#when the rain washes you clean

[garbagequeer]

undefined

[tortured-griffith]

stevie nicks was right, it is only me who wants to wrap around your dreams😔😔😔💔

[cinnamonfknbuns]

it's so cold but I don't wanna get properly dressed bc im scared of running out of my good clothes... water please come back I miss u......

god if ur hearing this CLEAN WATER. FROM THE PIPES. IN MANAGEABLE QUANTITIES. 🫷😳🫸

[firstaidspray]

WIP Wednesday Thursday (Writing This Time!!!)

Was tagged by @adelaidedrubman yesterday and also @unholymilf to share some shit I'm working on, and while I shared some art, I actually got a bit of writing done, so I'll share that too. It's part of chapter 2 of my Nice Guys fic, When The Rain Washes You Clean, You'll Know (chapter one is already posted if you wanna read). The sacrilegious schemes begin.

Bianca adjusts her habit in the rear view mirror, and pushes her glasses back against her face with a single hand on the side of the frame. Holland tugs uncomfortably at his priest's collar. Healy checks the recorder. Holly flips aimlessly through the Bible they'd stolen from a motel room.

"Are you ready for this?" Holland asks, placing one hand on Bianca's shoulder and the other on Holly's. 

Holly nods confidently. "Yeah. Are you, dad?"

Holland scoffs. "Of course I am. Healy, you ready?"

"Ready." He places the recorder into the hollowed-out Bible and snaps the book shut, tucking it under his arm and stepping out of the car. "Just hope we don't all catch fire when we go inside."

First, Healy goes into the church. There's a side door that they're all going to use– nobody sees them go in, it's inconspicuous. Once he's inside, he heads to one of the empty confessional booths and takes a seat on the side a priest should be in. He feels mildly guilty, in the Catholic sense, as his Irish upbringing would consider this blasphemy, but Healy has grown wise and given up on God, so the guilt disappears. He'll take confessions of random people in the meantime, assigning Hail Mary's he has no business giving, absolving people of things he's unsure he should, but it's all necessary.

Next is Holland. He smokes a cigarette before he goes in, and when he enters, he tries to look harmless, to blend in. His anxious prey animal mannerisms and darting glances don't help, but he decides to get to work by plucking each Bible and hymnal from the backs of the pews, flipping through them. He'll claim that he's checking to make sure nobody has drawn or written in them– that excuse was his idea entirely, even if everyone else told him it was ridiculous.

Bianca goes inside a few minutes later, also finishing a cigarette before assuming her role as Sister Andrea. She saunters into the cathedral with a gait and general air unbecoming of a nun– a role-playing person assuming the role of a sexy nun, maybe, but not a real nun. She matches glances with "Father Elliott" and flashes a demure smile, half in-character and half real. He winks back at her with a cute little lopsided smirk, as he does, and her heart skips a beat when he does this. "Sister Andrea" then goes to the candles at the altar, watching the flames dancing. 

Holly is the last to exit their little hiding spot, parked just behind the church, but she doesn't go inside. She heads to the front steps and sits down, flipping open her Bible and attempting to parse the scripture. All of the old English phrasing and numbered paragraphs make her head hurt– Holly loves reading, but the good book isn't exactly her cup of tea. She waits until Byron shows up in the piazza across from the church, because Bianca knows he waits there and stares at the building, scared to go inside. 

Soon, "Anna" spots the man, knowing him well from Bianca's descriptions and photographs. Slowly, inconspicuously, she shuts her Bible and tucks it under her arm, then steps across the street to the square, and meanders through the crowd seemingly aimlessly, flashing an innocent smile at all the strangers. When she gets close to Byron, she feigns concern by knitting her eyebrows and approaches him.

"Hey, mister, you look sad," she says as innocently as she can sound. "What's wrong?"

He gives a small chuckle and smile to her. "Oh, it's nothing…just checking out the church, you know."

"Anna" tilts her head. "Why don't you come inside? We welcome everyone. We'd be happy if you joined us."

Byron looks away, shuffling his feet in what seems to be anxiety. "Ah, I dunno…I already belong to one church, I wouldn't feel right going to another…"

"Please," she says, "we don't mind if you visit more than one church. That just means more chances to worship, right? Come with me, I'll take you to check out La Chiesa di Molti Santi. We can pray together."

"Hmmm…" He hums with uncertainty. "I don't know that I have anything to pray about right now…"

"Anna" laughs. "Sure you do! There's always something you can tell to God, no matter how small. I'm sure I can help you find something to pray about."

As she says this, she flashes up innocent, bright eyes and a smile to match, hoping her youthful appearance will remind him of a young Bianca. It seems to work, as he shifts uncomfortably. 

"Ah, okay," he finally agrees. "I'll go with you. Lead the way."

She smiles victoriously. "Of course. Follow me."

As they cross the street, "Anna" walks in front of Byron, so he cannot see, but that smile turns to a devious smirk, and she anticipates meeting up with Bianca inside the church to really begin the plan.

[makarovni]

WIP Wednesday!!!

Tagged by @corvosattano and @adelaidedrubman to share some WIP stuff!! Thank you!!

Last week I shared this snippet from Bianca's Nice Guys verse and since it's the only thing I've been able to work on for some reason, I'll share some stuff that occurs in the story before the snippet in the other post. If you guys wanna check it out that's cool but if not it's cool too!!

TW for kidnapping and allusions to abuse. Once more, the villains' names are redacted bc I want it to be a mystery for when I actually post it.

Luck shines on her as light shines on one door in particular, the placard reading "office" glinting in the small amount of light that fills the hall. Of course, there's a catch– it's locked. Bianca considers just unscrewing the hinges to get inside, but is a risk that big really worth it? What if there's no phone? What if one of them catches her? What if…

"No," she hisses at herself, bending down to the door's lower hinge, "no more "What ifs." You're going to get out of here."

As she undoes the hinges' fasteners, as quickly as she can, Bianca occasionally peeks over her shoulder or leans her ear a certain way, hoping nobody hears her. She moves up to the top hinges with a sigh of brief relief, and does the same to it, undoing those screws at record speeds.

"I should be in a fucking NASCAR pit crew," Bianca whispers to herself, shifting the door so she can get behind it then push it back into place, so it looks untouched to the unaware. Sure, screws are scattered on the floor now, but [Bianca's abuser] and his ilk wouldn't notice.

Thankfully, the room is what it says on the door– an office. An oddly pristine one, at that. A fine wooden desk with a typewriter on it, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses beside it. The chair is dusty, but made of authentic leather. Unlike most of the warehouse, the room is actually carpeted, and there's wallpaper up. This office looks so out of place, Bianca almost feels like she's transported somewhere else– it feels safe.

And, as luck would have it, there's a phone on another desk in the room. Bianca's breath catches in her throat and she runs over, dials Holland's office number, and waits.

And waits.

"Hello?"

Bianca exhales with relief. "Holy shit, Holly. Look, it's Bianca. You need to get your dad, or Healy, or both, and let me talk to them. I'm in a lot of trouble."

"Oh my god," Holly replies, "they're out looking for you right now. Where are you?"

She begins to cry, involuntarily letting tears drip down her face. "Fuck…you know [Bianca's abuser], from the case? He and the other two jumped me and brought me to [Bianca's abuser's] fucked up military bunker warehouse…the address is in the files. Your dad should have it."

"Well, they went to look for you at your apartment, but I have the files here," Holly says, and the sound of a cabinet being dug through can be heard on the other end. "I have it here! I'll call your house and tell them where you're at, and we'll come get you. Don't worry."

"They need to be armed," Bianca says, rolling the screwdriver in her hand. "These guys are planning on killing, and I want us to have the advantage. Tell them to be armed, and send them my way. You sit tight, okay, Holly?"

"No, I'm coming with them!" Holly proclaims. "I'm not going to sit around while you potentially get hurt!"

Bianca sighs heavily. "Holly, no. They…they did the things they did to me when I was your age. And they've done it other times. You're not safe. Please, for me, stay at the office."

"But I–"

"Holly!" Bianca is choking back sobs now, hand tight around the screwdriver. "Holly, stay there. Please. Just tell your dad and Healy where I am and to be armed. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll do what you asked."

"Thank you," she sniffles. "Tell them to be careful. And listen…I know you don't want me with your dad, because I'm not your mom, and I was never trying to be your mom, I never will be her. But I love your dad more than anything, and I love you, Holly. Let that be known. I love you, sweetheart."

With that, Bianca hangs up and leans against the wall with her screwdriver held like a combat knife, ready to defend herself. She doesn't know where those men are, or if they know she's escaped, but for the time being, she's going to sit right there and wait on Holland and Healy.

[sweetnotgentle]

spoilers

[domesticated-whores]

love it when a man's shirt is middle school dress code complacent on me. finger-tip-length queen. no shoulders, almost no fucking knees, holy shit.

[thegooddom-deleted]

[cervidsunrise]

Truly no artist in the history of the world has or ever will fuck as hard as Fleetwood Mac

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's the most fucking frustrating for me about arguing with climate change deniers is the sheer fucking scope of how much it matters. sweating in my father's car, thinking about how it's the "hottest summer so far," every summer. and there's this deep, roiling rage that comes over me, every time.

the stakes are wrong, is the thing. that's part of what makes it not an actual debate: the other side isn't coming to the table with anything to fucking lose.

like okay. i am obviously pro gun control. but there is a basic human part of me that can understand and empathize with someone who says, "i'm worried that would lead to the law-abiding citizens being punished while criminals now essentially have a superpower." i don't agree, but i can tell the stakes for them are also very high.

but let's say the science is wrong and i'm wrong and the visible reality is wrong and every climate disaster refugee is wrong. let's say you're right, humans aren't causing it or it's not happening or whatever else. let's just say that, for fun.

so we spend hundreds of millions of dollars making the earth cleaner, and then it turns out we didn't need to do that. oops! we cleaned the earth. our children grow up with skies full of more butterflies and bees. lawns are taken over with rich local biodiversity. we don't cry over our electric bills anymore. and, if you're staunchly capitalist and i need to speak ROI with you - we've created so many jobs in developing sectors and we have exciting new investment opportunities.

i am reminded of kodak, and how they did not make "the switch" to digital photography; how within 20 years kodak was no longer a household brand. do we, as a nation, feel comfortable watching as the world makes "the switch" while we ride the laurels of oil? this boggles me. i have heard so much propaganda about how america cannot "fall behind" other countries, but in this crucial sector - the one that could actually influence our own monopolies - suddenly we turn the other cheek. but maybe you're right! maybe it will collapse like just another silicone valley dream. but isn't that the crux of capitalism? that some economies will peter out eventually?

but let's say you're right, and i'm wrong, and we stopped fracking for no good reason. that they re-seed quarries. that we tear down unused corporate-owned buildings or at least repurpose them for communities. that we make an effort, and that effort doesn't really help. what happens then? what are the stakes. what have we lost, and what have we gained?

sometimes we take our cars through a car wash and then later, it rains. "oh," we laugh to ourselves. we gripe about it over coffee with our coworkers. what a shame! but we are also aware: the car is cleaner. is that what you are worried about? that you'll make the effort but things will resolve naturally? that it will just be "a waste"?

and what i'm right. what if we're already seeing people lose their houses and their lives. what if it is happening everywhere, not just in coastal towns or equatorial countries you don't care about. what if i'm right and you're wrong but you're yelling and rich and powerful. so we ignore all of the bellwethers and all of the indicators and all of the sirens. what if we say - well, if it happens, it's fate.

nevermind. you wouldn't even wear a mask, anyway. i know what happens when you see disaster. you think the disaster will flinch if you just shout louder. that you can toss enough lives into the storm for the storm to recognize your sacrifice and balk. you argue because it feels good to stand up against "the liberals" even when the situation should not be political. you are busy crying for jesus with a bullhorn while i am trying to usher people into a shelter. you've already locked the doors, even on the church.

the stakes are skewed. you think this is some intellectual "debate" to win, some funny banter. you fuel up your huge unmuddied truck and say suck it to every citizen of that shitbird state california. serves them right for voting blue!

and the rest of us are terrified of the entire fucking environment collapsing.

[firstaidspray]

When The Rain Washes You Clean, You'll Know - Chapter One: When Will I See You Again?

Read Here!!

Media: The Nice Guys (2016)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: ~9.5k

Pairing: Holland March/Bianca Andretti (original character)

Story Summary: Longing for revenge on her abusers, Bianca Andretti seeks out the help of "The Nice Guys," a pair of private investigators, to track them down. As she works alongside them to find and ruin the lives of the ones who wronged her, Bianca finds herself falling for one of the PIs- Holland March, a mess of a widowed single father with a love for alcohol and cigarettes. Holland, playing the hero for Bianca, may be developing the same feelings– even if his teenage daughter, Holly, has her doubts. The other Nice Guy, Jackson Healy, just wants to find Bianca's abusers, but ends up being everyone's therapist.

Chapter Summary: The Nice Guys take on a case for a traumatized nurse named Bianca Andretti, but this isn't the first time Holland and Holly have encountered her. Bianca gives Healy- and the audience- a look at the first time she met Holland.

CW: Hospital/medical, needles, prescription drugs, mild patient/nurse intimacy, mentions of sexual assault/abuse (not descriptive), implied self harm (not descriptive), alcohol, smoking

(Note that since this is just an introduction to Bianca and her meeting with Holland, it's not particularly exciting, or contain any sex and/or violence. But don't worry, future chapters will, of course. It has to start somewhere, yknow?)

[tinkertayler]

Mercury is in retrograde or w/e and work was frustrating but I drove home listening to "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac and as I sang along, peace and order was restored to the universe.

[luveline]

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k 

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt. 

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat. 

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too. 

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well. 

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause. 

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun. 

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years. 

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled. 

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!” 

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love). 

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.” 

“It’s raining.” 

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?” 

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.” 

“How’d you figure?” 

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface. 

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall. 

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.” 

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?” 

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry. 

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.” 

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.” 

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash. 

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?” 

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.” 

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole. 

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it. 

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.” 

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?” 

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries. 

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it? 

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself. 

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says. 

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek. 

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume. 

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom. 

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full. 

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.” 

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.” 

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you. 

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies. 

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn. 

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!” 

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.” 

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.” 

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease. 

“Take the towels, loser.” 

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin. 

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life. 

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you. 

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain. 

Eddie just stares at you. 

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry. 

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic. 

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh. 

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.” 

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?” 

“What?” 

“Eddie, are you okay?” 

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

“I don’t have any underwear.” 

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry. 

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose. 

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says. 

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.” 

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.” 

“I’m twenty one.” 

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.” 

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks. 

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes. 

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?” 

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.” 

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.” 

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Get lost,” Eddie says. 

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.” 

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved. 

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed. 

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.” 

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?” 

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser. 

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.” 

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on. 

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet. 

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.” 

“It felt important at the time.” 

“Yeah?” 

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him. 

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.” 

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.” 

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment. 

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.” 

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head. 

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks. 

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable. 

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.” 

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead. 

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“You’re rubbing my arm.” 

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach. 

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest. 

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end. 

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume. 

“You smell nice,” he murmurs. 

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back. 

Right. Eddie should remember. 

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days. 

“Too much?” 

“The right amount,” he says firmly. 

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this. 

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before. 

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back. 

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.” 

“For me or you?” 

“For me, duh.” 

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.” 

“You think so?” 

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.” 

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.” 

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it. 

“We’re very close together,” you whisper. 

“Super close,” he whispers back. 

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do. 

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?” 

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.” 

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?” 

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?” 

What does Eddie think about it? 

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer. 

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?” 

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly. 

He can’t not give it to you. 

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead. 

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue. 

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur. 

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse. 

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly. 

“You wanted to?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.” 

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy. 

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs. 

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly. 

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency. 

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask. 

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring. 

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door. 

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him. 

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says. 

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?” 

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.” 

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?” 

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.” 

Eddie grins back. 

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring. 

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed. 

“Eyes on the road.” 

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather. 

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.” 

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding. 

He sighs. “No, it does not.” 

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.” 

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.” 

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less. 

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.” 

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw. 

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped. 

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say. 

“Then open it.” 

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?” 

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it. 

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease. 

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze. 

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier. 

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working. 

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” 

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully. 

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.” 

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended. 

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.” 

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.” 

“Now who’s not funny?” 

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

[soupuurr]

𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒 - matthew sturniolo

pairing. dilf!matt x sub!reader

genre. smut

⟶ content warnings. explicit content, age gap (reader is an adult), porn with plot, mentions of drugs, kitchen sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, manhandling, oral, fingering, creampie. MDNI

⟶ summary. you find yourself increasingly drawn to the father of the child you babysit. what happens when you accidentally wind up at his doorstep in the pouring rain?

your drenched figure meekly stood on the front porch of Mr. Sturniolo’s residence, teeth chattering as you tuck your hair behind your ears and attempt to unstick your shirt from your wet skin—you cursed at yourself for neglecting to bring the baby pink umbrella sitting by your closet. realizing you might succumb to hypothermia if you didn't find shelter soon, you had no choice but to bang your fist against the door for the second time. you waited for a few more seconds, glancing at the blaring white numbers on your phone screen; 7:38 p.m.

you considered giving up and heading back to your car until you heard footsteps shuffling on the other side, accompanied by the sound of the locks being undone. the door finally swung open and you stood face to face with the gorgeous brunet. the father of the child you nanny, to be exact. he gaped at you in shock, his blue eyes wide and pretty pink lips parted. the white sweater adorning his body was tucked neatly into a pair of pale blue jeans complemented by delicate pieces of jewelry peeking out at his neckline. although you did notice something strange about him, his eyes were bloodshot red. almost as if he’d been crying, or maybe... your head vaguely tilted in observation before you snapped out of your thoughts—quickly realizing that your clothes were dampened by the rain and pretty much see through once you caught his blue eyes lingering at your tits, practically eye-fucking you.

“oh my gosh sweetheart, what are you doing outside?” his voice, smooth as butter, made your heart skip a beat. sweetheart. he would call you that often. you would be lying if you said that you’ve never touched yourself at night—replaying the sound of his sweet voice and imagining his presence while you fuck yourself with your fingers, “be quiet, sweetheart. you don’t want people to hear”.

“i’m sorry Mr. Sturniolo, i recall that i would have to babysit aria today?” you smiled the best you could, still shivering from the droplets of rain that would pour down your body. the brunet frowned in front of you, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“honey, aria is staying with her mother today.” he cooed. you stood, processing his words before squeezing your eyes shut in frustration. fucking hell, how could you forget?

“here—come in, you must be so cold.” he ushered you inside, placing a warm palm on the small of your back. he swiftly shut the door behind you and the house fell silent, filled only with the muted sound of raindrops.

“god, you’re soaking wet.” he murmured softly, twirling the stubble on his jawline between his fingers. your stomach fluttered at his remark.

“and it’s matt, by the way.” he warmly smiled at you. your eyes met his in surprise,

“call me matt.”

“thank you matt.” you whimpered, your hands gently soothing the goosebumps on your arms. matt fell silent for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing his features.

“let’s get you cleaned up. you know where the shower is, yeah?” he said, clearing his throat as he walked towards the stairs—his back turned to you. matt’s soft footsteps echoed through the living room, and you couldn't find the words as you watched him disappear into a room.

you quietly made your way towards the enormous bathroom at the end of the hallway, you knew it like the back of your hand since it happened to be one of aria’s favorite places to hide. you rid yourself of your drenched clothes before stepping into the long awaited shower—sighing in blissful relief as the warm water washed over your body. this was the first time you were solely with matt, let alone naked in his shower.

you hated to admit that you were secretly anticipating him, hoping that he would come in and press your tits onto the glass shower door as he fucks you senseless—or maybe have you propped up on the sink while he selfishly flicks his tongue against your clit over and over again, covering his face in your slick. undeniably, you concluded that it was best if you left this house as quickly as possible. for yours and matt’s sake.

you step out of the shower with a towel wrapped snug against your body. your gaze swept the sparsely stocked bathroom, only to realize with dismay that you had forgotten to bring fresh clothes. hesitantly, you step across the floorboards—inching your way towards the bathroom door shortly before turning the metal handle. you prayed that matt would still be in his room so that you could sneakily find a random t-shirt to throw over your head. luck wasn’t on your side, though, as you didn’t make it two steps out of the bathroom before colliding with matt’s solid chest. a pile of clothes fell to the ground as his hand flew to your hips, the heat of his fingertips seeping through the thin towel.

“i-i’m so sorry, i was just bringing you clothes.” matt panicked—briskly removing his hands from your body. you felt so empty without his touch.

“it’s okay! and thank you. i’ll go change.” you bend over and pick up the clothes scattered on the floor, your tits on full display for matt’s greedy eyes. matt stood immobile—pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose and cursing underneath his breath once you ultimately shut the bathroom door behind you.

matt was fucking annoyed, annoyed at your goddamn innocence. after interrupting him while he was high in his room—in the middle of pumping his fist over his cock, he opens the door to find you like that. your transparent clothes leaving nothing to his imagination. hell, he even saw your pretty nipples perk against your low-cut shirt, the lace along the top deliciously resting on the swell of your tits.

he couldn’t help but escape to his room after sending you off to shower, slotting his bottom lip between his teeth and rubbing himself through his pants. he’d memorize all of the curves and divots along your body—envisioning the warmth of your skin underneath his fingertips. matt had known about your twisted fantasies about him, but he also knew that it was so wrong. you were his kid’s babysitter for fucks sake. he always felt so guilty for getting hard any time you would come over in those cute little miniskirts that he could just flip up and fuck you in. he’d imagine how the thin fabric would bounce against your ass with every thrust and fuck. after having your tits pressed up against his chest, he’d almost pinned you to the wall and fucked you right there. he needed to kick you out immediately.

“matt?” you call out from inside the bathroom, biting your nails nervously as you contemplate whether or not to leave the confines of the room. you hear a muffled hum from the other side of the door. he’s still there. you think for a moment, deciding to be bold and strip off the pajama pants. your feet seemed to act independently, driven by an impulse you couldn't resist. the door swung wide before your mind could catch up with your actions, and matt swore he almost creamed himself. you stood in front of him wearing nothing but a flimsy t-shirt. his t-shirt.

“the pants didn’t fit.” you lied and held up the plaid article of clothing—sauntering towards him and observing his changed expression, he looked pissed.

oh no. did you go too far?

“i’m sorry, you need to leave.” you could feel the uncomfortable chill of matt’s cold demeanor as his pierced gaze fell to the floor.

shit. you went too far.

“i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have done anything. i’m sorry if i made it weird-“ you stumbled over your words, how could you have fucked up this bad? matt swiftly brushed his hands against your own—curling his fingertips over your wrists and holding them still.

“i need you to leave because if you stay here any longer, i don’t think i’ll be able to resist fucking you.” your mouth went dry, taken aback by his confession. his grip stayed tight on your wrist, the sweet scent of his cologne tempting you to just finally kiss him.

“what?” you whispered, fingers nervously toying with the hem of your t-shirt. matt sighed and looked away from you. he was embarrassed, trying to ignore your probing gaze.

“matt, look at me," you softly instructed, gently grasping his jaw to turn his face towards yours. his frosty blue eyes met your own, cheeks and nose tinged with pink. he licked his lips nervously, the stubble on his chin brushing against your palm. “kiss me.” you whisper, warm breaths teasing each other, drawing you infinitely closer like an intoxicating drug.

his mouth hesitantly chased yours until you brushed your fingers through his hair and pulled him towards you, finally connecting your lips. his touch was gentle, almost like he wanted to be careful with you. yet, you wanted to breathe him in—lustfully addicted to the taste of his lips. his palms laid flat against the curvature of your back whilst your hands grabbed at his collar, pulling him flush against you—the throbbing between your legs did anything but lesson with the close proximity.

matt had never before tasted something sweeter; your saccharine lips fit so perfectly against his—he was convinced that they were made for him to kiss and caress. his cock stirred in his pants for he could only wonder how divine your cunt would taste on his tongue. matt needed it all. he trailed his fingers up your front, pinning the fabric of his shirt over your tits. his fingertips dance across your skin as he detached his lips from yours.

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

matt couldn’t count how many times he had fisted his cock to the thought of you, sprawled out on his bed with beads of sweat dripping down his temple. he would think about your tits, how you would squeak cutely when he would pinch your nipples between his fingers. he would think about your pretty pink lips over his cock—you’d be sitting obediently with teary eyes while he’d push a vibrator against your clit. you’d make him coat his abdomen in so much cum every fucking night. it was torture.

matt brings his hungry lips to your perked nipples. you sighed as his warm mouth engulfed you, digging his dull nails into your hips as he ground his own against you. your tits were just like how matt imagined they would be, round and full. although matt wouldn’t lie and say that he’d never caught a glimpse before—he couldn’t help but stare fixedly at your tits every time your nipples would seep through your shirt, catching a hard on embarrassingly fast.

matt swirls your nipple in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and releasing it—eventually pressing you against the kitchen wall as your hands scramble for his belt buckle. he hisses when your hand finally makes contact with his cock, relishing in the way your palm would rub against him.

“need to taste you.” he pants feverishly, his hands claw at your hips—thumbs dipping past the hem of your shirt.

“will you get on the counter f’me?” you nod and grab his shoulders as he gently places you on the cold, marble countertop. matt inserts himself between your legs, his belt undone and his barely clothed cock dangerously close to your cunt. he leaves an open mouthed kiss down your neck, dragging his bottom lip against your skin before placing a gentle kiss behind your ear. he hooked his fingers onto your knees, pushing them apart gently.

finally, matt kneeled down, eye level with your pussy. he looked at your dripping cunt with wonder, blowing cool air onto your clit and studying the way you squirmed against the marble. matt held your eyes as he placed a tender kiss to your pussy—tonguing gently at your clit once he felt a little braver.

“matt, stop teasing-“ the words die on your tongue and you gasp for air, fingers pulling at his brunet locks as he prods his fingers at your enterance. your cunt sucked him in with ease—his long fingers fucking deep into your pussy. matt wrapped his lips around your clit and cockily smirked against you. your hand swiftly gripped the edge of the counter until he placed his hand over yours—gently intertwining your fingers while you arch your back in pleasure.

matt leaves one final kiss to your folds before leaning back and forcing your knee down with his left hand. he was locked in a trance, watching the way your pussy would gush every time his fingers would pump inside of you. his fingers rapidly disappeared past your folds as you cried out. your hands frailly clawed at his wrist, only to be swatted away while he kept his pace—eyes trained on your precious cunt.

“i’m gonna cum!” you gasp out, scratching the surface of the countertop as you saw stars. matt fingered you through your orgasm, curling his fingers deliciously. he pulled his fingers from your cunt and stood to his full height—licking them clean.

“can i fuck you?” matt inquired, searching your eyes for an ounce of hesitance. you nodded, placing your hand at the nape of his neck.

“i need words, sweetheart.” he traced soothing patterns on your hips,

“yes matt, fill me up with your cum.”

that’s all he needed as he greedily flipped you over—bending you against the cold surface. he hooked his fingers under your knee and pinned it to the table.

matt felt as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this, your body melted into his every touch—he wanted this moment to be engraved into his brain.

matt spit on your pussy, licking his teeth in satisfaction as he watched it drip down your folds. he grabbed your hip with one hand, pushing it down against the countertop. the other hand gently stroked his sensitive cock—to say he was rock hard was an understatement. beads of pre-cum dribbled down his tip as he rubbed his cock against your folds. your slick combined with his spit allowed him to glide his dick along your pussy so easily. with one final brush along your pussy, he pressed his hips flush against you, cock buried to the hilt.

matt lazily tilted his head to the side, looking at you with hooded eyes—he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, balls striking your clit in just the right way. he repeats the motion, this time his grip on your hip tightens as he pulls you against him—his other hand snaking its way to your shoulder. you silently gasp as your pussy clenches around his cock. every single one of his thrusts were full, making sure that you felt every ridge and vein along his cock.

your ass jiggled with each powerful thrust of his hips, and matt observed how your pretty pussy started to spasm around him—he trailed his eyes up your figure, watching you fall apart under his touch. matt bent over you, the soft muscles of his abdomen taut against your back. he caught your lips with his own, moaning into your mouth before finally stilling against you—his warm cum filling you to the brim.

you gasped as matt pulled out of you, tenderly brushing your hair to the side to kiss your shoulder. you twisted your body and captured his lips in a kiss, grabbing his hair as another wave of want washed over you.

“we shouldn’t be doing this.” you sighed as you pulled him against your body.

“i know” he chuckles,

“but you’re just too irresistible.”

a.n.

DILF MATTTT holy shit this was a long one. this particular prompt/fic was inspired by yayo (rockstardolan) i think the prompt was super fun to write and i WANT YALL TO SEND ME REQUESTS!! i’m running out of ideas folks

also thank you for 100 followers WHAT?! you guys are insane.

btw i’ll make a tag list soon! i don’t really know how this stuff works yet so i’m currently trying to maneuver my way around this app the best i can lollll

[suntoru]

✧˖°. PRINCESS TREATMENT ONLY!

summary: genshin men being huge simps and spoiling u every chance they get &lt;3

feat. diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe, kazuha kaedehara, scary mooch, xiao, thoma, ayatoe, al-haitham, kaveh

a/n: i swear i was working on the masterlist but the brainrot finally got to me hnghhhh

warnings: gn but feminine implications (ie. princess treatment, reader wears heels and makeup, passenger princess), simping for reader, maybe ooc? swearing, fluff, some are modern aus, maybe innuendos?

─ ✰ DILUC is the gentleman we all deserve in our lives. if it’s raining outside, he’ll make sure to protect you from the wetness! he makes sure you’re fully bundled up in his coat, and that when he’s walking you home, the umbrella is fully covering you. oh, his shoulder’s getting wet? that’s fine, a little bit of water never hurt anyone. but if it happens to you? all hell breaks loose. what if you get sick from the rain? are you feeling alright? do you need medicine? a doctor? and if you’re in a modern au, he’ll definitely let you be the passenger princess 🥰 you can take naps, eat snacks, and pick all the songs! you don’t ever have to worry about giving him directions, you can just do whatever you want. he even installs led lights in his car so you can take asthetic pictures <3 if you’re tired, don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine alone, take your beauty sleep :) he drives you anywhere you want, no questions asked! you want to go to his mansion? you’ll be there in ten. grocery store? sure. nail salon? he’ll even accompany you to get your nails done just so you won’t be alone, pays for everything too!

─ ✰ KAEYA is absolutely whipped for you. to most people, he’s the town flirt, and a drunkard, but to you, he’s the most caring and softest person you’ve ever met, even if it’s hidden under layers of hurt. if you go out drinking with him, and come back drunk, he’ll carry you bridal style back home. pressing your body closer to his, he makes sure to prop your head so your neck won’t get sore. and if you wear makeup, he won’t put in the low effort to wipe your face with a makeup wipe, he’ll do your whole skincare routine for you! first, he uses makeup remover to take everything off, then, gently, he massages the cleanser into your skin and washes it off. he applies your creams and serums, making sure to be as tender as possible, even if you whine that all you want to do is go to sleep. he soothes you, whispering that all he needs is ten more minutes to brush your teeth and get you changed so you’ll feel clean in the morning. and for the hangover in the morning? he makes you special soup and showers you himself so you don’t even have to lift a finger.

─ ✰ CHILDE loves spoiling you whenever he gets the chance to. other people might think it’s just another sugar baby dynamic, but in truth, it’s far from it. it’s a selfless love, not just based on materialistic items. but even then, he’s willing to sacrifice his time and money for you. you’re his baby and his top priority always, no matter what. are you hungry? well, get ready, because he just booked a reservation at the highest star restaurant in town! you’re having a bad day? no problem, he’ll send one of the lower ranking fatui members to do the dirty work and he’s coming home early! he’ll bring home a large bouquet of flowers and a cute stuffie to match. you need new clothes? he’s driving you to all your favourite stores on his card <3 his wallet is practically bottomless, so don’t be afraid to spend what you want! a couple thousand mora is nothing to him if he can see your frowning pout turn into the pretty smile he loves so much. he even carries all your bags for you without asking! he can’t have his darling getting tired after all :(( just as long as after you give him a smooch on the lips and an hour of cuddles, the only payment he’ll accept (´∀｀)♡

─ ✰ KAZUHA, even after years of being in a relationship, still finds ways to give you butterflies in your stomach. when you come back into your quiet home after a long night, too exhausted to take care of yourself, he leads you to a chair and sits you down. he ever so delicately unlaces your heels for you, taking his time doing so, but don’t worry! you won’t ever be bored. if the silence is too much, he’ll ask you how your day was, talk about his, and spill all the tea that happened on the crux. and if your feet are tender, he’ll massage them gently so they won’t be sore in the morning :(( he’s putting the utmost care and effort into whatever he’s doing for you, and that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. he still opens doors for you, dedicates hundreds, if not thousand of poems and haikus to you, and never fails to make you feel loved. he’d never forget an important date, even if you don’t mention it for months before! he always asks for your hand, and when you place it in his with a knowing smile, he gives you a fairytale-like kiss on the top, making sure to peck every little fingertip in the process.

─ ✰ SCARAMOUCHE never thought he’d bow down to anyone again in his lifetime. he’s trained every little bit of himself to be the most powerful, the strongest being he could so he’d never have to go through that humiliation. but yet here he is, tucking away his ego and pride, bending down on the ground for you. yes, he may grumble, telling you to hurry up, and that he doesn’t have all day, but the fact that he’s basically submitting to you speaks for itself. you taught him what love meant, healing, and promised that you’d never leave him, and for that, you have his eternal loyalty. as you climb on his back, he gently hooks your legs against his arms as he stabilizes both of you. the proximity of your face resting against his neck causes him to go up in flames, throwing his oversized hat on your head, telling you to hold on to it for him. but really he’s hoping the large structure obstructs his rosy cheeks. he does every little ‘embarrassing’ thing for you, from painting his nails barbie pink to being shrek for your matching halloween costumes. if his younger self were to look back at him, he simply wouldn’t believe it, but now, he wouldn’t even consider the possibility of even saying no to you.

─ ✰ XIAO never, ever, takes you adventuring with him, simply because he believes someone as precious as you shouldn’t risk getting hurt and scuffed up. so instead, he brings you little gifts that he sees while adventuring. a glaze lily, protective adepti charms, and almond tofu are all gifts that he’s brought to you before. he’s also much softer with you, never raising his voice and being cautious about his choice of words. if you ever get caught in a physical situation with him, automatically he moves to stand in front of you, one arm protectively circling your waist, pulling you closer to him. being xiao’s s/o, you also get special privileges. while he answers most who call his name, if you even utter his in a whisper, he’ll be there in a heartbeat, no matter if it’s an emergency or not. whether you called him to join your tea party, or if you are in the slightest bit of danger, he’ll be there. he also trusts you more than his logic, even if everyone else is against you. if you’re in a scuffle with other humans, he makes sure to hear both sides, but his heart already knows who’s right. whether there are 100 witnesses who all say you’re wrong, he’ll still believe you anyways.

─ ✰ THOMA is absolute malewife material, no questions asked. sometimes, if he’s not busy in the mornings, he’ll surprise you with breakfast in bed without a special occasion. he’ll peck your cheek and give you a soft ‘good morning’ as to not break the sleepy trance you’re in, carefully placing the tray onto the nearest nightstand. whenever he’s around, he does all your chores too, from washing the dishes, to dusting the house and sweeping the floors. you wom’t even have to lift a finger, he goes as far to make lunch too! since he’s not home by then, usually somewhere in the kamisato estate, he leaves handwritten sticky notes on each lunch box he gives you. he fills them with messages like, “the perfume you wore smells good today!” “your smile is blinding, my ray of sunshine” or “you’re gorgeous always, my lovely.” never once is a message repeated, he believes someone as special as you deserves to hear something unique each day. he even goes as far to make your food cute! he’s made panda shaped onigiri’s, cat-like dango’s… all because you asked him once, it’s become a tradition now.

─ ✰ AYATO never leaves you bored when he goes to one of his meetings. his maids set up a spa day, complete with a makeover and evening gown to go with it, but it’s just not the same without your husband :( thankfully, being the significant other of the head of the yashiro commission has its own perks. for instance, you can walk around like you own the place and join in on in his meetings, albeit later you might get punished by ayato for interrupting, but really, he doesn’t mind. seated on his lap, you play with his fingers and let out a quiet huff. why did you think this was a good idea again? what they’re talking about is so boring, you’re beginning to regret your desicion to join ayato, wishing to be soaking in the tub with a face mask again. thankfully, shortly after, he cuts the conference short, apologizing and telling them he has more pressing matters to attend to. you lead him straight home holding his hand, giddy that he’ll join another one of your salon days. he makes sure to pamper you, giving you a massage and washing your hair for you, praising you for being so patient, even if you were the reason the meeting ended early.

─ ✰ AL-HAITHAM, i headcanon, thinks he’s being subtle with putting up with your shenanigans, but he couldn’t be farther off. he might seem indifferent on the outside, but he cares much more than you might think. can’t sleep? just wake him up at 3am, he’ll wrap you in a blanket burrito and read to you until you fall asleep! just got your nails done? he’ll carry all of your books, what else would he need his giant man boobs muscles for? he revolves around you, as if you are the sun and he the earth. and god forbid if you’re ever mad at him, his whole life comes tumbling down. although if you can’t see it in his facial expression, all of his rationality goes flying out the window. he’s snappier than usual, getting annoyed at the littlest of inconveniences. even if you’re in the wrong, he’ll still apologize first, he just wants you to start talking to him again 😢 if you have conditions to making up, he follows them all to the tee. give you one kiss for every hour he’s made you upset? done. buy you the newest line of makeup or skincare? absolutely. cook dinner for the next two weeks? he already does that.

─ ✰ KAVEH is placed 1st on the list of simps. just pout your lips and whimper a “pretty please?”, he’s down bad. he lets you braid, curl, and play with his hair whenever you want, even if it was already styled in the beginning. he lets you steal all of his clothes, who cares if he’s worn the same thing five times in the past week? you look so adorable in his white shirt, he can’t complain. oh, and if you don’t like his style? he’ll let you pick out his clothes and style him yourself, he’ll stand there patiently for you like a mannequin <3 technically it’s not allowed, but he shows you all of his top secret projects and all the cool things he’s doing, you’re the only one allowed in his office! oh, what’s this? you want him to do your makeup? just give him a week, he’ll perfect cat eyeliner, lip liner and blending eyeshadow colors for you! after you’re done, he lets you do his makeup too, praising you for your talent. even if the blush is patchy, foundation cakey and lip gloss smudged, he still thanks you endlessly with unlimited cuddles and a new handbag matching his briefcase!

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