#i can’t wait to read more

[cessreads]

umm some people actually read the acotar series very seriously, huh? People actually dedicate time and effort into writing pages about their 1 star reviews and their over-analyzation of everything? You really can’t pick up a book about fairies with unrealistic beauties and boys with bat wings and glorious abs just for the vibes and the smut? It also has to be politically correct and pass the bechdel test? :(

[voiddragoncat]

I read a really good Ace Attorney/Beauty and the Beast fanfic earlier this week and ended up doing some sketches of Beast Edgeworth!

I’ll probably change the way I draw him as more chapters come out. The way it’s written is really nice and I’m excited for more!!

Fic written by @metaphorical-goblin (whose birthday is today apparently!! Just saw that a minute ago, happy birthday!)

Some closeups:

[atopvisenyashill]

Thoughts on the Alysanne is Maegor's daughter AU? I feel like it has some interesting potential, and it vastly recontextualizes different parts of Jaehaehae (I do not like him sjsjsjs) and Alysanne's relationship (such as Jaehaehae's treatment of their daughters) but I wanna hear what you think about it!

I’ve touched on this a bit before but since you actually want to hear my thoughts, allow me to present to you my Jaehaerys Is The Goddamn Worst, And Alysanne Annoys Me Too: An Essay lmao but my answer is basically “yeah all of what you just said.”

I think it makes Alysanne much more palatable (to me) as a character because as she stands, she just fixates on forcing her daughters through these fucked up marriages at too young an age bc it traumatized her to be married and pregnant at 15 too but she’d never admit that being a willing participant in her own kidnapping by her brother-husband was the single worst thing that ever happened to her, and because Alysanne doesn’t want to admit it (and Jaehaerys would never see it as wrong or a mistake) F&B really shies away from delving into the fact that Alysanne is as deranged of a mother as Cersei is. So as she stands, she’s very flat to me because she’s presented very flatly and inconsistently. She’s so in love with Jaehaerys, she’s maritally raped by Jaehaerys, she’s a loving and doting mother, she forces her daughters into marriages when they’re the same too young age she was, she accuses her teenage girls of being scheming whores then gets angry when her husband accuses their teenage girls of being scheming whores, and worst of all we are just told “Maegelle tells them to make up so they do” so we don’t know why Alysanne gets over all of this. What is the point of riding a dragon when you never use that dragon to protect your daughters from unwanted teen marriages? We’re just not given a good enough justification for why her behavior is so weird and frustrating towards her daughters.

Make her Maegor’s daughter though…most of her behavior as an adult makes more sense. Like a worse version of Rhaenyra’s childhood almost - a father desperate for a son, but lowkey obsessed with his daughter, who makes all his hang ups about his parents the problems of every woman around him, except Maegor is out here blood sacrificing and torturing and starting wars and forcing babies on wives he discards quickly and brutally. Then here comes Jaehaerys on a white horse green dragon to save her from the horror her life has become, and he loves her so much he runs away with her even though Alyssa says they shouldn’t marry because people won’t like it. And they have beautiful children, and a beautiful marriage, and build a beautiful kingdom.

Then her pregnancies start getting dangerous. Gaemon, then Valerion, die. Alysanne thinks of the shriveled up mutants she called brothers, if Maegor’s taint has passed to her. Her perfect husband ignores her no, and forces Gael on her. Alysanne remembers that he said nothing to Rogar when Alyssa died, merely wept. Then her daughters start to die. Daella, Alyssa, Viserra, all within a few years. Then Jaehaerys makes Saera watch as he murders her boyfriend, calls her a whore, and says Alysanne cannot follow Saera to Lys. Alysanne thinks of Maegor torturing the Harroways over Alys’ presumed infidelity. Jaehaerys says he’s sorry, and her daughter badgers her into forgiving him, and she remembers how she helped Jaehaerys badger Alyssa into forgiving Rogar. Not two years later, Jaehaerys passes over Rhaenys. Alysanne thinks of how she was never enough for her father, how she felt so superior to Rhaena banished to Dragonstone and resented by Aerea, yet there she is dragging Gael away from court because she can’t stand to be with Jaehaerys. How her father was surrounded by dead women and dead babies and how Jaehaerys is surrounded by his own dead daughters, but surely she did the right thing, surely Maegor was worse, surely the realm is better off? Is he right to pass over Rhaenys? Is she enabling a man just as monstrous as her father? She will never decide, because Maegelle will guilt her about keeping Gael isolated at Dragonstone, and Alysanne will do as she’s told, just like Rhaena, and Alyssa, and Jeyne, Elinor, Ceryse, Alys, and Tyanna, just like every one of her daughters.

I do get why Alysanne is Alyssa & Aenys’ and not Maegor’s. The weird Targ babies, the line not descending from Visenya, Jaehaerys and Alysanne being held up as the perfect Targaryen couple specifically because they are brother and sister and dragon riders. I do even think canon Alysanne is likely traumatized by her time as a hostage on Dragonstone, and the ensuing war, and the trauma bond that caused with Jaehaerys, and it makes her idolize Jaehaerys, and then he isolates her at Dragonstone so he can swiftly and safely marry, groom, and knock her up. It’s not like,,,, a fun time, and it’s enough to make anyone crazy and weird about their daughters, but I think having her father be Maegor makes Alysanne herself much deeper because it gives her, as the most beloved Targaryen queen, a blood tie to the most hated Targaryen king, and a marriage to the most beloved Targaryen king. It fits better with a lot of the themes of the main series (again, imo) - forcing the spotlight on the outsiders to see how the affect the story from behind the scenes. The fall of Aegon’s sons, and The Long Reign, not told from the PoV or to serve the PoV of any of the kings or princes, but of the queen that tied them all together.

[babygirlwolverine]

big changes but the same fluff blog! get ready for double the kisses with deancas and poolverine 💋

deancaskiss >>>>> babygirlwolverine \|/

thank you to everyone who voted in my url poll. y’all chose this url so this one’s for you! and don’t worry, there will still be plenty of destiel on my blog with lots of poolverine too ❤️💛

[loveshotzz]

My little goth girl heart, this was so fucking cute. I love this pairing so much is makes me want to SCREAM.

Undone

Steve Harrington x WednesdayAddams!reader [984 words]

Steve delighted in knowing that he was the only one that got to see you like this, a secret just for him, a version of you for no one else. Unravelled, a little wild, flushed and face full of expression. 

Undone. 

He craved these moments, when he got to shut his bedroom door and keep you for himself, stripping away layers of your clothes each time he got a little bit more of a smile from you. Steve liked to talk and to tease, to kiss you nice and slow until you got too impatient and stopped sulking, making those little noises instead. 

The one just for him. 

He took his time with you, generous with his kisses, drawing a line of them from your cheek to your neck to your shoulder as he tugged off your clothes, a puddle of black on his bedroom floor until you were left bare for him. 

Nothing but wide eyes and a pouting mouth, lips slightly parted, skin flushed, hands reaching out to grab at him. There would always be a point where you’d suddenly become too aware of how you were looking at him, doe eyed and gaze sparkling, your voice higher and breathier than ever when you gasped out his name. 

So you tried to compensate by squeezing your eyes shut, hiding behind your palms so the boy wouldn’t see the way your mouth turned up at the edges when he called you pretty. But Steve knew you, he knew the way you worked, knew that if he caught your wrists and tugged all gentle, you’d reappear with a scowl that didn’t quite meet your eyes. 

It made him smile, boyish and charming, with his hair all messy, his kiss bitten and pink. It was the only time you liked colour. 

But you wouldn’t tell him that. 

He liked it even better when you took charge, the unbothered facade dropping when another girl was brave enough to hit on him while you were around. They were easy to scare off, eyes narrowed, pretty face sullen and pointed as you stared until they disappeared, Steve smothering a laugh behind a fist. 

It was times like those where you’d scramble at him before he even got a chance to drive you both home, your small hands pushing at him until he let you press him against the side of his car. 

You weren’t big on PDA usually, but there was something about the sight of another girl's hand on your boyfriend's hand that made you feel… well. 

Undone. 

So Steve let you mark him up the way you wanted, smile lazy and fond as you scowled at his amusement. But then you’d have him moaning, his hand slipping under your skirt when you pushed him into the back of the car. You’d do everything you could to make him that shade of pink you loved, lilac and lavender marks on his throat, the edge of his clavicle, whispering your name in an effort to calm you before you turned too feisty and you tried to fuck him in the arcade parking lot. 

But Steve’s favourite version of you? The softest one. The one they sought him out after you had a bad day and nothing else would fix it. Not your butterfly knife, or your switchblade… or well, any kind of weaponry, really. 

It happened rarely, but when it did, Steve took everything you gave him. You liked to slip in his front door with your spare key, boots left at the door so he wouldn’t hear you coming. It was always on Sunday mornings, when the town was still sleepy and Steve was in bed, a needy ache pulling at your chest ‘cause the boy had worked all week and you’d hardly seen him. 

He barely got to open his eyes before you slipped into bed with him, black sweater and black jeans left on the carpet, cold toes pressed to the tops of his feet. Steve would hum in appreciation, nose pressed into your hair, sleep warmed arms wrapped around your waist so he could pull you tight against him, hands sneaking up the sides of your t-shirt. 

You liked to crawl over him, knees pressed on either side of his bare thighs, arms tucked around his neck. He was soft with sleep, lazy and warm under you, pliable and happy to let you nuzzle into his jaw. 

If his eyes weren’t still heavy with sleep, he’d be able to see the way you smiled, really smiled, cheeks sore with it when he mumbled your name, soft and brimming with affection. 

You hid it with twisted lips when he finally woke up enough to flip you both, tucking you underneath him so he could kiss you greedily, legs hooked around his back so he could rock down onto you and make you sigh, lashes fluttering. Steve would kiss and kiss and kiss you until he got you to smile again, nose scrunching against his until he saw your eyes light up the way he did just for him. 

So you’d give in, just a little, just for him, for Steve. Under the sheets, bare skin on his, the light of the morning sun making the space under the duvet golden. 

“You’re pretty,” you’d tell him, voice quiet, much more soft than flat. “Especially like this.” A hand, pushed to his cheek, fingers brushing over the blush there, the warm that painted the high planes of his face rosy. 

Steve would turn into your touch, lips pressed to your palm, kissing each finger. “Yeah?” 

His blush only deepened. 

“Pink,” you’d tell him. “It’s like you’re trying to make it my new favourite colour.”

He’d grin, blinding.   

“It’s not,” you’d be quick to tell him, but your voice wasn’t as harsh as Steve knew it could be. “Stop looking at me like that.”

As if he could.

[seagreenstardust]

One of my favorite things about bkdk is how easily they fall into just about any AU

And Hori gave us so many to work with, winter and fantasy and pirates and steampunk and dragon riders and even band AU’s, and more and I just realized

It doesn’t matter what world you put bkdk in, it works because the chemistry is there in canon

[squishiest-wizard]

Me this whole week

[the-inheritance-games]

I know some people are theorizing that Odette is Alice and although I don’t know how to feel about it I thought I should share something that I find interesting.

Odette’s name kinda sounds like Alice’s maiden name

Alice O’day, ODETte MorALES

Idk if I believe that Odette is going to be Alice but it is interesting how Alice’s first name is kinda hidden in Odettes last name and, her maiden name is sorta in Odettes first name

Also I tried to anagram her name and failed then tried it in spanish because Morales is a common spanish last name, and I got “to amor del este” which means “to love from the east” or “love in the east” could also work

I also doubt that means anything but I thought it was cool and wanted to share :)

[kindlythevoid]

One of the best parts of Fellowship of the Ring is finding out about Aragorn and Bilbo’s friendship. Like I’ve seen people talk about how they collaborated on the song together, but I have yet to see people talk about this:

“[Bilbo] turned to Strider. ‘Where have you been, my friend? Why weren’t you at the feast? The Lady Arwen was there.’”

Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring pg. 261

Like. Bilbo was definitely one of Aragorn/Arwen’s chief shippers and no one can change my mind about that.

[dawninlatin]

This is seriously EVERYTHING I want in a fic AHHHHHHHHHHHH😍🫶😭✨

Thank you for giving us Daddy Rhys😭🫶🤩💛✨

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 1

Summary: Fresh after her third, and final, breakup with Tamlin, Feyre decides a one night stand is exactly what she needs to get him out of her system. Except, her one night stand with a violet-eyed stranger ends up being far more than she bargained for.

-

Or; the one where Feysand gets knocked up from a one night stand. A contribution to @officialfeysandweek2023 Day 3: Family.

🌶️🌶️🌶️ ahead!

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist (coming soon)

-

Maybe, in hindsight, the third tequila shot had been a mistake.

The first one, though, had been strategic. Feyre had come to Rita’s that night with a purpose, and that purpose had rattled her to the bone. Her hands were shaking when she sat at the bar, and she frowned at her phone screen, watching the words as she struggled to keep her grip steady.

If she was going to do this, she needed a drink. An ounce of liquid courage that burned down her throat, bloomed in her chest and spread to her fingertips, loosening her body. It didn’t ease the tremble in her hands, but that had more to do with the small green text bubble that she’d been staring at since she got here.

Got stuck in traffic. I should be there in five x

Feyre set the phone on the bar so that she could run her palms over the black bodycon she’d squeezed herself into, hoping to erase the evidence of the sweat gathering in her palms. She was nervous. Of course she was nervous. She hadn’t done anything like this in… years.

It was Alis’s fault, really. Several nights ago, she’d discovered Feyre hunched over on the bathroom floor, sobbing into her hand as she sorted through nearly a thousand couples photos on her phone—again. It was the third time Feyre and Tamlin had broken up, which marked it the third time Feyre was erasing any evidence of him off her phone. The final time, she swore, well aware that the photos still sat in a hidden folder on her phone since she hadn’t summoned the courage to delete them permanently.

“Maybe you should go out,” Alis had suggested. “Meet someone new. Do something fun and impermanent.”

“Impermanent?” She’d blinked past her tears to force Alis’s frown into focus. “Do you mean like… a one night stand?”

Alis had shrugged. “I think it’d be good for you.”

Feyre had sat on that suggestion for a week, torturing herself with all of the usual post break-up rituals. Unfollowing him on instagram, archiving all the couples photos on her profile, stalking everyone in Tamin’s likes. And when Tamlin had posted a series of pictures of a barbeque from the weekend prior and Feyre had swiped to see her ex-boyfriend with his arm slung proudly around Amarantha’s waist—the girl he’d sworn she didn’t have to worry about—Feyre decided that maybe Alis was right. Maybe she did need to do something to help her move on from Tamlin permanently. She needed to find someone who could help her have fun, purge him out of her system for good.

In a surge of courage that Feyre now partially regretted, she had sent a text to her old college roommate.

I want to get drunk and slutty this weekend. You down?

Drunk and slutty? Feyre, did someone steal your phone? Kidding! You know ‘drunk and slutty’ is my legal name, of course I’m down! For real though, is everything okay?

Tamlin and I broke up.

Well, fuck him! Let’s go to Rita’s and have the drunkest, sluttiest time at his expense.

It had been years since Feyre had been to Rita’s. Mor and Feyre used to go to the nightclub semi-regularly when they had been living together in college, but Tamlin wasn’t very interested in nightlife and Feyre had stopped going shortly after they’d started dating. She’d stopped doing a lot of things, actually.

But she wouldn’t think about that now. She was here to forget Tamlin. She was here to get drunk and throw herself into the crowd of writhing bodies, losing herself in the music that he would have undoubtedly complained about.

She had forgotten how loud it was in Rita’s. Music thumped through the overhead speakers, set to such a high volume that Feyre could feel the bassline vibrating in her chest, elevating her already racing pulse.

“Feyre!”

A bright-eyed woman came racing up to Feyre, her long blonde hair swishing behind, falling just above the scoop of her backless red dress.

“It has been too long,” Mor declared, not waiting for Feyre to stand from the bar stool before she barrelled into her side. It helped that Mor was tall, especially in heels.

“It’s good to see you,” Feyre said—surprised by how much she meant it. “You look incredible, by the way.”

Mor’s red lips stretched into a smile as she ran her eyes over Feyre. She gave a low whistle. “Look who’s talking. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to get drunk and slutty. What are we having?”

“Tequila,” Feyre answered, fingers pinched around her empty shot glass.

“Really?” Mor scanned the crowd, lips pursed. “I was thinking I’d like a brunette.” She turned back to Feyre with a roguish smile and winked. “Tequila will do for now, though.”

If they were going to be dancing, Feyre was definitely going to be needing another shot. Usually by the time they’d made it out to Rita’s in college, they had already spent the evening nursing their low-budget alcohol that had tasted more like motor oil than whatever label had been slapped over it. Dancing hadn’t been an issue then, but that was a time when Feyre had felt freer.

At least now, she could afford a drink at the bar.

Or two.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mor said, leaning against the bar after ordering a round of shots from the bartender. “I invited my cousin to join us.”

Feyre had a vague memory of the stories Mor used to tell about her cousin—one of her closest and only family members. It was good that Mor had invited someone else. Feyre had every intention of going home with someone tonight, and it was a relief to think she wouldn’t be abandoning Mor in doing so.

“The more the merrier.”

Mor grinned. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she accepted the shot glasses from the bartender and passed one to Feyre. “To slutty new beginnings,” she said, raising the shot glass in the air.

With a short laugh, Feyre clinked her small glass against Mor’s, and together they knocked back their heads to down the numbing liquid. It didn’t take long after the heat hit the back of Feyre’s throat for Mor to grab her by the wrist and drag them both into the center of the dance floor.

The transition was difficult for Feyre at first. Her body was too stiff and there were too many people. It was difficult to keep from brushing shoulders with the other dancers while she tried—and failed—to copy Mor’s graceful movements while also keeping time with the upbeat music. Eventually, Mor laughed and grabbed Feyre’s hand.

“You’re thinking too much!” she called over the loud ambiance. Raising Feyre’s hand over her head, Mor twirled her in place, then tugged Feyre’s back to the front of her body. Mor’s hands fell to Feyre’s hips, flush against Mor’s as they swayed back and forth.

“Don’t look at what I’m doing,” she whispered into Feyre’s ear. There was a sensual scrape to her voice that caused Feyre to suppress a shiver. “Close your eyes and listen to the music. Move your hips against mine—does that feel good?”

“Mor!” Feyre whispered with a sharp laugh. Heat was rising to her cheeks, but she obediently shut her eyes and focused on the music. “Are you trying to teach me how to dance, or seduce me?”

Mor hummed impishly. “Can I not do both? I thought we were embracing our sluttiness tonight.”

“I’m going to end up wanting to go home with you,” Feyre said, only half teasing. She leaned back into Mor and raised her hands into the air, allowing her friend to guide their rhythm. “Everyone else is going to pale in comparison.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Mor’s voice was pointed enough that Feyre’s eyes fluttered open. A pair of striking eyes met hers, shining violet against the red lighting of the dance floor.

“Oh my—”

“Good luck,” Mor purred into her ear, before giving Feyre a soft push towards the purple-eyed man cutting towards them.

His lips were twisted into a devious smile, one that was eerily reminiscent of the friend who was rapidly disappearing into the crowd, gone before Feyre could scramble after her. Dancing couples closed into the space she left, pushing Feyre closer to the dark haired stranger.

“Hi,” she whispered, hoping he would blame her breathlessness on the dancing. “I’m Feyre.”

“Hi Feyre,” he said, flashing her a cat-like grin. “Care to dance?”

Feyre hadn’t even realized she had stopped. “Of course,” she said, though the music had become a distant white noise.

Embrace your sluttiness, Feyre chided herself, thinking of the way she and Mor had just been grinding against each other. With a slow, steadying breath, Feyre stepped closer to him. He was so tall that she could just barely wind her arms around his neck, and she was suddenly grateful she’d opted to wear heels despite how her feet were already aching.

His hands fell to her hips, warm and broad and far too respectful, considering she’d just pressed the entire front of her body against his.

“What’s your name?” She tried to mimic the way Mor had spoken to her just a moment ago—low and husky, sensual like the fragrant smoke blowing over the hard-tiled floor.

“Rhysand,” he said. “But my friends call me Rhys.”

“Rhys,” Feyre echoed, letting her tongue linger on the word, the same way she wanted to let it linger over the brown, tattooed skin she saw peeking through his black collared shirt. Why did that name sound familiar? She dropped one hand to his elbow, pushing it forward so that his hand slid around the curve of her hip and landed firmly on her ass.

“And what do your lovers call you, Rhys?”

“That depends,” he murmured. Those decadent eyes darkened, dropping to her mouth. “What would you like to call me?”

Daddy? She thought, feeling her entire body heat at the suggestion. That was clearly the tequila talking. Ordinarily, she would never dream of saying something like that out loud and now the word hung dangerously on her tongue.

She nearly said it. But she wasn’t that drunk yet.

Instead, Feyre took a solid moment to compose herself. Rhysand was staring at her expectantly, hardly dancing despite how their hips were flush and his palm pressed into her ass. She liked that he was patient, waiting to follow her lead, taking only what he was being freely given. More green flags than she was expecting from a stranger she’d picked up at a club.

With a face and body like his, she thought surely he must possess some significant shortcoming. At the very least, she expected he had to be a massive prick. But that didn’t matter. Because she wasn’t looking to marry him, or even have a conversation with him. He could be a self-absorbed asshole for all she cared, because after tonight she was never going to see him again. Which meant she could be bolder, say whatever she whatever—be whoever she wanted.

Feyre leaned up, curling her finger around his biceps to steady herself so that she could press her lips to his ear. “Tonight, Rhysand, I want to call you mine.”

He had to shout over the music to be heard. “Yours?”

“Yes,” she crooned, starting to feel the alcohol loosen her body, urging her to be brave, to be reckless. “Tonight, you’re only allowed to dance with me.”

The scent of his cologne tangled in the air, dark and heady like a raging ocean storm. There was no greater freedom that Feyre could imagine than throwing her arms open to the embrace of whipping wind, feeling the sea-spray in her hair and letting the riptide carry her to the vast horizon. At least for tonight, she wanted to drown in him and emerge someone new. Someone carefree and wild who couldn’t remember Tamlin’s name or why her heart was fractured.

Tonight, Rhys was hers. And she was his.

“Are you the jealous type, Feyre?”

From the way he posed the question, Feyre had the sense he found that appealing.

“I don’t like seeing people touch my belongings,” she said, playing into her new role. A seductress—an entirely different woman from the dull, caged-in Feyre who had walked through the door under an hour ago. “Unless that doesn’t apply to you?”

“Oh, Feyre darling,” Rhysand pulled away so that she could see the full extent of his grin. “I was yours from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

-

They’d hardly stumbled through the front door when Feyre’s back hit the wall. Her dress was already hiked up her hips. The hem had first slipped up when she’d wrapped her legs around Rhysand’s waist as they were coming up the stairs, and the hand he’d edged along her inner thigh certainly hadn’t done anything to help.

The fabric had been ungodly short already. Or at least, that’s what Rhysand had complained to her throughout the last several hours she’d spent grinding her barely clothed ass against him.

He said it one more time for good measure, gasping it against her lips—”This dress is going to kill me.”

“Then take it off.”

“Believe me, I have every intention of seeing you undressed,” he said. His eyes dipped to the cleavage spilling out to tops of the v-shaped neckline. He groaned, ducking his head to leave a trail of nipping kisses along the edge of the seam. With his face practically buried in her chest, he growled, “But first, I’m going to fuck you with it on.”

“Rhys—”

“Right here,” he interrupted, rolling his hips forward for emphasis. “Against this wall.”

His erection was thick, pressing through his trousers so that she could feel its shape perfectly against the soaked lace of her underwear.

Her response was compulsive and utterly reluctant. “I have a roommate.”

His head snapped up, rising from her chest to search her face for a moment, before he flashed her a shameless smile. “Better hope you can keep quiet, then.”

Oh, holy forgotten gods. Feyre’s muscles clenched at the idea—of the ways that he could help her to ensure she stayed quiet, picturing those large hands wrapping over her mouth. Or better yet, her throat. But they were both drunk, and likely incapable of staying quiet, and she was going to say more to protest, but he cut her off by slipping a hand between her thighs.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, at the same time Feyre whimpered from the feeling of his thumb swiping against her clit. “Have you been this wet all night, Feyre?”

Yes. It was a show of extraordinary self control that she hadn’t asked Rhysand to take her in one of the alleyways behind Rita’s, like she’d contemplated doing several times when he’d been slowly grinding against her ass and whispering absolute filth into her ear.

Filth like describing what he was doing at this very moment, sliding her underwear down her legs.

He asked, almost casually, “Do you think you’ll need something to help you stay quiet?”

Surely he wasn’t suggesting…? Feyre bit her lip, feeling an anticipated thrill spike through her.

Trying her best to summon the seductress from Rita’s, she asked, “I think that depends on how confident you feel about your own… skill set.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue. “So bratty, Feyre.” He’d managed to slide her panties down her legs now, and she watched in disbelief as he balled them in his fist and raised the wet, crumbled fabric to her lips. “Open.”

She stared for a moment, unblinking, realizing that she’d never actually tasted herself before—except for the rare moments she’d been kissed after someone had gone down on her. It had never been unpleasant, but it had always been brief, accidental.

As if sensing her train of thought, or merely observing her hesitation, Rhysand licked her arousal off his fingers and smiled. “Don’t worry, darling. You taste exquisite.”

A bit dumbfounded, Feyre obediently parted her lips, allowing Rhysand to slip the balled up underwear into her mouth. The cotton stuck to her tongue, wet and tangy from her own arousal.

“Good girl, Feyre,” he said, stirring something dangerous and exhilarating inside of her. His thumb and forefinger squeezed against her cheeks, as if feeling the space the underwear took up in her mouth. “Do you taste how wet you are? So eager to be fucked.”

Her cheeks were heating up, embarrassed and aroused and trying to wade between those two conflicting feelings. No one had ever talked to her this way in the bedroom before. They weren’t even in the bedroom, and a strange part of her was getting off on the idea that Alis could walk out and find them like this, with her underwear in her mouth and a stranger praising her for being such an eager slut.

Rhysand’s fingers returned to her pussy, gliding through the wetness to tease at her entrance. She gasped, the sound smothered against her underwear, as he slowly slid a finger inside her, then another, sliding them both to the knuckle.

“Fuck,” he swore again. “I usually like to—I wanted to make you come first. On my fingers. But you’re so wet, Feyre. I think I could fuck you just like this. And I could put you on my tongue afterwards.”

Feyre’s head fell back against the wall. She bucked her hips forward, hoping her meaning was clear—just fuck me already, you asshole.

He laughed, hurriedly dropping a hand to his belt buckle to free himself from his trousers. She watched, saliva collecting in the recesses of her mouth as Rhys pushed his pants down just enough to free himself. He took his cock into his fist, pumping the thick length with two casual strokes before he adjusted himself at her entrance.

Feyre dug her fingers into his shoulder. She didn’t think any partner had ever been as big as he was, and it had been almost three months since she and Tamlin had last had sex.

“Is this what you want?” Rhys asked, pausing with his flushed head right against her cunt. She could feel it throbbing against her—or maybe that was her own ache building, so unbearable at times throughout the night that she’d barely resisted the urge to beg him to just bend her over one of the tables at Rita’s.

She thought of the last tequila shot they’d had before they left, how he’d poured the salt line against her throat, the way his tongue had scorched a path over her skin.

With a small, exasperated huff, Feyre ground against the head of his cock, trying to fuck herself on him if that’s what it would take.

That earned another cruel laugh. “I guess that answers my question,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “Pretty, needy thing.”

Then, with her head still spinning from his praise, Rhysand thrust his hips forward. Feyre’s hands turned to fists against his shirt.

“Oh, fuck,” Rhys choked out, all of his suave confidence suddenly forgotten.

Feyre was forgetting everything, too. Like how to breathe. There was no room for air in her body anymore. It was being squeezed out of her, escaping in a single, surprised gurgle as she became aware of every nerve, blazing white-hot while her body searched for a way to accommodate the space that Rhysand was demanding.

The wall at her back became a cool, solid extension of his body, caging her against him, leaving no space to squirm away as the head of his cock pushed into a group of nerves that had Feyre clenching around him, desperate to escape because otherwise she would scream and surely wake up Alis. Rhys felt it, because his eyes went wide, and a moment later one of his large hands was covering her mouth.

His eyes were dark, the color of the night sky when the moon was swallowed whole. “Right there?” he asked, stilling his hips, lingering against the spot that was causing splotches to dot her vision.

Feyre’s head lulled back, wondering if she found a version of euphoria that was so pure, it bordered on pain. She started babbling nonsense around the underwear, rendered into wet and smothered sounds against his hand while she began writhing desperately against him, grinding his dull head against that cluster of nerves over and over—until she was drunk on it, on him, on the way he swore softly beneath his breath and whispered, “That’s it Feyre. Use me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

He allowed her a moment to chase her own pleasure, his full lips splitting open in awe, eyes half-lidded as he watched her grind her hips. Then, he started meeting her with slow, precise motions, keeping himself directly in that spot so that he was fucking her there, forcing her to come undone with every tortuous roll of his hips.

“Gods, Feyre,” he panted. “You should see yourself like this. You’re so beautiful. Letting me fuck you in your little dress. You’re so—” he halted, their hips flush together so that he could grind against that spot in one slow, deliberate movement that had Feyre heaving, spluttering against the underwear and his hand as she felt herself tighten around him. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

Her nails bit into his skin. She knew it must have hurt, but he only groaned, saying nothing in protest as she slid one hand into his hair and tugged. She wasn’t even certain what she was trying to tell him. Fuck me or harder or don’t stop. Or just please.

Please, please please.

It didn’t matter. Rhysand’s breathing was ragged, practically as undone as she was as his hips continued their onslaught. The momentum pushed her into the wall with every thrust, resulting in a dull thumping noise that nearly drowned out the sound of their slapping skin, or her gushing arousal, or the wanton moans he smothered with his palm.

His pace staggered a bit, and she thought he must have been close because he opted to drop his hand from her mouth in favor of rubbing her clit. She could feel her own drool against his fingers, wet as he circled them between her thighs. Some of it was still dribbling over her chin, but the mess that she’d become was the last thing on her mind while she bit down fiercely on her underwear in an effort not to scream.

Feyre didn’t know how to tell him that she was going to come. She tugged on his hair, a low whine building in her throat.

That must have been enough, because he whispered, “Oh, Feyre—baby, I know. Look at me, darling.” It was an effort, but she pulled her head upwards, meeting his burning violet eyes. “Such a good girl. You’re going to come for me, yeah?”

She nodded, knowing her eyes were as wide and wild as his own. Feyre didn’t know why, but in the midst of the surge of pleasure ratcheting up her spine, she felt suddenly tempted to reach up and brush aside some of the hair that was plastered to his forehead. She wanted to see his face, memorize the shape of his mouth as it slackened into an open ‘o’, moments before he leaned forward to kiss her—undeterred by the drool or the underwear or her desperate gasp for air as the mix of sensations threatened to drown her whole.

Rhysand groaned. The vibration lingered on her lips, then rippled, the final push to topple her over the edge. Feyre jerked her hips, uncertain if she was trying to escape or chase the ecstasy violently crashing over her body, causing every muscle to contract. Rhys kept her still, kept the rhythm of his fingers steady even as his own pace faltered. He gasped into her mouth, driving his cock deeper before his body stilled and she could feel the distant, pleasantly warm sensation of his release.

For a moment, the hallway went starkly quiet, disturbed only by their ragged breathing. Their chests rose and fell, brushing idly against each other like the sea over the shore. Eventually, Rhysand was the first to move—pulling his fingers from her clit so that he could push them into her mouth and pry the underwear free.

It made a horrifying squelching sound as the fabric hit the floor. Feyre met his eyes, mortified, but his lips were already stretching into a smile that immediately chased away her concern. He thought it was funny. That tugged a small smile to her lips too, and then they were laughing softly together as Rhysand errantly swiped his thumb over her chin, wiping away the excess saliva.

“Do you think we woke up your roommate?” he asked.

“If not, we can always try again. In my bedroom, this time.”

Rhys grinned. His hands slid down to support her weight so that he could pull them away from the wall. “Which door is yours?”

-

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit—Shit!”

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Feyre?” Alis called. “Everything okay?”

“Just a minute,” Feyre called, in a voice which betrayed that everything was most definitely not okay.

She raised the small, digital stick closer to her face out of some misguided hope that the double lines were just a trick of the light. There was no way she was actually pregnant. She was on the pill, and she’d been taking the doses mostly on time.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic—

“Shit.”

[camifornilla]

I’m just saying,,,

This could’ve been the start of their incredible wlw relationship without dumbass Scott ruining it like he always does. Hangin out, realizing that the person most likely to understand them is the other. Teaching Jean how to serve c**t, teach Emma (nothing cuz she’s fucking great) humility? Maybe? Have them bond over their shared history of having clone relations. Have actual fun! Play mind games on other people together for funsies!

It’s not gonna happen but it’s happening in my brain and that’s great for me.

[wndaswife]

there is something so special about reading… it is such an intimate form of connection with yourself….. you go through the most intricately drawn stories all on your own, interpret it for yourself and enjoy it only for yourself and never for anyone else, and everything you read and feel and think about the book is only yours… you don’t need any external influence to tell you what to think or feel about the book, no one you have to justify or explain them to

[sandeewithtwoe]

CW: Eye ball

An eye for an eye

Horror Undyne belongs to horrortalecomic

[yezzyyae]

Omgg this series is sooo good! I love this series and I need more I’m on the edge of my seat reading this 👏🏾👏🏾😩I hope Lip don’t mess it up with Charlotte but who is calling you girl lol

Better

Chapter 5: Don't Call Me That

Note: Thank you so much for all of the love, I appreciate it so much. I've been having so much fun writing this story and seeing everyone's responses! The kind words mean a lot. Two questions: 1) Would you all want my Lip x Charlotte Playlist? 2) I'm considering opening my requests to writing little one shots about things you all want for just Lip and Charlotte or Angel and JJ right now, and expanding as I introduce more of my little universe. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.

The sun rose in Charlotte’s room, pouring through the wispy white curtains, shining down on Lip’s face. The woman next to him turned over after waking up, leaning on her elbow as she scans his features. He reminds her of some kind of painting, or statue. Strong features, chiseled chest and stomach. Curly deep golden hair. 

She’d woken up to his phone going off. Calls and texts. She had braced her hand on his chest to shake him awake but when she saw Mandy’s name on the screen instead of one of his siblings, she rested her hand softly on his skin, trailing her finger along the contours of his stomach, following the lines up his chest, past his jaw and along his soft lips. She holds her own breath as she scoots up a little more, smoothing her fingers between his eyebrows, feeling him relax his brow and release a peaceful sigh under her touch. She liked making him feel like that. Peaceful and relaxed. 

Charlotte was enjoying herself until she felt his muscles tense and a groan rumble in his chest as he stretches out his limbs. She panics, flipping back over on her side and squeezing her eyes shut as if she’d been asleep the whole time, trying to place a cute, peaceful look on her face. 

She feels Lip shift behind her, his body heat pooling even closer as he leans over her to look at her face. “Why’d you stop?”

Charlotte yawns dramatically, mimicking his stretching motion, accidentally (on purpose) pushing her hand into Lip’s face, before turning onto her back to look up at him. “Stop what?” she asks groggily.

“Stop what?” he mocks in his attempt at her voice, the fact that his voice was lower because he just woke up didn’t do him any favors. “C’mere.” He grabs her sides, pulling her the rest of the way under him and tickling her sides, grinning as she squeals, kicking her legs and pushing him with her hands. Lip grabs her ankle to stop her motion, pinning her hands with the other and smiling down at her. “Huh? What’re you gonna do now, bunny? C’mon, slugger.”

Charlotte squirms for a little, laughing at how weak her attempts to escape were, and how little effort it was taking for Lip to keep her in place. His teasing murmur of ‘come on, baby’ pushes her to turn her head to the hand that was holding hers, arching up a little before sinking her teeth lightly into his arm.

“Fuck! Ow, Charlotte!” Lip hisses, yanking his hands back as she cheers victoriously, pushing her feet at his chest. “Yeah yeah. Fightin’ dirty and shit.” 

She cheeses at him, patting the bed next to her and Lip lies down on his back, turning his head to look at her. “Good morning. How’s your head? Your ribs? Emotional health?”

“Mornin. How’s your hand?” he asks, reaching down to bring her hand to his face, peeling back her bandage briefly to inspect for any damage. 

“I asked you first.” she sighs, watching as he ignores her, smoothing the bandage back over and rubs his face over it once. “Phillip?” she asks again, rolling her eyes when he just starts kissing the palm of her hand. “Mandy called a couple times. Texted too.”

“Hm, what’d she say when you answered?” he asks, wincing when she smacks her hand on the top of his head. “Ow.”

“Me answer? I’m not the one she wants to hear from. It seems like she still thinks you guys are together.” Charlotte says, pulling her arm from him. “Talk to her.”

“You want me to break up with her.”

“No.” Charlotte crosses her arms. “I want you to talk to her. If that ends with you broken up or together, we’ll be cool. I’ll be happy for you. But until then, no more sleepovers.” She goes to climb out of bed, rolling her eyes as Lip tugs her back in, wrapping his arms around, pulling her back underneath him.

“Just…fuck…fuckin’ relax, alright?” He murmurs, nudging her nose with his own, “I’ll handle it. Seriously, I’ll talk to her. Okay?”

Charlotte huffs, glaring up at him until he nudges at her dimple with his knuckle. “Okay.”

The two of them don’t even get to take a breath before the door creaks open. “Hey, Lottie, V wanted to know if you-shit!” 

“Kev!”

“Fuck!”

Kev swings the door all of the way open roughly, letting it hit the wall before stalking into the room. “What the fuck, dude what the hell are you doing here?!” 

Lip groans, backing away from Charlotte slowly, showing his hands, “Look, man-”

“No you fuckin’ look, man.” Kev growls, “I’ve seen you do this to other families but we’re supposed to be friends, you’re in here defiling our daughter-”

“‘M’not your daughter, Kev, we’re cousins. Through marriage. And even then not really!” Charlotte huffs, tugging on a pair of pajama pants. “And nothing happened.”

“Not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business.” Lip grunts, pulling his shirt over his head. 

“Uh, she is my business dipshit-V! Come here!”

“Jesus.” Charlotte whimpers, wrapping her arms around herself and plopping down on the bed.

V comes into the room with a mug of coffee in her hand, grumbling about Kev screaming so early in the morning and pauses with her drink halfway to her mouth when she steps in. “Oh, fuck no. Lottie, what did I say?”

“But nothing happened!” she whines, flopping back on the bed, sticking her tongue out at Lip’s snort.

“He’s in here trying to fuck our daughter, V!” 

“Not your daughter.” Lip interjects.

“You shut the fuck up.” V points at Lip then turns to Kev, “You’re delusional, she’s not our daughter, she’s my cousin.” She finally lands on Charlotte, going over to the bed and slapping the girl on the leg multiple times.

“Ow, Veronica get off!”

“My mom is not gonna kick my ass because I’m supposed to be teachin’ you to be an independent woman and you got knocked up by a Gallagher on my watch!” she slaps Charlotte’s leg one more time, dodging when the younger woman kicks her leg out at her. “You wanna have a sleepover, invite one of the redheads.” 

With that, V storms out of the room, Kev in tow, turning to yell out “Out, Lip!” 

The room is silent for a moment before Lip’s snickers start to fill the air. “It’s not funny. Seriously.” 

“I thought it was.” Lip laughs, buckling his belt. “You’re Kev’s baby girl now, huh? And V spanks you when you don’t listen?”

“I did listen. I haven’t slept with you have I?” she scoffs, pulling her scarf off and letting her silky black hair fall down over her shoulders, Lip’s smile slowly falling away as he watches her sweep her hands through dark curls and envisions his hand tangled in it instead. “V’s worried about my mom talking to her mom and Kev…he’s weird like that. Acts like I’m not 19, but he’s sweet and I’ve always wanted an older brother.” 

Lip continues to stare at her, the way the light from the window casts a halo around her as she smiles up at him brightly. Charlotte squirms under his gaze, feeling her cheeks heat up. “You heard my ‘dad’. Out, Lip.” 

That breaks him from his stupor. The blond stalks forward to where Charlotte is sat on the bed, gathering the fabric on the front of her t-shirt, yanking her up, ignoring her squeal and the sound of footsteps making their way back to the room. He plants his forehead against hers, watching her face closely before pressing his lips against hers, pulling her into a heated kiss and letting her go, causing her to drop down on the bed. “You don’t call me that.” 

Charlotte watches as Lip slips out of the room, calling back to her, “I’ll see you later!” giggling when Kev yells back, “Like fuck you will!”

“Honey! You’re home! You didn’t come back last night.” Monica cheers as Lip comes through the door. “Did my advice work?”

“Advice?” he asks, kicking off his shoes and slapping the back of Carl’s head as he passes by. “What advice?”

“About Charlotte!” Monica calls after him. 

Fiona rounds the corner of the living room and changes the channel to National Geographic so Liam can watch the television and fixes Lip with a look. “You’re listenin’ to Monica now? That why I’m hearin’ about Kev and V finding you in bed with Lottie?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“You were in bed with Charlotte? Fuckin’ traitor!” Carl huffs jumping off of the couch and shoving Lip before running up the stairs. 

The two older siblings make eye contact and the oldest girl shrugs, grabbing some dirty clothes off of the couch. “He’s got a crush on her. And you keep datin’ girls he likes. Not that you should be datin’ Charlotte.”

“When else have I dated a girl he liked?” Lip asks, choosing to ignore the raise of Fiona’s eyebrows when he doesn’t correct her about dating Charlotte. 

“He had a thing for Mandy, not that you noticed.”

“He has a thing for anyone with tits, I can’t leave him every woman ever.” Lip chuckles, grabbing a beer from the table. “He can have Mandy now if he wants her.”

Just as he says that Ian jogs down the steps, dodging a hug from Monica and guiding her to sit down on the stairs. “Real classy, asshole, still my best friend.” 

“Yeah your psycho best friend dropped Charlotte off at a whorehouse. Drive it through her head we’re not fuckin’ anymore for me will you?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Ian pauses, pulling on his jacket, “Fuck you, talk to her yourself, I’m not catching those strays.” 

“Fine. Fan-fuckin-tastic.” He sighs, shoving his feet back into his shoes and turning back around to leave the house. 

Lip walks the way to the Milkovich house smoking his way through three cigarettes on the short walk alone. It’s not like he’s uncertain about what he wants to do. No, he knows. Charlotte has made it abundantly clear that she has no intention of letting him get anywhere unless she’s sure he’s unattached. And not that his time with Mandy wasn’t great but…he’d already done that. 

And it was great. Mandy was a good lay, a good friend, a nice girl when she wanted to be but for some reason he could never make himself take it seriously. He was always cheating, whether it be with Karen, that creepy teacher bitch, random girls he met out. It wasn’t Mandy’s fault, he’s not a shithead, he knows that it’s on him.

He couldn’t make it up to her. Give her the one thing she wanted, him. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend to her. He wasn’t dedicated. He knew what dedication looked like from him, and it wasn’t how he treated Mandy. Not when for the few times he even agreed to hang out with her since Charlotte came he either envisioned her while he had sex with Mandy or stared out of his window into Charlotte’s hoping she’d slip by.

That’s why he had to be honest with Mandy. And she shocked the shit out of him.

“Figured. Just needed confirmation.” she sighs, throwing her cigarette into the dirt and stepping on it.

“Cause uh…I think we needed time apart anyway, but that shit you did with Charlotte was really fucked up.”

“Oh my God.” she rolls her eyes, staring past him into the street. “Tell the princess I’m sorry.” 

Lip just works his jaw irritably, forcing back all of the angry expletives he’s had swirling in his head for her since it had happened. “Okay, so…”

“You either wanna fuck one more time to hold you over until you come back or you can go stalk Charlotte at her fuckin’ job like you like to do recently.” Mandy shrugs, climbing the stairs to her apartment, stopping in the doorway waiting for Lip to follow her up and wiping the tear that falls onto her cheek when she sees he’s already lighting a cigarette, walking up the street.

Lip stops by the construction site to pick up his check after settling shit with Mandy, and swings over to the bank to cash it so he could chip in to even out whatever the fuck Monica and Frank stole from them this time. After, he goes over to Charlotte’s job, checking the time on the phone to make sure her shift was ending. He’d promised not to make any more trouble that could cost her what’s left of her check.

He swings the door open and slides into a seat at the bar, waiting to spot her. He notices her boss Alan instead, drinking behind the wooden separator and nods to him. “Hey, man, she’s not here, alright?”

Lip furrows his brows. “Where is she?”

“Already headed out for the day, we were overstaffed and last one in, first one out.” Alan shrugs, openly ogling one of the girls as she squeezes past him and shaking his head when he notices look glaring at him. “What? That one doesn’t have a boyfriend comin’ down here every time she has a shift. Jesus, Gallagher, do you even work?”

“Yeah, when I’m not making sure you creepy fucks aren’t sexually harassing my girl.” He smirks. “Just tryin’ to make sure you assholes don’t forget my face, let your drunken dicks get confused and think you have half a shot with Charlotte.” 

“Well, your point has been made, between you beating the shit out of some of my best customers and calling her twice each shift. I need her out here on the floor, man, even if she’s not putting out, the face and the body bring in customers, it’s math Gallagher.”

“Yeah, you have your teenage son workin’ the register cause you can barely add and subtract, fuck you, Alan. I don’t call her during her shifts.”

Alan scoffs, grabbing a handful of peanuts and turning to head back into the kitchen, “Well someone does, and she always seems happy to hear from him.” 

Lip clenches his jaw as Alan’s snickers ring in his ears. Nothing in his mind but the same question over and over.

Who the fuck is she talking to on the phone?

Charlotte knocks at the door to the Gallagher household, cheerful as ever. She hears quick, happy footsteps jog over and is greeted with a grinning Fiona, with music blasting behind her. “Lottie, how are you?”

“I’m good, Fi, got off work early, wanted to know if Lip wanted to hang out.” she chirps. She smiles when Fiona makes a face, slumping her shoulders. “Really, just hang out. As in, you could join us. But it seems like you’re having a party of your own.”

“Girl, you should come in, V, your cousin’s here and I think she needs a celebratory shot!” Fiona grins, grabbing Charlotte’s hand and tugging her into the house. 

“Nuh uh, baby girl’s next shot will be on her birthday in two months. But she should come party.” V smacks her cousin’s butt. “Put on some of your shit, you’ve got better music taste than this shit Fiona’s stealin from Carl. Kev’s getting beers and Ian’s picking up Mickey. It’s gonna be fun.” she leans over to Charlotte murmuring in her ear, “Fi got a new job and we’re celebrating.”

“Is…um…Lip coming?” Charlotte asks, eyes wide as she looks expectantly at the two women. She frowns at the two of them as they exchange looks with each other, shaking their heads, “I like hanging out with him!”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” V sighs. “But I don’t want you to get all caught up and confused!”

“Yeah, Lottie, you’re just not from here. And I know Lip, he gets swept up in seeing a pretty girl and is interested for a little while before he moves on. He’s like any hood guy around here, he’s just got a higher IQ and won’t put his hands on you.”

Charlotte groans, tossing her bag on the couch, “I’m fine. I can take care of myself, okay? Your brother and I are just friends. Seriously.” The younger woman changes the music on the speaker and stands on one of the chairs to help hang one the ‘congratulations Fiona’ banner.

As she pushes the tack into the wall she lets her mind wander to the blond, something she’s found herself doing a lot lately. She meant it when she said she had no intention of being around him after the whole Mandy debacle, but she hadn’t accounted for him being him. 

Charlotte knows they’ve led different lives, and he has a bad reputation with women. Or…people in general. She’s heard plenty of stories about Lip since she’s gotten here. Half of the girls from her job had hooked up with him before, an embarrassing fact she’d discovered during her lunch break one day. Slept with them, and snuck out before the sun came up, screwed them over a bathroom sink in a dingy bar and never asked for their number, having sex with them one day and hitting on their sister the next. She’d seen that look that Mandy gave him when she came out of the house. Like he was her whole future. She looked at him like she loved him. Needed him. And Charlotte doesn’t ever want to get there. She never wants to be the type of girl V always warned her against being. She didn’t want to be standing there watching the guy she has feelings for give less than a fuck about her. 

She knows she should listen to everyone and be around him less.

But she can’t explain it. She really likes being around Phillip. 

When Lip gets home he hears the sound of music blasting and curses loudly, letting his head fall back and stare at the sky. He is not in the mood to push his way through whatever seedy, old fuckers Frank and Monica has coralled into his home just to get a simple beer while he tries not to lose his shit over whatever limp dick fucker has been calling Charlotte every fucking day at least twice. Speaking of.  

He turns his gaze over to the house next door and weighs in his head how likely he’d be able to get in through the big window in the living room and down the hall to Charlotte’s room without Kev or V seeing. Then he thinks about how his head has been since Alan ran his mouth. Should he even see her? He has a bad track record of fucking things up when he was feeling…protective? Possessive? Jealous? Lip shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own thoughts. They’re not even together. She’s made that abundantly clear. That’s why she’s probably fucking some trash from Virginia. 

Yeah, no, he’s not ready to visit her right now. He needs to get his thoughts right, form them in a way that he ends up with what he wants and doesn’t sound crazy over a girl who hasn’t even agreed to date him.

Home it is. He thinks bitterly, climbing the rest of the steps and turning the doorknob. The door opens and the music fills his ears even louder, random 2000s rap blasting. Lip doesn’t even make it over the threshold before Liam toddles over to him, jumping into his arms. 

“Party!” the little boy yells, flashing his smile with missing teeth at Lip. The older brother smiles, catching the toddler and swinging him up further into his arms.

“Yeah, party,” Lip cheers back, nuzzling his brother’s cheek,  “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah down.” Liam kicks his legs as Lip holds onto him, walking further into the house to assess the situation before letting his little brother go off. 

“Liam! Where’d you go? I need my dance partner. I like this song” The voice makes the tense feeling in Lip’s chest immediately come rushing back, and it takes the edge off of the annoyance too. “Oh, hey.”

Lip can’t help but mimic Charlotte’s bright smile as she leans against the wall, clasping her hands behind her back. He steps further into the house pushing into her space. “Oh hey.” he says mockingly, relishing in the giggle she offers him. “You uh…in here hijackin’ my family?”

She shrugs absently, looking toward the living area where Fiona and Kev were taking shots and V was dancing with Ian and Debbie. “Maybe. Mostly dancin’ with Liam, he’s a good dancer. Right, sweet boy?”Charlotte coos, holding her hands out and snagging the little boy from his brother. Liam all but leaping out of Lip’s arms.

“Liam, you traitor.” he says, clutching his chest and quieting the absolutely fucking insane thoughts that swim in his head while he watches Charlotte bouncing his brother in her arms. 

“Say, leave me alone, Phillip!” she encourages, pressing her cheek against the toddler’s. “Tell ‘em.”

“Phillip!” his little voice yells, reaching out and squeezing his brother’s nose. 

“Oh yeah?” Lip smiles even more, narrowing his eyes at the boy, “She’s gotta go home sometime buddy. Don’t burn all your bridges, she won’t be here to bring you your cheerios in the mornin’.” 

“We’re not listening to you, we’re gonna go dance.” she chirps, whipping around and letting her hair smack Lip’s face, ignoring the shiver she gets from the low chuckle she hears behind her and saddling up next to Ian.

“Gimme my brother,” the redhead says, “He’s not gonna be part of your weird foreplay.” 

Charlotte gasps, shoving his arm, “Um where’s Mickey? You’re less annoying when you’re feeling up your boyfriend.” Her eyes trail over to Lip hugging Fiona, offering her congratulations and taking a shot with her. 

Ian snorts, bouncing Liam on his lap, “Maybe. But he’s wearing you down.” 

She bites her lip, letting her head fall back on the back of the couch, watching Debbie attempt a cartwheel with V trying to help her legs over. “Didn’t hold out very long, did I? You think I’m stupid too?” 

“Yeah you’re stupid.” he chuckles. “But, uh, he likes you. Spoke to Mandy for you today.” 

Charlotte looks at Ian with wide eyes, the redhead refrains from mocking the hopeful look on the girl’s face. She works the muscles in her cheeks, trying not to smile, dropping her gaze to her lap. “Not for me.”

“Yes for you,” Ian nudges, letting Liam down to go get the door again when it starts to open, Mickey putting down the case of beers he brought to lift the little boy, flipping him upside down. “Look, as your friend, I’ll tell you that you can do better than my brother.” 

Charlotte nods, letting her eyes trail back over to Lip, blue meeting brown from across the room. “And as Phillip’s brother?”

Ian shrugs, moving to push off of the couch and greet Mickey who was impatiently gesturing for him to come over. “He never used to let anyone call him Phillip.”

“You seeing that?” Fiona points with the wine opener to the opposite end of the house where Lip is sitting in a chair, grinning as he watches Charlotte dance in front of him. Raising his eyebrows when she pokes him on his nose and each cheek.

V pauses in her dancing as she hears her cousin squeak as the blond boy grabs her by the waist, pulling her down onto the seat with him, both laughing loudly as she chair tilts back, threatening to fall. One of Lip’s hands shooting out onto the floor to stop the fall, the other going to protect Charlotte’s head. The girl is all but crying from laughter, her hand gripping the front of Lip’s shirt to keep him from tilting. Fiona groans as Lip’s beer spills on the floor, him chuckling out ‘Look what you did’ as he rights them, resting his chin on Charlotte’s shoulder. “I’m seeing. Any chance he’ll just lose interest?”

“Any chance that she will?” Fiona asks as the two women watch Charlotte all but fucking skip over to get Lip a new beer before climbing back into his lap on her own. “I love him but,” she passes V a glass, clinking them together in cheers. “He’ll fuck it up.”

“So you take them apart and put them back together?” Charlotte’s brows are furrowed as she tries to understand. Her fingers absently toying with Lip’s down by their sides. The party was slowly starting to die down. Carl and Debbie were put to bed, Kev, V and Fiona had started to clean up. Ian and Mickey were flirting in the kitchen. 

Lip nods slowly trying to figure out how to explain exactly what he does without sounding like a criminal. Sure he scams privileged college kids out of a couple hundred bucks in exchange for fixing their computers. And maybe the real assholes get told that their shit is broken beyond repair and Lip keeps the pieces for his own collection, even though mostly, they just have a virus from watching some seedy porno site. “Uh, yeah. I like computers. Robotics mostly. Kinda into science too.”

“Hmm, noted.” Charlotte smiles, leaning back against the wall. 

Lip has been having a great time hanging out with Charlotte. They’ve laughed, they’ve drank, her soda, him beer. She danced, which was a highlight of their night. But mostly they were just together. Talking. Laughing. It was like having her here brought some light into his dim, depressing ass home. He usually hates being home, despite his love for his family. The mold filled, worn down walls were a source of trauma for him. But he wasn’t thinking of any of that. 

He was happy. 

Aside from the constant fucking ringing of her phone.

“Your uh…phone’s ringin’ again, wanna answer it?”

“No, we're having fun.” Charlotte smiles, flipping her phone over and laughing at Ian dancing  with Mickey in the kitchen. Lip just intertwines their fingers, begging himself not to fuck things up as the ringing stops only to start again. 

“Uh, they’re callin’ again. At 1:34 in the mornin’ must be pretty fuckin’ important, wanna answer?” 

Charlotte stops to look Lip in the face, seeing how serious he looks and nods, grabbing her phone. “Okay, I’m gonna go upstairs where its quiet.” she moves to go up the steps, only to be pulled back.

“Gimme kiss.” Lip mumbles, holding her loosely around the waist, waiting for her to come to him. Charlotte glances around at their distracted family members and pushes up on her toes, kissing him deeply and briefly. “Thanks, bunny.”

She presses her lips to his cheek before running up the steps, Lip’s sharp blue eyes following her the whole time. 

When he tears them away he locks eyes with Ian who’s mouthing to him ‘don’t do it’. 

He wishes he could avoid it. But his feet are already moving. Trailing after her. It feels like he does that a lot lately. Lip stands in the doorway of his room and watches Charlotte giggling on the phone, walking back and forth, tossing her head back and laughing. Giving the smiles he’s been working his ass off for to some fucker who didn’t even make sure to be here to reap the fucking reward.

Charlotte pauses, turning toward the doorway and finding him there, mumbling a sweet goodbye to whoever was on the other line. “Hey. Sorry, I know I didn’t ask to use your room-”

“Who the fuck was that?”

[somewillwin]

I needed to draw their first kiss! Jsjsjjsjs I love that side story so fucking much

Do yourself a favor and go play @infamous-if ✨

[ohitslen]

Wolfwood from this beautiful fic by @flowercitti 💖🌸✨

Because him having moles did something to me so I just had to, and his hair also. He’s just. He’s so. When. Yeah.

Please have a look around their other works, they are all amazing! They’re all just chefs kiss 😩💖