

Tom Kaulitz x chola!reader

in which you and a group of friends walk into a convince store in LA only for you to end up crushing on the German boy buying beer and candy.

Nattie speaks: I came up with this while listening to music hehehehe. I was also torn between braids or dreads but ultimately I chose braids🤞

TOM SHUFFLED ACROSS the aisle of the gas station, eyes wandering across the variety of candy and occasionally glancing down at the crumpled up paper in his hand, scribbles of what everyone wanted hardly readable. He wasn’t familiar of the area, only being in LA for a few days for the tour but he was still sent off to find all the necessity’s to survive in the hotel a little longer. His black glasses were shoved up onto his hat, braids swinging down his back with each step while also pulling his baggy pants up. His hands were full of chips, candy, cookies, now his vision was directed towards the back freezers were the beer was stored.

Off in the distance he could hear a faint buzz, a booming sound of music being heard from a mile away and it only got closer. The lyrics of a Tupac song echoed into the store, a mixture of boys and girls stumbling in loudly. The one holding stereo grinned innocently, lowering down the music as the clerk behind the counter glared at him. Two girls trailed in after, you and your best friend, Alejandra, pinkies interlocked as you whispered about some teen pregnancy that happened downtown.

“Hurry up, or I ain’t getting you nothin’.” Your brother, Manuel, demanded, heading towards the food. His hair was slicked back, far too much gel layed on his dark locks to stick it in place.

The two of you headed down to the back, immediately searching for the cold drinks, you sharp eyes looked around the glass doors of different beverages. You gasped suddenly, wrapping your fingers around the metal handle of the door and pulling it open. A fresh breeze blew onto your body, contrasting against the hot sun that beamed brightly just outside. “Damn, Jandra!” Your friend jogged by you with curious eyes. “They released a sandía version of the Arizona Teas!” A big grin filled your face, grabbing the red tin can.

“Shiit.” Alejandra smiled, “Alright, you get the sandía and I get the mango, just so we got options.” You nodded, closing the door as someone walked behind you. You looked over your shoulder instinctively, catching sight of a tall boy, adorned in baggy clothing, a bandana wrapped along his hairline and long cornrows.

Tom had also taken notice of you the moment you stepped into the store, he turned to catch a better look but was met with your own eyes. For a moment, time slowed, both of gazed kept on each other, waiting for the other to look away. In the end, his eyes were lost behind a shelf, but you could see the way his lips quirked up into a smirk before he walked into the chip aisle.

You nudged Alejandra, removing her attention from the kids juice box section. You subtly nodded over to the boy who stood a few feet away, grabbing a bag of salty snacks. “He’s cute.” You whispered, Alejandra nodded in agreement smiling over at you knowingly. “Should ask I for his number?”

“Do it.” The girl giggled, revealing her pearly teeth that were caged behind a pair of braces. But, before you could walk over he began to make his way to the front, breezing past your brother and his group of friends who were going ham on the condiments. You huffed, walking by your brother to get a better look at him but still keeping it nonchalant. Your hands were inching towards a bag of Hot Cheetos, you brother loudly chewed on his hotdog, you stared over at him with a disgusted face. Alejandra opened up a bag of hot Cheetos, filling it up with cheese from the nacho section. You joined her, doing the same till your ear picked up a brewing commotion.

“In the United States you need to be 21 to buy beer.” The old clerk lectured, angrily glaring at the boy in front of him, a ID slipped on the counter that showed all of the mysterious cute boys information.

“But I am 19,” He pointed at the date of birth stated on the card, “that’s legal everywhere else, just let me have them.” The boy argued back, a thick accent in the back of his throat while he flailed his arms angrily.

“But we’re not anywhere else, we’re in the United States, it’s the law, kid.” The braid-haired boy groaned, taking back his ID and leaving behind the pack of beers, cursing under his breath in german. At that point the commotion had caught the attention of all the group. You stared as he stomped out the store, bag full of other snacks in his hands. Your brother and his friends snickered amongst eachother, you shoved his shoulder with a stern look.

“Yo, do him a solid and get them.” You muttered, your brother stared down at you, expression laid back and careless like usual, but he raised a brow.

“You gon’ pay for it o que?” (Or what) He questioned, “Cuz, I’m already payin’ for whatever you and Jandra got there, I ain’t spending my money on nothin’ more.”

You rolled your eyes, stuffing your hands into your pocket and pulling out the last bit of cash you had on you, placing it in his open palm. He smirked smugly, walking to get a pack before making his way upfront, the things got paid for, the cashier asking the same questions of did you find everything okay? as always, though his miserable tone was pitiful. As soon as you and the group stepped out the store, your brothers friend cranked up the volume on the stereo again, the song blasting from the speaker. From a distance you could see the same boy, leaned up against the ice machine, his snacks still in hand while the other held a cigarette between his fingers. His dark glasses protecting his eyes from the lowering sun.

Alejandra smiled at you, passing the pack of cold beers before cheering you on silently. You looked back at her before jogging over to the tall boy. “Yo, got these for you.” For a moment he just stared at you confusingly, cigarette burning down as the seconds ticked by. “I saw what happened in there, but don’t worry, we always got each others backs here in LA.”

You’d begun to think that maybe he didn’t understand you, he did have a thick, foreign accent while speaking earlier which made you assume that he may have a limited English vocabulary. You weren’t sure, but it made you nervous and awkwardly shuffle from side to side. But finally, he dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his shoes and lifting his sunglasses from his enchanting irises. He grabbed the pack, a smirk on forming on his pierced lips. “Thank you, beautiful, what’s your name?”

You liked his confidence, the nickname immediately making your smile and lean your head to the side flirtatiously. “Y/n, and you?”

“Tom.” He replied swiftly, eyes examining your body. The tight white tank top that hugged your skin, the baggy Dickies that belong to your brother hung low on your waist being kept up by a black belt, your ears gleaming with large silver hoops. You had a few tattoos scattered across the exposed skin he could see, your eyebrows were thinly drawn on, lips lined with a dark shade of brown. He liked you, adored your style. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “You fine as hell too, that’s why I wanted to ask for your number.”

“Yeah?” Tom lowly questioned, his shit-eating smirk only getting bigger. “Well you’ve got it, gorgeous.” He set down the beers, reaching for his phone in his deep pockets. You exchanged numbers, conversing a little longer, pulling all the flirty comments you could think of. You got him to chuckle a few times before he revealed that he was in town with his band.

“I like your glasses.” You hands reached forward, grabbing them from his head and placing them on your face. “Damn, these nice as fuck.”

He chuckled softly, staring at you. “Keep them.” You looked over at him, lowering the glasses to make sure that he meant it and wasn’t playing with you. “Gives me a reason to see your pretty face again.”

“Damn.” You stared at him happily before a loud horn blasted from behind you, you rolled your eyes, glancing back to see your brother looking back at you from red the low-rider car seat. “I gotta go, but call me guapo.” You smirked, waving your hand before walking towards the car. Alejandra smirked as she saw your happy express when you hopped in the open-roofed car. Tom eyes never left you as the car pulled away from the gas station and sped down the road, the whole vehicle vibrating as a rap song shrieked out the speakers.

“Who was that vato you were talkin’ to?” Manuel questioned, looking back at you from the rear-view mirror with a raised brow.

“None of ya’ business, mitotero.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, head turning to stare out into the road, the harsh wind whipping through your hair. Alejandra smirked, leaning in closer to your ear.

“So, did you get it?” Your friend watched as your lips twitched, teeth coming out to bite back the grin that threatened to show. She giggled, shaking your body lightly. “Ohh, girl, you got that look of looove.”

“He fine as hell but love is a little much.” You replied, looking over at her with a mischievous smile. “He gave him his glasses, though.” You pull them from your head and passed them to her as she gawked at them.

“A la madre, this is some of that nice shit.” She examined it closely, staring at the Ray-ban logo printed on the side. Just then you felt a buzz on your thigh, you looked down at the phone as it lit up with a notification, an unknown number texted you. Immediately you opened it and smiled, Tom had texted you, a flirty greeting topped with a winky face. “I assume it your man textin’?”

“Cállate.” You turn your phone off, stuffing it in the side pocket of your pants. The text was only the first of many, Tom taking more interest in you the longer you talked, it wasn’t long till he’d taken you to his hotel room.

“Shit, fool.” You mumbled, tightening the belt around your waist as Tom chuckled, being the only audience member of your fashion show, aka you trying on his stupidly baggy clothes. “How so you wear this stuff everyday.”

He shrugged, throwing his hands up slightly. “I am a big man, I need big clothes.”

“No shit.” You scoffed, turning towards the mirror and staring at the huge shirt that looked more like a dress. “Should I wear this to the carne asada?”

“I think you should wear nothing, you’re sexier that way.” The Kaulitz boy smirked, doing that thing where he fiddled with the black piercing on his lip. You rolled your eyes and walked back into the closet, ignoring his comments as you dug through more of his clothes. In a few hours you and Tom would have to arrive at your tíos carne asada, Tom being requested to join by non other then your mother.

Tom was already dressed and splayed out on the seat, just watching as you struggled to find something, which why you ended digging through his clothes. It took an half hour before you came out satisfied, grinning widely as you put on your silver hoops.

The real problem came the moment you stepped in the backyard, your tíos home full of guest that you knew and some you didn’t. Either way a handful of them came up to with same comments how old you looked and how big you’ve gotten. Manuel came up with his little gang that constantly followed him around, it took him the longest to get sue to Tom. Though, it wasn’t long before your brother and Tom became friends.

“Wassup, ese.” Manuel he held a corona beer in his hand, using his free one to grab clap against Tom’s and bring him in for a swift chest bump. Then you ran into your mother, her expression going from a stern glare to a huge smile. Everything had went smooth so far, you were happy to be there, until a familiar voice squealed from behind you.

“Tomas! Mi Niño, mira que guapo té vez!” Your mother chanted, bringing him into a tight hug and planting her calloused hands on his cheek, he smiled shyly at her affection. The boy had grown to be a favorite, his charisma and cute looks making him popular with the tías.

“Mama, he just got here from Germany a couple days ago, está cansado, we just gonna sit and chill.” You attempted to reason with the woman, staring at your boyfriend apologetically. But you’d only made the situation worse, she gasped dramatically, looking back at the boy and ushering him to a table. She’s explained everything to all of the tías, which lead to him being taken care of for most of the night. He was constantly being checked up on, being handed plates of food, being talked to about the latest scandal of the neighborhood, it left you sitting with Alejandra, on the other side of the backyard.

“Que tienes, amiga?” The dark haired girl questioned, staring at your frowning face and squinted eyes. She could practically feel the heat of annoyance radiating of you.

“They took my fucking man!”

heheheheh, this just a short little thang I decided to write bc why not,🤷‍♀️y’all already know that Tom would have the aunties in a CHOKEHOLD!! I also had to rewrite the last half of this bc I forgot to save it so sorry if any parts of it seem rushed or short!

[daytaker]

Hello, it is I, Family Anon, the anon who requested headcaons about MC’s family reacting to the brothers showing up and I have yet another request for ye, May we get some headcaons for Papa MC showing the brothers MC’s childhood photos? Them as a cute chubby baby, scribbling all over walls, getting braces (I saw a headcaon that was about them freaking out at the concept of braces and I just thought it was hilarious ), playing sports, their date for prom, and finally highschool graduation pics, Mama MC still doesn’t like any of them and is glaring at her husband for letting his guard down while MC is just rotting into the couch in embarrassment lol.

[ Related: "Mom, Dad, meet seven of my boyfriends" | "Mom, Dad, these are my other four boyfriends and my son" ]

"Mom, Dad, please stop showing my seven boyfriends pictures of me in the bath."

...is what you would have said if Dad hadn't already moved on from that picture to one of you with your face covered in Spaghettio's. Your dad is sitting on the couch between the twins, the five older brothers all huddled behind them as he flips through a photo album. It's only been a few days since he met the brothers, and while he was openly hostile towards them at first, he's quickly come to appreciate the fantastic sounding board they are for his ramblings on his beloved child. They're engaged, curious, and they ask all the right questions.

"Maybe we were too judgmental about that cult," your dad said to your mom the other day as you rubbed your temples. You've given up saying that there was no cult. You hardly even believe yourself anymore.

Mom has been glaring at Dad since he took out the family album he'd brought with him, but it had done her about as much good as glaring at him had done me.

Now, for a trip down memory lane...

You as a Newborn Baby

You, freshly out of the womb, with a red face contorted into an ugly sob.

"What's that?" Beel asks as he squints at the photo of the squirming infant that barely resembled a human.

"That's a baby, Beel," mumbles Lucifer.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing is wrong with it. Babies are just ugly when they first come out," Belphie explains.

"MC wasn't ugly when they first came out," Beel argues with a frown.

"Beel," Levi sighs. "That is MC."

"....Oh."

You with your Baby Sister

You're almost two and you're leaning over your mother as she holds your newborn baby sister.

"What is happening here?" Satan asks, perplexed. "There are two infants."

"Sure are," Dad says proudly. "That's MC, and that there is their little sister. You met her, didn't you, Derek?"

Satan says nothing, but still somehow manages to sound moody.

"She's our wildchild. Or, she was. Turns out MC has a bit of a crazy streak too. Isn't that right, MC?"

You say nothing. You're a little moody yourself.

You Crying on a Pony

You're about two years old at some autumn festival, your face frozen forever in a pitiful shriek of terror while you sit on the back of a docile pony while your dad walks beside you.

"Did that animal make you cry?" asks Belphie.

"As you can see from the evidence in this photograph, yes."

Belphie mutters something under his breath about making it suffer.

"That's from over 20 years ago. It's probably dead by now."

"Good."

"Belphie!"

You Taking a Bath

You're about three years old, and you and your sister are in the bathtub, naked as the day you were born, playing with bath toys.

"Humans have rubber duckies?" asks Levi.

"Humans?" Your dad gives him a funny look.

"Haha! Oh, Levi. He meant *Americans*. Sure we do, Levi!"

"It's strange that they let you take photos of them in the bath. I don't think they'd let someone do that anymore," Asmo sighs sadly. "MC, where did your sense of playfulness go?"

Trying to explain to these people that small human children are fundamentally unlike human adults is like talking to an especially inflexible brick wall.

You Dressed for Winter

You're standing in a thick coat, scarf, hat, mittens, snow pants, and snow boots. Your arms are practically stuck in the air at your sides.

This seems excessive, comments Lucifer.

Winters can get pretty cold in this part of the country, your dad explains.

Nonetheless, this seems excessive.

This was entirely normal outerwear for a six-year-old child going outside in the snow in January.

Nevertheless, Lucifer says, it seems excessive.

You remind Lucifer about the booties and doggy jacket he dresses Cerberus in when it snows in the Devildom and he stops making such judgmental statements about your parents.

You with Braces

It's a school photo. You're about thirteen. years old, and you're sporting braces. It's a painful memory.

"What happened to your mouth? Asmo gasps in alarm. "Who did that to your teeth?!"

Those are braces, Dad tells him.

"Braces?"

They straighten out your teeth bit by bit over the course of a long stretch of time.

And who did this to Asmo's precious MC?

The orthodontist, your Dad tries to explain, but Asmo is so disgusted he can barely stand to look at the picture.

You and your Prom Date

You're about seventeen, standing beside a boy around the same age, smiling into the camera. You're both dressed in formalwear and you both look vaguely uncomfortable.

"Hey, why's that kid lookin' so cozy with MC?" Mammon narrows his eyes at the photo album.

"That's Sam Jorgenson. Hey MC, you remember Sam Jorgenson?" your dad asks you.

Yes, you remember Sam Jorgenson, your on-again off-again high school boyfriend. You were always breaking up because of some stupid thing or another, and you were always getting back together over even stupider stuff.

"Why's he holdin' onto you like that?" Mammon asks accusatorially.

"Why are you looking at me like that? That's probably from my senior prom." You aren't looking at the photo, but you can guess which picture it is. "He was my date."

Mammon looks kind of devastated. Like he had expected to be the first guy to ever be your date to anything.

"Listen, Mammon, you're my first lots-of-stuff, but I had a life before I came to...um. Virginia. I wasn't saving myself for some hypothetical... 'backpacker' during my teenage years."

Mammon seems to feel like he barely knows you anymore.

You tell him that's just too damn bad, but Sam Jorgenson had a PS4 and beautiful blue eyes so you're not really that sorry.