#the coffee table has Wet Fucking Paint!!!

[damnprecious]

me: *never puts my feet up on my coffee table*

me: *paints the coffee table*

me: I must put my feet up on that coffee table right now immediately

[issysh3ll]

Fumble ☆ Chris Sturniolo

Part 2

Part 1 -> here Summary: after Chris fumbled his shot with you at 3am Warnings: smut, masturbation, flirting, very light angst, fluff Wordcount: 1k

Downstairs, Chris leans against his bedroom door, his breathing heavy. He can’t get the image of you out of his mind, the way you looked in his hoodie, the words you had spoken. With a frustrated groan he runs his hands through his hair, leaning his head back against the door and screwing his eyes closed. “Fuck…” he mutters, quietly cursing himself again for the complete fumble he had managed. 

Chris’s eyes slowly peel open again with a long sigh and his gaze falls down to the clear bulge still pressing against the thin fabric of his pyjama pants. His mind is still full with the image of you in his hoodie, the feel of you standing so close to him. Slowly, his hands drop down from their place in his hair to palm himself through his pants. Ripples of pleasure melt through his body at even that slight contact and a shaky desperate groan falls from his mouth as he gives in to his desire.

His fingers loop under the waistband of his pyjamas, hurriedly tugging them and his boxers down to fall to a pool around his ankles. Another groan slips through his lips as he wraps his hand around his length and he quickly clamps his free hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. As the wet sounds of his hand moving along his hard dick fill the room, his mind falls back to what had happened upstairs. His imagination runs with all the possibilities of what could be happening right now if he hadn’t messed it up.

A muffled moan of your name slips through his fingers as he finally cums, painting his hand and shirt with thick warm ropes of white. He drops his hand covering his mouth and mutters breathily to himself, “fuck… What am I doing?”

A week had passed since the incident and you were back at the triplets’ house again - Nick had insisted on you joining them for movie night. The four of you sit in the living room; you and Nick at one end of the couch and Matt and Chris at the other. Bowls of popcorn and snacks are littered across the couch and the coffee table. 

The only light in the room comes from the television, gently flashing and fading through the different colors of the film as the light bounces across the room. Despite the relaxed atmosphere, the tension between you and Chris is still palpable. His mind is unable to focus on the movie as his thoughts run nervously over and over in his head. Does she know?

As the movie plays, Chris finds his eyes darting over to you at the opposite end of the couch. Is that his hoodie? The soft fabric of his black hoodie from last week rests over your shoulders, falling loosely over your chest. His heart jumps at the realisation that you had kept it, imagining the way the fabric would smell of you. The soft, colored light from the screen dances over your face casting mesmerizing shadows across your skin. The sight quickly traps Chris in a dazed stare, analyzing the way your eyes change in each different color that the screen reflects, the way you look so good in his hoodie.

You can feel the burn of Chris’s eyes on your face but remain determined to not give him anything, keeping your own eyes trained on the television in front of you. Matt and Nick seem to notice the tension between the two of you and exchange a confused look. Shortly after, Matt excuses himself claiming to be tired and Nick mumbles something about needing to edit a video before hurrying upstairs.

Alone now, the tension between you and Chris makes the room feel much heavier. Chris knows he has been staring for too long, he’s sure you know, but he can’t bring himself to pull his gaze away from you. Until he hears you clear your throat softly and whisper, “...you’re staring, you know?”

His body jumps nervously, as if he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him but he quickly gathers himself enough to respond, “and you’re wearing my hoodie.”

“Yeah, I was gonna give it back when I leave tonight. But you can have it now if that’s a problem?” You question, finally turning to look at him for the first time all night. Even in the dim light of the room you can still make out the soft blush rising on his cheeks, you can see the way he nervously chews on his bottom lip as you speak.

He shakes his head quickly, too quickly. Silently, he curses himself for his total lack of charisma - shit, Chris be normal she already thinks you’re weird. In his rush to deny your question he chokes slightly, “n-no, no you can keep it… don’t need it back”

Your shoulders shrug lazily and you reach behind yourself to pull the hoodie off, revealing the small tank top you had worn underneath clinging tightly to your chest in a stark contrast to the way the large hoodie had fit. Chris’s mouth drops open at the sight and he feels his pants grow tighter around his crotch, unable to hide his reaction as you stand in front of him holding the thick fabric out to him. Was he really this easy?

“Nah, don’t need it,” you explain as he takes the hoodie from your grip, still staring at your chest. Chris sits frozen on the couch as you turn to walk upstairs. His mind races with ways to get you to stay but he can’t find the right words and he certainly can’t stand up and let you see the very clear effect you have on him.

After you disappear up the stairs he releases a long shaky breath, “shit…” he mumbles. Slowly, he brings the black hoodie up to his face, inhaling the scent deeply and flopping back into the couch with a soft groan.

"Fuck, again…"

Part 3 -> here

Masterlist

[localkiss]

A (not so) Drunken Mistake

pairings: best friend re2!leon x fem!reader

cw: clumsy, awkward shit, desperation, bad fluff (sry), first time, CONSENT CONSENT CONSENTT KING, creampie, shower time, mentions of alcohol, oral (f receiving), hand job, overstim a lil bit, hella dirty talking, light choking, multiple orgasms, soft dumbification, and nipple play. Lmk if I missed anything!

wc: 3.9k

dedicated to the lovely: zoepallvc !!

tags: @adiorxia @admirxation @rigorwhoring @nilpill @lottiies @leonkennedygvrl @leonsdolly @dilfstar @gettingsilly @bonnibuckets @bunnyclaire @dollfacefantasy ahh just tagging all my moots 😣!!

Awkward confessions being blurred out as you two were drinking in this living room. Soft shades of warm hues painting your skins, flushing out the cool tones of the night sky. His hand on yours, mouth slotting against yours as if it were natural. Normal. 

Both of you couldn't help yourselves anymore. The tension was thicker than oatmeal and ice cream cake. Soft giggles and blows into the wet caverns as you clumsily clashed teeth against teeth. Hot breaths of alcohol waft through the air. The bottles of Mike's Hard Strawberry Lemonade and a bottle of Crown Royal Whisky strewn across the coffee table. Alongside keys and stacks of mail, unopened. 

His hands travel across the bumpy surface of your body, mapping out every single dip. Being careful not to squeeze too hard or grope you in places neither of you are ready to explore with one another. If he wasn't drunk, he would've stopped at every inch and looked at you for confirmation. 

Your hands too, roamed wildly on his body. A soft gasp left you as soon as he guided you to his lower abdomen. Wanting—no—needing you to touch him. To give him the same attention he's giving you. Of course, the amount will almost never be the same. It's okay though, minds too heavy to even think rational thoughts. So who gives a fuck if he loves you more. Gives you more attention and doesn't expect the same amount back. It's been like this since day one. 

Leon has always had your back, especially during your childhood years. Both of you stuck to each other like glue. Always helping you when a guy gave you trouble or rejected you. Wished it was him that you imagined between your thighs. To be the first one to take your virginity with everything. But he thought it was too much to even ask for. So he settled with just staying best friends with you.

Of course, alcohol gave him the courage to even be doing this to you right now. But he knows better than to sleep with you instantly. Got to take things slow… to woo you over and make you yearn for him to be inside of you. To desire him pounding you with all of his might. 

You've seen his build many times, gulping as his arms got bigger than they used to be. When small veins would pop up on his forearms or his hands, it made your mouth just start pooling up. 

Or when the two of you would play fight, feeling his arms easily wrap around you and trap you against his body. One arm around your shoulders and the other around your delicate waist. 

Tossing and turning, you wearily remember last night. The kisses and heated touches you guys exchanged. Good god. You groan and flip over, reaching for Leon. 

“Leon. Wake up,” you croak out, rubbing your face with the palms of your hands. 

He grumbles, moving his legs, slowly waking up from the sound of your voice. He rolls over to his side, hands finding you and pulling you close to his bare chest. 

Your hands push up against his pecs, shaking him slightly. Giving him a few nudges with your feet, feeling his warmth soak into your skin like water. Makes you feel sleepy but you know you shouldn't fall back asleep. You have to get up and take care of your headache and relieve yourself! 

He opens his eyes slowly, a small smile creeping up on his lips. A toothy awkward smile. “Good morning beautiful,” he hums huskily. 

Doughy thighs squeezing together instinctively from the sound of his voice. Fuck. How did you even stay around him without jumping his bones? 

“Good morning,” you shyly sputter out, looking into his baby blue eyes. Fluttering your eyelashes a few times. Make sure you aren't dreaming of this whole scenario out. Daydreaming even. Maladaptive type shit. 

His thumbs gently trace your lower back, his pupils dilating into heart shaped you swear. 

You both could stare at each other for hours, if only you didn't have to piss so fucking bad. Might explode if you don't get up any time soon. Well, maybe not explode per say, but your kidney would sure appreciate it if you peed sooner than later!

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you tap on his arms, signaling him to move them. “I gotta go pee real quick,” shuffling out of the bed in his shirt and your underwear. 

Making a quick pace, getting into the bathroom and shutting the door. Relieving yourself with a sigh. Getting up, flushing the toilet, and washing your hands before Leon rattles his knuckles on the door. 

“Are you done?”

“Yeah, hold on.” You open the door, seeing him stand there with his hip slanted, arm leaning against the door frame. Of course his lips are painted in a smug sort of smile. 

“Let's shower together baby,” he comes up, wrapping his arms around you loosely. Coaxing you into this idea with soft kisses and soft touches. Feeling you relax into his body, practically slumping against him. Cute, he thinks. 

Hearing you mumble out an “okay”, he takes the prerogative to slip his shirt off of you. You lift your arms and he tosses it to the ground. Following his actions, you slip your panties off. 

Shyly standing before him as his eyes take over you hungrily. Leon hums in appreciation, his hands slowly running up your arms, over your shoulders, and down your chest. Taking his sweet time to appreciate every single thing on your body. Every curve, pimple, dimple, and strand of hair he can see with his eyes. 

This man is in love with you. Clear as day! 

You tremble with anticipation and adrenaline, feeling goosebumps chasing after his warmth. Letting out a low moan as he cups your breasts in his gigantic hands. Well… they're bigger than your own, that's for sure. You are positive he can hear each breath you take and exhale out through your nose. 

He lets go of them after a few soft squeezes. His index and thumb encapsulate your perky nipples, tweaking them curiously.

A zip of pain mixed with slight pleasure swirls around your areolas. Almost buckling from the sight of him and feel of his fingers. “Leon…” you whimper impatiently, hands coming up to tug on his boxers with little force. 

“Shh.. I got you princess,” he gives you an idiotic grin. Slowly dipping down to press his lips against yours, teasing you with little licks of his tongue, and soft nibbles. 

Groaning when you pull him down by the neck, arms wrapped around him like he's gonna disappear soon. Meanwhile his hands push his briefs down enough for them to fall down his legs. 

Soon after he grabs your thighs, directly underneath the cuff of your ass. Picking you up with ease and moving you to the countertop, right next to the sink. His hand moves up to your waist and the other moves to the back of your head. Slowly pulling away and tilting your head back, trying not to pull too hard. 

Groaning as you whine and paw at him needily. His lips mark his way down south, stopping to attack your neck with hickeys. Feeling your hands grip at his soft light brown hair. Giving it a few tugs and he bites down slightly harder on your chest. Of course he has to give the same treatment to the other side, kissing the valley of your breasts. 

Feeling your stomach tighten up, you wonder if he actually is a virgin like you. How is he so good at making you breathless? 

His lips wrap around your nipple and suckles on it, teeth grazing bud making you gasp. Hot wet tongue swirling around it, humming as you moan and press his face further into your tit. Leon's warm hands rub against your back soothingly as his eyes flutter, looking at your reaction. 

Pulling away, a string of spit connecting himself to you. Moving to give attention to the other side. He's like making out with your tits, humming and moaning like he's getting action too. His eyes dart up to you, pupils absolutely swallowing his irises. He looks so drunk off of just kissing your chest. 

“Can I go further, baby?” Leon's hands slip down to your thighs, giving them a squeeze. 

You open them instinctively. Allowing your sensitive parts to be visible to his eyes. Watching his eyes quickly flit down and stare at it. Zoning out practically. 

“It's so pretty, “ He coos, pushing your legs wider and spreading your cunt open with his thumbs. 

You twitch from how close he is and whine at his compliment. Hands giving his hair a tug closer to your body. Leon chuckles, pressing his lips on your inner thighs, teasing you by nearing where you want him. 

Repeating the same process on your other thigh. Leaving little marks wherever his lips collide with your soft skin. “Mhmm… fuck. Smells s’good. Can't wait any longer, beautiful.” He sticks his head further between your doughy thighs, tongue sticking out. 

Making contact with your sopping wet cunt. Breath fanning your glistening folds as he just licks it like a candy. Sloppily wrapping his lips at the top, looking up at you like he wants to ask where your clit is. 

“Mmph.. Leon it's here,” you lift the hood of your clit and show him it, shyly. He hums in affirmation. 

Leon goes buck wild and sucks on it like crazy. Feeling your hips jolt towards him. His gorgeous blue eyes flutter shut, getting lost in the sauce. Your sauce. Sweet and tangy as he's trapped in the smell of you. So overwhelming in the best way possible, really. 

You can tell he's enjoying this more than you are. With the way he's moaning and groaning, so much louder than you. The vibrations add fuel to the growing fire in your stomach. You spread your legs just a bit further apart. Making room for his head. 

“Leon,” you mewl loudly. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “Please…” not sure what you are begging for. But he understands right away. 

His right hand slides away from your thigh, fingers teasing around your drippy hole. Slowly pushing his middle and ring finger until he's knuckles deep. Savoring the way you clench around his thick fingers. 

“So tight and warm.” He mumbles into your pussy. 

Delving back in and sucking on your clit once more. Moving his fingers in and out, not trying to make it hurt. But it's so hard to be patient and not make you cry out his name. He needs to make you feel good. After all these years of playing a cat and mouse game. 

Leon's been saving himself for you, hoping you did the same for him. Which he should know by now, since you both only really hangout with each other and mutual friends. Obviously you have your separate lives but it mostly overlaps with one another. 

You rock your hips in time with his fingers, gasping when it hits your g-spot. Tugging on his hair to get him impossibly closer to your heat. The sounds of slurping and squelching are echoing throughout his bathroom and into his bedroom. 

All this, you would've never thought would become reality. You've imagined him on top of you and whispering the naughtiest things you could think of. His hands touching everywhere on your body, his lips marking where it touches. Proudly claiming that you are his and nobody else's. Holding you extra tight when someone would flirt with you. His crystal blue eyes narrowing and a menacing aura shifting around him. 

What snaps you out of your thoughts is when he curls his fingers and his teeth graze your sensitive bud. Can't help that your hands tighten around his poor strands of hair. 

“You like that, baby?” Leon hums, watching your expressions intently. Figuring out what makes you tick and what you don't like. And you like this. 

A soft whimper rolls off of your tongue and into his ears. It's such a beautiful melody, hearing you enjoy yourself because of him. 

“C'mon princess, use your words.” He speeds up his fingers. Looking up at you like you are a god he worships day and night. A condescending tone just drips from his mouth. Acting like he can't figure it out just from the look of you. 

“Y-Yeah… mmhg,” you nod your head dumbly. Feeling your thighs start to shake and your gummy walls clenching around his digits. “like it..” 

Leon laughs softly and continues. Wanting to make you unravel before you both hop into the shower. It's the least he could do! He swirls his tongue around your clitoris a few times. 

You let out a high pitch moan, “‘M gonna cum! ‘M gonna cum…!” 

“Cum for me. Let it all out, honey.” He coos at you. His eyes are glued to your face. Watching it turn a light pink. Mouth hanging open wide. “Know you can do it for me.” 

The coil in your stomach tightens with a warm gooey liquid making its way down south. It snaps when Leon bites down just a little bit harder on your bud. 

All sorts of sounds spew out of your mouth. Whines, his name,  and breathy moans. Your upper body starts to shake, thighs closing in on his head, squeezing him. Your stomach tenses and your body wants to curl in on itself. 

Leon hums in revelation. His hand slows down to a stop and his mouth travels to your hole. Greedily licking away at your release. Needing every last drop to satisfy himself. He wishes he could store it all in a bottle and drink away at it when he misses you and your sweet cunt. Reluctantly, he pulls away, sucking at his fingers that were inside of you.

You hide your face at that, too embarrassing to watch him enjoy your taste. 

“Baby,” his hands slide up around your waist. Standing up to his full height. His head dipping down into the nook of your shoulder. His hot breath tickles your skin, in all the right ways. “Think you can walk?” 

You can feel his dick pressing up against your thigh, throbbing with need. It's hot and wet on your skin. “I don't know.” Is what you settle to say. 

Before you take another breath, he scoops you up into his arms. Your legs immediately wrap around his fit waist. He steps into the shower and sets you back on the ground, holding onto your waist snugly. Slowly turning on the knob to the right to get the water warm.

Leon pulls the shower diverter pin to switch the water flowing down to have it flow up into the showerhead. He leads you both under the water, his other hand coming up to your eyebrows. Making sure the water doesn't get into your eyes. 

Such a romantic!

Stepping closer to his body, in between his feet, you wrap your arms around him. “Do you want to do anything else?” 

“Like…what?” 

“Mm.. well, your dick keeps poking me…” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” You look up at him with a smile. Sneaking your nimble hands to it. Wrapping them both around it and slowly — but very clumsily — stroking him. Watching his face change as you continue to jerk him off. It's your turn to make him feel good. Or at least you think you should give it back. 

Hearing his soft moans. Feeling his hips buck into your hand and his arm tightening around you. Leon's hand slips down to the back of your head. Dipping down to capture your lips in a kiss. His tongue prodding your lips, begging for entry. Hot breaths coming out of his nostrils against your face. 

Your mind can't handle kissing him so hungrily, and making him feel good. So, you squeeze his poor cock and in return, Leon tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls it just a bit. Stumbling a bit backwards, you let go of it. 

Leon pulls away and kisses around your face. So sweet. 

“May I have sex with you?” His eyes blink their way down your wet body. And then back up to your eyes. 

His face is flushed, his plump lips are pressed together. He just looks so divine. You want to, want to so bad. 

“Yes, please.” Nodding like a madwoman, he gives you a chaste kiss. Patting your head like a cute puppy. 

Turning you around and pressing down on your back gently, he goes between your bodies and grabs his length. Teasingly rubbing the sticky tip against your clit and down to your hole, not yet putting it in. Groaning when it slips a little bit into your hole. 

“Are you ready, baby girl?” 

“Uhuh, I'm ready Leon.” You put your hands on the shower wall as his hand grips onto your hip.

Slowly pushing his cock into you, a soft whine mixed with a moan leaves his lips. Stopping after a few inches are in your pussy. “You okay?” 

“Mhmm… you feel so big, Leon.” Pressing your hips back against him as you speak. 

Leon's hands grip harder onto your hips. Watching his dick disappear into your wetness. Your gummy walls clinging onto him like he should never leave. Seems like he enjoys being told that his manhood is big. 

“Fuck baby, you're so… tight.” He leans down, sliding the rest inside. Groaning when you flutter around him, squeezing him harder. His hips buck and he grazes your womb. 

You moan louder, trying to get used to something bigger than a tampon going in and out of you. “Please..” Wincing and involuntarily arching your back. 

Leon pulls out and pushes in, a few inches at a time. After a few minutes of gently fucking you, he decides to go just a tad rougher. His eyes narrowing at your ass, watching the way it jiggles as his pelvis makes contact with it. 

He's always thought you had a nice ass. Now, it's going to be forever ingrained in his mind, as it moves like water. Bouncing back onto him. 

“Baby, fuck,” he whines, going faster. Hearing your desperate moans and whimpers makes all his thoughts drip down to his cock. 

Leon wants to kiss you so bad. Kiss you and fondle you whilst he's pounding you. Not sure if his brain would short-circuit and ejaculate prematurely. He's too deep into you to ever want to pull out though. 

His hands slide up to your breasts, squeezing them as if they were stress balls. Lowering down so his chest is merely inches away from your back. Feeling the heat radiating off of his body. 

“You like that?” Breathing heavily into your ear like it's asmr. Snaking his arm around your neck, the other one wrapping around your waist. Needing you to be as close to him as possible. Even if it meant lightly choking you with his soft muscles. “Like it when I manhandle you? Mhmm, I know you do. Every time we wrestled, you think I couldn't hear you gasping and whining?” 

It's dizzying how easily he can maneuver you. You can't really tell if he's trying to make you break, or if he's just talking to talk. Probably the former. 

It's sort of frustrating how much he can remember and pays attention to your every little expression and noise. It's almost as if he has a small part of his brain just dedicated to you, storing everything about you there. Which really, should flatter you. Such a man wrapped around you like a vine. 

“Fuck, I do. I love it,” you claw at his forearm, arching your back. Feeling the way his fat leaky tip goes impossibly deeper, curving around your squishy muscle. Unable to help yourself when your eyes roll into the back of your head, tilting back against his chest. 

He's barely pulling out in this position and he groans. “Yeah, I'm always right, baby. I know you better than yourself,” he coos condescendingly. “Play with that pretty little clit of yours.” He can't help but laugh, trailing off into a whimper. Pressing kisses against your temple. 

It doesn't take you long to spring a leak! With all that dirty talking he keeps mumbling into your ear. His hand groping your front side insatiably. With his stamina, really, he could go at it all night like a rabbit. 

“Mmm… been dreaming of stuffing you full of my cock for a long time. Wanted to hear your pretty voice and feel you against me. Shit, this feels unreal.” Leon grunts through his teeth. Clenching his jaw tight. 

Your legs almost give in, pressing back against him hard. Letting strings of cries and unimaginable sounds out from the bottom of your lungs. Feeling numb from the waist down. Luckily, Leon holds you upright, still plapping away into your soaked cavern. 

“Good job. Good girl, sweet fucking—shit.” Your boyfriend growls, removing his arm around your neck to push your lips together. Swooping in for a spit filled kiss. His manhood is twitching against your womb. 

“Want you to cum inside,” you lick into his mouth as he moans breathily. Pressing you tighter against him once those words reach his ears. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill this pussy up with my cum? Get you pregnant and—” He can't even hold on for much longer. Just the idea of pumping you full and the possibility of getting you pregnant just makes his veins jump. 

Leon whimpers, spurting rope after rope of his load into your womb. Your pussy greedily latching onto him and milking him for what he's worth. He's still humping into you. Fantasizing about the day you both have a family, a white picket fence and a cute dog in the picture too. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, precious.” He hesitates to pull out, sad at the idea of his little swimmers falling out of you. 

Being the good guy he is, he cleans you both off. Massaging your hips and lower back, fearing he went a bit too hard on you. Running the soft pads of his fingers through your hair, with you resting against his chest. 

Littering your face and neck with sweet kisses. Drying you both off and placing fresh clothes on your body. Laying down in the bed, cuddling one another.

“Maybe next time, we'll do it in my bed.” He jabs your arm lightly with his elbow. Already thinking of the next time both of you will go at it like teenagers. Clumsy and desperate. 

“Yeah. Maybe next time, someone will buy condoms.” And that makes him whine, pouting down at you. 

“But baby,” he tugs you closer to his chest, “I'll take care of you and the baby.” 

“Leon.” You whack at his chest. Trying to smack some sense into him. “We can't have kids right now.* 

“Who said so?” 

“Me.”

“Well, I say we can and should.” 

“Huh. Whatever you say boss man.” 

“Don't call me that. It sounds gross.” Leon scowls playfully, feigning disgust in his voice. His blue hues twinkled softly.

“Okay, big guy.” You erupt into a fit of laughter. Leon joined you immediately after. The vibrations buzzing against your hand on his chest. Safe and warm. Like home. 

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 20

Part 1 Part 19

Steve’s shirt is wet where Eddie’s face is pushed into it, and Will’s hand is clutching his arm tight enough to hurt. Steve wants to sink into it. But the door's still open, and Wayne’s shotgun is lost in the woods somewhere. He hopes the man won't be too mad.

"Okay, okay," Steve says, taking two shuffling steps forward. "Let go of me."

The arms encircling his waist drop him instantly. His own weight settles back into his heels at the same instant the vertigo hits. A small hand clutches his elbow, keeping him upright with a grunt of strain.

"Shit, Harrington, sorry," Eddie says, voice warbling. "What do you need? What do I do?"

"Just–" he closes his eyes, listing sideways. He's so tired. "The door, Eddie."

The door closes with a quiet creak, lock sliding home with a metallic snick!

It's a tissue paper door, Steve knows it's a tissue paper door, but his legs go out anyway, finally safe enough to drop. Eddie catches him, hands clutching hips as he practically drags him to the couch.

"You're okay," Eddie says. "You're okay, right?"

Steve nods. His forehead lances with pain every time he grimaces, and his cheek throbs. The wound on his shoulder has definitely reopened, and something unpleasant had happened to his ribs when he'd fallen in the woods. But he’s fine.

Will interrupts the conversation by dumping the remains of the Munson's medicine cabinet on the coffee table.

"You're bleeding," he says.

"Shit, right," Eddie replies, rifling through the contents. It's slim pickings, but Eddie plucks up a few bandages and gets to work.

His mouth is a moue of concentration as he combs Steve's hair off his forehead and puts bandages across the entirety of the laceration before blessedly leaving it alone once he reaches the hairline.

Eddie's prodding the bruise on Steve's cheek hard enough to feel the bone, when Will asks, "My Mom?"

"She's fine, Byers." He tries to smile, but loses the will halfway through, closing his eyes.

Will bursts into tears. "Thank you," he says.

Steve flops his hand forward. Will takes it. Steve doesn’t realize how cold his fingers are until Will’s warmth starts leeching into him.

"Your Mom's a badass, baby Byers," Eddie says. "She was always going to be fine."

Steve hums his agreement, too tired to vocalize. There, sitting up on Eddie's ratty couch, covered in dirt and blood, Steve falls asleep with Eddie's palm cupping his cheek and Will’s hand in his.

He's not sure how long he sleeps, but when he awakens, Eddie's sitting with his back to the couch. His hair's plastered to his head with grease and grime, and he's starting to smell a little. Steve wants to cry at the sight of him.

"Eddie?" he asks.

Eddie turns to him, a finger to his lips as he gestures his head toward where Will's sleeping in the recliner across the room.

"Back with me, big boy?" Eddie whispers.

Steve nods. "Did you guys make it out okay?"

Eddie scoffs. "We were fine, man." His eyes well, a few tears running down his cheeks. He swipes them away impatiently. "We thought you were dead."

Steve feels small, his voice comes out even smaller. "I'm sorry."

Eddie turns back around, back pressing into the couch, eyes trained on the door. Steve reaches his fingers out, rubbing back and forth slowly, consolingly. "Thanks for coming back."

Steve's breath hitches. It wasn't a sure thing. The line between Steve coming back and Eddie finding Steve's body decomposing in the Byers' driveway was razor thin. He should know - it's painted along his forehead in claw marks, painted in the way his vision is still a little red with the blood that had dripped into his eyes.

"Anytime," Steve says. Does it count as a lie when he really wants to mean it?

"Good, because we're like, out of water, dude," Eddie laughs. "The kid's the only one smart enough not to forget his backpack.”

"Fuck!" Steve says, a little too loudly. Will stirs, then settles. "Not the quarry again."

Eddie laughs, but not like he thinks it’s funny. “Yeah, man. I’m with ya, but there’s the kid to think about now.”

They both look over at Will. His face is smushed into the back of the chair, knees curled up to his chest beneath the blanket Eddie must’ve given him, like even in sleep, he’s doing everything he can to make himself a smaller target. Something unfamiliar in Steve’s gut wrenches.

He doesn’t want to go back there, maybe ever, but especially not right now. Right now, the thought of crossing the threshold out into the wider world makes ants crawl under his skin.

The Demogorgon’s claws are still parting his skin like butter every time he moves wrong. They’d moved through him as easily as Steve’s Father’s knife had while he’d skinned the deer, Steve standing beside him as he tries his best not to cry.

Steve doesn’t want to be the deer. But the shotgun is gone, and so the hunter must become the hunted.

“I lost the gun,” Steve says.

Eddie’s shoulder slump, Steve’s hand falls, settling in the crack between the couch and the middle of his back, stuck there when Eddie leans back into it. “I figured,” he sighs, sounding disappointed, like maybe there’d still been a glimmer of hope that Steve had just snuffed out.

Silence descends. It feels like the force of gravity kicked up a notch, the way the quiet fogs over him and pushes him down down down. The silence drowns, let’s the Demogorgon prowl through his mind. Eddie Munson throws him a brick disguised as a life preserver.

“I saw your shoulder,” he says, barely audible.

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eddie asks, turning around completely, back to the door. His eyes are wide. Steve can’t read his face at all.

“What’s there to do?”

Eddie sighs. “Nothing, maybe,” he says, spinning his rings on his fingers nervously. “I cleaned it up as best I could, but that’s bad, man. We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Steve’s eyes flit over to where Will’s still sleeping, but Eddie’s eyes stay planted firmly on his face. He doesn’t answer, what’s there to say? There’s no way out of here.

“Let’s just get water so we can stay alive, just a little bit longer,” Eddie says when it becomes clear that Steve has nothing left to say.

Steve nods, asking, “should we bring the kid?”

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but Will beats him to it. “I’m not a kid,” he says, clearly still half a sleep with the way his words are slurring together. “I’m coming.”

“He’s right,” Eddie says. “I mean, not about the kid thing, he’s definitely an infant, but we can’t leave him unprotected.”

“Hey,” Will mumbles, burrowing into the chair further and falling back asleep, clearly reassured that he won’t be left behind.

“We can’t keep him safe,” Steve whispers.

Eddie reaches out, pats his knee. Steve misses the warmth when he pulls it back.

“We’ll do what we can.”

Steve doesn’t want to go back out there. They’re safe in here, hidden away. But he will. Because Eddie asked, and Will needs him. That’s more than he’s had in a while.

He hopes it’s enough.

Part 21

[angelofsmalldeaath]

your slice of life style has become such a comfort for me i pick one out to read before i go to bed and they make my heart all warm

if you feel like taking requests/want inspo I’d love to read a rainy day in the life vibe (no pressure tho!! genuinely would read something about watching paint dry if you wrote it)

mwah xx

reading this ask made me feel all warm and fuzzy, you are so so sweet!! 🥹 no like i love it when people tell me they enjoy my writing, it's such a good feeling!! so thank you sm for this ♡︎

i really hope this was what you wanted it to be ♡︎

cw: references a previous fic, suggestive

“jesus fuck!” i jump in my seat and glare at him when he snickers. the thunder rumbling is unexpected and loud—louder than it has any right to be.

“scared?” he teases.

“of a little thunder?” i turn my nose up at him, faking bravado, “never. i just don’t wanna get stuck in the rain.”

“too late,” he tsks, and together we look out the cafe window as the light turns watery. the wind picks up, so does the footfall of people running to find shelter. some gather under the awning of the cafe we’re in, some run across the street and find shelter in other establishments. 

he takes hold of my hand. “we could still make it if we ran…”

i look down at our table—at our empty coffee cups and breakfast plates—and then back up outside the window. fat drops of rain hit the glass, one after the other, racing down until they all converge into a tiny puddle. 

“could we?”

“what’s the harm?” he points at his jacket, “we could use this as cover.”

i contemplate it for a second, picture it in my head and laugh—the two of us dashing through the rain under a jacket that isn’t nearly big enough. another rumble from the skies makes me jolt. this time he manages to stifle his laugh. 

“so?”

“alright,” i nod, gathering my things and wiping my hands on the tissues. he holds my hand the moment we scramble to our feet. the door chimes softly as we push it open, and immediately the wind and rain rush to greet us.

“fuck!” i squeal, “���m freezing my tits off!”

i groan the moment i hear his little juvenile giggle—an uncharacteristically boyish sound from a giant of a man. “i could warm them for you, you know?”

“you’re such a man!” i roll my eyes, trying to stifle a smile but he pulls me out from under the awning and right into the torrential rain. 

under the thin shelter of his jacket, we huddle close, our bodies pressed together to keep as dry as possible. the rain is colder than i expected, and the pavement is already slick beneath our feet. we take off running, his laughter ringing in my ears, mingling with the roar of the storm.

“shit, we’re so unhealthy,” i huff, breathless and barely a street down from the cafe. 

he raises his brow at me. “we?”

“shut up,” i punch his shoulder lightly. he’s barely out of breath though, looking at me with amusement and mostly drenched from the rain now.

his hair is plastered to his face too. the water clings to his eyelashes and a drop falls on his nose, making its way down to his lips. it’s mesmerising, in a way—a drop of water on his lips and suddenly he’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen. 

when the thunder rumbles again—much louder than before—i stagger to a stop, right in the middle of the pavement like a deer caught in headlights. this time he doesn’t laugh, he just pulls me into him and pulls us into a little alley that seems a bit shielded than the main street.

“you’re okay,” he tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear.

“we always end up in alleys somehow,” i try to wipe my face on my sleeves but it’s useless. 

“we do,” he nods. we stare at each other—me, completely breathless, him, breathing in this odd rhythm that makes me think of all sorts of things. 

he moves towards me, our toes touching, his wet body pressed into mine. it’s darker here, in this alley. the buildings tower over us, but the rain is just as relentless. 

“we should hurry up and go home,” i point out but it holds no conviction at all. 

“we should,” he nods and bends down to kiss me. 

on his lips i taste the raindrop from before. it’s sweet—or perhaps it’s just the taste of him, sweet and familiar and like home. and even when the rough wall digs into my back and thunder echoes all around me, i melt into him, fist my hands into his jumper and pull him so close that no air can pass between us any longer. 

“you…” he swipes his tongue over my lip and i shiver, “should have listened to me.”

“the breakfast date was your idea!”

“in bed!” he protests against my mouth, kissing me a little harder. 

“and who was going to make the food?” i challenge, holding back a moan. 

“who said i wanted to eat food?”

my cheeks heat up. i laugh and hide my face in his chest—something he always finds particularly endearing. “so we should hurry up and go home then… i am dying to get out of these clothes.”

this time when he nods, there’s a twinkle in his eyes. he pulls away and i shiver from the cold until he holds my hand again and pulls us back on the main street. the jacket is back on our heads, drenched and utterly useless but i like how the world looks from under it and from by his side. 

when the thunder rumbles again, i don’t stop. i only hold onto him tighter and we run through the streets faster. 

[comet-forgot-you]

Can you please write bottom river x fem reader 🙏🙏🙏

crave

river x fem!reader

summary: river fucks herself on your fingers. (based on this.)

warnings: 18+ pls, smut, fingering, degrading, begging, think thats it tbh.

a/n: another one thank you. enjoy this river fic, its the last you’ll EVER get. no its not i’m just a jokester. enjoy. do not repost for any reason.

work was killing you. constant paperwork piled up for you to do, forcing you to work it out on your off days. when river was at your house, the time you were meant to be spend with her was spent on your computer typing away at whatever stupid work your boss had given you. it made river so mad.

she missed your gentle touches, missed hearing you talk about whatever, she missed laying in silence watching whatever movie the two of you had heard about, and fuck did she miss the way you fucked her.

she was so pent up, it had been weeks since you had touched her and she was starting to go insane. she had never craved you more than she did now, and seeing you, blue light glasses perched on your nose, in an oversized shirt you had stolen from her, and those pretty panties that just barely peeked out from the way you sat, it only spurred her need further. she needed you, and she needed you now.

she set the glass previously full of water down into the empty sink, eyes trained on you. her fingers gripped the edge of the counter, you were so hot and you weren’t even trying. river let out a huff of air, pushing herself away from the counter. you looked up at her as she made her way across the living room, sitting down right next to you.

“hmm?” you hum, returning your attention to the laptop in your lap. river shrugged, her shoulder rubbing against yours as she did so. you look over to her, the familiar look of want painted on her face. her eyes were darker than their usual shade of brown, a slight pout on her lips, it sent a wave of heat throughout your body. you sigh, “river, i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s up,” you whisper, setting your laptop down on the coffee table.

its quiet for a moment, river’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “just need you s’ bad,” she murmured, leaning closer to you and pressing featherlight kisses against your neck. she takes your soft hand into hers and guides it to cup her cunt, a soft whine falling from her lips.

“fuck,” you mumble, eyes shutting tightly at the feeling of her hardly clothed cunt.

“you won’t even have to do anything, i’ll do all the work, just need you s’bad.” her voices is breathy and needy against your ear.

“fine,” you mutter. river smiles against your neck. she’s quick to pull her underwear off and straddle your lap. you cant help but run a finger through her wet folds.

“fuck,” she hisses, bucking against your fingertips. she grabs hold of your wrist, guiding you to her dripping hole. she sinks down on your fingers, grinding into the palm of your hand, drawing a needy moan from her lips.

she bounces on your fingers, grinding so your fingers hit that spongey spot that has her eyes rolling back. “you’re such a slut riv,” you mumble, curling your fingers as she grinds into your palm. “so fucking needy, look at you, your fucking yourself on my fingers.” her walls flutter around your fingers at you degrading words. a high pitched whine leaves her throat at your teasing words.

she keeps a steady pace for a few minutes before she’s breathless, moans falling from her lips. she wraps her fingers around your wrist, guiding you to fuck in and out of her. “please, can’t do it, need your help s’bad,” she whispers. you let out a humored huff of air.

“really? said you’d do it all by yourself and look at you now.” you roll your eyes at her and her walls flutter around your fingers once more.

“stop being mean, please js’ help me,” she whines, contouring to fuck herself with your fingers.

“really want me to stop being mean? i know you like it, don’t try to hide it,” you mumble. river groans at your words, letting go of your wrist to continue riding your fingers. your free hand is quick to grip her hip to halt her movements.

you curl your fingers inside of her, your free hand lifting her shirt over her breasts. you wrap your lips around her nipple, fucking your fingers in and out of her at a fast pace. moans fall from river’s lips uncontrollably as your thumb moves to circle her clit roughly.

“fuck.. fuck- i’m so close, please, can i? please js’,” her words are cut off by a loud moan, “i’m gonna cum, please, baby. need to cum so bad,” she whispers, her fingers wrapping in your hair.

you let off of her nipple with a loud pop, looking up at her blown out eyes. “go on, slut. cum on my fingers,” you murmur. her eyes roll back and her orgasm washes over her.

“fuckfuckfuck,” she whines, bucking into your palm helplessly.

“such a fuckin’ slut,” you murmur, pulling your fingers from her leaking cunt. she whines at the emptiness, head falling to your shoulder.

“needed you s’ bad, baby. you dont even know, fuck,” she whispers, pressing kisses against your shoulder.

reblogs much appreciated :D

[honeys-hotties]

ok this is kinda specific but can I request a julien fic where she's not sure if the reader is into girls and they're all out and a random guy hits on the reader and jb pretends to be her gf to get the reader away from him. and the reader plays along and kisses jb so she gets her confirmation and then they just confess their feelings ugh 🥰🥰🥰

i love this request!!! sorry it took me sooo long my loves, i've been absolutely overwhelmed with everything recently, but this one has been in the works for a bit and i'm so excited to get it out!!

My Type-Julien Baker x Reader

julien baker x fem!reader, sorta angsty? but happy ending (of course!) not proofread so i'm so sorry in advance, but i wanted to get something out tonight!

word count: 2727 💗

“When do you want me to pick you up?” Julien asks, her voice coming from the phone propped up on the coffee table. You’re sitting on the couch painting your nails while she watches through the screen, her face close to the camera on the facetime call.

“Umm, what time did Phoebe want to meet us there?” you ask, carefully applying a second coat. 

“I think sometime around 9?” Julien says, smiling at the sight of you, deeply concentrated on your manicure. 

“Okay” you say, capping the bottle and blowing on your freshly painted nails. “Do you wanna come over and get ready with me before we leave?”. Julien nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that sounds fun. When should I come over?” she asks, getting even closer to the screen. You pick up the phone, careful not to smudge your nails, and laugh at Julien’s expression, her face giant on the screen. “Oh, I don't care, maybe around 7? I can order a pizza or something?”

“Sounds good princess” she nods. “I’ll see you then. You smile and blow her a kiss before hanging up the phone and grabbing a bottle of clear nail polish to go over the red painted onto your nails with a smile.

Julien, however, is much less relaxed. As soon as you hang up the phone, she lets out a huge sigh and immediately calls Phoebe and Lucy to vent.

“Guys, I’m literally going over to her house to get ready with her, which really means watching her get ready, and I don’t know if I can take it.” she says dramatically. “She’s just so gorgeous and smart and funny and cute but I don’t even know if she’s into girls and I feel like I’m going to fuck up and make things SO awkward and if I ruin our friendship I don’t know what I’ll do and I just-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there” Phoebe cuts her off. “First off, that girl is definitely not straight.”

“Oh one hundred percent,” Lucy chimes in. “Remember when she was auxing when we were at the beach and she played girl in red? And when she and I talked for like an hour about Portrait of a Lady on Fire?”

“Yeah, or when all of us were like, collectively drooling over that Angelina Jolie movie? Honestly, shoot your shot JB.” Phoebe encourages, Lucy nodding along.

“I don’t know guys, I really don’t want to fuck up our relationship. I mean, other than you guys, she’s my best friend in the entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Julien, even if she was straight, which for the record she’s definitely not, she would never, ever hold your feelings against you.” Lucy tells her seriously, Phoebe agreeing with her. 

“I guess so.” Julien tells them. “Alright, I love you both, I’ll see you at the bar tonight.” Julien waves to the pair before hanging up, dropping her phone onto the table, and dropping her face into her hands.

When you answer the door you’re fresh out of the shower, fresh faced with wet hair, wearing an oversized Green Day shirt, and tiny shorts, and Julien feels like she’s about to have a heart attack.

“Hey, you” you say, giving her a tight hug before opening the door further and letting her inside. “I just called, pizza should be on its way soon!” Julien can hear music playing faintly from your bathroom, and is acutely aware of the smell of your body wash and the fact that you are wearing very little clothing.

“Yeah, sounds good.” she says, walking inside and taking her shoes off, before following you into the bathroom where your makeup and hair products are spread out over the counter. She sits on top of the toilet and watches you dry your hair while you tell her about your day and the drama between some of your friends, looking at you like you hung the moon. Satisfied with your hair, you drag her into your bedroom and sit her down on the bed, pulling different hangers out of the closet.

“Okay, so I have this dress I thrifted,” you tell her, holding up a short, black dress. “It has this really cool neckline, and I was thinking I could do my layer necklaces and those black heels?” You show her another hanger. “I have this skirt too, though, and I thought I could wear it with that red top and my leather jacket? And my boots?” Julien stares at you blankly, but really she’s just picturing you in the clothes you’re holding up and trying so hard to keep her cool. You gently wave your fingers at her. “Hey, earth to JB, you okay over there?” 

She starts, and stares at you for a second, blushing wildly. “Oh, um, I don’t, I mean, I think they would both look good.” she stutters, glancing down at her tattooed hands which are fidgeting in her lap. You roll your eyes playfully, laughing gently at her words.

“But which one would look better?” you ask, waving both of the hangers in her direction. “I was kinda leaning towards the dress, especially cause then I would match your shirt,  but I really wanted your input!” Julien flushes again at your words, before nodding her head in agreement. 

“I um, I think the dress would look really gorgeous on you.” she manages, and you beam at your words, heading into the bathroom to change and leaving Julien a flustered mess on the edge of your bed. Reminding herself of Lucy and Phoebe’s encouragements, she tells herself to get a grip and get over herself, taking several deep breaths as she waits for you to come back.

When you return, fully dressed and putting on your jewelry, Julien swears she can feel her heart stop. You pause, slightly self conscious under her gaze, and cast your eyes down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “What, um, what do you think?” you ask her, slowly meeting her eyes with your own.

“I think you look stunning” she tells you, voice full of sincerity. “I mean, shit, you’re easily one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.”

You flush at her words, and smile at her before grabbing your jacket and sitting down beside her to put on your shoes. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen too, JB.” you tell her, and miss the way her face burns at your words. “Ready to go?” you ask her, straightening up and grabbing her hand, pulling her into the living room as she nods. “You sure you’re okay with driving?” you ask her, grabbing your keys and phone while she ties her shoes.

“Of course I am,” she reassures you. “You just focus on having fun tonight, okay?” You grin at her, and the two of you chat about the night ahead all the way down to her truck, where she holds the door open for you before climbing inside herself. As soon as the car starts, she hands you her phone, and you pull up the playlist she had made for the both of you, singing along to the music the whole way to the bar. Julien has her hand resting on your knee as you speed through traffic, and you have your window down, the cold, nighttime air rushing through your hair.

Once the truck pulls into a parking space outside the bar and Julien opens your door, grabbing your hand and leading you into the bar, things start to speed up. Once the two of you find Lucy and Phoebe, making your way over to the booth they had claimed and greeting them with tight hugs and cheek kisses, Julien offers to get the three of you drinks, and after she leaves, Phoebe pulls you onto the dance floor. You throw your arms around Phoebe’s neck and she guides your hips to the music, the two of you a giggling, sweaty mess under the flashing lights and blasting speakers of the club. After Julien returns with your drinks, you pull Phoebe towards the table and slide into the booth, leaning up against Julien who lays an arm across your shoulders as you sip your drink.

“Having fun out there?” she asks, her face extremely close to yours in order to be heard over the music and chatter of the club. You nod, grinning, and gesture towards Phoebe

“She’s taking charge,” you say, laughing. “I’m just along for the ride.” Phoebe winks at you, pulling you into her side and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal and laugh. Lucy laughs loudly at the pout on Julien’s face at the loss of contact between the two of you, and Julien rolls her eyes, before quickly excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, Julien splashes water on her face, exhaling deeply and trying to talk herself up. The images of you dancing with Phoebe, the ones of you getting ready earlier, and every single second you had spent with her played in her head as she spiraled into a haze of overthinking and self-doubt. How could someone like you ever fall for someone like her, she wonders, but before she can get too deep into her own head, Lucy barges into the bathroom. Seeing the questioning look on Julien's face, Lucy cuts her off before she can ask:

“I know you too well, JB. I know you’re in here overthinking, but you need to be out there making a move.” Julien tries to protest, but before she can even get the words out Lucy cuts her off again, holding out a hand. “Don’t even try to give me any of that ‘she’s so out of my league’ bullshit either Julien, you two are made for each other and you know it. Now snap out of it and get your ass out there. Go get your girl!”

Julien grins ruefully at Lucy, thanking her for the pep talk before heading out of the bathroom to find you.

Meanwhile, you had wandered over the bar to get another drink for you and Phoebe. Julien was acting weird, barely making eye contact with you ever since you two had arrived, and you were stuck wondering if you had done anything wrong. When she had left the table, you had wanted to go after her, but Lucy insisted that you should stay, that she would go check on Julien. Phoebe had encouraged you to get another drink, so you were sitting in front of the crowded bar while the drastically overworked bartender made his rounds. You were so absorbed in what was happening with Julien you didn’t notice the guy next to you that had been ogling you from the second you sat down, until he opened his mouth.

“Hey you, come here often?” he asked, and you cringed internally, before tuning to find the man. He wasn’t unattractive, but his sleazy pick up line coupled with the stench of alcohol on him and the fact that he was way too close to you turned you off completely to the man. Well that, plus the fact that you already knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t him.

“Um, not really.” You said politely, before attempting to turn back around. The man’s hand on your shoulder prevented you from doing so, though, and you felt panic rising up within you. You tuned out whatever he was saying, searching frantically for Lucy, for Phoebe or Julien behind him, but with no luck.

“Like I was saying,” the man continued. “A pretty girl like you really shouldn’t be here all alone. Let me buy you a drink, then maybe we can keep getting to know each other at my place.” 

You felt fear closing over you, your friends were nowhere to be seen and this guy was relentless. “No, really, I’m not interested.” you told him as calmly as you could.

“Why not?” he asked, grinning horribly at you.

“I’m not available.” you hear yourself say, to which the man scoffs.

“That’s what they all say, but I don’t see anyone here for you-” but the man is cut off by a firm hand sliding around your waist. 

“Sorry about that, baby.” Julien says, pulling you protectively into her. “Line for the bathroom was crazy long. Who’s this guy?” she asks, pointing to the man whose slimy grin had slid right off of his face. Relief rushes through you at the feeling of Julien’s hands on your hips, and you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Don’t worry about it, honey.” you tell her, melting back into her arms. “This is, Matt, was it?” The man scowls.

“Mike, actually.” he responds, gruffly. Julien sticks out her tattooed hand. 

“Mike, hi, I’m Julien. Her girlfriend.” she says gruffly, her voice and hands on you sending a wave of heat through your body. “And you’re obviously making her uncomfortable, so if you could leave, that would be great.”

“No, you know what, we were having a good time before you interrupted.” Mike scowled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m her fucking girlfriend.” Julien snaps at him, before pulling you into a strong kiss. You relax into her, throwing your arms around her neck and she pulls you in by the waist, standing between your legs and tilting your head gently upwards to meet her lips. You kiss her back feverishly, until she abruptly pulls away and steps back. “He, uh, he left.” she tells you, running her hand across her mouth. “Sorry about that.” she mutters, before turning on her heel and running out the door, leaving you sitting at the bar, speechless.

You stare at the spot where she disappeared into the crowd, heading for the door for a moment, before jumping up and stumbling after her. You pass by the booth with Lucy and Phoebe who are sitting, staring at you with smirks on their faces. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lucy asks, smiling gently as you get closer. “Go get your girl.” Phoebe whoops at her words, and you roll your eyes playfully at the two of them, before turning towards the door and hurrying out into the cold air. Once you stumble outside, and walk a couple feet down the sidewalk, you see Julien in the alley, leaned against the bricks with a cigarette in her hand. You walk slowly towards her, watching as she takes shaky drags from the cigarette in her hand.

“Hey, Jules.” You call softly to her when you’re a couple feet away, and she slowly meets your eyes with her own red-rimmed ones. “Why are you crying?”

“Fuck, I’m so, so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, you just looked so uncomfortable and I wanted to make sure you were safe but I wasn’t thinking and-” but you cut her off, surging forwards to kiss her again. Your hands fly into her hair and she drops the cigarette, crushing it under her boot before pulling you in by your hips. She runs her strong hands up your back and bites your bottom lip gently, causing you to moan into her mouth, tugging gently at the roots of her hair. Moments later, you break away, panting, and she rests her forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” you tell her, placing a finger to her lips when she begins to protest. “You did save me, and you showed me that you feel this too.” you gesture between the two of you. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for like, forever!” you tell her breathily, giggling at the incredulous look on her face.

“Me?!” she asks. “I thought I wasn’t your, uh, your type, I guess”

“Well, you thought wrong.” you say, before lacing your fingers with hers, smiling at the beautiful grin that breaks onto her face. “Let’s go tell Lucy and Phoebe good night, and then you can take me home.”

Julien steals one more quick kiss before squeezing your hand gently and pulling you after her back into the bar, laughing as you stumble, and thanking her lucky stars she had been wrong about you.

[jaegerisms]

geto who stays at jujustu tech after hidden inventory, and sometime in the future ponders the subsequent developing of your relationship~

It would definitely take Geto a few years to even allow himself to consider if he wanted to marry you. Once he did, it would take him a few more years to actually pull the trigger. So much time in fact, that Satoru of all people gets on his case about it, “Dude, if you don’t fucking marry her already-“

“Satoru please don’t start this right now.” Their daily smoke sessions turning into a weekly occurrence after that. Almost monthly until Satoru gets tired of being avoided and demands his friend tell him why he dreads the topic of marriage so. How could he explain that even though you were the only person he could see himself with, the thought of getting down on one knee made his hands clammy, his heart race, his breath all but stop?

He wasn’t Satoru. He couldn’t brush off his worries so easily. Maybe there had been a point in time when he possessed the confidence to do so. Believing himself to be strong enough to handle anything and come out on top. But that had been before he saw the world crumple around him. Before he realized that he was just man, and there were risks he didn’t have the capacity to handle. Things he couldn’t control.

Eventually, Satoru’s insistent nagging would force Geto to divulge his worries to his friend. And upon hearing them, Satoru bursts into a fit of booming laughter. It pissed Suguru off.

“Bro, you’re nervous? Seriously? It’s been 6 years, if she was gonna leave you it would’ve already happened. Trust me, your emo ass has nothing to worry about.”

For a few weeks afterward, Geto would catch himself studying every interaction between the two of you. The soft voice with which you consoled him, the way you always asked if he was alright after too long of a silence. The way your hand always seemed to drift to him. As if you needed to feel his skin on yours as undoubtedly as your lungs needed air.

The way you brushed his hair, humming whatever tune your mind had decidedly fixated on. The tenderness with which you held his face, tucking his hair behind his ears and staring at his lips as if it pained you not to be latched onto them for even a moment.

Even if he was no longer the careless over confident sorcerer you had fallen in love with all those years ago, he was still your Suguru, no matter what shape he had grown to take. And upon the realization that he could be anything and you would still be there, he went for it.

On a Sunday morning, over coffee, as you sang along to the theme song of whatever show you had playing on tv. Taking sips of your mug between each nail you painted. Bare feet splayed on the edge of the coffee table, chewing on your lower lip in concentration as you tried your best not to make a mess of your attempted pedicure.

Drunk on the casual intimacy, in awe of the effortless beauty that had him in a chokehold, the words fell from his tongue before he had the chance to actually understand what he was doing, “Marry me.”

You nearly choked on your drink. The brush in your hands just moments before clattering to the ground, leaving a stain on the floorboards he would undoubtedly chastise you for later.

“Y-you mean that?”

“Yeah.” He choked out, holding his breath so fiercely he thought he might turn purple. Hands gripping the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles became white.

The shriek that erupted from you nearly scared him half to death. Wet nails be damned, you jump up from your spot on the floor and run to him. Throwing your arms around his neck and jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. He couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped him at your unabashed animation.

Now that wasn’t so hard was it?

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (2)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, trauma, mention of sexual harassment, violence, swearing, self-destructive behavior ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He woke up suddenly pulling himself up to sit down, breathing loudly, his heart pounding so hard he thought he was dying. He looked around − he was alone in his bedroom, his room in semi-darkness, it was barely dawn. He swallowed loudly feeling his sweaty t-shirt stick to his back and ran his hand over his face, trying to calm himself down.

Every time he thought he had got over it, it all came back to him in nightmares.

Embarrassed, he found that his legs were shaking as he rose from the bed, heading towards his bathroom to take a shower. He stood under the rain of warm water and leaned his forehead against the wet, tiled wall, trying not to think about it, to push it out, to forget it.

He tried to focus on his classes, on the fact that he had to prepare, on the fact that his midterms were coming up soon as well as the deadline for his stained glass windows for his next church.

He needed to focus on his work.

He went to his workshop earlier than usual, taking only a cup of coffee with him, knowing that he wouldn't last alone at home anyway, with only one thing on his mind.

He felt like he was about to throw up and stopped for a moment, clenching his eyes shut. He swallowed loudly, acknowledging that the feeling had passed, and clicked the light switch on the side of the table, the pieces of glass he had cut earlier lit up in bright, intense colours.

He thought that although the glass had hurt him so many times, cutting his hands, in the end it rewarded his suffering with a beautiful final work that he hoped would last for centuries. In this case, he thought, his physical harm had a purpose, it was almost noble.

Unlike what had befallen him then.

He pressed his lips together at the thought, feeling sick again, and put down his brush of patina, putting his hands on the table and leaning back, tired.

He had no strength left.

He heard someone's footsteps − someone walked into his workshop, but did not greet him.

He shuddered when he smelled an intense female perfume beside him and stepped back like a man possessed, looking at Jason Lannister's student with wide eyes.

He felt like something had locked inside him, he couldn't move − the girl opened her mouth to say something, but he wouldn't let her.

"Get out. Immediately." He said coolly, feeling that his hands were trembling.

Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.

The girl smiled at him in a way he hated, in a way that suggested she thought he was teasing her, that he was pretending.

"I only came to ask for advice on my work, Professor Lannister is absent today." She said surprised, fixing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Get out." He repeated, louder this time, his heart pounding like a mad.

Whore.

Slut.

Bitch.

Get out.

"Are you so unpleasant to all female students, or just to me, Professor? Oh, I forgot, you don't accept women into your workshop. Fucking chauvinist." She growled, furrowing her brow, recognising that she had a right to judge him, to speak to him like that in his own workshop, to a professor who had achieved more in a few years than she would achieve in a lifetime.

"Get the fuck out." He hissed, looking at her menacingly, all tense, unable to get the smell of her perfume out of his nose, too much like her smell, then − he felt like he was about to really throw up though, his stomach twisting in an intense spasm.

The girl bit her lip, putting her hands at her sides, looking at him with some kind of pride, as if she thought she had the right to do so, to tell him how it was going to be, to bring him down to earth with her feminist bullshit.

"You have no right to speak like that to any woman, Professor. Do you understand? I demand an immediate apology." She said with certainty, from which he laughed out loud, shaking his head in disbelief. His face turned from amused to pale with rage, he saw fear and discomfort in her gaze.

"When Jason pats your ass you squeal with joy. Did you come here because you were hoping for the same thing? Then you were wrong. Now, get the fuck out." He hissed, shaking with anger and horror at the same time, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

She really thought he hadn't seen it?

It was things like this that he paid the most attention to.

He had fought for years to get all those fucking perverts thrown out, and because of students like her, Lannister believed that what he was doing was normal, healthy.

He felt a gag reflex in his throat and stepped back, swallowing loudly, trying to catch his breath.

You are such a pretty boy, Aemond.

Your eye, your scars don't bother me at all.

Why are you so tense?

He stepped back, horrified, as she came close to him, too close, looking at him with her lips clenched, her breasts exposed in a substantial cleavage rising and falling in uneven breaths.

All he could think about was wanting to pull away from her, but he couldn't move.

"I know very well that you are a worse pervert than he is. Why do you not accept girls into your workshop? Maybe you're afraid you'd rape them because none of them would ever want you of their own free will?" She hissed, and he slapped her face so hard that she fell to the floor.

He stared at her with his mouth wide open, panting loudly − she looked at him with resentment and horror, catching herself with her hand on her red cheek, not believing he had done it.

"I won't leave it like that, Professor. Have a nice day." She mumbled terrified, on the verge of crying, and walked out, leaving him alone.

He barely had time to run to the sink where the students washed their hands after finishing their work before he threw up.

Why are you so tense?

Just stay still and let me take care of myself.

Look, see?

You wouldn't be so hard if you didn't want it.

He was panting loudly, coughing in convulsions, trembling all over, clasping his hands on the metal sink. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing it was a panic attack, that it would pass soon, it would pass, it would pass, as it always, always had, and it would now too.

It took several long minutes before his heart stopped beating like mad, before his mind sobered again, before he felt he knew what was happening to him again.

He rinsed his mouth out quickly with cold water, washed his face with his hands and groaned low, terrified, knowing what awaited him now.

What he had done.

He was not surprised when, later that same day, the rector himself called him in.

He hadn't reacted as strongly when he reported to him that Jason was too fond of his female students and not every one of them was happy about it.

He listened calmly to the allegations, but when the man asked him to explain, he said nothing but what he really thought.

This slut deserved it.

If he could, he would slap her again.

She was just proof to him that he was right.

He didn't want any woman in his workshop.

His therapist was not happy to hear that.

"Why did you do that?" He asked, fiddling with the pen in his hand, and he sighed heavily.

"She suggested I might be a rapist. She came and threatened me in my own workshop. She came too close, she…"

"…violated your space." He finished calmly, and he pressed his lips together, tracing his chin with his fingers.

"Yes."

"What consequences will you face now?" The man asked him, correcting with a slight movement the glasses slipping off his nose. He sighed heavily, massaging his temple, no longer having the strength to think about it.

"None. I bring the university too much money from the curia. The girl won't press charges against me because I know about her relationship with Jason, but she's slandering me on some inferior gossip site. She implies that I was interested in her. Fucking bullshit." He chuckled, burying his face in his hands, shaking his head.

"Is this ever going to stop? I don't want to hurt any women. I just wish they wouldn't come near me anymore."

The next two years he faced the wry stares of other students and lecturers. He knew what they thought of him − that he had hit innocent young girl, that he was an abusive man with mental problems who needed psychiatric treatment.

If it had been a female student who had slapped him, everyone would surely have thought that he had obviously done something to deserve it, that he had picked on her or made immoral proposals to her.

The fact that he did it must have been because he was habitually violent.

Even if he tried to explain it to them, they would still think he had gone too far.

He didn't give a shit.

They couldn't destroy him any more than he already was.

He just wanted to be able to work in peace.

When he saw before the new semester in the system a woman's name on his attendance list for the second year of his specialisation he decided immediately that it was a simple mistake and went to the dean's office with it, wanting it fixed. The woman grunted loudly, looking at him uncertainly.

"It's not a mistake, Professor. She signed you in as her supervisor." She said, standing up, pulling out for him the documents she had submitted to confirm her words.

He looked through them quickly and clenched his eyes, feeling like he was about to explode.

Why?

Why couldn't he have holy peace?

He figured that he would simply not read her out during class, that he would pretend she didn't exist until she was discouraged. He had no intention of wasting his strength or attention on her.

That's what he did.

"She's not like that, Aemond. Really. She focuses on her work, she's diligent. Three times I made her start the same face over and she did it without saying a word. She is humble and learns quickly. It's a shame to give her up to waste to Jason or Floris." Said Cregan, massaging his chin, sitting across from him in his office.

His words surprised him, as it was the first time since they had worked together that he had tried to smuggle a girl into their workshop despite knowing what his opinion was on the subject.

"No. There are always problems with them sooner or later. She was almost crying by now. I don't want any weepy scenes in my workshop. I −" He paused as he heard a loud knock on the door, Cregan immediately got up and opened it.

He glanced over his shoulder surprised that he hadn't said anything and saw her notebook and pen.

He squeezed his eyes shut, running his hand over his face.

Fuck.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Please, find five minutes for me, Professor." He heard her soft, pleading tone. Cregan stepped back and it was only then that he saw her.

Although dressed like a boy, she had something of a girlish lightness about her − her face was pleasant, her eyes large, full of terror, surrounded by dark long lashes, her lips pressed into a tight line.

He figured that if he didn't let her say what she wanted she'd probably pester him with messages, and he didn't want that, so he hummed under his breath, took out his phone and turned on the stopwatch.

"Five minutes." He said lowly and heard Cregan walk out quickly leaving them alone.

He felt his heart pounding hard, his whole body trembling as he saw her take a step towards him.

"Don't come up, just stand there and talk. You're running out of time." He burst out coolly, clenching his hand into a fist, feeling his whole body take on a defensive form, ready to react aggressively immediately if necessary.

She, however, stepped back and swallowed loudly, looking down at her fingers, fiddling with her notebook in a nervous gesture.

"I know what rules you have set in your workshop and I wish very much now that I had been born a man, but unfortunately I am not." She muttered with difficulty, her voice trembling with fear. He felt a squeeze in his heart at her words and thought that it was indeed not her fault, but he couldn't help the way he was either.

"I saw your artworks while I was still in high school at St. John's Cathedral, and having always dreamed of creating stained glass for churches, I wanted to be taught by someone who is such an accomplished specialist in the field as you are. I know how difficult the job is and I promise to do what you tell me to do without a shadow of dissatisfaction. I will not approach you except to revise my designs or projects. I will always work at the furthest table and sit in the last seat as far away from you as possible, dressing in such a way that you do not notice me and forget my existence on a daily basis. Please." She uttered the last word pathetically, pleadingly, on the verge of crying.

He knew she cared and some part of him sympathised with her, but the other distrusted her, trying to see through the manipulation in her behaviour so notable for women.

He thought she talked about his work to please him, that she was cowering in front of him and trying to pass herself off as humble, where surely if he had only agreed she would have shown him her true face straight away.

They were all the same.

They dressed their disgusting desires in the most beautiful words.

You are such a pretty boy, Aemond.

He swallowed with difficulty, drawing in air quietly.

"Just because you're a fan of my works doesn't make you a talented person. What good is it to me that you work in silence if none of your pieces will be at least satisfactory and your colleagues will have to correct your mistakes?" He asked indifferently, glancing at her again. He could see that she was growing pale and stifled, her big eyes looking at him as if she was about to fall to her knees before him and beg him.

However, she did not.

"Well. All I have with myself now are quick sketches in my notebook. They're portraits of people I see travelling on the bus to my classes." She mumbled, looking at her notebook. He sighed heavily, burying his face in his hand, disbelieving that, knowing his attitude, she hadn't brought anything with her on which he could judge her artistic ability.

What an idiot.

"So you are unprepared." He summarised and saw out of the corner of his eye that she had moved restlessly.

"None of my colleagues had to −" She started with a frown, but closed her mouth immediately when she saw his disgruntled, warning look.

"− I − yes, I'm unprepared. I'm very sorry." She whispered in shame, lowering her gaze, and he sighed again, looking ahead, raising his hand in the air.

He heard her walk up to him and slip the notepad into his palm − he didn't smell any perfume, just the scent of some pleasant coconut shampoo and lotion.

He began to look through her sketches page by page, finding that they were ordinary, simple, not bad, but not good either. He stopped, however, at a depiction of a mother holding a child on her lap, sketched quickly with a simple outline and linear shading.

The composition made him think of Renaissance paintings depicting the Madonna and Child − a young woman was leaning slightly towards the infant, helping it to hold something in his small, clenched hand.

His attention was also drawn to a drawing of a thoughtful old man with carefully depicted wrinkles and an endless, lifelong weariness, some age-old wisdom flowing from his aged eyes outlined with such quick and simple movements.

He paused, too, at the drawing of the young man, his face almost resembling that of an angel sunk in deep sleep, leaning with his temple against the glass, his lips slightly parted.

He sighed heavily and massaged his forehead, himself not knowing what he thought of it, tired and discouraged. He raised his hand with her sketchbook without looking at her.

"Three of your fifteen sketches I would consider good. Do you think that's enough?" He asked dispassionately, hearing her move restlessly.

He thought for sure she was about to start crying and begging, saying that she would improve, that she could do better.

Bullshit.

"No. It's not enough." He heard her heartbroken voice and hummed under his breath, satisfied with her answer and any self-criticism, tossing her notebook into the bin with a slight movement, where it belonged.

He lifted his gaze to her, having the feeling that the matter was now settled and that if she had any doubts about whether she wanted him to teach her, they had just been dispelled.

He saw that she was looking at the spot where he had dumped her notebook in disbelief, her lower lip quivering slightly.

"So I'll do 200 sketches, 40 of which will be good. Or 300 of which 60 will be good. I will do as many of them as you see fit, Professor." She exhaled with difficulty, but with a kind of certainty and ferocity that surprised him. He felt a strange tightening in his stomach − he didn't know what to make of her words, feeling that this was a challenge of sorts.

He shuddered as he heard the ringing of his timer and reached for his phone, muting it, staring blankly ahead.

I will do as many of them as you see fit, Professor.

"400 sketches. And they're all supposed to be good. Without them, don't even show yourself to me. Anything else?" He asked coolly, impatient and angry with himself for not being able to discourage her enough, for not being able to find an answer to her words.

"No. Thank you for the chance, Professor." She mumbled in surprise and simply walked out, closing the door behind her.

A moment later, Cregan walked in, excited, pretending not to ask her at all what he had decided.

"And how did it go?" He asked, and he threw him a furious, tired look and stood up, taking his leather jacket from the back of his chair and walked out, slamming the door loudly.

He walked out in front of the university building through a side exit and fired up a cigarette while standing by his car, taking a deep drag of the smoke, clenching his eyes, trying to calm himself down.

He didn't want her at his place, he wished she would just leave him alone.

He looked around him with absent-minded eyes, seeing students entering and leaving from a distance − he spotted a face he recognised after a moment, but something didn't feel right.

The same girl who had begged him to let her study under his supervision was apparently just walking towards the bus stop, but instead of a long black hoodie and black trousers she was wearing a light-coloured dress with buff sleeves and long woollen socks to mid-thigh.

She had changed her clothes.

She came to his class covered up, dressed as a boy.

I know what rules you have set in your workshop and I wish very much now that I had been born a man, but unfortunately I am not.

I will always work at the furthest table and sit in the last seat as far away from you as possible, dressing in such a way that you do not notice me and forget my existence on a daily basis.

He was furious with himself for feeling some kind of shame and pain, knowing that she looked perfectly normal.

Now, looking at her sideways, he realised that if he had seen her dressed like that today when she came to talk to him, he would have immediately lost his good opinion of her.

Most girls who applied for a place in his workshop thought that the prettier they dressed, the sweeter and more appealing they looked, the better the chances were that he would say yes. However, his tendency was just the opposite and for some reason this girl knew it.

She knew she wasn't the problem, it was how he perceived her and she wanted to change that image in his eyes, to blend into the background.

He swallowed hard, taking a drag on the remainder of his cigarette, staring blankly ahead, realising that she really must have cared.

He figured that if she did what he told her to do, he'd give her one and only chance.

For that sacrifice, for the fact that she understood what he had a problem with.

She showed up only a week later with two thick folders filled with sketches, again dressed in a big black sweatshirt, black trousers and trainers.

For some reason, he felt a squeeze in his heart at the sight of her.

He took her to an empty classroom so he could look at her work without the curious stares of other students. He knew she had done as many sketches as he had told her to, but he didn't have the energy to look through them all.

"Lay them out here. Show me the top 40." He said impatiently, standing a good distance away from her with his hands folded behind his back, smelling that coconut shampoo again.

He saw that she gave him a quick, horrified look and parted her lips, looking at the thick bundle of papers she held in her hand. He rolled his eyes, trying not to explode.

"Can't you judge which of your works are suitable to be shown to me?" He growled warningly wanting her to pull herself together, but she shook her head quickly and began at last to choose.

He frowned as he saw that most of her works were copies and sketches of details from churches he knew well, at least dozens of them, so he decided that she had really taken his task to heart.

"That's enough." He commanded and stepped closer to the table − she moved away immediately.

He thought he liked how she respected his private space and allowed him to focus without her input on what he was seeing.

He leaned over her works, noticing that they were more refined than the ones he had seen before, still light, but also enigmatic and expressive, all drawn on scrap paper, so they reminded him of sketches by Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo.

He liked the fact that she had wisely chosen to portray saints and angels, as these were the most common commissions they received as a students or workshop, showing her skill in this field.

He picked up one of the sketches of a sculpture of the Virgin Mary which he knew intimately, having looked at it often as a child when he went to Mass every Sunday with his mother.

"Is that a figure from the church of St Michael the Archangel?" He asked indifferently, wanting to see if she knew what he was talking about, or if she was sketching by looking at pictures on the internet.

She, however, nodded quickly.

He hummed under his breath and stepped back, looking at everything she showed him from a distance, folding his hands behind his back again.

He thought he was pleased with the result of her work.

That he could give her a chance.

"A month. For a trial. If you disappoint me, I'll kick you out." He said lowly and walked out, leaving her alone with his words.

He stepped into the workshop and was met with curious, uncertain looks from his students.

"Don't you have anything to do?" He growled, and they immediately bent over their tasks and sketches, all around him the swish of a diamond knife and the sound of breaking glass, the rustling of paper and brushes.

Cregan walked up to him and stood over him, unable to contain his curiosity.

"And how did she do?" He asked quietly, but before he had time to answer him, he saw her standing in the threshold, pressing her sketches to her chest, looking at him questioningly.

He nodded for her to enter, and with a light, happy step she crossed that invisible, mysterious line that separated his world from everything else.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[caxde]

roses and dandelions | steve harrington x reader -part 2-

summary you're Hopper's daughter as soon as you could you moved far from Hawkins, some years later you come back to teach at the High School, and you find Steve Harrington has become the new History teacher.

THIS IS PART TWO! you don't need to read part 1 but... just know, stablished realtionship on this one <3

word count: 4.6k

warnings fem!reader, fluff (like a lot of it), comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn bestfriends to lovers, idiots in love!!!. smut mdni (p in v, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, general heavy petting and kissing, idk if im leaving anything out, please let me know!) teacher!steve AU!!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!!

It was truly blissful.

Somehow, it felt like it was always supposed to happen, but then again, you were getting ahead of yourself. Sure, having your hopes up was unavoidable, but regardless, you didn’t care at all. Being tangled in between his sheets felt warmer somehow, feeling intoxicated by his cologne which was everywhere, on the pillow, on his clothes that he let you borrow, and in his hair. You smelled him every time you closed your eyes, and it made you smile, knowing that even if he wasn’t here, he was with you regardless. 

On days like this, when you only had one class late on the day, he left early, and let you sleep. And he did the same thing every time, even if you were unaware of it. He would wake up slowly, trying his hardest to not wake you up. Though you did hear his morning showers muted by the wall that separated his bedroom, you could still make out what song he decided to sing that morning, even when you were deep in your sleep, his voice always found a way to infiltrate your dreams somehow. When he came back to the room, hair still wet, he’d dress himself up, all the while looking down at your figure, soft skin peeking out of the blankets and sheets, he’d left a soft kiss on your shoulder, or cheek or whatever he could do so without interrupting you. He loved seeing you there, peaceful, asleep, untroubled. He’d  smile as he left the room, happily humming the tune he had sung before as he went to get his morning coffee before he finally left.

Lazily you left the bed, pulling the sheets up in an intention of making the bed look nicer somehow. Your hair still tangled from last night, you brushed it out in front of the bathroom mirror.  Flashbacks of last night's activities rushing through you as you looked at your body, your heart racing as you scrubbed it over with soap and hot water, as you hum a pretty melody in the shower. 

Your wet hair wrapped in a towel, you dress yourself up not really thinking about it, enjoy the slow start of the day, and smile to yourself as you see the coffee pot full with a little post-it note “I’ll see you in a couple hours, it should still be hot when you wake up. S”

-

“Miss H?” an unsure voice spoke up, interrupting the five minutes of quiet you managed to have. 

“Yes?”

“Can you come over? I fuc… I messed up.” The little boy corrects himself once he sees your brow furrowing for a second. You nod as you leave your table, standing beside him. 

“What’s up?” You say as you look down at his painting, splotches of colour on the table and his hands. 

“I uh… huh.” He chuckles as he points at the mudded area. “I don’t know how that happened.” A sense of calmness emanating from you, making his shoulder relax in an instant. 

“Ah” You let out. “That’s an easy fix.” You reassure him, hand leaving his shoulder as you reach for the end of your shirt, whipping some of the paint away, his lips opening in shock. “Trust me…” You remind him, as you smile. “I’m the teacher, remember?” He nods as he stays there, watching closely. “So, in the future, if you want a bright colour, respect the value of the canvas, and don’t abuse the white paint, okay? That’s what made it look all so… Um…” 

“Fucked up?” He mutters as his shoulders shrug, you eye him trying to hide a laugh. 

“Language.” 

“Sorry.” 

“But yeah, that.” You fix the area fast, happy to do so, and with an excited stare following your movements closely. “You know, if you don’t wanna go the realism route, you don’t have to.” You mutter, as you hand his brush back. He looks back at you, an excited grin on his face. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I mean… I did tell all of you to recreate the vase with flowers, but, you know… Everyone sees things differently, and expresses themselves in a different way so… If just copying isn’t for you, by all means, please express yourself however you desire.” The kid looks back up at you, excited, bright eyes as he nods, you see him looking over at the new canvases, and you nod at him, letting him choose another one, and taking the old one away, you always reused discarded ones to repaint them, as you always hated to waste. 

That felt rewarding, you think to yourself. 

“Miss H?” Another higher pitch voice interrupts your moment of self reflection. 

“Yes?” 

“Mr.Harrington’s on the door.” You turn around as you hear the freshmans giggle and laugh. You smile softly as you roll your eyes. 

Steve’s body is resting against the threshold, falling to hide his smile as his eyes brighten up as he sees you acknowledging him, his heart still felt all warm at the image of you helping your student, sure it is your job, but it didn’t stop his brain from fantasising about a future where he sees you do that everyday, with him by his side, and a little you in between. 

“Hi.” You whispered as you stood in front of him. 

“Hi.” He repeated, his eyes beaming at you. 

“Anything I can help with, Mr.Harrington?” Trying not to say Steve’s name always made you smirk, and you tried to hid it, as you see his lips curling upwards as he hears you say that. 

“We’ve run out of papers, do you have any spare ones?” His finger push his glasses upwards, as his head tilts down to look at you. 

“Yeah, A4s?” He nods at the question as he sees you head back to a little cabinet, looking right to his classroom for a second, his hand brushes his hair in a nervous manner. “There you go.” You tell him as you hand them out. His fingers quickly grace yours. 

“I’ll come over later tonight, I’ve got teacher-parent conference.” He whispers, a bit closer to you now, making sure nobody notices the way his finger is caressing the top of your hand, or how his feet tap yours slowly. 

“Parent-teacher.” You correct him, teasing as he scoffs. 

“I’m the teacher, let me go first…” He mocks as he fails to hide a grin. 

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” You reason to him as you look up, your eyes locking with his, letting yourself get lost in them for a second too long before you ask. “Who?” 

“Jameison and uh… Trevor.” 

“Ugh, good luck.” 

He blinks as he leaves, slower than he needs to. 

“Thank you for the papers, Miss.H” He says as you close the previous open door, your heart begins to jump in anticipation. 

-

You didn’t mind that the floor felt cold to your skin. 

While soft music played in the background, you sat there, legs exposed, with your old paint stained shirt over you, brush on one hand and cigarette on the other. Consumed by the process of your latest project, you found yourself in what a lot of people seemed to call “the zone”. A sort of mental state where sounds were unrecognizable, and your attention was devoted to what you were creating. A cuddled body on an empty bed, sun rays hitting it from a big window that was not in frame, it began taking shape. To the naked eye, it was just a woman on a bed, to you however, it was your mornings in Steve's house. 

You rested the brush on top of your palette, taking your body back for a second, observing the whole painting, though you liked working on details, you had to remember to always look at the bigger picture, from afar so you could know where to tackle next. 

As you did, you heard a pair of knees hit the ground, right beside you, as two arms wrapped your figure from behind, a wet kiss left on your exposed shoulder. You smiled fondly as you grabbed his hands tightly, moving your head closer to his. 

“Didn’t hear you come in.” You tell him, softly, he kisses the same spot again before talking. 

“Missed you.” He says before letting his head rest on your shoulder, as he looked up at what you were working on. “Is that my bed?” He asks cheerfully. 

“Mmh.” 

“Cute.” He mutters, kissing your cheek slowly, you breath out soundly as you smile wide while your teeth show. 

“You’re kissy today…” You teased him softly, as your voice came out in a whisper. 

“I haven’t kissed you since yesterday.” He points out, as he nuzzles his head on your neck, leaving a tender kiss on it, you bite your lower lip as that little show of affection sends goosebumps down your spine, your skin feeling hot all of a sudden. “And I missed you.” He remains you as you turn your body around a bit, his arms still hugging you, only now you were face to face. 

“Missed you too.” You murmured as you left a small kiss on the tip of his nose. His cologne lingered on you once more. 

“Mmh.” He breathed out as one of his arms left your waist to caress the small of your back, his hands playing softly with your shirt. “I love it when it’s just us. ‘Specially when you’re like this.” 

“Like what?” You tease back, your body moving a bit away from him, he pulls you closer to him, tenderly, as soon as he feels you move away, before speaking again. 

“With this shirt…” He teased, as his hand left your back to place itself on your chin, his thumb moving your head up, closer to him. His eyes were lost on your lips, you could feel the way your heart beated faster than before, you were breathing faster in anticipation. “And nothing else.” He adds, as his lips pause before touching yours, letting you breathe each other's air for a bit, before he ceases, and finally kisses you. 

You began to feel light-headed, warm, as you felt the needines transform itself into lust, as the kiss began to grow deeper, your lips opening, so your tongues could finally touch. Your hands traveled upwards so they could reach the back of his neck, and bury themselves on his hair. His lips left yours, though they were slow kisses, and there was no real rush, you yearned for the next one, you needed the wetness of his lips to touch your skin, making it cool down where he touched you, as you felt how it was begging to warm up. He made his way to the crook of your neck, kissing and biting where he knew he would get a reaction, while you moaned softly, as you felt his hand on your back, having slided it under your shirt, you felt as his hands splayed across your lower back. 

“Maybe we should…” You cried out, as he left a bite on your neck that made your spine shiver.

“Yeah, come.” He stuttered as he stood up, his hand out to help you out. You couldn’t help but notice the large bump hidden behind his trousers. 

You intertwined your fingers as you rushed to the bedroom, needing him, and smiling when he blurted out a small “oh my god” when he realised you were only wearing a thong underneath it all. 

He couldn’t wait much, pressing your body against the bedroom wall as he began biting your collarbones, you couldn’t help yourself from moaning in a needy way. You could feel his smile against your skin as your eyes closed and you arch your back. You grab the back of his neck, moving it to meet your lips, though it started with softness, you could feel that the need you had now had transferred this into much faster moves, your lips interlocked, your tongue touching his, you bit his lower lip, pulling away slowly, hearing him moan as you did so, he was still smiling. 

He placed his arms around you, and hugged you tightly as he kissed you once again, fumbling as he reached the bed with you in his arms, letting you down slowly. Your legs hung out of the bed, as you were sitting up on it, feet still touching the ground. His hand travelled to your inner thigh, separating your legs so he could fit in between. You looked at him, his hair wild, he took his glasses off, leaving them on the top of the bed as he threw them, he took out his shirt, exposing his bare chest. He sank to his knees slowly, not losing eye contact with you. A trail of kisses began from your left knee, they were soft, wet and he had no rush to move. When he did, he moved his head upwards, kissing your thigh, biting it to hear you gasp, smiling against your skin as he looked back at you, he left a kiss on your cunt, a wet stain on your thong that drove him crazy, knowing that it was for him. He moved away, repeating the same trail on your other leg, finishing on your right knee. He looked up at you for permission, and he smiled when he saw you nod, your face flushed in pretty pink, your lips parted and your chest raising up and down rapidly. His hands grabbed your love handles roughly, pulling you closer to his mouth. Your body hitted the mattress now, in anticipation, your hand rested on your forehead, muttering a soft “oh my god” as you just wanted one thing. 

When you felt his lips through the small fabric, you couldn’t help but gasp. And you heard him laugh. 

“Relax, I’ll get there.” He teased you, as you couldn’t find the words you wanted or needed to say. 

Instead, one of your hands reached for his hair, and grabbed it tightly, trying to direct him to where you needed him most.  He shook his head as he looked up at you, a teasing smile as he left another kiss on the wet stain, eyes looking up at your reaction. When he heard your moan his hands caressed your legs as he moved them up, taking the underwear off of you. Slowly, lazily. One of his fingers traveled down your cunt, and you gasped at the touch. 

“You’re sensitive today, love.” He breathed. You could hear the wetness travelling across as he moved inside you. You couldn’t help your back from arching upwards. 

He played with you for a bit, his lips teasing you, as he left wet kisses on the fold between your inner thigh and your fold. You heard him breathe out, the cold air contrasting with your wetness made you shiver, as he began to slowly suck on your clit, kissing it, moving his tongue up and down, side to side, in circles. It didn’t matter, you had become lost in pleasure, your hands lost on his hair, pulling him closer to you. 

“S-Steve…” You cried out as he began to move his fingers inside you, your legs beginning to shake as you whimpered his name, he picked up the rhythm as he heard his names escaping your lips. 

“God, you're beautiful.” He said as he pulled away. 

Your hands trembling as you pulled him closer to your lips, you kissed him softly, as you tasted yourself, his knee in between your opened thighs, he began to undo your shirt, as you took off his belt, and unbuttoned his trousers. They slipped away, hitting the ground as your eyes were closed, and you were busy kissing him. Your hands began to play with the elastic of his boxers, pulling his body closer to yours, he wrapped an arm to your waist, pushing you to the middle of the bed. You could feel the weight of his body against yours. His hip punching against yours, grinding as you took your arms out of the sleeves. Your head tilted back as you heard his groan, feeling him in his fullness, your bodies only separated by the thin fabric of his black boxers, raking your nails across his back until you reached the elastic band of his underwear. 

“Take them off.” He whimpered, knowing that hearing him like that, needy and begging, would make you smile and giggle. 

Nonetheless, you did as he asked, sliding them down and letting your hand play with his cock, moving your hand up and down, he kissed you as he tried to hide a moan, and you smiled as you saw the effect you had on him. You loved being with him like this. Feeling as though you were the only ones that mattered. 

You felt him as he teased your entrance with his dick, and he kissed you senseless before entering. Your head tilting back, a gasp escaping your lips as you felt him inside you. His hips moving slowly at the beginning, his hands grabbing you hard, burning them onto your skin. 

“Fuck… Love” He whimpered as he thrusted you. 

“Mmh.” You were ridden with desire, and couldn’t say anything else, biting his shoulder as you felt him move even deeper inside you. 

You can feel your walls clinging to him as he starts to move slower, you’re wet after everything he has done in the past hour, and you can feel yourself stretch as he thrust into you, your skin tingling, filled with goosebumps as you let yourself sink into him, letting your thighs fall on either side of his, spread all over his cock, he grabs onto your leg as he looks at your eyes. “I missed you.” He repeats the phrase that started all of this, quietly. “Missed you.” He whimpers as he buries himself into you once more. 

“Miss you too.” You manage to say as you feel your breath shuddering out, getting used to him and his size. 

“I missed your lips, I missed your smell, I missed being with you.” He confesses in between movements, as you feel the beating of his cock inside you, your nails grabbing onto his back, as he leaves a wet kiss on your lips, biting your lower lip as he pulls away, his free hand pulling away a flock of hair away from your soft face. 

“Yeah?” You ask as you feel how you’re melting on his arms. 

“Yeah, I hate when I can’t just kiss you.” He recognises, as he pulls his hips harder onto you, making you squeal when you feel him fully in. A dazed smile on both of your faces. 

He leaves a small kiss on your cheek, as he starts to move again, it feels just as good as you remembered, that stretch, the prodding sensation that his tip left on your sweet spot, his free hand moves up to your chest, cupping your breast as he squeezes, he has good hands and knows how to use them, teasing your nipple until he can feel it peaking. 

“Fuck, I can..” He tries to say it all at once, but his words come out low and drawn out “just how wet you are, dripping all over…” You nod as you moan, loudly. 

Your head nods, opening your eyes, meeting his gaze, your thumb caressing his cheek. “I feel it” you whine out as you can see his head tilted back in pleasure, kissing his neck as he does so. 

He begins to move a bit faster, doing it with intention this time, hearing the sound that your juices make only proves what he had just told you. “Like that.” He mutters, as his hand that was on your breast travels upwards to your neck, pressuring a bit on it, enough to make you dizzy and moan in excitement, your hips moving upwards as you need more of him all of a sudden. “Making a mess on me, love.” He teases as he looks down for a second where you're connected, your legs tangled on his waist now, his hand on your butt, pushing in harder now. 

You shiver. 

His hand moves away from your neck, his lips kissing the zone he had just left, hot flesh under his lips, he can’t help himself from biting you softly. “Fuck love… You don’t know how much I’ve been thinking about your lips, about kissing you.” 

He buries himself into you, as you get lost on him, making you one. 

“Just wanting another.” He moans out as he feels your hips begin to move at the same speed, his nails scratching your butt. 

As you open your eyes, you're lost in his gaze, he is begging. You chuckle as you kiss him, slow, soft kisses that build, your hands getting lost on his hair, as you kiss him you were trying to pour every ounce of affection, and every Imissedyou on his lips. 

His hips moving in time with your kisses, the pressure that his tongue left on yours made you dizzy, his cock deep in your cunt feeling like a bliss. When Steve breaks your kisses, his head rests on your shoulder, breathing in your ear as you both moan and groan each other's names, pure adrenaline and desire in your voices. 

You can tell you are both about to finish as you lose your rhythm, not caring about anything else but pleasure, you feel him come as you feel the palpitations that leave your cunt. A doozy smile across your faces. 

“I’ll kiss you forever.” You whisper to him as he hugs you deeply, pulling you onto his chest as his back hits the mattress. 

“Someday, I’ll make you Miss.Harrington, and they will stop calling you Miss.H.” He teases, as he leaves a kiss on your forehead. His lips still wet as he does so. 

“I can’t wait.” You confess to him. 

You stayed there, laying on top of your sheets, now messy and tangled you enjoyed the feeling that his soft skin left on yours. Both of you were out of breath, and didn’t need to say anything. Your head laid on his chest, your leg on the top of his body, he caresses it softly, tracing intricate patterns on your naked skin, leaving goosebumps all over it. Your head tilted up to look at him, his eyes focused on the drawings he was leaving, you enjoyed the simplicity and intimacy of this time just as much as you did five minutes ago when he was inside you. You smiled to yourself, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you realized where your feelings for him truly were. He looks softly down at you, his eyes darting around your face, a smirk on his lips as he opens them so he could talk. 

“What?” 

“What?” You ask him, adoration evident on your bright eyes. 

“You were giggling, what were you giggling about?” You melt a little bit as his smile widens, before leaving a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“I just… It’s stupid.” 

“Nothing you think is ever stupid, love.” 

lovelovelove.

“I just, I think I’m falling for you.” You confess. Your voice soft and warm as you look at him, your head falling on his chest, looking directly onto his eyes. 

He cups your cheeks in between his hands as he leaves a soft chaste kiss on your lips, as his thumbs softly caress the sides of them, you can feel his lips curving up on a smile before he pulls away. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice slightly higher as he melts. 

“Yeah.” 

“I am too.” He admits. You melt onto his arms, letting the warmth of his body keep you safe, intertwined with him. 

-

The sudden ringing of the phone wakes you up. 

“Hello, I’m Dee, I’m calling from the Angels Gallery in New York.” A soft spoken women’s voice comes from the speaker and your body immediately incorporates itself. shitshitshit. 

“Hi Dee, um…” Your voice is deep and croaks as you speak, having just woken up. You look to your left, a sleepy Steve looking at you, his eyes half opened as he looks at you. “What can I… um- do for you?” 

“We just need to check in with you, since you haven’t responded to our last email.” shitshitshit

“Um, I’m not established in Indiana, um… And the connection here is spotty, I’m sorry.” You apologise as your fingers play anxiously with the sheets that covered your body. 

“No need to apologise, that’s understandable.” She calms you down with a sweet voice that makes you relax your shoulders. “The email was regarding your upcoming exhibition.”

“Yeah, is there a problem, is everything okay?” Panic evident in your voice, Dee laughs in an attempt to calm you a bit, though it doesn’t work the way she intended to. Steve’s finger tap on your hand, making you look down at him, as he smiles up at you, meeting your gaze. 

He mouths you’re okay.

“Yeah, no, everything's fine.” She elongates the last word, her nosely voice over pronouncing the ‘n’ finnne. “Our coordinator saw your recent work that you forwarded to us, and he wanted to let you know, that he considered that your work would fit better on the April exposition, if it does well, you’d be in our walls for the next 6 months, with the implication or rather, expectation that if you do sell works, you’d replace them with new pieces.” Your mouths opens as you realize what she is telling you. 

“April?” you need the confirmation, making sure that everything you just heard was real. 

“Yes.” 

“As in two weeks from now, April?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Holy shit.” You giggle out as you cover your mouth. Steve scoots over you as he tries to hear anything from the other end. 

“Indeed.” She teases. “I’ll take that as a confirmation from your end.” 

“I..-” You look down at him, and he just nods at you, a big smile on his face. “Yes.” 

“Fantastic. We’ll see you on the 5th to ensemble the collection, and for the big opening on the 6th.” 

“Great, thank you so much Dee.” 

“My pleasure, have a good day. 

“You too.”

Once you hang up you let your body hit the bed, giggling as you kick the air, excited for it all and an aweing Steve laughing with you, even if he doesn’t know what he is celebrating. 

“Are we happy?” He asks, his face closer to yours. 

“Very.” You tell him as you leave a fast chaste kiss on his lips. “So, so, so happy Stevie.” 

You closed your eyes as you let him hug you closely, he always liked being the big spoon, feeling you closer to him, he liked feeling you this close, feeling like he was protecting you, like you were all his. And he’d promised himself to keep doing that for as long as you’d let him, or for as long as his heart kept beating. 

Needles to say, you’d felt the same, letting him hold you close until your last breath.

“Steve?” You felt your heart beating faster and faster, as you turned around to face him. 

“Yes?” 

“I… I um-” He blushed, his eyes opening as he realized what you were about to say. 

“I love you too.” He says, a soft grin on his face as his hand brushes your hair as his fond voice rings in your ears. 

“I knew you’d say it first.” You tease him as you laugh, your lips close to each other, as you breathe eachothers air, he tickles you before closing the distance. 

“Idiot.” 

“An Idiot you love.” You keep teasing him as your giggles and laughter fill the room. “And who loves you too.”

-

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference

-

ppl that asked to be taged <3 @param8re @evansflowers

[davejade-sometimes]

whoa writing its like christmas up in here

or something like that

anyway have the first installment of the coffee shop au

---

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:47.

TT: Dave.

TT: I went to Karkat’s place of work.

TT: That cafe. Suburban Coffee.

TG: yeah yeah

TG: sburban coffee

TG: theres no u for some reason

TG: karkat thinks that the manager ate it or some weird shit like that

TT: And there’s this girl.

TG: oh?

TT: She types so fast. So well. With such purpose.

TG: one might even say hotly

TT: Yes, Dave. She types hotly. I’m currently twirling my hair and swooning from her sheer typing prowess.

TG: whoa so swoon-worthy

TG: better have someone ready to catch you when you faint from her hot as fuck typing

TT: Come with me today. I'll show you how hot her typing is. And, you can provide a cushion from when I inevitably swoon by being in her presence.

TG: alright

TG: sure

TG: cant say no to an opportunity to get caffeine

TG: and bother karkat while were at it

tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:58.

The cafe is nestled between several other shops, and it announces itself with a bright green sign. Sburban Coffee, it declares in big, blocky lettering. The outside is painted an unassuming gray-brown to match the rest of its neighbors, and there are colourful flowers in flowerpots clustered by the door. In the window, Dave can make out the shapes of many, many people inside.

The door chimes happily as Dave and Rose walk inside. The strong, strong smell of coffee immediately hits Dave. Inside, the cafe is bustling, and every table has at least one person sitting. The walls are a pretty orange, and there’s a wall with potted plants sitting on shelves. He spots Karkat at the register, looking as depressed and mildly angry as he always does. There is a smiley-face sticker on the register, along with a frowny-face. He notes the crab pin on his apron. Karkat is not the type to accessorize; Dave wonders what is different about the pin. Rose tugs him into line, and Dave begins to scrutinize the menu. He never knows what to get from coffee shops. There’s too many fancy names and words to know, and he usually just defaults to a latte. However, this time he feels like he needs to branch out a bit, try something new and all that jazz.

DAVE: hey rose

DAVE: youre smart

DAVE: whats an americano

DAVE: is it like

DAVE: essence de la america

DAVE: does it taste like eagles and football

DAVE: and FREEDOM

DAVE: its not tea right i dont want to be unpatriotic

DAVE: gotta make ol g washy proud

ROSE: It’s an espresso drink diluted with water.

ROSE: Now shush. Look over there.

ROSE: That's the girl.

Dave subtly looks over in the direction Rose indicates. The person in question has their back to him, but he can see that they’re wearing an emerald sweater and a long skirt. They also have the Lesbian Haircut™. He can see why Rose likes them. Rose pulls him forward again as the line moves up. They are now second in line, and Dave still doesn’t know what he wants. He sticks his hands in his pockets and does the patented Cool Guy Slouch to hide his indecision and decides to look at Karkat instead. He can’t imagine a guy like Karkat working at a coffee shop, yet here he is. Green apron, gray sweater. Dave doesn’t think he’s ever seen Karkat wear anything different. He might be an escaped extra from a cartoon TV show. Dave idly wonders why he’d liked Karkat back in high school. He seems all cool and tough from the outside but he’s really just a big, pathetic nerd with an extra large side of wet-cattiness.

BARISTA: hey, i can take you guys over here!

Dave stops staring awkwardly at Karkat and instead turns his attention to things like moving. He studies the barista at their register as they walk over.

His first impression: oh, she’s cute.

Man, what was that line of thought?? He internally winces. Anyway. Lame thoughts aside, the barista is very put together, at least in comparison to Karkat. Granted, the bar is low. So low, in fact, it could be a speed bump. Her name tag cheerfully declares her name as Jade in loopy green handwriting, along with a plant sticker. Colorful pins flash at him from her apron.

ROSE: Dave.

ROSE: Are you going to order?

Dave blinks, startled out of his thoughts. He decides to go for something smooth, suave, dare he say, even cool?

DAVE: uh yeah

DAVE: hey love

DAVE: shit

DAVE: i mean

DAVE: lovely lady?

Dave begins questioning all his life choices, and contemplates throwing himself out the window. Actually, no, it’s a first floor window. That’d just be embarassing. He might catch fire instead. That’s a better option. One flaming hot Dave, coming right up. It would be better than whatever this train wreck of a conversation is.

Thankfully, the barista – Jade – is far cooler than he is, and just laughs.

JADE: hey yourself, good sir

JADE: what can i get you

DAVE: i was hoping you had a recommendation for me

JADE: uhh, well

Jade turns to look at the board behind her, ponytail swinging. Dave takes this moment to regain his composure, ignoring the look Rose is undoubtedly giving him. The eyebrows are so totally up. He can feel their skeptical vibes. He rearranges his face to that of a distant, aloof expression. What flaming dumpster fire? There is only Dave. Cool Dave. He is so calm and composed. Everybody wants to be him when they grow up. Jade turns back around.

JADE: i think the cinnamon caramel chai is pretty good!!

DAVE: alright ill take that

JADE: your drinks will be ready in a minute

Rose pays, and Dave absconds walks calmly over to an empty table and claims it, taking the seat that puts his back to the register. Totally not because of what jsut happened.. After a moment, Rose slides into the chair opposite him.

ROSE: Dave.

ROSE: What was that?

DAVE: what was what you saw nothing there was no dumpster fire

DAVE: besides youre one to talk miss she types hotly huh huh

DAVE: shut up rose put those eyebrows away or ill shave them off in your sleep

ROSE: Dave, I haven’t seen you this bad since-

DAVE: DONT EVEN SAY IT HES RIGHT THERE

Smooth, Dave. Now everyone in the cafe is looking at you, probably even Karkat. He melts into his chair. Can this get any worse? He looks over at the register, checking to see if their drinks are done. Karkat is looking in their direction, vaguely confused. The poor barista that Dave totally ruined any chances he had with her has disappeared. Maybe she ran for the hills from the total weirdo that she just met. Oh, nope, there she is, shaking a bottle of milk. He pretends to stare off into space, in a cool fashion. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he studies her again. He hadn’t gotten much of a chance to before, as he’d been otherwise occupied. Jade is a fairly tall girl with long, dark hair currently up in a ponytail that swings every time she moves. She has round glasses and a pretty smile. Unlike Karkat, she is wearing a tasteful orange shirt with her apron. He notes that she and Karkat move around each other easily – which surprises Dave – and while he can’t hear their conversation, they appear to be chatting. Karkat doesn’t like most people. Dave considers himself one of the lucky few that get to be Karkat’s friend.

---

Well, that was weird, Jade thinks as she begins making the latest coffee order: a latte with four shots of espresso, with a little dark roast on top. She’s a little worried for the girl who’d just ordered it. She hopes that she isn’t responsible for her inevitable death by sheer amount of caffeine. Reaching around Karkat (who gives her a salty look that she knows holds no real bite) for the pitcher, she begins to fill it with water. Beside her, Karkat shifts, and she knows he’s about to ask her about what just happened.

KARKAT: HEY JADE, WHAT HAPPENED?

Called it. Jade has what she likes to call her “KARKAT SENSE.” She can always tell when he’s going to do something particularly weird, which to be fair is pretty much just Karkat’s natural state.

JADE: with the sunglasses dude?

JADE: poor guy i feel bad for him

JADE: he looked like he might die of embarassment

KARKAT: WHAT’D THAT IDIOT DO?

JADE: oh, do you know him?

She pours the water into the espresso machine and starts it, putting a cup underneath. While she waits, she begins to steam the milk.

KARKAT: UNFORTUNATELY, YEAH.

KARKAT: HE’S A FRIEND FROM HIGH SCHOOL.

JADE: oh nice!!

JADE: well i think he was trying to be cool or something

JADE: he tried to say [bad dave impression] hey lovely lady

JADE: but he called me love instead

JADE: it was kind of sad

KARKAT: WHAT A FUCKING LOSER. I CANT BELIEVE I WAS EVER INTO HIM.

JADE: wait, really?

JADE: i cant picture you with him

JADE: he doesnt seem like your type

KARKAT: AND HE ISN’T.

KARKAT: I WOULD NEVER DATE SOMEONE SO LAME.

Jade snorts derisively, and begins to pour the steamed milk over the four shots of espresso.

JADE: like youre that much cooler

JADE: just yesterday i watched you rant for about 20 minutes about spilling some milk on your shirt

JADE: youre just as lame!! admit it

KARKAT: OH FUCK YOU.

KARKAT: YOU ARENT COOL EITHER.

JADE: true, but at least i don’t go around pretending i am

KANAYA: Karkat Shes Right

KANAYA: You Would Be So Much Cooler If You Stopped Trying So Hard

KANAYA: Watching You Is A Little Pathetic

KARKAT: I HATE YOU ALL.

Jade just laughs and gives Karkat an affectionate whack on the back as she goes to set the now finished Latte of Death on the pick-up counter. He grumbles and steps on her toes as he moves past her to the register, serving the next undercaffeinated customer.

[knownangels]

hopeful/haunting (october prompt)

It is another dreary, rainy evening. Across the slick two-lane road, a diner’s glowing sign spills like neon paint into each black corner of the night.

Benji isn’t sure why he looks both ways before jogging to the other side; the sprawl of asphalt stretches far into distance. The road tapers thinner and thinner. First, it becomes a pencil-thick black line — then, in the far mist, it disappears completely. As if some higher power had ambitions to drawn a line across the landscape, lifted the pen from page, and simply…forgot.

If there were cars coming either side, he’d seen them a solid minute before they pulled up. But he checks both ways, and then…

Benji strolls up to the diner’s chrome and glass dood, scowling. He pats for his pack.

Front: right left right? back: left right jacket: inner outer, fuck.

Benji glances around to make sure he hasn’t dropped them. Although in the downpour, what good does a wet cigarette manage? Still, he lifts either book, looks over his shoulder. Groans.

Something creaks over his shoulder. Before Benji can whirls fully, there’s a mirrored groan even further behind him.

Across the road, standing in the spot he’d occupied before crossing, is a figure.

Benji blinks. He pats his pocket again, absent-minded and instinctual.

When he turns back to the diner, he finds the interior lights have gone out. Neon has choked dark, and the only luminance seems to be whatever moonlight spills through the clouds. It is not enough.

As he stares at it, the diner’s open sign flicks on. It is the only thing that does.

I’m dreaming, Benji thinks clearly. Relieved.

The whole of the night yawns, creaks, stretches around him. He feels nauseous, because once he’s had that thought: I am dreaming…nothing stops.

That tether keeping him tucked to sleep. The abrupt yank out of himself, awake.

I’m dreaming. His mind shivers. I am dreaming.

He has to be. He is.

Is he?If he’s not…

He wants to turn to look. He wants to see if the figure behind him still watches. He wants to know who they are. He wants to wake up. He wants to wake up—

Gift, a voice in the darkness says.

He knows somehow, inexplicably and without turning, that it belongs to the thing watching him. He wants to wake up—

Benji finds his legs moving without much of his own input. The door to the diner swings open, darkness spilling from it like slippery black innards. Enveloping him. A single booth illuminates on the far end of the restaurant. There is a coffee mug on the laminate, steam rising from its contents.

Deep, deep, deep down (somewhere far and cold and strange to touch his mind towards), Benji knows that something awful will happen if he slides into that empty booth.

And yet Benji moves towards it. He cannot stop. He wants to wake up—

When’s the sun rising? When will light filter into the windows, shine away the darkness? How long has he been standing there, across the road, staring at the diner? Why had he, for that matter?

Benji is just a body length from the table, now. Although both seats are empty, a strange shadow touches into the opposite side from the mug. It wiggles at the edges, but its form remains still: perfect, alien posture.

The shadow elongates and twists. Benji realizes it is turning its head towards him, although there is no face nor features. But it smiles. He feels it smile, although it doesn’t. Feels it. He knows it has sharp teeth. He wants to wake up. He wants to wake up. He wants to wake up—

He does.

Lark bolts upright with him, legs tangled in the other sleeping bag. His yelp and Benji’s loud, gravelly cry of conscious dismay mingle in the air. The mostly-empty building sings it back.

“Ow. Fuck.” Lark sniffles, face pinched as he pulls something from under and behind him. “Dude. You made me sit on my EMF.”

Benji stares at him. He realizes, abruptly, that his chest is heaving for air.

He laughs softly, because it’s just vague enough to sound like a naughty euphemism.

“I just had the most mad dream.” Benji whispers.

Lark holds up both index finger, crossed like a warding symbol.

“Ah-ah. I didn’t ask about your nightmare for a reason. No heebie jeebies please. The energy in here is fucked as it is.”

“Someone was hunting me.” He continues anyway. He pats for his cigarettes, in his back right pocket — first try. “And I was on this, dunno. Country highway? Raining, but…” he frowns. “I don’t remember feeling wet. Or cold. And there was this diner—“

Lark’s stomach rumbles. He pats it with a flare cast down. “No, boy. Bad. No Denny’s.”

“Someone say Denny’s?”

Both of them make noises. The volume and pitch of those noises are details to take to their graves, respectively.

“Ahh!” Xavier screams just a second after them, hand pressed to his chest. The angles of his face are sharply sculpted in the blue light dusting up from his phone’s flashlight.

“I just came to check on you. Are we okay—?”

He looks half close to exhaustion; Benji isn’t sure how he ever managed to convince Tino he was well enough to come back to contracts after that scare last month.

“Fuck off.” Benji says, instead of you shouldn’t be here, or who knows what could happen to you, or we still aren’t sure what happened to you last time, or it’s not safe.

“Wow.” Xavier says back, his voice not raised yet but dripping with that tell-tale seethe. Indicates the rapidly approaching end of his rope.

“Wow.” Benji parrots, rubbing at his sore eyes, his forehead. He feels a headache coming on. Xavier’s fucking presence, no doubt about it. “Listen, mate, we’re busy.”

“You know, I was kind of hopeful that you were having a nightmare instead of like, gettin’ smacked around by whatever is haunting this place.” Xavier pouts. “But now I kind of wish I walked in on you getting like flying-knee uppercut by some imp with its ass out.”

His headache gets markedly worse each second.

I had a nightmare. Benji doesn’t say to him. Last time that happened I stumbled down to Tino’s kitchen and you were there playing a game on your phone. Two am, and we sat there until three not talkin’ much, but also not at each others’ throats. It was nice, I suppose. Not to feel hated. And Benji certainly doesn’t say: I went back to sleep fine, after.

“Is it that hard for you to understand when you’re not wanted?” Benji asks coldly, that same sort of helpless fizz to his vocal chords that has been in his limbs during the dream. He can’t stop himself from moving, from talking. It feels nightmarish all the same.

“I mean, really. How many times have I got to tell you to fuck off? One more for luck?”

Lark tugs at pants leg as he stands, squares up to Xavier.

“Fuck. Off. Wolffe.” He says, venomous and slow. “It is pathetic.”

Xavier full-body twitches.

For a moment, Benji imagines him lunging forward. His arms outstretched, hands clawed. But Xavier doesn’t move to attack. Rather, he stumbles a step back and then twists abruptly, stomping a retreat from the room he and Lark have set up in.

When Benji turns to Lark, he’s glaring.

“What?”

“Dude.”

[fishnets-fingers]

Six Months - Part Twenty Three

Summary - Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together?

PAIRING - camboy!harry x indian!oc

a/n - happy happy birthday @0oolookitsme​! this is such a special part and i hope it’s a good birthday surprise! thank you for loving the story and layla and harry as much as i do! as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 10.3 k

Warnings - so much fluff, a dash of angst, allusions to smut.

Masterpost (find previous parts here)

Harry’s comfortably buried under the pillow, the duvet snaked around his body, with one of his feet poking out the corner. Sleep always found him easy, but sleeping on Layla’s bed guarantees him a good night's sleep; something to do with the mattress toppers is what she chalked it up to when he’d told her but he thinks it has to do with the space being so inexplicably hers. He particularly melts into slumber with the way her scent cocoons around him, the way he has to roll over and nudge his feet between her perpetual ice cold ‘feetsies,’ the way he can watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way she softly snores after a particularly long day of being hunched over the canvas she was painting. All these things made his insides feel fizzy, like he was an agitated soda can waiting to explode with joy. So yes, snoozing in her bed resulted in a comfortable restful night’s sleep. But for some reason he feels like this was the longest time he’d slept in a while. 

He feels a cold hand on his bicep, gently shaking him, and a soft groggy voice follows, “Harry?”

He manages a grunt, face scrunching as the icy fingers now grips his arm, shaking him incessantly.

“Babe, wake up.” Her voice is hoarse, like she hadn’t used it a lot. 

“Yeah… I’m up,” he replies, voice deep from slumber. 

He blinks to a sight he’s sure he’ll be going to commit to memory and play it back. Layla in one of her panties, his white Kiss T-shirt, mussed up hair falling down to her waist, smiling down on him with a steaming mug in her hand. Her face is puffy and blotchy - no doubt from sleeping on her stomach for a long time. Best wake up call, he thinks as images of being woken up by her wet kisses trailing down the slope of his neck flash in his mind. No, second best wake up call, he decides as the warmth rushes to his face. 

“Good morning,” she beams at him, sitting down at the edge of the bed as her fingers move angst the prickly five o’clock shadow against his jaw. 

“Morning, sweet girl.” He pushes himself upright using his arms, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her cheek. “What’s all this?” He asks. 

“Your morning coffee,” she replies, bringing the mug in between the two. “And,” she tilts her head to the side and his gaze  follows to find a bowl of oatmeal topped with berries and apple slices, scrambled eggs and a glass of water on a wooden table. “Breakfast in bed.”

“And what did I do to get my breakfast to come to me?” He grabs the ceramic mug from her, blowing on the dark liquid to cool it down. 

“Nothing,” she shrugs. “Just felt like doing it.” 

“How lucky am I?” He smiles, fluttering his eyelids dramatically. 

Layla lets out a hearty giggle. “Don’t go thanking your lucky stars yet, earth boy. I still don’t know how to work the fancy coffee machine.”

“How can one fuck up black coffee?” He laughs, taking a sip from the mug, grimacing immediately. “Lails,” he coughs, “Did you add sugar in this?”

“What? Are you not supposed to?” 

“No!” He exclaims, setting the mug aside on the bedside table. 

“Well jeez! You like drinking that every morning? Dude, that tasted like ass before all that sugar.”

“Hey!” He pinches her sides playfully, making her swat his hands away. 

“I’ll never understand coffee,” she shakes her head. “Maybe a sip of this would help,” she picks up the glass next to his oatmeal. “Uncle left tender coconut water in the fridge for the two of us. But know that if I made filter coffee right now, I would have knocked your socks off.”

“I don’t doubt it. Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“No problem. The breakfast was to just butter you up,” she admits with a coy smile.

“For?” He arches his brow.

“I’ll tell you later.” She says, getting up and making her way to the door. “But wash up and meet me downstairs. Aunty will be back from work soon and then we’re going to the salon with your mum.”

“What time is it?” He asks. 

“Half past ten. We’re the only ones home.” She tells him.

“Can’t be…” He turns around to find his phone and figure out why his alarm didn’t go off. 

“I turned your alarm off. It bloody woke me up at five in the morning,” she rolls her eyes. “You need a day off from running for your shoulder.”

“I didn’t run yesterday,” he defends himself. 

“We still went on a walk.” She reminds him. “Plus, I’ve got a great lazy day planned for us.”

////

“I thought you guys were going to get facials done?” Harry asks, stepping into Layla’s bathroom. She had a makeshift spa set up with fluffy towels, a scented candle, and colourful tubs of skincare. 

“We are,” she replies, coming up behind him with a brass cup on top of a white hand towel. “You and Uncle refused to come get facials with us-“

He moves out of her way, so she can set it on the counter. “I don’t think I need it. My skin looks good from just using your skincare. And Vasanth laughed when you sugg-“

“Don’t be fooled by that.” Layla interrupts. “He acts like salons are a scam. He refused to go get a facial before his wedding because he thought he was too cool. He bought those facial kits two days before his reception and begged me to give him a facial. I bet my ass he’s gonna come knocking on my door for a sheet mask at least tonight.” She cocks her head to the wooden stool she’d dragged from the master bathroom. 

Harry sits down. “So, I’m getting a spa day because you think I might have certain inhibitions to walk into a salon?”

“Nope. I’m pampering you for the burn you suffered at the carnival yesterday,” she laughs. 

“Oh please! We both know that shot was a fluke,” he argues. 

“It wasn’t! I’ve got the skills,” she insists, sticking her tongue out at him. 

“What skills?” He asks her exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. 

“Hello! All the hours I put into Call of Duty. It must have rubbed off on me in real life.” She clasps her fingers together, sticking out her middle and index at him, bringing it to her eyes as she pretends to shoot him. Blowing out the tips of her fingers like one would a gun in old cowboy movies. 

“You can’t be serious!” He rolls his eyes. “Baby, that’s so stupid.”

“Says the idiot who’s car now houses the giant stuffed bunny I won,” she arches her brow at him.  

“Shut up,” he sticks his tongue out at her. “Those games are rigged, you know,” he adds, hoping to discount her win.

Despite her boyfriend's attempts to try and gloss over her victory, Layla finds herself smiling - the kind that makes her dimple dip into her cheek. “So what you’re saying is that you weren’t strong enough for the high striker?”

“No!” Harry replies quickly. “I won that fair and square! I am a man of wit and brawn!” 

Layla laughs. “Whatever you say, Hercules,” she dismisses, leaning forward to press a kiss to his temple. “Alright, I have two facial kits. Do you want the fruit enzyme or the pearl one?”

Harry regards the boxes on the counter, like he knew the organic chemistry behind it. Prior to Layla all he did was moisturise and now he had managed to swipe all of her tubes and tubs that were nice smelling. His skin was a lot softer, the tingly red goopy masque that Layla pipettes onto his face every week got rid of all the blackheads on his nose. His forehead was a lot less angry, with the red zits only popping up occasionally but disappearing as fast as it came. So, he really didn’t think he needed any one of the boxes but it was appealing to kick back and let her dote on him. After all, she deemed it to be his lazy day. “The fruit one,” he answers.

“Did you just pick the colourful box?” Layla chuckles when he gives her a sheepish smile as she runs a comb through his hair to work the knots.“Can’t believe you cut your hair,” she complains, running her fingers through the shorter brown locks. When he’d turned up to her Aunt’s flower braiding ceremony with trimmed hair, it made her bottom lip visibly jut out in a pout.

“It was getting long and difficult to style.” It was. Harry’s hair coiled around the nape of his neck and it made him look shaggy. “You’re just whining ‘coz you don’t have a lot to grab onto when I’m eating you out,” he smiles up at her salaciously.

Warmth flushes across Layla’s chest, rising up to her cheeks and the tops of her ears. He really did have a filthy mouth. “It’s not just that,” she admits. “Your curls are gone,” she states. The short cut - especially after styling - made his hair look straight, almost like the stylist had a vengeance to get rid of them. There was still a dusting of curls left behind near his ears and it was incredibly cute when they peaked out of whatever beanie he was wearing. She can’t wait until they grow back and coil again and she was going to do everything in her power to make them sprout faster.

“What’s that?” Harry asks, as Layla reaches for the small brass bowl with a sap green liquid. 

“Oil. Aunty’s hair and mine have been falling off in clumps lately, so we called grandmum and asked for her hair oil recipe. Is that okay? It’s ayurvedic.”

“Yeah. Was this your ploy all along? Trick me into growing my hair out faster?”

She chuckles. “No, actually. I was just giving you a head massage.”

“What have you got up your sleeve, Lails?”

“Nothing. Now just shut your eyes and prepare to relax.”

She gently scoops out the oil, mindful to not spill it on the floor, and works her blunt nails in small circles on his scalp. He moans quietly, and it makes her chuckle as she puts a shower cap on him. Step one: complete, she smiles. 

Harry likes getting a facial, he decides. He has not got one before but he concludes that this is the best. His girlfriend’s soft touch as she lathers up his face with a cleanser, the soft bristles of the brush that paint his skin with a thick orange paste, and he got to lean back against her chest. All made a content sigh escape from him. 

Their trip to the autumn carnival was a ball of fun. They got there after lunch and went around playing loads of games. Layla won the shooting game and ended up picking a humongous bunny plushie - one that the two could not tote around, resulting Harry to jog to the parking lot and throw it in the backseat of his car. Harry tried his luck at ring toss, skee ball, and bottle toss, only to lose every time. He pouted the whole time they walked around the fair, because he deemed it unfair that his girlfriend won and refused to give him the bunny as consolation. Layla pestered him to buy them a turkey leg, which she spat it out right after taking a sizable bite because it was ‘so fucking disgusting that even cavemen would choose to die to starvation than to eat a turkey leg.’ He ended up eating the whole thing, while she stuck to a corn cob. They ended up taking lots of pictures and even waited for an hour to get on the ferris wheel. When Harry leaned over to give her a kiss at the top, the structure creaked making their pod unsteady causing Layla to panic shove him back into his spot. He almost peed his pants laughing when Layla walked face first into her reflection - after proclaiming she had a penchant for this - while they were trying to find their way out of the mirror maze. She gave him the silent treatment and shot him dirty looks the rest of the evening until he’d bought her a cotton candy that was twice as big as her face. Layla learnt that toddlers had a better grasp of eating cotton candy compared to her boyfriend, whose mouth, nose and cheeks grew stickier and pinker with each passing minute. Just as they were about to leave she’d convinced him to try out the high striker. Even if Harry was reluctant to lose again, her sugary kiss convinced him to give it a shot and he did, using a little of his body weight and most of the gravitational pull to drop the hammer into the designated red pedal. The red light meter grew higher and higher, causing him to throw his hands up high in sweet victory, pulling his girlfriend in for a bone crushing hug - spinning her around - muttering how he had ‘science and muscle on his side,’ smearing all the sticky sugary pink treat onto her face. Layla picked out matching key chains as the prize - a clay polymer of two peas in a pod, a nod to his favourite vegetable. The key chain now held his car keys and Layla had slotted it into her house key fob.

He’s pulled back to the now, when he feels a warm washcloth wipe off the enzyme mask that was sitting on his face for twenty minutes. “There,” Layla says, stepping back. “Now, before we hop into the shower, I want you to rate this experience.” She steps back, leaning against the sink.

“Five out of five,” he answers earnestly, opening his eyes to watch her telltale evil grin spread across the entirety of her face. “Oh no,” he mutters. 

“Oh yes!” She beams. Opening a drawer, pulling out a spool of white thread, “Since I’ve given you an ace of an experience, you’re gonna help me with threading my eyebrows by being my dummy.” Harry watches her pull out ten inches of thread, bite it, knot the end to make a loop as she winds one hand around to create tension in the middle.

“No! No no. You buttered me up for this?!? No way. Piss off,” he leans backwards and shoves her hands.

“Come on,” she whines. “I’ll just thread the extras. It’s not like I’m gonna shape it. I need to practise.” 

“I’ve seen you thread your face before. What practice?” He grabs onto her hands - clutching them close to his chest, halting her advances. 

“Yeah for my moustache and the hairs on my chin! Not my eyebrows! It’s so bushy. Come on, please.”

“You’re going to the salon. Get it done there.”

“I’m not trusting anyone to thread my eyebrows but the parlour Aunty back home. She’s the only one who gets it right. Anyone who’s not desi is not gonna touch my eyebrows. Let me just practice on you, so I can try and do mine. I tried to thread my eyebrows a few years ago and ended up pulling out the hair from the arch and I can’t afford to fuck up with the wedding festivities starting tomorrow,” she reasons.

“And I’m the guinea pig that could stand to lose a bloody eyebrow?”

“You won’t lose an eyebrow,” she chuckles. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“No way! Here I was thinking you wanted to pamper me but you were trying to get me all putty in your hands, so you can rip out the hairs of my brow.”

“Please,” she tries again, jutting her bottom lip out, blinking rapidly to get a film of tears over her eyes, voice honey smooth.

“No,” Harry says firmly, closing his eyes to not fall for her glassy doe eyed trick. Her loud sigh makes him open up just in time to see her bottom lip quiver. “Anything but my eyebrows, baby,” he concedes. Fuck she is persuasive. 

“Fine,” she huffs out, wiggling her trapped hands. “Let me pluck out the three hairs that sprout from your mole at least,” she pokes the mole at the corner of his mouth.

“I do not have hair growi- Fuck off, dickhead.”

“You just said ‘anything but the eyebrows,’” she quotes, drawling out her voice to mimic his accent. 

“What are you? A lawyer? Using my own words against me,” he shakes his head. “Fine, anything but threading. I’m game for anything but threading.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” he confirms. 

“Then… Maybe take me to this seafood restaurant?” She proposes, looking into his eyes expectantly.

“Deal. I’ll take you on a date to this restaurant. That’s it?”

“That’s it. All I want is the Cioppino.”

“We’ll go next week and make a whole day out of it.” She claps, abandoning the thread. “Deal?” She stretches out her pinky.

“Deal! Can’t wait,” says as he loops his pinky with hers and brings it  to his lips.

“We can make a whole day out of it.” She declares, walking over to the glass partition and turning on the rainfall shower head for hot water. “I bet I can call ahead and get us on those boats that take people to the sea to taste fresh oysters. We can laze around the beach for the rest of the day and I’ll make a reservation at Seabird in the evening.”

All of what she’s saying sounds very rehearsed, Harry’s eyebrows knit together and his eyes narrow. The place they were staying was landlocked; far far away from the nearest beach. “Lails, where’s Seabird?”

“In Wilmington,” she answers, with a giggle. 

Wilmington, a two and a half hour drive from Apex. A journey that Harry would have made her drive. He’d been driving her around the bloody country, and it’s only fair that she drove him around too. Ever since she told him that she was licensed to drive around multiple countries, in Vermont, he’d told her that they were gonna tag team for longer road trips. Of course, he’d drive her to and fro in a heartbeat but with each passing instance he found himself enjoying the role of a passenger princess - shovelling snacks into their mouths, curating playlists for their journey, fondling her thighs and chuckling at the sheer unwavering concentration she mustered while driving. And it was the experience he would have got while driving to the restaurant if not for her cornering him into this deal.

“Hey you conned me! This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” He accuses, standing up straight with his hands on his hips. Although his gaze was accusatory, the smile that tugs the corner of his lips was one of pride by being outwitted by his girl.

“No backsies!” She lets out a gleeful laugh, stripping off her clothes beckoning him to follow.

////

“Hey, come on in,” Vasanth greets Anne and Harry, stepping aside to let him in. “Abi’s almost done getting ready. You guys need anything before we head over? Water?” It was still dark outside, with the first few rays breaking over the horizon.

“We’re good. Never got dressed this early for a wedding event in my life,” Anne chuckles, smoothing down the fabric of her floral shirt. “Does it always happen this early?”

“Yeah. The பந்தக்கால் முகூர்த்தம் (Pandakaal Muhurtham) usually takes place at dawn. We woke up at three in the morning to get the house set up for mine.”

Harry beelines towards the stairs in his aqua trousers and his white shirt mumbling about checking to see if Layla was ready.

“Harry.” Vasanth calls out. “Layla’s in the family room. She isn’t coming today.”

‘Why?” He asks, hand on the bannister as he steps down.

“She’s ill. Allergies,” he explains.

“Oh no. I didn’t know she was allergic to anything. Is she alright?” Anne enquires.

“Miss. Genius thought it would be a grand idea to get some persimmons from the tree in the backyard in the dead of the night-”

“She’s allergic to persimmons?” Harry asks.

“No. She’s allergic to the gypsy moth caterpillar. They’re pretty rampant in fall, which is why I zipped her up in my biggest jacket I could find everytime she stepped out of the house.” He points to the Tide jacket that was hung on the coat hook. “I think it fell on her when she was picking the fruit and she barged into our room wheezing and claiming that she was dizzy.”

“Oh dear. Let me go check up on her,” Anne says, giving her coat to Harry, marching towards the room. 

Layla is on her side, hands tucked under her cheek, breathing stuttering as she intently watches a show on her laptop - that was whirring like it was going to launch into space - with AirPods in her ear. Her lower half was swaddled in a fuzzy red blanket and her camisole showed them the red welts all over her shoulder with small irregular bumps that decorated her skin. 

“Sweetheart,” Anne coos, sitting on the coffee table. 

Layla smiles up at her, tugging off her AirPods as she reaches over to hit the spacebar - pausing her show. “Good morning. You look really nice!”

“Thank you, Layla. How are you feeling? Do you have any trouble breathing now?” She inquires - caressing her hair - from the whistle sounds she makes when she inhales.

“Nope. Just itchy,” her eyes flit to her splotchy skin on her forearm; she can feel Harry’s gaze - who’s hovering behind her - bore into the back of her skull.

“Did you go to the emergency room?”

“No. I bought my meds with me. I took an antihistamine, applied calamide on my skin. Wheezing has gone down considerably and I have my inhalers right here if it flares up again.”

“You came prepared?” Anne chuckles.

“Yeah. It’ll clear up by the afternoon. That’s what usually happens; I used to get them of-”

“You’ve been super allergic to them your whole life and you still haven’t learnt your lesson,” Vasanth scolds her.

“What lesson?” She coughs out.

“Do not go near trees, especially when it gets dark. Everytime-”

“Vasanth,” Abi chides in, walking into the room with a green linen saree, smelling like the jasmine that she’s pinned in her braid. “She’s sick. Don’t scold her.”

‘But she-,” her husband starts.

“Yelling at her is not going to get her better.” She tells him. “Nice pants, Harry.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, smiling at her.

“Nandhini Aunty called. I think we’re running behind,” she informs them. “You’re gonna be alright alone, kutti?”

“Uh huh. You guys go have fun,” Layla shoos them away. 

“Okay. Call if you need anything okay,” Vasanth reminds her, bending down to kiss her hair. Layla nods.

The party makes their way to the front door, shuffling on their coats when they hear her call out, “எனக்கு காலை உணவை கொண்டு வர மறக்காதே, சித்தப்பா! (Don’t forget to bring me back breakfast, Uncle!)”

“ உனக்கு எதுவும் இல்லை! (None for you!) You’ll only get food after you drink the Neem juice!”

“Yuck!” She grimaces in disgust, making them all laugh. “I’m not doing that!”

“We’ll see about that when I get back. Get some sleep!” Vasanth shouts back. He grips on the door handle about to shut it when he sees Harry hesitate at the threshold, toying with his socks. Abi and Anne have already made their way across the street. “Everything okay?”

“Um no. I think-,” he stammers, running his hand through his hair. “I’m gonna stay with her. You guys go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Fair warning, her allergy meds knock her into a comatose state and the one time she couldn’t sleep because the house was noisy she picked a fight with my dad - who had the TV on - and bit him.”

“Really?” His eyebrows raise up.

“Yep. She turns into a rabid dog if she’s not left alone to sleep. She still threatens to bite me if I wake her up before the alarm. I think it’s best to leave her be. Don’t tell me I didn’t give you a heads up.”

“I think I can handle her,” he replies, cockily making Vasanth shrug before closing the door. 

////

Forty five minutes. It only took forty five minutes for Harry to want to eat his own words. Handling her was something he’s not sure how to do anymore. His original plan was to lull her to sleep, so she was less likely to be cranky but he did not expect her to swing in the opposite direction. The minute Layla heard him walk back, she buried herself under the blankets - refusing to come out. She announced to him with firm conviction that she was not going to fall asleep until Vasanth, Anne, and Abi got home and filled her in on all the details that happened across the street. He’d tried everything with her: he was stern to which she responded back by blowing a blaring raspberry at him, she whined like a brat when he tried to slot himself on the couch, she managed to quickly swipe her AirPods and her laptop from the coffee table when he’d made his way to the kitchen to make her some chamomile tea, and most of all she dismissed him with one word answers when he proposed that he’ll drive her to a lake if she turns off her show and listen to him.

And that brings him to now, forty five minutes later with a child coffee cup in hand, hunched over the end of the couch on his knees, a loud sigh escaping his mouth when he sees that the upright figure of his girlfriend cocooned in the blanket. She is so bloody stubborn, he thinks wordlessly tugging on the corner of the fleece fabric. She quickly tucks it under her thigh, mumbling underneath her breath about wanting to watch Neeya Naana in peace. 

“Layla,” he groans out, placing the mug on the table next to the thermometer. “What’s the debate topic this episode?” He asks. He’s watched an episode or two with her when they were vegging out on the couch. Layla had told him that the show helps break her bubble of privilege by giving her a glimpse into the opinions of the general public. And most of the time Harry sees her watching, eyes wide mumbling about how bloody backwards everyone is. 

“Housemaids versus Employers. It’s not not even a debate anymore; they’re just yelling at each other and the moderator is trying to shut them up.”

“Can I watch with you?”

“No,” she responds after a few beats, with a shake of her head. 

“Why not?”

“Go to Nandhini Aunty’s house, Harry.”

“I’m not gonna leave you! Baby, what’s wrong? I just want to take care of you. You were there when I was sick, why can’t I do the same?” He implores, gently placing a hand on her thigh, caressing the fleece of the blanket.

“It’s just allergies. It’ll go in a few hours-”

“Layla,” he cuts her off. “It doesn’t matter. Just let me under the blanket?” He pleads, giving a reassuring squeeze to her thigh.

Layla takes in a loud breath in. “I look hideous,” she admits quietly. “I have welts all over my skin. My face looks like a bumpy road. I don’t want you to look at me like this. You’ll laugh.”

Harry can’t help but laugh, making her pinch the skin on the back of his hand in response. “Ow!” He snatches his hand from her, rubbing over the spot. “I’m sorry. You’re being ridiculous, Lails. Do you really think I would laugh?”

“No,” she whispers. “What if you look at me now and just can’t get hard… like ever.”

“That’s preposterous. I get hard every time I think of you. Like sometimes I see you walk into my room with a smile on your face and boom - instant semi,” he admits, tugging the corner of the bed sheet, and slipping his hand in.

She giggles. “Your love boners,” she recalls, her hand clasping Harry’s that sneaks in, enjoying his warmth.

“Plus, I’ve sneezed on you - like a properly disgusting snotty sneeze and you’ve seen me pee! You still have sex with me,” he reminds her.

“That’s true! I’ve seen you pee like seven times now.”

“Just let me in, baby. I’ll close my eyes. Would that help?”

“No. I’m being silly again. Sorry.” She closes her laptop shut, and tugs her bed sheet off her with a big sigh, letting it pool on her lap.

Harry immediately helps her place her bulky old laptop on the ottoman along with her AirPods. She smiles down at him, and Harry can’t help cup her splotchy cheeks. She was warm, like she was running a slight temperature, her face was pink - with the calamide spread all over. Ruddy welts everywhere except for her nose and lips. The angry red bumps continued all over her neck, chest and down her arms. Her breaths were still accompanied by a faint whistle and all her hair was pulled into a messy bun, away from her skin.

“What on earth made you think that three in the bloody morning was a good time to eat persimmons?”

“I don’t know. I was thirsty and my water bottle wasn’t on the nightstand, so I came downstairs to get it from the kitchen and the tree caught my eye. I figured why not have a snack and you know I’ve never tasted persimmons before and Uncle had been holding me off from the tree until they got ripe.. So I figured why not?”

“And when did the fuzzy worm fall on you?” 

“I picked three and there was a really big ripe fruit high up, so I set my phone’s flashlight down and jumped to get it and ended up knocking it from the branch. It fell on my face,” she frowns. “I thought nothing would happen since every time those fuckers triggered my allergies it was back home and they were native species but I guess all the fuzz of caterpillars don’t agree with me.”

He can’t help but let out a boyish giggle at the thought of her itty bitty frame jumping up and down in the dead of the night trying to get a fruit. “This is why you should stay away from worms. They’re absolutely vile.”

“Hey! Just because I’m allergic to one particular demonic worm does not mean you can hate all of them. They’re so cute and slimy when they crawl around.”

“Whatever. Make bad choices and love on worms and snails.” He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “Freak.”

“Hey!”

“Did you enjoy the persimmon at least?”

“No! They were so disappointing! Not worth all this at all,” she explains, scratching down her collarbone.

“No itching,” Harry reminds her, prying her fingers away from her irritated skin. 

“But it’s scratchy,” she complains. 

“I know.” He coos, kissing her hand. “Come on, scoot over,” he tells her, stripping down to his underwear.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a cuddle?”

“Go put on some trousers. Don’t want them coming home with you in your tighty whities.” She snorts out a laugh, pointing at his underpants.

“Nice to see that all your dickhead skills are intact despite your illness. He flips his middle finger to her, making her bark out a louder wheezy laugh. 

“I just folded a pair of your shorts and hoodie in my closet.” 

Harry quickly bounds up the staircase  and slips on his olive green hoodie and his black running shorts. By the time he gets downstairs, Layla’s already shuffled to the end of the couch, looking up at him with big bleary eyes. He hastily settles on the cushions, pulling the blanket around them, slotting his legs between hers while bringing her close to his chest.  That’s all it takes for Layla’s eyes to flutter close, reveling in the feeling of his fingers rub soothing circles on her scalp.

////

Abi wanders into Ganesan's kitchen to get a break from all the ruckus in the living room. She needed to get away from the ruckus. At first the conversation was flowing and easy between the guests as the women waited for their turn with the henna artist. She was sandwiched between the Ganesan’s dog and her husband, talking to the guests about their trips to India - about the new buildings erected and new hangout spots in Chennai as Jeans played in a muted volume. But as the women started trickling away, the conversation turned more mind-numbing, the TV switched to the sport channel that broadcasts cricket highlights from ten years ago, and somehow the conversation turned a corner to alligator hunting from the bride’s uncle from Florida. Vasanth mentioned that he and Layla ate some alligator on their trip to New Orleans and the people immediately went into all the gory detail of skinning the reptile and she did not want her breakfast to make its way up.

While the rest of the house was clean and meticulously decorated with fresh flowers and paper lanterns for the mehendi ceremony. But the kitchen was a mess. There were plastic bags everywhere, food containers out in the open, the sink was overflowing with glasses and dishes, a trail of food wrappers dotted its way from the pantry. The kitchen counter was transformed into a makeshift station with an ineffectual assembly line of Aunties making goodie bags for the guests to take home.

“Do you guys need any help?” 

“Yes, kanna,” Nandhini smiles. “Can you put some chocolate in each bag?”

“Here, you go,” an older lady politely hands her a box of Ferraro Rochers, and Abi gets into action.

“How far along are you?” The older lady asks, her curly hair frames her face and the grey strands provide a stark contrast against her deep skin tone.

“Five and a half months. Baby is due in the first week of March.”

“Abi’s all set to get a promotion at work in the New Year,” Nandhini adds, patting her back. 

“It’s nice that the women nowadays get to do it all,” an old grandmother adds, who wasn’t really contributing much but more so supervising the assembly line.

“Sometimes, I wonder how different my life would be like if I wasn’t made to discontinue college to get married,” the curly haired woman muses.

“Do you regret your life choices?” Another woman asks, who was standing across from them.

“I don’t regret my children or my husband but sometimes I wonder what life would have been like had I finished college. Maybe I too would be a working mother like Abi.”

“It’s not too late now, Aunty, you can sign up for some classes. There are some great certification courses online,” Abi tells her.

“Yeah but my brain is not brand new like it was before,” she chuckles, making the group laugh.

“I’m glad I stayed at home. I couldn’t not bring myself to leave my children in a creche,” Nandhini Aunty says.

“To each their own.” The grandmother gives the ladies a crinkly smile. “But it is nice that the young girls get a chance to establish themselves before marriage.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nandhini says.

“What makes you say that?” Abi asks.

“I was reading this interview from a famous divorce lawyer back home and she credits the rising divorce rates to women being allowed to have their own careers and build lives before marrying. Think about it, say someone gets married at thirty. The young girl already has a fully developed belief system, she has a good savings put away, she starts spending how she wants and it’s very hard for them to compromise and bend to the life she is building with her husband.” Nandhini explains. “You know, because they will be set in their ways, it’s so much more likely for both of them to have massive egos and fights leading to a separation. Which is why I think women should get married soon.”

“Doesn’t that apply to men as they age too?” Abi asks.

“But boys are going to be boys. Can’t expect them to be mature. Which is why, Abi, I want you to talk to Layla about marriage - start seeding the idea, you know? I talked to your mother-in-law during the flower braiding ceremony and she was asking me if I knew of any good matches for Layla.”

“But she’s-” Abi starts.

“I think Layla and Ashwin would make a great pair. They are looking for brides for him. He’s in tech in San Francisco. He earns six figures. He’ll be able to handle her spunky personality. This is his mother,” Nandhini points to the curly haired woman she was conversing with.

Abi stares dumbfounded at the women in front of her cradling her baby bump, not knowing how to respond. Nandhini Aunty has backed her against a corner by having Ashwin’s mother also present in the conversation. She hates it. She hates Nandhini Aunty for being sneaky and crafting this exact moment. She hates that she essentially walked into this conversation. She also hates the fact that this is how the woman was raised and she’s trying to do a good thing - at least from her perspective.

“I’ve told her lots about Layla and from what she’s seen today, she likes her.” Nandhini continues. “Talk to your family about it and don’t let a good opportunity slip by.”

“I really appreciate it, Aunty, but we aren’t really looking for anyone at the moment. Plus, she’s seeing Har-”

“It’s a lapse in her judgement. She’s just seeking out new experiences. She is having fun now but what will happen when she gets more mature? She will want to settle down with someone similar - someone from her own culture. We should be the ones to guide her away from bad decisions,” Nandhini tells her, halting the conversation about Harry.

Abi chuckles. “Even if that is the case in the future, her number one goal right now is to get into a good PhD program. She’s only turning twenty three next month and she just started her first adult job this week. We're also starting to discuss the idea of marriage and hopefully find someone before it’s too late, you know how it is - good matches are hard to come by and I’m sure that’s why her grandmother is spreading around the word. Just not immediately,” she tells the women, shooting apologetic smiles at Ashwin’s mother, who nods along with the rest of the women.

“What program is Layla applying to?” Ashwin’s mother asks Abi. The conversation smoothly moves into the women’s children’s experiences with applying to grad schools until Anne informs Abi that she’s done and it’s her turn with the henna artist. 

////

One of the best things about getting your mehendi done was the feeling of the sharp plastic cone tip tickling the palm of your hand for hours, depending on the design. Layla certainly didn’t make the henna artist's job easy by giving her a neatly folded A4 sheet with the sketch of the design she designed. But the artist beamed -  when she unfolded the sheet of paper with an apologetic smile - as she was rubbing a few drops of eucalyptus oil on her palm to prep her skin. She has been sitting with the artist for an hour now, chatting with the henna artist about all the designs she had done on her clients so far. Anne and Abi were deep in conversation with their palm outstretched in front of a table fan, aiding in the drying process. 

“Lails,” Harry calls out, wandering into the living room to where she’s sitting on a round cushion on the floor. The backdrop was one with netted pink and bright yellow netted fabric draped all over with colourful paper lanterns hanging from the fairy lights strung above.

“Hmm?” She turns around to find him sauntering next to her clad in his monotone ivory kurta set. It was criminal how good he looked with the plunging v neckline, that exposed the slight dusting of his chest hair with his swallows peeping through on either side and the chain that glimmered around his neck. Her eyes can’t help wander down to how the gathering at the bottom of his pants only accentuated his graceful legs. The pale skin only accentuated the tan of his skin, making his jade eyes and raven tattoos.

“Can I drop my camera with you? Vasanth and I are heading over to Raleigh in a couple of minutes.”

“Where are you two going?” She asks and Harry Harry has to resist the urge to pinch her cheeks. Her allergies had subsided last evening, but there were still patches of pink on her face. She opted to not wear makeup - other than lipgloss and bindi - to the event to help her skin breathe and soothe before she had to glam up for the sangeeth and the kalyanam (ceremony). It didn’t matter to Harry because he had never seen someone so radiant in her flowy mint green anarkali, jhumkas dangling from her ear, her bangles tinkling as she pushed her hair behind her shoulders. The same bangles that were tucked away in his pocket when she sat down with the henna artist.

“He didn’t say but we’re picking up Earl along the way too.” He kneels down next to her, finally getting a peak at the drawing on her palms that the artist was doing her final touches on. “Wait- are those…,” he tilts his head, trying to get a better view.

“Elephants. Lots and lots of elephants!” She exclaims in a toothy smile that carves out the dimple on her left cheek. “How awesome is this!?!”

“It’s so pretty!” He carefully lifts her forearm - the one that was finished - to inspect the intricate line work. 

“Of course it’s pretty. Elephants tend to have that effect on people.”

“Especially you - wait, my phone’s buzzing,” he tells her, putting her hand down to rest on her knee before fishing it out of his pocket. “It’s Vasanth. I gotta go.”

“Itch my nose before you leave, please?”

He chuckles, going to scratch the tip of her nose. “Oh, and Abi,” he says, making her turn to face him.

“Vasanth told me to tell you that he has the cotton balls soaking in sugar water with lemon juice in the fridge for the three of you.” He waves to her and his mother and heads out.

“You’ve trained him well,” Layla laughs.

////

“Layla, wait up.” Ashwin calls out, jogging over to the Sathish’s driveway.

Layla, Abi, and Anne had bid their goodbyes to the wedding party at the Ganesan’s and had made their way across the road to their house. It was a chilly afternoon, especially with the frigid winds blowing up her gown. Indian wear – especially occasion wear - was not designed with colder temperatures in mind. All she wanted to do is head back to her room and turn on the portable space heater near her bed. “I’ll be a minute,” she tells Anne and Abi, as they go into the house through the opened garage.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks, holding her arms up in front of her, cognizant to not smear the henna on her fancy clothing.

“I didn’t know you owned a camera,” he notes, gaze moving down to the camera that was hanging around her neck. 

“It’s Harry’s,” she tells him. “Everything okay?” 

“Yep yep. I have something for you and in hindsight I should have given it before you sat down for the mehendi,” he tells her, tugging his sweater.

“Yeah, I can’t really hold anything right now. Although, you can just put it there,” he points to the shelf in the garage, where Vasanth keeps his tools. “I can get it later when I’ve rubbed all of this off,” she nods to her hand. 

“Okay,” he nods, patting his pocket to fish out the object.

“What is it?” She asks. 

“Remember when we were talking about toys on our way to the jewelry store?”

She nods.

“I asked my cousin who was flying from Colombo to get these,” he tells her, opening his palm to reveal a small aluminium tube and a short plastic straw.

“Plastic bubbles!” She gasps. “They still make these?!?”

“Yup. I had forgotten all about them until you brought it up in the car.”

“Thank you so much, Ashwin. This is the sweetest. I would give you a hug if I could.”

He laughs. “Yeah, don’t fancy getting henna stains all over my clothes.” He walks over putting it on the shelf.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” She trails behind him.

“Yeah.”

“Do you, um - This is going to sound stupid. But, um, do you do this with everyone?”

“Sorry?”

“Get thoughtful gifts. Offer to take them places. Maybe you’re a wonderful person who’s kind and is just friendly but I’d just like to make sure that we’re on the same page. I’m sorry if this comes across as rude but I think what I’m asking - Well trying to ask, I’m doing such a shitty job of it is-”

“Yes.” He tells her quietly, feeling his heart thud in his ears, fingers busy picking out a phantom thread from his sweater. “I think I might have a crush on you.”

“Oh.” His confession stuns her. “Why?”

This makes Ashwin laugh. “What do you mean why?”

“No, I mean. We met ten days ago. You don’t know me.”

“I feel like I do know you, to a certain extent at least. It wasn’t like some instant crush or anything. Nandhini Aunty started talking about you to me after we first met and she er… she told me your family was looking for a groom and she was on my ass to get married. She was telling me how we would make a great couple and - you look disappointed,” he notes.

“I’m not. Just finish your story.”

“My mom was also looking for girls and you were pretty cool with basketball, golf, and video games… I liked you and Nandhini Aunty pushed me to talk to you and the more we interacted I thought ‘why not her,’ so under her instructions I started to woo you,” he admits, looking down at the floor. “The more she said that we would make a great couple, the more I believed.”

“Wooed me?” She chuckles. “Let me get this straight, you bought me stuff and are nice to me because your Aunty told you to?”

“No no. I mean I’m not gonna say it was all her. I wanted to, too. She just influenced my choices.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Layla shakes her head, blowing out a long breath. “Actually I do. If you really know me, you’d also know that I’m only twenty two and I’m not done studying. I don’t want to get married to you or to anyone. Would you wanna be ‘wooed’ at twenty two for a lifelong commitment? Plus, I’m dating someone. Harry. Did that get lost in translation or something?”

“Oh. You’re only twenty two.” Ashwin steps back. “I didn’t know you and Harry were a thing. I really didn’t, I swear. Nandhini Aunty told me you two were friends. I’m sorry. I do admit I was a bit jealous that you barely considered my invites to hang out in favour of him but I thought of him as your friend. If I had known he was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t have asked you out. I would never want to put anyone in such a position. I didn’t know you were not interested. From what I was told, it seemed like you were open to it. I really am sorry. I crossed so many boundaries. I just got sucked into the whole marriage spiel with the wedding and all.”

Layla stands quietly for a few minutes. Had she been that blind to not know that someone was expressing interest in her. Harry was weirdly right, she thinks. He wasn’t being jealous for no reason, he did pick up on Ashwin’s hints and she just thought it was him being irrational and upset because she was speaking to another man. Fuck. I owe him an apology. She feels terrible that Harry went through all that - unearthing insecurities - when she could have stopped it all. But a little part of her was glad it happened because she didn’t know the complexities of his relationship with his father and she felt a lot closer to him after that night. 

“Did I lead you on?” She asks.

“No. I’m sorry about this whole thing. It’s just a giant misunderstanding.”

“It is. For the record, my interest is with the portals for PhD applications. They open in a few days-”

“Hey, I get it. You don’t have to explain anything. I’m sorry about all of this but for mostly, making you uncomfortable in any way-”

“You didn’t,” she let him know, with a smile. “Hey, besides I get it, Aunties try to talk us into a lot of shit.”

“Agreed. I do carry some blame in the mess here but I hope we can be friends. I would hate for you not to come over for the movie night because of this.”

“I’ll be there with Harry. Will Pooja be there?” Layla barely got to see Pooja today because she had to be there at the venue to oversee decorations with her father. Her lack of presence was a gaping hole for Layla today, who was looking forward to seeing her decked up in the brightest of yellow clothes. 

“Of course. They are on their way home actually. She’s the last person and then the henna artists leave. She was the one who picked out Love Today.”

“I can’t wait to watch. I saw a sneak peak on YouTube and I had flashbacks to Amma (mum) yelling at me for constantly being on my phone.”

“I know right! Raadika is doing such a good job with her mother characters. See you two tonight.”

“See you.” She waves to him as she walks out of the garage. “Thank you for the plastic bubble!”

////

“You are surprisingly good at that,” Layla announces, with a mouthful of her lentil salad, watching him perfectly flick the pebble onto the body of water.

“Why is that surprising?” He questions, cocking his head to the side. The pebbles skips on the water four times, before sinking, leaving a path of concentric ripples in wake of an otherwise still sight.

“You’re so clumsy otherwise,” she shrugs, scraping the remaining contents of sprouted lentils onto her spoon for the final mouthful wishing she had access to raw mango like she did back home. That would have made her breakfast a million times better.

“Hey, I haven’t bumped into anything today,” he chuckles.

“Yet. It’s only seven in the morning. You’ve got lots of time,” she teases, making him spin around to face her with his hands on his hips.

Beautiful, wasn’t enough of a word to capture the sight in front of Layla. The distant silhouette of barren trees lined up on the hazy horizon in a stark contrast of dark. The sun was making its ascent up the distant woody lining, making the sky bleed a vibrant yellow. The yellow that was slowly growing over the dark violet of the night's residue. The pink rimmed clouds were now faintly disappearing as a brighter colour weaves its way into the expanse of the atmosphere. The water slowly stills again becoming an unobstructed reflection of the beauty of the cosmos. It’s almost like the water knew that it needed to capture the beauty it experienced every day and so, it became a mirror - telling the refracted light and photon of its allure. But that wasn’t it at all. What would have been another scenery of daybreak becomes something that is inexplicably Layla’s because of the boy standing at the edge of the shore. It’s almost empyrean in his black trousers - that had somehow ended up with a smudge of dried paint, a ringer t-shirt, and an unbuttoned Gucci cardigan. He’s looking down at her with a faux cross look that he can muster but his resplendent dimples always give him away. 

He’s keeping his promise of driving her to Lake Jordan for a breakfast picnic in exchange for her complacency when her allergy flared up. And here they are two days later, Layla is sitting on a blanket in his solar system themed jumper and yoga pants with a thick comforter wrapped around her to protect herself from the cold. “Come sit with me,” she nods to the spot next to her by the scrunched up foil - the one that he abandoned leaving behind morsels of the bagel egg sandwich she threw together earlier. 

He walks back over to her, slotting himself behind her, draping the comforter over his shoulders and cradling her against his chest, so she’s wrapped too. “It’s a bit nippy today,” he notes, resting his chin on top of her head.

“Hmm,” she sighs in contentment, leaning her head back against the slope of his shoulder.

“Are you having a good time?” He asks.

“Hmm.”

“Thank you for breakfast.”

“Hmm.”

“Your mehendi stains pretty dark. I love your design.”

“Hmm.”

“It makes your hands smell nice too. Not that I’m sniffing your hands or anything.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

“Hmm.”

He smiles, tilting down to give her a kiss on the messy bun she’s pulled her hair up in. “I liked your outfit yesterday,” he tells her, rocking her from side to side. “Especially your hair. I didn’t get why you made such a big deal about my haircut but when I saw you with shoulder length hair I almost felt this pang in my chest. I love running my fingers through the length of your hair, it’s very calming. I mean it’s not like I can’t do it now but - anyway what I’m trying to say is that as much as I miss your old look. I love your new look just as much, if not more. It’s gonna take some getting use to. But it does make your cheeks super chubby.” He playfully pinches the apples of her flushed cheek.

When Layla went to the salon with Anne and Abi, she spontaneously decided to chop off her hair. She was getting tired of it. There was so much of it and it was all over her face and it was falling in clumps with the sudden change in weather. It made her nervous, in a lot of ways her hair was her security blanket, so instead of doing something drastic. She settled on getting two subtle layers with wispy bottleneck bangs. She immediately regretted the decision when she saw her hair on the floor of the salon. Several inches of her hair that ran all the way down to her waist, now sat right under her collarbone but the heart that Harry had replied with as a response to the picture she sent gave her a semblance of ease. 

“Hmm.”

“What?” He chuckles. “Are you sleepy? Not very talkative.”

She doesn’t reply, instead she tilts her head up from the crook of his neck to gaze at the sharp line of his jaw, and the moles on his neck - right next to the vein that bulges out when he sings, lifts or cranes his head. She can’t help the dopey smile that spreads across her face at the sight of his double chin and the crease of his smile line and the craters of his dimples.

“Layla, you’re staring,” he points with a matching loopy grin. He looks down at her with heavy lidded eyes and notices her fingers clasping the tiny elephant pendant around her neck as she moves it side to side.

“I’m sure this is all romantic in your head,” he says, giving her a loving squeeze. “And it would have been the same for me too but all those slasher movies you made me watch has me thinking that you’re gonna stab me with a screwdriver any second now.”

She lets out a sweet peal of laughter, melting into his chest planting a wet peck on the side of his neck as his cheeks grow a tinge of pink at the admission. “I’m not thinking of murdering you, babe. Far from it actually. I was trying to string together a speech.”

“Speech? For what?”

“You. From the minute I got into the car. I’ve been trying to come up with something perfect but I’m nowhere done, so there’s no way for me to know if it’s all rambly-”

“Let’s hear it then.”

“What?’

“Let’s hear it. You’re not gonna know it’s perfect until you practice, so go on,” he encourages her.

“Okay.” She exhales slowly, the hand that was not fiddling her necklace, weaves itself on top of his hand. “It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. The more I think about it, the more befuddled it gets. I’m not supposed to be here. Like I’m not supposed to be here with you. I’m supposed to be in Singapore. I had the whole trip meticulously planned to the hour. I was going to visit all the places my grandparents went to when they lived in Singapore. They spent the first five years of their marriage there. Appa (Dad) was born there. I was going to put together a scrapbook or make a vlog showing them how much the city has changed since they left but… you know what happened. I ended up on a flight here a few months after. To this quiet suburb in small town USA that I didn’t know existed before my Aunt and Uncle started building their house.

“And I know you think it’s fate and the whole notion of being tied together into a coherent tapestry and it makes sense to you because you read poetry and watch sappy movies and love love. But I can’t fathom the idea of our initials written in the stars, and our atoms colliding because of prophecy - almost like this was meant to happen. Intricately calculated by time itself. It doesn’t make sense to think that the universe itself erupted in ultraviolet chaos when we first locked eyes, like a raging multicolor of sound and colour to symbolise something grandeur. So, I cannot wrap my head around the world rupturing and fragmenting for us.”

Harry’s quiet. His mind is running a mile a minute about the possibility of what direction this conversation was headed. Deep down he knows there’s nothing to worry because she’s burrowing in his embrace. But he takes in her words slowly processing the weight and intent behind each and everyone of them. Layla turns around to face him, sitting on her knees, looping her hands around his neck and pulling his forehead down to hers as his hands perch on the small of her back. They stay like that for a while basking in the stillness of the environment juxtaposed by the lively birdsong until she backs away to look into his eyes.  

“But I do know this,” she continues, giving him a bashful smile that melts away the weight of the world from his bones. “I know the universe is expanding and the only sun that we know is one day going to collapse in itself. I know that we are all hurtling towards our impending doom with each passing second. I understand the brain. I can make sense of liking the feeling of my freshly shaved legs against the sheets, going back to watch Winnie the Pooh when things don’t work out, singing along obnoxiously to ABBA, or my fondness for snails and elephants. It’s a cocktail of endorphins - dopamine, oxytocin and serotonin. I know the grass isn’t waiting for my footsteps. I know flowers don’t bloom for me. I can make sense of a lot of things.

“And I know I was scared that saying it out loud will make it real and you’ve been very patient but I’m ready to be vulnerable for you, with you. I know that every time you go on tangents and talk about clouds, seashells, the weather, my fondness for you grows. I’ve been fond of you ever since I ran into you at the park and you talked to me about sea monkeys on the way home. I admire that you want to help the planet and how hard you worked on your college essay. I can always count on you to draw me a warm bath, tuck my hair behind my ears, look at me like I’m the prettiest in the room, to squeeze my fingers while crossing the road, bake me treats when I demand, and hold me close when I need you to. These things make sense to me. And even if I don’t understand a lot of how we came to be, I'm absolutely certain about the fact that I love you.”

 Layla lets out a short sigh of relief, shoulders slumping down, heart slowing its thumps against her rib cage as she hunches over to get closer to him. “I fucking love you, Harry Edward Styles and that is one thing that the universe can be sure of.”

He’s still and Layla can’t make out anything as she searches his face. Maybe I broke him, she worries her bottom lip. A few moments pass by but waiting makes it seem like an eternity. She sniffles from the icy wind that blows over, watching his eyes glass over and the faintest twitch of his cheek.

“Har, say someth-”

A toothy smile breaks across his face, one that highlights his bunny teeth and carves out dimples on his cheek as his face flushes with colour. He pulls her close, hands coming to cup her warm cheeks as he mutters, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!    

[sophluorescentmusing]

IN SYMPATHY...

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, as if this will prevent wakefulness from overcoming his body. His head pounds, and the searing light streaming from between the slats of the open blinds does nothing to help. Baekhyun’s not certain exactly what has woken him up until he hears the tell-tale sound of movement in body of the apartment. If the sun is up, Minseok will have driven himself to work. So, if the sun is up and there’s someone in his apartment then it is most certainly Kim Myunji—Minseok’s mother. The sound is loud enough that he can hear it, despite his head feeling half-underwater most days. She must be on a mission today. Lucky him.

Baekhyun groans and places a hand across his closed eyes. He could whimper; the darkness of just that little motion soothes the ache behind his skull something magical. Once he collects the strength for it, he’ll reach for the pillow on Minseok’s side of the bed, pull it across the sheets and overtop his head.

Except, as he lets his hand fall away to do just that (prepared to brave the searing sunlight for just a minute), the room falls into shadow. There’s the distinct sound of the blinds being pulled. Myunji. Then, her voice (grating against his senses, but he would never tell her that aloud): “Put some clothes on; I made breakfast for you.”

Then, the door shuts with a thud that rattles his head.

Fucking Myunji. He loves her; he hates her.

Baekhyun blinks open his eyes, fighting the immediate urge to prop himself up and scan the room. The blinds are drawn and the window and door is shut. There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing that can jump out at him. He sits up eventually, after his breathing has relaxed back to that sleepy languor not riddled with pain (though his head still aches, and will only worsen throughout the day).

Myunji’s set a washcloth and bowl next to the bedside. Baekhyun feels a stroke of fondness for her, the same he’d felt when the blinds had been shut, as he reaches out and wets the rag. He wrings it between strong, capable hands, before pressing it to his face. It helps to wake him up, to dissuade the laziness of sleep from crossing back over his features. It also helps to soothe his headache. She understands so much of his suffering (and also so little).

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. The longer he moves around, the more easy it will be to stay moving around. “What brings you in?” He asks, once he’s dressed himself, opened the bedroom door, and entered the living room. “Minseok said you were focused on the move.” She’s moving out of the mountains and closer to the southern sea (which, in Baekhyun’s opinion is a fool’s move, but… who’s he to say).

“His father’s getting on my nerves.” She pats the cushion next to the coffee table. A bowl of cooked rice with egg, soy, and seaweed, as well as a side plate of kimchi’s already been set out for him. “And my friend invited me to the market with her this morning now that things are going back to normal.”

Hah. As if.

Baekhyun contains his want to scoff aloud. Instead, he sinks onto the cushion and folds his knees up under himself as neatly as he can. “Did you buy anything interesting, in that case?” And Myunji shows him some of the clothing she has bought, as well as a new glass of nail polish. He offers then, to paint her nails after they have finished eating. It feels like a simple way of returning the favor, of showing her that he appreciates her visits (that sometimes, he needs them). “I ought to start thinking about what to get Minseok for his birthday.” It’ll be the first year Baekhyun actually celebrates it with him, though they feel as though they have known each other much longer.

It is the similarity of experience (even if they both went through so much different).

He continues: “What did he used to like?”

[hernakedmuse]

Speaking in Tongues

Part IV

Disclaimer : Smut. Timothée showing a little toxic behavior. My Timothée might be a little inspired by @meetmyothersouls Dark!Timothée.

Timothée's POV

Would she still want me when I'm no longer cute? When I'm no longer an icon or Hollywood's favorite faunlet, will she move on to the next?

I couldn't handle it if I was tossed aside, I wouldn't handle that well. I wouldn't allow it, I just wouldn't.

I never ended up taking her home, after the third round in the car I couldn't let her go. I wanted to smell her and taste her for more than just one night and she was easy to convince. Curling up into me like a little kitten, I took her back to my Santa Monica house and we were so enamored with one another we did it in my driveway and the entryway.

I carried her upstairs despite her protests of being too heavy. It's surprising to me that she doesn't see how devastatingly sexy she is, but maybe she looks at my lean physique and assumes I'm weak, I hope not. I frowned.

We ended the night around six in the morning, after my horrible attempt in recreating espresso martinis after finding out it was her favorite cocktail as well, she made us New York Sours and we slow danced to Lana Del Rey, we kissed a little bit more and then I suggested it was too late to go home.

We were both insatiable but exhausted so I suggested cockwarming, something she has never done, but she slept like a baby when I slipped inside of her, and I held her close not wanting to let her go. I never will.

I ended up waking up at noon, I didn't smell her perfume or her skin and I freaked out. Jumped up despite my massive hangover and called out for her. "Minka? Minka? Minka!"

"Did someone call?" I heard her angelic voice respond in sing-song, I relaxed, my heart stopped racing only to pick up again when she came into my vision.

She strolled in looking fresh as a daisy like she didn't go to sleep this morning, she was in a pair of my sunglasses, my oversized black trench coat and those damn fetish boots. She even had her makeup done, when did she bring her purse? Coffee colored lipstick painted her lips and it looked sensual.

She looked so hot, and in a bad need to be bent over. She took off my sunglasses revealing those unreal violet eyes, the very eyes that took notice that I'm naked. I smirked as I slowly made my way over to her and she bit her pouty bottom lip. "I figured you'd be hung over." She cleared her throat. "I went to Nekters juice bar and got two Pink Flamingos with wheat grass shots, and an almond butter bowl for us to share." Her big doe eyes looked up at me, and imagined them doing that with her on her knees. I sucked on my lip looking at her and took the smoothies, placing them on the table.

I unbuttoned the coat to reveal her in nothing, not even underwear since I ripped her thong to shreds. My pupils were blown as I took in her soft, erotic figure. "You walked around like this? Nothing underneath?"

She licked her lips and I gently grabbed her jaw. "Use your words, chouchou."

She whimpered, she loves it when I talk to her like that. I felt my cock twitch at her submission.

"Yes, I had no clothes so…."

"Bad girl."

My eyes scanned her entirely, wildly. I brushed my nose into her hair smelling a rosemary minty shampoo and rosy sweet perfume. I stopped my eyes from rolling back as gripped her peach shaped ass and gave it a hard spank.

She gasped audibly and I loved her for it. I rested my chin on her shoulder to look over it, watching her ass jiggle as I spanked it over and over, harder and harder.

I felt her Straddle my thigh and I felt her hot and wet. I grinded my thigh into her soaked pussy, hitting her clit. Her amethyst-blue eyes rolled back and she let out sweet, loud, whimpering whines and sloppy incoherent words. "Look at you, such a sweet little slut for me." I cooed in her ear as I kissed her neck. She whined again. "Chouchou, use your words."

"I-uh-Tim-f-fuck s-so good!" Sweet little tears dripped and wept down her adorable round cheeks. "You're so precious, my little baby." She grinded down more on my thigh. "You're a vixen one moment and then my sweet little kitten the next, with your soft body and your pillowy tits and your juicy ass and those eyes. Fuck look up into my eyes baby girl, ma Belle, ma petite ange, mon bébé, mon bijou. Putain, putain, putain!" She screamed her body all flushed on her tanned skin as tears poured freely and she came all over my thigh.

And the best was her amaranth eyes staring wildly and unhinged up into mine.

She was panting and fell weakly against me, I kissed her sweet lips, her mouth tasted like fruit, her skin was unrealistically soft. I pulled us both down to the floor, and spread her legs, inhaling her like a snarling beast, rubbing my nose all over the skin of her stomach smelling like rosewater and milk.

I kissed down her skin and underneath her stomach, I nipped in her inner thighs before biting down in the skin hard enough to leave bite marks and she cried out "Ow! Yes!" I kissed where I bit with tenderness and she stroked my curls, it felt way too wonderful. I didn't want to lose her touch.

I followed the natural sweet and fresh musky scent of her aroused heat, following the scent like a wild dog. I only admired her pussy for a small moment, puffy sweet pussy, raspberry-pink bits called to me like candy. I groaned as I took in her heart shaved public hair that I didn't have time to admire last night when I dove into her like some animal in mating season.

I was about to do the same again, I sucked her completely into my mouth before flickering my tongue and pushing it right in. "Oh my God! Chcę być dla ciebie tak dobry, tak dobry, och, tatusiu! Jestem twój!"

I pushed her so far into pleasure she was screaming in what sounded like Polish. Fuck, she sounds even sexier if possible, her smoldering, scratchy voice speaking God knows what in that alluring Slavic tongue. I pulsed hard and pre cum dripped from the slit on my tip.

I felt so needy for her as I sucked on her sweet folds and treated her clit like hard candy. She smells good absolutely everywhere, and down here it was like a clean scent, the musk so light it was like Egyptian, the kind you bottle and sell. I'd buy up every bottle of her scent for the pure intention of no one else being allowed to smell what's mine.

Yes I have decided she belongs to me, she was mine the moment I saw her, she just really didn't know it yet. I grasped her thighs possessively, as she clamped down around my head, I buried my mouth further in her. I was sloppy as I dined on her like a fine l'entrée of oysters. I slurped with no manners and when she came, I licked her sweet sauce from my fingers as I forced her to watch me. She was flushed and panting with her violet-blue eyed lidded, her thick, long, almost Mink like lashes fluttered like bat wings. I love her. Her full lips were swollen and I saw that I was so eager when kissing her that it was my doing. I moved up and hovered over her, loving how much taller how much bigger I was than the petite stature little nymph beneath me. I pressed a gentle kiss to her pretty lips, gingerly cupping her buxom breasts for my comfort. I imagined them bigger and filled with milk, I nearly whined as I rubbed my weeping cock against her recently dined on pussy, needing to be inside of her again wanting to breed her, make her fat tits full with sweet milk. "Je veux t'élever et te remplir de mon lait pour que ces seins se remplissent du tien."

I want her.

I need her.

I love her.

Minka.

Minka.

Minka.

Minka…

Five letters, two syllables.

Without warning I pushed inside of her, she cried as her body started to stretch around me, it made me dizzy with arousal. When I finally bottomed out I slammed further in extracting a yelp from her gorgeous lips. I took her wrists, they're delicate but not small, my hands are still big enough to pin them over her head.

She looked up at me, beneath me I had Generation Z's answer to Elizabeth Taylor writhing beneath me. She looked so perfect. "I need a picture of you like this, I need you just like this looking more gorgeous than you ever have. Naked and wanton and flushed and primal and all for me."

She looked to be thinking for a moment, her pretty lavender blue eyes could never hide any emotion, it's what makes her such an iconic actress, what makes legendary directors come back from the grave to have her in their film, to be their muse and inspiration. If she were just a girl who works at Krispy Kreme or PetCo, she'd still be someone's inspiration, I'd still steal her from the world.

"I….will it just be for you?" She asked in a small voice.

I laughed. "Mon petite papillon de nuit, I'm far too possessive to ever share you."

She softened and nodded. "Take a picture of me Timothée, take a picture of me with your cock balls deep inside of me and my thoughts turned to mush."

I moaned and leaned forward to kiss her, causing me to rock into her deep. "You're unearthly."

I didn't want to pull out of her, I pulled her with me still in her as I dragged us to the table and grabbed it. She was ready for the camera, her eyes crossed in posing and I took a couple of pictures before tossing my phone away. I kissed her with starvation and slammed into her, my pace fast, the lewd and loud sounds bouncing off the walls in here. My hands had her wrists pinned above her head as our pelvic bones smacked violently together.

What a perfect creature, my little moth Goddess was wrapped around me tighter than a snake and wetter than the rainforest. I had her wings clipped and I'm keeping them forever. I wanted her to feel me everytime she walks and every time she sits down.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

She looked up at me, her cries of passion became louder as mine did. I'm not exactly quiet in the bedroom, especially not when I have such prime, Michelin pussy.

She giggled before full on laughing, her pussy contracts around me and I think I'm gonna die, but I'm just cumming, cumming over and over like I took something. I was still hard and still going and she arched her back off of the floor, moving her body like a Serpent, thrashing against her chains against me. She made obscene, x rated whining sounds. Her breasts jiggle impolitely and she spoke to me in ecstasy in Polish, the naughty starlet knows I don't understand it. "Weź mnie jak zwierzę, pieprz mnie jak dziwkę, jestem twoją dziwką, twoją dzihi jwką!"

..

I slammed into her so hard our bodies kept shifting, moving closer to the hallway, it only made her l louder falling to more hysterical pleasure. "I can't wait–i need, please! Please may I cum?"

I whined and lifted my hits to have her sort of bounce on my cock shift to hit her deep. "You have such sweet manners, how could I ever say no? Cum for me, let yourself go chouchou, surrender yourself to me."

She screamed and cried for me and only me, and in awe and self satisfaction I watched her squirt. I kept thrusting inside her tight, wet warmth watching her body twitch as I filled her up, desiring more than anything that cumflation was a real thing.

She looked mindless and exhausted to the point she would probably fall asleep soon. My hangover was completely gone. I smiled and kissed up her body still inside of her. "Mon ange, I'm going to run you a bath okay?"

She rubbed her eyes. "But you'll have to pull out.' She said in a small voice.

She was going into subspace, I was pleasantly surprised. I'm so elated this was a part of her personality, it'll mean she'll need me. I stroked her cheek and then her hair, she weakly wrapped her arms around me, pressing her breasts to my chest, the sensation was dizzying. I rubbed her back in slow circles, her skin so soft. "I know chouchou, but I need to take care of you, make sure my girl is okay. Was I too rough with you?"

She nuzzled my neck and it was like a green button of euphoria. "I love it rough."

I reached down to feel her and she bit back a wince. I slowly pulled out and she whined, a tear rolled down her cheek. "No, dont!"

"Shh, baby girl." I cupped her face with affection as I looked into those violet eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, it's okay. Let me take care of you." I picked her up and laid her on my bed before wrapping her in my sheets. I stroked her lip with my thumb before kissing her mouth fully. I rubbed my hand down her back to cup her ass and muttered. "T'es la mienne." She sank into me and I reluctantly pulled my mouth away to grab my phone and made some texts to my assistant. I held my girl the whole time and it felt blissfully domestic.

I looked at her, soft face, big doe eyes, makeup a mess, naked…I pulled her into my arms and kissed up her neck, rewarded with sweet candied little moans and her soft hands on me. I sucked over the purple bruises I left up to her delectable mouth.

"Mmm, your lips feel so nice. " She giggled and I grinned. "You feel so nice. Nice doesn't even describe it." I said to her my cock hardened again against her thigh. She let out a breathy sound. I desperately needed her again but she was so sore and probably not as insatiable as I am. But as I softly kissed down to her breasts she spread her legs. I groaned against her nose. "Kitten…" I warned.

"I don't care, I need you again."

"You're sore."

"Maybe I like being sore, maybe I like feeling what you've done to me left behind." She kissed my neck.

I wanted to marry her.

I gripped her hips tight with frustration. "Fuck baby…fine."

She grinned in delight, so fucking cute. She then got up and moved so she was bent over, gripping the headboard and spreading her legs, her plump ass presented like a gift. She was dripping wet again. Fuck. No one I have been with has been like this like me.

I slid into her from behind slowly. We groaned in unison."how are you still so tight?' I asked with a gasp.

"My little secret." She moaned.

My eyes rolled back once I bottomed out, my hands everywhere and I gently guided her neck so she can look back up at me as I slowly fucked her and filled her.

Eventually after our slow fuck session, the doorbell rang. I reluctantly got up and pulled on my sweatpants to answer it. I returned with a 200 count 200mg ibuprofen. The liquid gels were in the target bag, a huge bag of Lush, and clothing bags from a myriad of places as well as an Aveda bag. I didn't want her to leave.

"What's this?" She asked with a smile.

"Stuff for you. Look through them, I'll go make your bath." I took what I needed from the bags and headed into my bathroom.

"Alexa play the Cocteau Twins Pandora" I remembered in an interview that you said you love taking baths to the Cocteau twins and books on audible. I just didn't know what books yet, so the twins will have to do it for now. Let's see what Tyler my assistant picked. I took out the bath oil choices from Lush, pouring in Flower's barrow because that smells all sweet and rosy like my girl. To go with it I threw in a rose jam bubble bar, and then two more because who doesn't love bubbles? Last I dropped the sex bomb, that one besides the snow fairy is her favorite. I turned on the jacuzzi jets of my state of the art tub, and lit the candles. Two candles were from aveda, one was shampure, and the other was rosemary mint which was the smell of her hair. Another candle was red roses by Jo Malone, Cashmere Kush by boy smells, and Burning rose by Byredo. I even put on a diffuser with essential oils from Aveda. I had the bath pillow set up and an array of soaps and scrubs lined up.

"Timothée?"

She stood in the doorway as I told Alexa to turn off the lights. She looked smoldering and dangerous, the little thing she was, in my sheets. I smiled as she looked around in awe and took in the scents. "Oh my God, it smells so good in here, is this for me?"

I was quickly in front of her and removed the sheets from her gorgeous body pulling her close. ''Of course, who else?"

She beamed beautifully. "This is so nice, oh Summerhead is on, I love this song!"

I love how much she loves music, she associates it with moods and feelings. I sighed and she looked up at me in concern. "Are you okay?"

I kissed her. "Just really happy right now, now come on. Get in." I watched her descend into the water like a siren, and I took off my sweatpants and joined her. She had us move so her back was lying against my chest. I wrapped my arms and legs around her. My eyes roamed her body, admiring the bruises I left. I kissed her neck, soft and subtle.

She giggled, feeling ticklish. "I have a photoshoot tomorrow morning. Would you like to come?"

I felt my heart race. "I wouldn't miss it."

She drew patterns on my knee before taking a hand held body brush and lathering it with

Ro's Argan soap, and I loved it because it smells like her. I was supposed to be the one taking care of her but she was taking care of me. She scrubbed me down from head to toe, used a wash cloth to gently wash my groin, and she ended up riding me.

After bath time we felt boneless and far too relaxed and ended up falling asleep. When I woke up she was in one of my shirts, her face fresh from makeup making her look innocent in contrast to her usual screen siren look.

She made me drink the juice she got me and eat the other half of the almond butter bowl, she was right I did feel better.

Minka and I lit the candles in my room and I put on Frank Ocean. She laid in my arms and I rubbed her back beneath her shirt. I was smoking a bowl and felt so good, especially with her here. She drew patterns on my head and read my palm. "You're going to live a very long life, but that's not abnormal with Capricorns."

I chuckled, she's very into astrology and fortune and psychic things, she's so whimsical and refreshing. "Oh really?"

She nodded. "Are Pisces and Capricorns compatible?" I asked her, already knowing her sign.

She smiled. "Not really, but Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor were scorpio and pisces, which are less compatible. "

"They divorced." I said with an ache in my heart.

"But they were the love of one another's life. I think if they both weren't busy with acting they would have been fine."

I felt crestfallen. "We're both actors."

She sat up to look up at me. "Yeah but you're not planning on marrying me." Before I could vehemently respond otherwise, her phone buzzed. She picked it up and smiled. My jealousy got the best of me and I spoke before thinking. "Who is it?"

To my shock she answered me, so sweet and obedient. "Hayden."

I felt rage course through me but my voice remained calm. "Christensen?" He has acted with her as a love interest in a couple of films, like Polanski's first breakout film in years, Possession. He's hot and older and everyone knows they're friends and that Hayden has been hinting to want more.

I balled my fist so tight my nails bit into my palms. I couldn't breathe. Then her phone was ringing. "Timothée, I'll be right back, I need to take this."

I almost yelled no, but she doesn't know she's mine yet. I'll let her answer the phone call, but once she's done she'll know she's mine.

@meetmyothersouls @sufferingstarlight

[sordidery]

NELL DOESN’T GIVE UP GROUND , BUT INCLINES HER HEAD TOWARDS THE FLOOR AS STEVE SITS DOWN CLOSE. the sound of his breathing as he considers his next sentence is familiar, but provides no comfort. anger bubbles up, a scathing acid that burns its way up from her stomach and scorches the tip of her tongue. ( i would never do this to you. ) did he even hear what she said --- or had he heard her tone, the way her voice stretched thin around the lump in her throat, and backpedaled? the anger takes no shape, flounders when she tries to form it into a coherent sentence, and is washed away in a thick swallow. she sucks in a breath and it comes out in a silent rasp, like she'd been punched in the gut. eleanor looks sideways to her brother, his profile distorted through unspilled tears and from so far below, a bug trapped under a glass. what was an apology supposed to do? ( how could he apologize for his words and not his actions? ) she loathes it : steve's condescension interlaced with pure pity. ❛ so long as . . . ❜ she hears it in his pause , the plea for her to just move on, to leave him be. go talk to your doctor, he says, and the 'not me' doesn’t need to be added for it to be understood.

she tears her attention away from steve as he stands, eyes unfocused and pointed towards the coffee table. unabashedly, nellie yearns for her other brother. the distance from him nips at her, felt like a hole in her chest. she hasn't heard from him in a long while, hasn't talked to him since the day after arthur . . . luke had shown up late, but she hadn't noticed. he'd hugged her, wrapped himself around her, and his arms had been so weak. she wasn’t crying then --- the tears had run out long before her twin finally showed face --- but it had been too monumental of an effort to look away the ridges of white paint on the morgue wall to get a good look at him. she hadn’t registered the smell of his shirt till the next day, so foreign to her, like cigarette smoke and something chemical. theo later told her that he hadn’t looked well. neither had nellie, but no one had had an issue with that, yet.

despair rises. the room feels darker, longer, with steve only a few steps away from the couch. the time it takes for him to put away his things could have been a matter of seconds, but it might as well have been hours. light spills into the room as steve steps out and it withdraws as fast as it came. silence is thick and loud, screaming in her ears as she watches the burned figure of her brother in the light fade into the wood of his front door. nell blinks a few times : steve's house. blink. ( it's dark, but she can see arthur. he's reaching for the lamp and she can't move. and the bent neck lady is steps away from him and arthur collapses and nell can't fucking move. ) blink. steve's house.

nell finds herself standing, breath coming in painful gasps. the momentum propels her forward, and she's rolling her sheets into a ball, which gets thrown into the corner of the couch. she ducks down, scooping up a bag from the hardwood floor, and scrambles to put her shoes on. she finds tears are falling again as something wet hits the hand fumbling for her shoelace. she scrubs her eyes on the way to the door, thoughts moving far faster than her body can match. the hot blaze of sunlight shocks her system as she steps out onto the front steps, outside for the first time in. . . steve looks right in his sleek car, just as polished and expensive. she takes that in for a moment, blinded by how much of stranger her brother has become to her. then, nell winds her way down to the driveway and stomps right past steve's car.

. . . AS NELL'S HEAD swivels somewhat pitifully in search of the answer to her ( and everyone else's ) question — what do you need, nell? — steven regrets the heavy handed reprimand of moments prior. no one in need of the sort of help nell needed ever thought they needed help, which was part of the problem.

be fair, intruded a voice from a memory he couldn't place, as suddenly stern as he had been to his sister. but it was a patient and level voice, more allowing of the things steven preferred to scoff at. he removes the frames from his shaking head and folds them into place over the neckline of a buttoned henley.

‘ a l o n e ’ ; not an inherently terrible thing, but coming from nell it sounds like a death sentence. aware that he won't be assured by what he sees, steve brings his phone up and confirms the time is half past what he had said it would be when he left the house. in spite of himself, and the ever-ticking clock, he lets nellie stagger her way through the rest of her confession without cutting it short and finds he's no nearer to knowing what to say than he was before she directly mentioned the loss of her late husband. arthur was kind, smart, compassionate — the perfect companion and partner that had seemed for a moment to stop nell from drifting indefinitely and anchor her to the solid ground. the circumstances of his death were so bizarre, so unfair, so painstakingly matter-of-fact that even steve had found himself unable to deny nell's chronic misfortune. but time had passed, the autopsy had come, and sense was made of the nonsensical. grief was natural, but nellie wasn't just grieving. she was holding on immovably to the belief that what had killed her husband had been of another world, specifically that of her childhood nightmares. that was where steve's concern began; but seeing his sister crumpled between cushions, on her own again after the first uninterrupted period of bliss in her life that he and his siblings had ever known her to have, having now brought the truth into it ...

he sits down next to her, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded. ❛ i'm sorry. i shouldn't have said it all like that. ❜

you would think being a writer meant you always knew what to say, but on the other hand he so often found himself at a loss more and more, and not only with nell. ❛ i know it's been hard, and i know you miss him. ❜

he checks in with her with a glance, then focuses on his thumbs again. ❛ but i want you to think about it. if you want to sell, that's fine. i'm not opposed to helping you find a new place, so long as . . . ❜

you're out of here by the end of the week. another moment where what he wants to say isn't right, and what he doesn't want to admit is the only thing he can think about. nell's presence wasn't just hindering her own life, and he wasn't just "busy" with leigh. the odd squabble over his work taking over the whole house coupled with trying to navigate around his bereaved family member that was semi-permanently camped out in the living room made everything he was already falling short on even more apparent. every time leigh asked when they'd be getting their couch back, steve still didn't have an answer.

❛ . . . you go talk to your doctor today. there's coffee left in the pot, you can take some to go. come on. ❜ he ups from the couch and files his things away into a laptop bag and a file case, accepting in advance the questions he might face as to why it took so long for him to get somewhere that was usually twenty five minutes away, thirty in traffic. he was actively willing himself the patience to let it all slide, just this time, pretending it was all well and good to have to babysit a grown sibling.

but nell wasn't quite grown ... not that steven believed she was immature, or that she was incapable of being completely adult. on the other hand, nellie had been chronically profound, beyond her years in a way that seemed to drown her rather than drive her, as if frozen in childhood in the way of having little to no control over her life. trusting her siblings to work it all out for her, even now, except the only sibling available for her to consult was somehow steve, who already felt he had no time of his own without the burden of ...

❛ i'll be in the car, when you're ready. ❜ keys in hand, he steps out with a reminder he can't help but voice as he thinks about the interstate traffic. ❛ try not to be long. ❜ there was a time steve would have never thought of nell as a burden enough to snap at her like he had, much less when she was hurting. but those times were different, he reminds himself before guilt can gain traction. nell was younger. steve wasn't married. they had lives of their own, now.

this was just how it was supposed to go.