#Phone case with card slots

[you--nes]

Leather Card Holder Wallet Case For 14 Pro Max 13 12 Phone Bag

[herkonular]

TORONATA - DEVASA+

Toronata's iPhone 15 cases are designed to be compatible with the iPhone 15 Pro Max, iPhone 15 Pro, iPhone 15 Plus, and iPhone 15 case. This means that you can enjoy the benefits of Toronata's high-quality leather wallet case regardless of which model you own. Whether you're looking for a sleek and stylish case for your iPhone 15 Pro Max or a functional and practical wallet case for you iPhone 15 plus case, Toronata has you covered. One of the standout features of Toronata's iPhone 15 pro max case , iPhone 15 pro case is the high-quality leather material used in their construction. This premium leather not only looks and feels great, but it also provides excellent protection for your phone. The case is reinforced with geometric air pockets and elastomer to provide shock absorption, helping to prevent damage to your device in the event of a fall. Additionally, the wallet case features a unique raised edge around the screen and camera to provide added protection against scratches and other damage. The wallet design of Toronata's iPhone 15 cases is another key selling point. With four card slots and a cash pocket, these cases offer plenty of storage space for your essential items, iPhone 15 pro max leather wallet case also features RFID protection, which helps to prevent unauthorized access to your credit card information. Additionally, the case is MagSafe-compatible, allowing you to easily attach and detach your phone from the case. Finally, the kickstand feature of the case allows you to prop up your phone for hands-free viewing, making it an excellent choice for watching videos or taking video calls.

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 15

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 15/? 10k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ The aftermath of a kiss makes thoughts come alive — both desires and fears. 

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

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

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

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut 18+ (imagined oral f!receiving, piv, creampie), cumming in pants, angst

Wednesday, December 11th 1985

The flag was whipping in the wind. Towering above the parking lot in a blur of red, white, and blue, it cracked against the pale grey sky. 

Meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror, you checked for any obvious signs of guilt. The harsh morning light made it clear what you’d missed in your haste to leave. You thought you had gotten it all, but the mascara resting in the lines beneath your eyes said otherwise. Truthfully, washing your face had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled home after midnight, and it was clear you needed more than the five minutes you allotted this morning in front of the sink. After sleeping through your alarm, it was a miracle you were here at all. Swiping your knuckles across the bags under your eyes, you figured that would have to do.

With a final, bracing sigh, you opened the door and slumped into the freezing cold. Slamming the door, you marched across the snow-dusted pavement and hiked the heavy leather strap onto your shoulder. Students scattered around you with bright colored backpacks, rushing from their cars toward the squat, concrete building that loomed on the horizon. Eyes steeled on the glass doors ahead, you swallowed a sickness rising up from the pit of your stomach. Pebbles crunched under your boots as you dodged glances, offering little more than a timid smile and a raise of your hand at the greetings hurled your way. 

Pulling open the chilled metal handle, that school smell—indescribable yet unmistakable—gusted hotly over your numb cheeks. The office was abuzz with shrill ringing phones and gently chiding voices. Eyes glued to the long, grey weather mat below, you approached the clock-in station.

“Good morning!” the receptionist greeted cheerfully at the back of your head. 

“Morning, Judy,” you offered weakly, selecting your punch card from its wooden slot on the wall. With a shaking hand, you slotted the index card into the machine, lining it up with this week’s row of black-inked numbers. It snapped to life, stamping today’s date in a crooked line beneath the rest. 

Tucking your thumb under the strap, you trudged along your usual path, raising your eyes just enough to see where you were going. Fluorescents danced over the polished tile, over the shimmering salt-stained boot marks and stray pebbles you were suddenly so captivated by. Past the glass trophy cases, inside the cafeteria, you crossed the row of principal portraits from years prior outside the teachers lounge. It was difficult to look at them today, the judgement painted so clearly on their features from inside their thick, ornate frames. Their eyes seemed to follow you as you passed. Dodging their scorn, you ducked inside the door.

Your soles met the padding of the threadbare carpet, marching toward the one thing you truly depended on, stationed at its post on the end of the long, veneer table — the coffee machine. The room was spinning with activity, a bustle of chatter you hoped you could hide in. Most were on their way out, making small talk and gathering belongings from their seats at the round tables. Your skirt swished forward as you halted before the machine, tapping the cuff of your tall boots. Grabbing a mug from the stack, you filled it with haste.

You wondered if anyone could smell it on you — the cigarette smoke that clung to your coat. Shrinking down into your turtleneck, you sidestepped to return the pot to the warmer. 

“Good morning,” stated a voice behind you with cold professionalism. 

The plastic slipped in your hand, coffee hissing against the metal plate as you fumbled it into place. “Principal Higgins! H-hi—good morning!” 

She always terrified you, even as a student here. Even before last night. Standing all of about four foot ten, her stern, nun-like demeanor and white cloud of hair remained consistent with your memory, as if she had reached a point in her aging where she just plateaued.

“How are you?” she asked. Not as though she really cared, just as something polite to say.

Whipping around as the blood drained from your face, you addressed her. “Good! I’m good. Just getting things wrapped up for the semester. You know how it is.” 

She nodded curtly. “Glad to hear,” she answered, though nothing about her expression seemed glad.  It never did. You thought you saw her smile once in September, but it could have been a trick of the light. Smiling weakly at the floor, you dipped around her and shuffled toward the open milk carton. The air was thick and stuffy, filling your lungs in shallow draws. Peeling back the soggy cardboard, you swallowed your hammering pulse. 

“Hey stranger,” Diane greeted warmly, grabbing a mug from beside you. “You ready for winter break yet?” 

Fixed on the coffee as the milk swirled like smoke, you couldn’t find the courage to meet her eyes. “I’ve been ready since October,” you admitted through a strained chuckle.

Diane tipped her head back, laughing into the fluorescents. “Oh man I feel ya, I’ve been counting down the days myself.” Steam rose from her mug as she filled it.

There must have been a sign on your back. Something like kick me. A bump from behind had you lurching into the table, sloshing coffee over the rim. Snapping your head over your shoulder, you glared at the culprit. 

“Jeez it’s crowded in here,” muttered Ms. O’Donnell as she lumbered over to the coffee machine. “Everyone mingling like a flock of hens, you’d think we’d all have places to be by now.”

With a sharp sigh, you grabbed a handful of flimsy napkins from beside the sugar. Diane glanced in brief annoyance before reaching through your line of sight for the milk carton. “So, did you catch Cheers last night?”

You froze, heat creeping up the collar of your coat as the coffee bled through the paper. Images of sweating glasses on cocktail napkins and plush lips clouded your vision as you blotted up the mess with a trembling hand. “No I uh, turned in early I’m afraid.” Your stomach curdled with the lie.

“Aww, well you’ll have to catch it on re-run because it was a good one. I won’t spoil anything,” Diane said, bringing the mug to her lips as she leaned against the table. 

Grabbing the handful of warm, soggy napkins, you pivoted to toss them in the trash. Finally, she caught you with her eyes. Rich umber, deep with caring and kindness, captive for anyone who needed a good listener, for you on so many occasions. Diane was good like a cashmere cardigan, like a box of tissues passed across a desk. Your eyes met the floor again quickly, heat rising in your face. You shuddered to imagine what she’d think if she knew. 

The room became a blur of scooting chairs, of vending machines whirring, of crackers and candy dropping into the bins below. Metal flaps whined and slammed as hands reached in to grab them. It was closing in on you — the copy machine ink wafting warmly across the room as it spat out stacks of tests, the hole punchers clicking and binders snapping open to devour papers with their jagged maws. You stood there in the middle of it all, spinning like you’d stepped out of a carnival ride.

Diane leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “You ok?”

Blinking rapidly, you snapped back to attention. “Yeah—yeah I’m fine.” 

Folding her arms across her sweater, she knit her brows in disbelief. As the school counselor, it was her job to see through bullshit, and she was good at her job. Before she could comment, the bell had your stomach lurching. “I have to go,” you said with as much of a casual farce as you could muster. “I’ll see you later.” You grabbed your mug, shielding your face with it as you sipped off the top before vanishing into the hallway.

-

The AV cart was heavy despite its wheels. Avoiding your tired reflection in the glass of the large television, you braced the metal frame and peered around it, marching carefully down the crowded hallway. At least you had something to hide behind now. 

There were footsteps all around you, weaving to accommodate the metal mass as you trudged slowly forward. What became unignorable was the set behind you, shuffling down the hall at an increasing speed, growing louder as they neared. Eddie halted just behind your shoulder, bumping it slightly in his haste. “Hey,” he breathed in your ear, curls tickling your cheek.

Sucking in a breath, you whipped your head around to meet his crinkling eyes. If he had a tail, he would be wagging it. “Eddie,” you hissed. “Get—” you elbowed him away, heart pounding into your temples as a hundred eyes passed by around you. 

He didn’t seem phased. Hovering at an uncomfortable proximity, his focus stayed glued to you as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “Here,” he offered, reaching over to take the reins. The meat of his palms grazed your knuckles; warm and pliant like you remembered them. 

“I’ve got it,” you insisted, gaze dutifully forward, gripping the metal frame firmly.

“Come on, let me help,” he muttered, leather forearms insisting against yours as he tugged the cart in his direction.

Face fully on fire now, you released your grip, repelling with a twinge of remorse from the solid contact of his shoulder. Head darting left and right, you scouted for faculty, keeping a steady pace beside him. Not so close as to draw suspicion, but close enough to feel his magnetism prickle your awareness. His fingers pinked under his rings, knuckles white in his grip as the strong angles of his hands kept the cart from veering. “It’s um—” Eddie started, dipping his head toward your ear again, “good to see you again,” he uttered with a fervency that could have evaporated you.

“Happy Wednesday!” chimed Ms. Click as she waved you down from outside her door. 

The blood drained from your face. Raising a trembling hand, you returned a weak smile before locking your vision on the end of the hall. It was closing in again; the lockers, the voices, the squeaking of wet boots against the tile. There was the potent scent of cigarettes, fresh on his hair like the snowflakes that clung to his curls. They were melting, dripping down his wild ringlets onto his shoulders with every step. It was beautiful, the way they bounced and swayed in the wind as he walked. The way the droplets settled in the wrinkles of his leather coat. The way it tapered toward his narrow waist. As he braced the cart, you selfishly admired the angles of his shoulders — broad and capable. Selfishly, you wondered what else they could accomplish, how they would feel, bare under your palms. Crossing your arms coyly over your turtleneck, you snatched your mind from the gutter.

Eddie lolled his head toward you, peering under heavy lids. His smile was lazy and generous, brimming with boyish glee. “God you look pretty today,” he sighed. Your uterus beat your stomach to a backflip. 

Halting outside the door to your classroom, you turned to face him. “Eddie, we can’t—” your desert mouth hung open as those soft umber eyes ushered your words into the din.

“I’m allowed to talk to you,” he asserted, shifting to the fullness of his height as he dropped his hands from the cart. 

“Not like that. Not here,” you corrected, just above a whisper. 

Brow lowering, he swiped his coat aside to access his hip, resting his hand above the chain that dripped toward his thigh. It was suffocating — the heat from his gaze, from your turtleneck, from the thoughts hammering like pinballs against the inside of your skull. 

“Listen, I just…” you swallowed, “it’s just—” you glanced around, meeting the waves and bright hellos that passed through your door with a vacant smile before lowering your voice, “—hard to be back here today.”

Eddie tipped his head forward, shifting on the balls of his feet with a subtle nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

You huffed through your nose, eyes pleading with him as you shrank toward your door.

“I’ll see you later,” he promised, drifting in by an invisible tether with every inch you moved away. 

“Yeah.” Your exhale was heavy, lingering in his gaze for an aching second before ducking through the threshold. 

______

The static from the television prickled your forehead as you rewound the tape, fussing with the buttons on the VHS player seated on the shelf below it. The screen fizzled grey as as your fourth period class filed in, shuffling feet and relieved exclamations echoing behind you as they passed.

You could have left it alone and walked away, but you would take any excuse not to face them today. Leaning against the cart as you stared into the crackling static, that telltale scent wafted in on the air, tugging at memories of smoke rings and stage lights, filling you with equal parts dread and aching familiarity. You could see his silhouette out of the corner of your eye; tall and dark with a halo of frizz, boots heavy against the tile as he approached you. Swallowing your rising pulse, you couldn’t help but indulge for a second, shifting just enough to catch the soft pink of his smirk before his shoulder nudged yours in passing. Desks squeaked against the floor behind you, yielding to the weight of twenty students as they filled the five tidy rows. When the bell finally rang, you shut the door and mustered the courage to address them.

None of your classes were studying To Kill A Mockingbird. Irrelevant as it was to your lessons, you would excuse it to all of them by citing it as a great example of storytelling. Weak, but it was the best you could come up with on such short notice. You doubted anyone cared, they all seemed just as relieved as you were for a break from the fluorescents. 

You flicked off the lights and pressed play on the VCR. The room was bathed in white and blue as the opening credits rolled, and you took your place behind the big desk. Propping your head wearily against your hand, you stared down at the sea of white below you. Eyes unfocused, black ink and graphite chicken scratch blurred together as a different film played out behind them. 

The set was dramatically lit; a spotlight of interrogation that beamed down on your small chair facing Martha Higgins’ desk. The props were hyper-realistic; files she flipped through with her spindly, arthritic fingers containing your teaching license and contract for the year. The prominent lines on her forehead were growing increasingly severe as she considered the delivery of your inevitable punishment. 

A jungle of items framed the papers that sprawled across your real desk — the spider plant Susan had given you when the leaves were beginning to blush with oranges and reds, the stapler you’d had since college, the mug with a quill printed on it which now held your pens. You wondered what it would feel like to pack them all into a banker box in the middle of a winter afternoon. To lug it down the hallway, dodging the scorn of your former colleagues. With a heavy sigh, you buried your spinning head in your hand.

Eddie was seated as he always was, cheek pressed to his knuckles as he watched you from his corner of the room. A straight shot toward your desk in front of him, he gazed with reverence as the white light from the television bathed your one exposed cheekbone in a holy glow. Picking at the chipped veneer on the desk with his restless thumb, he recounted the feeling of it in his hands. The angle of your jaw, the notch where it met below your ear, the soft skin of your throat that hummed beneath the pads of his frozen digits, warming them to life with every swell and swallow as his mouth enveloped yours. He’d played it over and over the whole drive home, every moment since he’d opened his eyes this morning, convincing himself with every replay that it wasn’t a dream. 

He’d gotten a taste. Not enough to satisfy him — the opposite really. Like first bites often did, it only brought awareness to his hunger. The light played softly on your stiffened jaw. How he ached soothe it with his lips again, to feel the hard bone under supple skin, to hear and taste your sighs again; more moving than any music he’d ever heard. 

The darkness gave quiet permission for his mind to play a film of its own. In this one, the room would be the same. Just as dark but empty, save for you and him. He would scale the isle in five swift steps. Lifting your worried chin with his knuckle, he would draw you to the fullness of your height, capture your body in his arms and pull you into a searing kiss. He knew what it felt like now, and that only fueled his wild imagination. He knew you’d melt like putty, let him be the only thing holding you together, keeping you from falling to the floor with the strength of his arms around your soft cotton waist. 

He had memorized the shape of your lips, how slick with hunger they were as they slipped against his. Your hums would be quiet here, timid and shy as you glanced over his shoulder toward the door with worried eyes. On this set there were no real hallways, no extras making noise or slamming lockers. Nothing in the script suggesting an interruption, only the pretend risk that made a thrill rise in him like the tent in his jeans. The way you would shyly toy with the pins on his vest, insisting that “we shouldn’t,” and “it’s just not right.”

You wouldn’t protest for long, not in this script. Not when his teeth found your neck again, dipping down below the collar of your turtleneck. It was a nuisance really, nothing but a sponge for his spit as his tongue soothed over where his teeth left off. You would be needing it later because he would leave a mark this time. Several, tasting every moan you offered as he sucked bruises onto your delicate skin. He hadn’t tasted nearly enough of you, hadn’t felt nearly as much as he’d wanted. 

Closing his eyes, he surfaced a touch-memory; the shape of you beneath your coat. He imagined the slope of your waist in his hands as it looked like today; where the cotton met the wool of your skirt, heaving against his palms as he left his sloppy trail. Impatiently, he would free you from the confines of it, tug at the cotton and greet your warm, soft flesh with his aching fingers. You, of course, would give him full permission to remove it once you felt the insistence of his touch, felt his thumb drag over the small of your back, across that dip he caught a glance of last night. 

Tugging the cloying barrier up and over your head, he would shield you from the door with his body, letting the mass of the AV cart block any eyes wandering the hall from what he was about to do next. In the soft, flickering light from the television, your chest would rise and fall, spilling over from your white lace bra as it heaved in anticipation. 

The real you sank deeper into your chair. Shoulders slumped, shielding your eyes with your knuckles as you stared blankly down into the sea of papers. There was a heat emanating from the back corner of the room, one you could feel with the crown of your head. You knew exactly where it was coming from, and from whom. Hesitant as you were to address him, it was burning too hot to ignore, boring into you with a palpable insistence. With a swift, upward glance, you faced off. 

Eddie’s lids were heavy, cheeks pinking at the sudden confrontation. He licked his lips, eyes darkening as he swallowed. You could almost feel them again, cradling yours in a phantom kiss just like they did fourteen hours ago. His mouth had been so needy. So hot and plush, tongue slipping against yours like he’d been starving. 

Eddie closed his eyes in a slow blink. When he opened them again, they were so heavy with want that it rippled from across the room, shooting straight between your legs. You’d never been kissed like that before. Kissed so hard it robbed you of your senses, of your oxygen, of your goodness. It was easy to imagine; doing it again. Especially when he was looking at you like that. 

You indulged for just a moment, joined him in the scene. Alone together in the dark, empty room. It was easy to imagine what those lips would feel like going further; sucking your collar bone, grazing it with his teeth, trailing his sopping mouth to the place where your neck meets your shoulder before his calloused thumb slipped the strap of your bra to the side. 

Wringing a hand behind your neck, you glanced toward the television with a sudden feigned interest. The feeling wouldn’t leave you though; clouding your mind with wet smacking lips and the chill of the air at your nipples. 

He knew they would be perfect. He could just tell. They would heave beneath his watering mouth, puckered and primed for him to latch. Capturing one of them in his wet heat, you would melt into his waiting arms. Back arched, mewling so needy and loud it would cause the door to open if the scene was real. He was certain he’d be able to taste your hums through your skin here too. Even better perhaps.

Eddie shifted in his seat with a mild grimace, hand darting beneath his desk in time with a swift raise of his hips as chair legs scraped the tile. He glanced at his lap, then back up at you. 

Your face became a roaring furnace, paling only to the heat pooling under you. The pale television light flickered across his flushed cheeks, his lowered brow, his smoldering eyes that held you captive. He wanted you to know. Indulging, you imagined what was going on under that desk. What it would look like if he were to stand, to scale the room in a few eager strides and show you up close. 

“Need you now, Eddie,” you’d croon with a swipe of your hand up the generous bulge he was sporting, punctuating it with a pinch of his weeping head through the denim.

Eddie took his cue. In one dramatic swoop, the papers fluttered to the floor, the plant made a mess of the tile, the stapler clattered beside your shattered mug as pens rolled down the isles. Backing you into the edge of the big desk, he kissed you again. Hot and slick, body flush with yours, pressing his need against your pelvis as he probed your aching mouth. Parting only to shed himself of his outer layer, to lay it down behind you like a blanket, shielding your bare back from the cold wood.

From the confines of his small desk across the room, real Eddie took a deep breath, lids closing heavy on the inhale, fluttering open to a pained pout on the exhale.

Seating yourself on the edge of your desk on set, you would free him from the confines of his jeans. Pawing at his belt, you would tuck your fingers beneath it and tug urgently, rattling metal and leather before working his button free. Slowly, your nimble fingers would locate and lower his zipper, and a sigh would be the second thing that escaped. 

You were an A-list actress, looking down at his proud length like you’d never seen a dick before in your whole life. The coyness with which you peered from under your lashes was thoroughly convincing. Oscar-worthy. With a timid, chalk-dusted finger, you would draw a line from base to tip, admiring the way it bobbed, the way your touch encouraged it to glisten. Real Eddie swallowed, drawing a deep, impatient breath. Convincing as you were of your innocence, he was certain those fingers would know what they were doing as they traced his ridges with a teasing curiosity.

Unable to take any more of it, his hands would find your knees; bare where the stockings left off. They would roam under your thick wool skirt, up those impossibly soft thighs and draw back the curtain as you braced yourself against the desk behind you. In this scene, of course, your costume called for nothing underneath. You would be ready for him. Back flush with his coat, legs spread, glistening with need in the pale light from the television behind him. 

Impatient as he was, he would be remiss not take this opportunity to satisfy a curiosity of his own. Crouching down to level with your sex, he would take in your scent first. Breathe in your delicious, heady pheromones, let it cloud his vision further, as if there was room for anything else other than the persistent thought of you. Eddie wondered what you tasted like. Your mouth was exquisite, so what must you taste like here? With a generous swipe of his tongue, he would find the answer. 

The real you crossed your legs tightly, as if that would stave off the throbbing between them. Real Eddie caught it, the shift in your seat, the subtle raise of your knee under your plaid skirt, the way you worried your lip with your teeth as you glanced shyly toward the papers still, unfortunately, on your desk. 

What might his tongue feel like there? The question grappled for your attention despite futile attempts to shove it away. His tongue had a certain talent, you’d noticed, as it probed against yours in the dark last night. A sense of rhythm was a hard thing to teach. His tongue would be warm, you were certain of that, saliva slick as he pressed it flatly to your heat. He would take his time, savoring every groove and fold across this new terrain as if he were committing it to memory. Propping up on your elbows against the satin liner of his coat, you would catch those deep brown eyes, peering into yours with a smoldering hunger, lower lids pinching in pleasure as he drew slowly upward.

You would paw at the crown of his head, rake your fingers through his curls and tug, feeling his approving hum against your core. Halo of frizz tickling your thighs, his tongue would lathe slow and steady, closing those plush lips over your aching bud before sucking a kiss where you needed it most.

Exhaling deeply, you toyed with a pen on your desk; pressed your thumb into the cold metal nub, studied the tension a moment before releasing. Eyes unfocused, you were helpless as the film played out behind them. Click. Click. Click. Light flickered from the TV, twenty eyes distracted and oblivious. Throbbing, you shifted in your seat and caught the scent of your own arousal. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks. Never in your life had you been so grateful to be in the dark.

Try as you might to gleam a single chaste thought from the words printed below you, there was no space in your head for it. Just Eddie, crouched over you like a preying animal, looking at you with those lust-blown eyes like he’d make you his meal. Wrapping those ringed fingers around your hips, shifting his to meet them as he stood. You could almost feel it; his cockhead pressing with insistence at your entrance. Almost feel the safety of his shadow, how his curls would kiss his cheekbones as he hovered above you, how his lids would flutter as he pushed in. That deep, relieved sigh you would both breathe together as the long ache was soothed upon joining.

It was a moving picture. 

From the back of the room, Eddie watched your face burrow into your hand; fingers splayed across your forehead and eyes, shoulders slumping on your ragged exhale. How desperately he itched to ease them with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. It was painful; his cock straining against the confines of his jeans. Silently, he thanked himself for grabbing the black pair from the pile on the chair in his bedroom this morning, certain he was leaking through by now. 

Slowly, he shifted his hips upward, relishing in the drag of the fabric against his sensitive head as it moved toward his waistband. He paused before tucking it, arching forward again with sinful fulfillment. It felt good. Too good. Good enough to do it again. The way the cotton raked against the heart-ridge of his cock, the way the stiff bend in his zipper hit that sweet spot when his hips canted forward. 

Eddie glanced around the room, flushing furiously. All eyes were forward. No one seemed to notice.  Gripping the edge of the desk, he continued to rock his hips; slow and quiet micro-movements, careful not to creak the plastic chair. The shrinking, logical part of his brain couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was a new low. Perverted, even for him. But the tension was mounting, becoming unbearable, and the relief it offered was enough to drown out the shame.

He bet you would be so tight. He could almost feel those gorgeous legs wrap around his waist, your boots crossing at the ankles behind him, drawing him closer as you whined from the stretch. He could almost see you bite your lip and knit your brows, feel your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as you adjusted to his size. He would go slow, knowing it’s been a while for you. You would clench and arch but take him so well as he inched his way to the hilt. Then, bracing against the wood, he would happily give you what you needed — jack hammer hard, rutting like an animal in heat. You would be sinfully wet. He bet you were right now, sitting up there with your legs crossed and head down. Pity it would go to waste. If he had it his way it would be dripping onto the desk, slicking his balls as those pretty, perfect tits of yours bounced with every snap of his hips. 

The fabric was hitting him just right, scratching that itch with each flex of his cock against the dampened cotton. It was a slow mount, subtle and teasing, but it was enough. Anything would have been enough. A breeze. Eyes closed, forehead hung on the heel of his hand in feigned boredom, he imagined it what you would feel like under his thumb; rubbing that little button of yours that made you squirm and moan so deeply he could feel it from the inside. 

The hardest part was steadying his breath. He supposed he couldn’t fault his body, it was just doing what was natural in a place he shouldn’t be doing it. He couldn’t fault his heart for hammering, or his hips from wanting to buck, or his hands for itching to expedite the relief. What he would give to crank the volume on the television, to draw a curtain and just get it over with. God forbid you wisened up to his antics, although the thought did send a jolt to his dick. He knew he should stop before he did something utterly shameful, but the spot he was hitting was just too sweet, a feeling he was helpless but to chase.

He would give you everything you ever wanted. With gritted teeth he would ream you until you came undone, make that pretty face of yours contort over and over as you writhed against the desk, howling his name into the drop ceiling. The slap of skin on skin would echo off the tile until he’d rendered you utterly stupid, which was difficult to do.

“You want it, huh?” he’d huff into your ear, peppered with nip of your lobe. “Want me? Want my cum?”

Tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, you’d mewl your answer. “Yes. Please.”

Slumping forward in his desk, Eddie buried his head in the crook of his arm. Fuck. His boots dug into the tile, thighs straining, lip pinched in his teeth, desperate to restrain the bucking of his hips. There was an animal inside him, tugging like a rubber band waiting to snap. His aching balls begged as they drew upward, cockhead so sensitive it could feel every stitch. Eddie burrowed his nose into the desk, both chasing the feeling and running from it.

He would show you how much of a man he was, paint you with proof on the inside. Remind you as it slicked your thighs with every click of your boots down the hall.

Huffing into the dark cocoon, his free hand gripped the metal legs below him, holding on for dear life as the wave approached its crest. Hips stuttering, breath fogging the desk, he hit the wall. The one that made his mind go blank, his eyes roll back, his whole body tense and tingle like a yawn. 

It came out like a whimper. Warmer and wetter with each pathetic spurt. A small, strangled sound threatened the back of his throat. It tried to escape his gaping, downturned mouth, but he choked it back. It was a relief to get it out, like a dirty confession. Wave after hot, thick wave of frustration pooled in his boxers, clung to his balls as he emptied them completely. When the last of it crested with nothing more to give, his hips rocked to stillness, and the rest of his body went limp. 

He looked like a puddle of leather and hair. Squinting as you peered around the student in front of him, you wondered why his back was heaving like he had been running. 

Eddie peeled his face up from the desk; cheeks flushed, mouth slack, looking at you in a way you could only describe as absolutely fucked-out. A stray ringlet swayed in his ragged breath. There was that feeling again, that pulse between your legs that made you clench them. Quickly as he’d met your eyes, he blinked away as if it burned.

Eddie was a mess. Shifting in his seat with a grimace, he could feel the cotton cling to his skin as he sobered to the chalkboard, and the desks, and the twenty other people he prayed were oblivious to what he’d just done. It was like he was waking up from a wet dream, only he had never gone to sleep. He blinked down at his desk, mortified as his cock softened happily, lolling in its sticky puddle. It was seeping through the denim, cooling in his lap as the seconds ticked by. Glancing at the clock, he calculated another twenty minutes before he could clean it up. Twenty whole minutes to sit with the consequences, to stew in a puddle of his own shame. He supposed he could excuse himself to the bathroom but that would, of course, mean addressing you. It would mean getting up and walking in front of your desk, and the entire class, while you handed him a hall pass like a fucking child. He would rather sit.

Blinking back your thoughts from the gutter, you righted yourself in your chair, chastising yourself as you uncrossed your legs, your own mess trailing cooly against your inner thigh. It was uncomfortable, embarrassing, but there was nothing you could about it now. Flipping through your Rolodex of thoughts, you searched for anything. Anything at all that was chase, or sensible, or mildly interesting. 

Looking down at your naked hands, another scene fell open. This time the set came from memory. A pawn shop in early summer. It was vivid — the rain beating against the large window framing the on-ramp of the highway, Frank Sinatra mocking from the dusty speaker in the corner. The diamond sparkled magnificently as you passed the ring over the glass countertop. Brilliant rainbow fractals brought out by certain lights. They would catch you by surprise sometimes, tickle you with delight in the supermarket or the mall. It winked at you under the fluorescents then, a fleeting goodbye. In the moment, you weren’t sure which was worse — catching your own pained reflection in the glass below you or the pity in the eyes of the man who took your once-prized possession.

You left with twelve hundred dollars in an envelope, a fraction of what it cost him. The banker box rattled in the passenger’s seat as you slammed the door. Stuffed too full for a lid, your quill mug clattered against the plates your grandma gave you. You’d run out of newspaper wrapping your knick-knacks, resorted to your clothes to pad the rest.

The mug cast a shadow across your desk now, flickering in the light of the television. 

You clenched your fists, fighting the touch-memory of Eddie’s ribs under your palms. You’d felt safe for a moment; nestled in his coat, in his hair, melting into the heat of his mouth. What you would give to live it all again, right now. What you would give to have him all to yourself, every day. For the luxury to go on a date, to be seen in public together, to explore where this was going. Glancing across the sea of twenty desks, reality stared back. Where did you think this was going? 

Eddie’s pencil clattered to the floor. His curse was audible, even from the front of the room. Was this where you would place your trust? Your career, your future? In the reckless hands of a twenty year old man? He could ruin you. With a bold move, or a misplaced word, or a drunken gloat one night with his friends. Or god forbid it all went south and in a blind fury he lashed out and retaliated somehow. He wouldn’t do that, would he? You thought you knew him well enough to know that he would never, but did you really? You’d known Eddie Munson for all of four months, which felt strange to consider. It terrified you, the depth of your feelings in so short a time. Terrified you almost as much as the consequences for them. 

Your hand twitched beside the green grading pen resting on the pile of tests you’d barely touched in the last thirty minutes. There were more in your bag to be graded — the stack you’d abandoned on your coffee table last night. It would all catch up to you eventually. The homework, the papers, the secrets. After all you’d been through, had you learned nothing? No one really knows what they want at twenty years old. You certainly didn’t. A head full of fantasies is what you had. Snatching your pen with a firm click, you slashed an X through one of the questions on the test below you and buried yourself in your work.

When the bell finally rang, Eddie hung back in his seat like he always did, waiting for his moment with you. But by the time he had stripped himself of his jacket and secured his flannel around his waist, you had already made for the door.

______

The metal serving spoon smacked the plastic tray, leaving behind a glob of tomato sauce over the tangle of limp noodles. With a tight-lipped nod of thanks, Eddie took it from the lunch lady and made his way into the settled cafeteria, finding his place at the end of the Hellfire table. Steamed carrots bounced from the tray onto the sticky veneer as it fell from his hands with a clatter. Slugging off his backpack to the floor, he slumped into the empty chair that had been waiting patiently for him for the past twenty minutes. 

“There he is,” Jeff nodded to Dustin across the table.

“What’s the story this time? Got abducted by aliens?” chortled Dave.

He would think they would stop asking questions by now, but apparently he needed to teach them a lesson. “Nah, just… jerking off,” Eddie said with a deadpan shake of his head before spearing a meatball with his fork.

The half-truth earned him a rowdy chuckle from the peanut gallery, a gag from Mike. He would spare them the uglier details, like the balled up boxers shoved in the bottom of his backpack or how awkward it was to strip them off in the stall of a bustling bathroom. Glancing down at his lap, he checked that the flannel was still cloaking the drying white stain. 

Jeff’s leather jacket squeaked from the bend in his arm as he leaned against the table. “I was just filling the boys in on the show last night,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

Eddie looked up with a full mouth, eyes like saucers. 

“Yeah, told them about our special guest,” Dave added with a raise of his eyebrows.

He could only respond with a nervous huff, turning back to his tray as his stomach did kick flips. 

“Is it true?” Mike asked Eddie. “She seriously got up and danced?”

Eddie swallowed the whole mouthful at once. He couldn’t lie his way out of this one. “I mean, nothing too crazy. Just for a song.”

“Yeah a song Eddie made us play for her,” Jeff said with a wink. Dustin and Mike’s mouthes fell open simultaneously.

“Think I saw her tits at one point,” Dave reminisced. 

Eddie scoffed. “You did not see her tits, dude. You’re so full of shit.”

“I dunno man, her shirt was pretty short,” Gareth added with a playful nudge. 

“They’re both full of shit,” Eddie shakily assured to the two youngest members. 

They barely paid him a glance, chuckling amongst the rest while Dave rubbed lewd circles over his chest. 

“HEY,” Eddie barked. “Look at me, all of you. This doesn’t leave this table, do you understand me? If I catch wind that any of you went and told anyone about last night I’ll skin you alive, I swear to god.”

Gareth shot him a tired look. “Jesus, dude. Nothing even happened.”

The knot in Eddie’s stomach released slightly. “That’s right. Nothing happened.”

Dave snorted, stabbing his bendy straw into a leftover carrot. “Yeah man, chill out. Nobody’s gonna get your girlfriend in trouble.” 

The blood drained from Eddie’s face as the whole gang erupted in laughter. The uproarious, table slapping kind. It was a joke. A good one, it seemed. The word echoed like the pulse pounding in his ears. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. A warm, gooey word. One that made his stomach churn with longing. Biting back venom, he wondered how their faces would change if he slapped them with the truth. Would they still be laughing? Would they even believe him? They could laugh all they want—for your sake at least—but it stung nonetheless. 

Dave caught the bitter shift in his expression. “What? You clearly have the hots for her.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jeff laughed.

“ANYWAY!” Eddie punctuated with a smack of his hands against the table. “Gareth, you’ve been awfully quiet about your date this past Sunday. Please, regale us,” he gestured grandly.

Gareth chuckled nervously, pushing a noodle around with his fork. “Oh uh, nothing really happened there either.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Seriously dude? You’ve been on like three dates and you haven’t even made it to first base?”

“I told you, Cindy’s not like that!” Gareth defended before glancing around sheepishly. “But we did…kinda… hold hands on Sunday.” 

A long oooh emanated from the table. “Hands cupped or laced?” Dustin asked with a raise of his eyebrows, demonstrating with his own hands.

“Ok so,” Gareth began with an emerging smirk, “you know the Large Marge part of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure where her face goes all,” he demonstrated with a bug-eyed look, hands splayed on either side of his face. 

The table responded with chuckles and nods. “Gets me every time,” muttered Dustin.

“Well, Cindy’d never seen it before, so she jumped and like, grabbed my arm,” he paused for effect, “so I just went for it.”

Approval bubbled up from his captive audience. 

“Cupped at first,” he clarified, cutting through the noise, “but after like ten minutes she didn’t pull away, so,” he laced his fingers triumphantly. There was a barking applause, fists rattling the table. Jeff clapped him on the back with a blinding grin. 

Eddie was an island. Oceans away, he managed a soft smile. His night had been far from innocent — a frantic tangle of hands, and tongues, and teeth in the frigid darkness. Phantom feelings that tugged at his lips and fingers, at the forefront of his every thought. Thumbing at the rubber rim of the lunch table, he dreamt of a universe where the walls and roles fell away, one where he could speak of his firsts too. 

______

Eddie had been watching the clock all day. In eighth period trigonometry he watched second hand crawl around the clock face fifty times as his thumbnail worked the paint off a pencil, chipping at the indents his teeth left behind. The final bell was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Slugging his backpack over his shoulder, he didn’t even bother to stop at his locker before ducking down the hall where your room resided. He almost collided with a straggling sophomore exiting your door on his way in. 

Perhaps he had arrived too early. It wasn’t the scene he was accustomed to — you, standing at your desk, shoving folders into your satchel like you were trying to make a run for it. His small wooden chair still leaned against the wall. The AV cart still towered where it was when the lights were off. Glancing down, he quickly checked to make sure the flannel was draping correctly. 

“Going somewhere?” he teased, unable to hide the concern creeping in.

Your smile was a coy, fragile thing. Chest rising with the kicking of your heart, you opened your mouth but had no words to show for it. Fumbling with an overstuffed folder, you hovered it over the opening of your bag before sliding it in with a sigh.

Eddie shut the door. 

Turning over his shoulder, he snatched your eyes with a startling hunger. Your hands went slack, leather slumping against the desk as his heavy boots met the tile. He was slow in his approach, stalking past the empty rows, parched eyes drinking in every detail of your features. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you met him at the edge of your desk.

His curls were wild, chocolate eyes fiending, a soft concern weighing his brow. Under the fluorescents you could see very clearly what you’d felt last night. The shadow of stubble, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the soft ball of his nose that was cold against your cheek. Under his jacket, the taught landscape of his chest rose and fell. You swallowed, toying with the wool of your skirt. 

“Hey,” he half-whispered, lids drooping ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” you replied, like your tongue was feeling the word for the first time. It tugged a gooey softness from the corners of his mouth, and you cursed yourself for the pang to taste it again. So plush and pink, drawing your gaze long enough for him to notice. 

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor, tossing it hard enough to collide with the wall below the chalkboard. Shoulders unburdened, he rolled them back to assume the fullness of his height. With pupils blown, he darted out his tongue to wet his lips, looming like a wolf that sees a rabbit. 

He closed in with a step, to which you retreated. The edge of the desk bumped the back of your thighs. Heart hammering, you peered into his hungry eyes. You’d been here before. Not long ago, in your imagination. Different, darker, quieter. 

Eddie drank in the sight of you — your tight cotton shirt and your soft heaving chest. How the band of your skirt hugged the curve of your waist. You, woman.  

Like a false sense of safety, his scent enveloped you. It was dizzying, how badly your hands burned to trace the swell of his pecks, to tangle in his hair, to capture his hot, slick mouth again. Terrifying, the part of you that begged for him to press forward, to tumble you backward, to take his place on top of you. Timidly, your fingers curled over the corner of the desk. 

As he leaned closer, you could feel the tingle of heat from his chest, the ghost of his breath on your face. His arm became a cage as he steadied his palm against the wood behind you. “Been thinking about you all day,” he murmured in your ear. 

You shivered, lids fluttering closed for a selfish, greedy moment. Glancing over his shoulder at the narrow sliver of a window in the door, you peered at the lockers on the other side of the hall. There were some still slamming, slowly petering out as voices drifted further with each passing second. “Eddie,” you warned, placing a hand over his sternum. Eyes dipping slightly at your touch, the solid swell of his chest expanded under the cotton. He stepped back with a gentle push, your palm lingering before falling away. 

A deep breath fumed through his nostrils, heavy and tired. With a tight lipped nod, he backed away, pivoting toward his folded chair beside the door. It screeched as he dragged it across the tile, past the rows of desks, in front of yours, all the way to his usual place beside you. He snapped it open and paused, gripping the wood in his palms, staring down at the place where he’d sat countless times. How small it was compared to yours; padded with armrests and wheels. 

“So we just…” he flexed his fingers and shook his head, unable to suppress the sting in his voice, “go back to normal then?”

Eyes cast down at the empty seats, you sighed. “I don’t… think we can.”

“Good,” he stated, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

It was enticing, that chair with its worn leather padding. What was more enticing was the space beneath the desk; a safe haven for hands and arms, for cupped palms and laced fingers. On top of the desk lay your bag, and your keys, and the plant still alive in its unbroken pot. Your head was pounding; a dull ache that had been radiating from your temples since lunch. Lockers slammed outside the room, fluorescents hot on your skin. With a deep, lamenting sigh, you gave him all you could manage — your honesty. “It’s been… a hell of a day for me—”

“You could say that again.”

“I—” you sighed sharply, “I really think I just need to go home a-and… think things through.”

“What’s there to think about?” The words tumbled out like an avalanche he couldn’t chase. Your balking expression made him wish he could suck them all back.

“Oh gee, I don’t know,” you gestured wildly to the classroom, “we could start with my job.”

“I’m sorry that was—y-you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” The steam from the pressure could have burned him.

“We—we both clearly have feelings for each other,” he explained, lowering his voice. “I just… thought we would figure it out.”

There was a gap between you, cluttered with papers and pens. Your bag slumped in the middle of the mess, gaping and stuffed to the brim. Pulse hammering behind your eyes, you blinked them slowly with a pained sigh. “I know,” you admitted, toying with the strap. “Eddie, please, I need some time to think about all this.” 

It hurt to imagine. You, going home, sitting there in your slippers at your coffee table and deciding that he wasn’t worth the risk. Closing the flap on your satchel, you tugged the leather heap across the desk, but Eddie’s hand was quick to pounce. “No, we need to talk.” 

Frustration pinched your brow. “I know but—”

“Then let’s talk, yeah?” he gestured to the chairs.

A cluster of shadows passed by the window over your shoulder. “Not here, not right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“And go where? A table at Benny’s?” you snapped.

“You’ve got a place, right?”

Folding your arms, you shot him an incredulous look, though the thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You lowered your voice. “What happened last night was… impulsive.”

“I’d say it was a long time coming.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I think that’s enough for this week.”

Eddie would disagree, but his tongue had a wrangle on the words this time. In the pause, it was easy for both of you to picture; his clothes on your bedroom floor. Easy to picture the ways he could ruin you in private — fold you like the chair under his wringing palms. Still, the ways he could ruin you in public were equally vivid. 

You turned to grab your coat, brushing past him. The arm of his jacket was smooth against yours. Electrified by the contact, you lingered for a moment, unable to abstain from drinking in his form, his scent, from basking in the prickle of his aura. 

He could see it clearly in the harsh light — the shadow that clung beneath your lower lashes, the sagging exhaustion in your eyes. Gravity tugged at the corners of your natural lips, so different from how they appeared last night — dark and dusty red, framing a smile that outshined the moon. His fingers twisted against the wood. “Please stay,” he begged softly. 

Your eyes drifted shut, a split-second relish in the sweet pang of his voice, though the words rung a different bell; a different man saying them. In a flash, another scene appeared — you, at the door of your old home in Indianapolis, cradling the last of your belongings as your free hand gripped the knob. 

Opening your eyes to the radiator, and the windows, and the pale grey sky before you now, you relinquished a shaky sigh and tucked your fingers under the thick collar of your coat. It still held a subtle fragrance, clinging to the memory of last night, desperately as you were. Eddie watched with rapt attention as your brow pinched in pain, fingers twitching under the wool he’d memorized the shape of you through. When your lip began to tremble, his hand lost control. 

“Hey,” he whispered, meeting the soft cotton slope of your shoulder with his palm. 

Your head snapped toward his umber eyes; warmer than the hand that thawed your shoulder, callus catching on the cotton as his thumb soothed over it. You followed it down to his wrist, to the tendons flexing beneath the chain, dipping under the sleeve of his worn, leather coat. How desperately you longed to wrap yourself inside it again, to nestle into his beating chest and hide there forever. 

A voice crackled over the loudspeaker, and reflex had you flinching. “I’m sorry,” you mouthed, tears burning behind your eyes as you snatched your coat off the hook.

Bitterly, he dropped his hand. The contact hurt to break, almost as much as it hurt to watch you don your coat, to snatch your bag, to sling the heavy strap over your shoulder. Helplessly, he stood there, feeling like a fool until the welling of your eyes made it unbearable not to advance. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he pleaded. “Like—like a big deal. Not if we don’t make it one.”

You froze, eyes narrowing as a pained fume left your nose. “That’s easy for you to say.” With a bitter huff, you turned on your heel and left him in the classroom with only the echo of your footsteps. 

______

A/N: Yes, in my story Principal Higgins is a woman. I know in canon Eddie says “flip him the bird,” but for some reason my brain didn’t register that until literally two months ago. I always pictured Higgins as a stern, ancient, nun-like woman and I can’t seem to shake that characterization from my brain. Perhaps I’m just scarred from Catholic grade school. I think it works well for this story, so Martha Higgins it is. 

Also sorry I never stated this in the tags but the upside down does not exist in this universe.

The smut is coming very soon. Pinky swear. Our Lady of Internal Conflict is just having a moment. 

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

______

MASTERLIST ⎮ AO3 ⎮ KO-FI

[reveluving]

today's batmom thot of the day is:

Bruce's secret stash of your 𝙣𝙪𝙙𝙚 polaroids!

warnings: smut obv (minors DNI!), thirsty!Bruce is thirsty for his wife <;3

check out my batmom m.list &lt;3

Nobody loves you more than your husband. Anyone to claim otherwise, be it his children, Alfred or even your own staff (which were basically teenagers who now sees you as their mother, at this point), well, that'll only happen when hell freezes over.

The problem is? The man is always busy, as a renowned business by day and a renowned vigilante by night. So, he can't always spend time with you as much as he hopes for. So, naturally, when he's graced with the opportunity to be with you, no doubt he uses it like it's his last day on Earth.

But when he can't?

His nude polaroids of you are his saving grace.

You see that gif up there? That's him sneaking glances at those photos at any given time.

I've actually mentioned this fact in one of my drabbles! One of his favourite ones is kept in his wallet, stashed in the same slot behind your cafe's business card—if in any case his kids have his wallet for whatever reason, the last place they'd investigate is your card.

Or at least, he could only hope none of them ever stumble upon it.

If not, he knew you'd never let him keep another one. It's happened before, and he was lucky enough to find it.

But, was it worth traumatizing his father figure, who was unlucky enough to have found it?

What was it, you might ask?

It was during your honeymoon in Japan, your hotel room overlooking the city at night. He had on you the bed, his thumb nestled in your lips as he bottomed out. The spurt of cum trailing from your cunt up to your pretty glossy lips. The pure bliss on your face as you take his hard cock and oh, it never fails to make his blood run hot.

"Messy girl." He tutted with a sly smile, cooing at the mix of your drool and his cum coating his fingers. The magnificent view of the Tokyo Tower plus the skyscrapers surrounding it was an added benefit; a variety of neon lightly illuminating your room, enough for Bruce to see you in your glory.

He already took a good nine or ten photos of you on his phone before tossing it aside with your polaroid camera, where he's also used it on you for another three, one of which will definitely be his number one. For now, he wanted no interruptions, and loomed over you, the dangerous look in his eyes barely hidden behind his wet hair made it clear that he was beyond done with you. It wasn't until you whimpered and rolled against his hips that the look he had was accompanied by a smirk, knowing that you needed him as much as he needed you.

Yes, that honeymoon had to be one of the best ones he's ever had, and he's been to plenty with you.

The point is, his family has had enough trauma, for they've witnessed their fair share of 'unspeakable events' in the past regarding the two of you, be it in the bedroom, some gala, your cafe's storeroom.

But that's besides the point.

We've only talked about one of his utmost favourite polaroids, so you can bet your ass that he has more than just one! Those other favourites are stashed in the bedside table, his office desk, both in the mansion and his company, the Batcomputer's drawer, and the Batmobile. All of which were locked for his own use, of course.

He probably has at least 20, and counting, even, for your husband is not only a pleaser in bed, but an artistic one, as well. His muse? You, duh. Whether it's a polaroid of you in his oversized dress shirt only or nothing at all, these keepsakes are far more valuable than any art piece in any prestigious galleries. Better yet, they're priceless, for they belong to him and and him only.

a reupload. dumblr really testing me. going back to my IRL responsibilities cuz shit is crazy rn see yall in a few months tho <3 /j

[hanasnx]

your voice.

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: posted this on my other blog before i deleted it, re-posting here WARNINGS: terry’s old friend is an asshole | the term “friend” is used loosely he’s just someone from terry’s past | mentions of: groping, jacking off, sucking off, & backshots | “friend” speaking of you sexually to piss terry off | no explicit smut but the details and plot of this piece is smutty | locker room talk | established relationship.

“Is that your girl?” the voice on the other line interrupts TERRY McGINNIS's stupor, effectively snapping him out of gluing his eyes to your behind. Adorable, pink pajama shorts ridden up as far as they can go, supple ass hanging out in a way that invites him to stare. Not to mention encourage him to grope.

“Hm?” Terry responds thoughtlessly at first, but corrects it once his friend’s words process, “Yeah- yeah.” Expertly, he skirts around letting you know you’re being talked about. Unable to help himself, he steals another glance at you. The dimples on your lower back peeking out from your crop top, swaying your hips to an inaudible rhythm as you swipe a spread onto toast. The memory of how perfectly Terry’s thumbs slot into those dimples as a handle during backshots dissipates when his old friend speaks again.

“Sounds fucking hot. Is she? Wish she was on the mic instead of you.” All you’d done is enter his friend’s ear shot earlier, close up to the bluetooth when you’d kissed Terry’s cheek and asked if he wanted a sandwich since you were fixing one up for yourself already. Apparently, your sweet and airy voice was enough for whatever poor, desperate soul who heard it to beg for more. Terry knows firsthand the kind of affect your vocal chords have on him. He’s probably gotten far enough down your throat to fuck them when you’d sucked him off this morning. It’s just not a card he’s willing to pull to shut his friend up right now.

Terry knows a thing or two about his temper, especially aware of how people use it to their advantage if they‘ve been around him long enough. “C’mon, man, lay off. You’re just sayin’ that to get on my nerves.” he redirects as coolly as possible. It’s obvious, he’s being teased, he won’t fall for it so easily. Just in case it escalates, he paces away, pressing the bluetooth further into his ear as if paranoid you’d— somehow— hear its contents even if you are now well out of ear shot.

“Hell yeah, I wanna get on your nerves. I’m fucking jealous.” the so-called friend scoffs. “Fuck, wish she’d talk to me like that.” There’s a shift on the other end, and Terry frowns until the unmistakable and distasteful sounds of acting out self pleasure fill his ear. “No, wait,” he fakes an effeminate moan, the rapid disheveling of clothing reminding Terry of how sleeves brush the wrinkles of a shirt when a hand jacks off a dick. “go grab her- get her on the phone, I wanna rub one out real quick.”

What an asshole. Terry rolls his eyes so hard they hurt. “Thanks for reminding me why I don’t talk to you anymore.” He rips the earpiece out, with the unnerving noise of his old pal’s harrowing laughter echoing in his brain.

[rachalixie]

lost and found

a/n: @isilentprincess hehehehehe

you’re standing at the intersection across from your apartment when you realize it - you don’t have your wallet. you pat at your pockets desperately, cursing when your hands come up empty. all of the blood in your body drains out and your face feels impossibly cold, and you have to grab onto the lightpost to keep from falling over.

your gaze trails over to the sidewalk you had just come from, in the direction of the cafe you frequented almost every afternoon. there’s no sign of it, the black leather and gold zipper is nowhere to be found. you follow down the path, eyes flickering back and forth on the pavement and you’re sure you look a little insane but you don’t really care. you have to move quickly, the daylight is burning out and looking for it during the night wouldn’t be easy. you bump into several people, muttering sorry’s and excuse me’s as you continue on your path to the cafe doors.

you hadn’t pulled out your wallet when you got your coffee earlier; you had proudly presented the punch card you had been saving that granted you a free drink and sandwich, the one you kept in the back of your phone case so you didn’t lose it. a bit ironic now, since you lost your entire wallet in the process.

you approach the counter after scanning the table you were just at, now inhabited by a couple holding hands across the table and making heart eyes at each other. they seem to engrossed in each other to be the types to steal someone’s wallet, so you focus your attention to the barista behind the register. 

“did someone drop off a wallet here?” you ask, desperation leaking into your voice. “i was just here, it hasn’t been long.”

“no, sorry,” the barista, hyunjin as his nametag says, smiles at you with a little bit of pity. “if you leave your number, i can let you know if someone does bring it up?”

you scribble your number down onto a napkin, handing it to him with hurried thank you, and exit the cafe while trying to keep your breaths even.

you kept a slip of paper in the wallet with your name and number, instructing the reader to call or text you if they had found it, but you don’t know the kind of person that may have picked it up. if someone even did, what if it fell down a drain somewhere? what if someone did find it and decided to grab the cash and toss it into the nearest trash can?

the thoughts follow you all throughout your short walk home, up the elevator and into your front door. you drop straight into bed, embarrassed tears burning at your eyes as you log into your bank apps to cancel your cards and order new ones. no new charges stand out in your balance, and you’re at least thankful for that. 

the cards were an easy replacement but the other things? the polaroids of you and your friends in the side slots, the gift card you’ve been saving for a rainy day? those can’t be replaced. it leaves you in some kind of helpless despair that stays with you even as you succumb to sleep.

you wake up comfortable, the warmth of your blankets and the sun peeking out through your blinds sending a smile onto your face, but you freeze when you remember what had happened yesterday. your wallet. 

you grasp your phone in your hand, ripping the charger out of it as you scroll through your notifications. various social media, texts from your mom, a friend request from someone you haven’t spoken to in years, and there - 

a voicemail from an unsaved number, left late last night. that’s different, that’s something that lights up hope inside of you. 

“hi?” a tentative voice sounds from your speaker when you press play. “i found your wallet. i think? it has your name and number in it, at least. i wanted to give it back, so um. call me back and we can arrange something? or text me. whichever is fine!”

it cuts off with a nervous laugh, and you stare at the voicemail page on your phone for a few blinks. this is almost too good to be true. 

you press the call button next to the number and wait with bated breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times and you almost hang up but he answers.

“hello?” he says, accent thick with sleep. you hadn’t realized how early in the morning it was.

“hi, this is y/n?” you say, realizing now that you didn’t think through what to say before calling him. “you called me about my wallet? sorry i called you so early, i just got your voicemail.”

“oh!” he says, rustling coming from his end. “yeah, i’m glad you called! i found it in my apartment lobby, park place?”

“i live there!” you sit up straight, slipping your feet into your slippers. “are you here now? i can come get it from you.”

“sure, that works,” he says, voice light. “im in 606, i can meet you by the elevator.”

“no way,” you say, disbelief coloring your voice as you make quick steps towards your door. “i live in 604. right next door.”

you open your door a moment before he does, giving you time to take him in. a mess of dark, curly hair on his head, tired eyes a bit puffy from having just woken up, toned arms hiding behind a baggy t-shirt.

fuck. he’s hot. this is your next-door neighbor? how did you miss seeing him this entire time?

“here,” he hands you your wallet and you take it in both of your hands, letting out a sigh of relief when you flop through it and see everything was intact and where it should be.

“thank you,” warmth lines your words and you hope he can feel how grateful you are. “i really appreciate it. can i buy you a coffee or something?”

“oh, it was no problem,” he smiles at you and, god help you. he’s so pretty. “and ah. i don’t really drink coffee?”

“oh,” you hope you don’t sound too disappointed. you wanted to thank him as much as you wanted to spend some time with him, to figure out of he was as pretty on the inside as he was on the outside. you might have been moving too fast, but the heart wants what it wants, and right now your heart was beating itself into a flurry in your chest.

“but there’s a place down the block that makes some really good drinks, if you want to do that?” he offers, looking you up and down, but before you could begin to feel self conscious about your pajamas and fluffy slippers he continues. “tonight?”

“pick me up at 8?” you send him a beaming smile that grows just a bit more when he returns it. 

losing your wallet wasn’t the worst thing, you guess.

[ohnococo]

Right On Time | Takuma Ino x F!Reader

Ino chuckles, blushing a little as he looks over at you, “Aww, you still wet?” You nod, slightly less willing to just let the heat in your core wither away to nothing. He had been spoiling you for far too long for that.

You get stuck in traffic with your boyfriend, Ino, on the way to his mentor's birthday dinner. It's not the right time or place, but you just can't keep your hands to yourselves.

Warnings: Fingering, Semi-public

“Is the card in here?” You push the colourful tissue paper aside in the gift bag between your legs, finding the envelope just as Ino responds.

“Yeah, it’s in there.”

“Nice one,” you put the gift bag on the car floor between your feet then buckle your seatbelt as Ino starts the engine, “ready to go then!”

You could see how excited your boyfriend was, having spent a long time carefully selecting a birthday gift for his beloved mentor. It meant even more that he’d be able to celebrate with him on the day itself as well. Usually Nanami chose to spend his birthday on his own, phone off and unable to be bothered by the world you all had to work in. This time, he’d actually agreed to let everyone treat him to a birthday meal, and Ino was grateful he’d give everyone some of his time on his special day.

Carefully laid plans often go awry, though, as is the case when you find yourselves stuck in slowly crawling traffic, miles upon miles behind an accident that had bottlenecked the highway’s many lanes down to one. You can see Ino trying not to panic, leaning closer to his windshield and trying to squint at what couldn’t be seen from so far away, leg jiggling nervously as you’re stuck moving so slowly he has to put the car in park.

Nanami would understand your being late of course, but Ino felt like it was important to be there and be there on time. You put a hand on Ino’s thigh, squeezing as you reassure him, “The traffic report said it should only be a 20 minute delay. We’ll be cutting it close but we’ll get there.”

He leans back in his seat, resting a few fingers of one hand on the bottom of the steering while, and squeezing your hand with the other. “You’re right…”

You were, but you can see it doesn’t entirely help his worries subside. Then, just as all of the many cars inch forward between yours and the single lane the traffic was all being funnelled towards, Ino puts the car back into drive, slowly rolling those several measly feet forward before he has to stop and put the car into park again. Then he’s right back to leaning forward, squinting to make out what was happening in the far distance.

“Ino, baby, it’s not gonna help you to worry.”

He looks at you, giving you a lopsided smile and a nod, knowing you’re still right. “I can’t help it, I just don’t wanna show up late.”

“I mean, I can suck your dick while we wait if it’ll get your mind off of it.” You’re joking, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t do it in a heartbeat if it made your sweet boyfriend relax his furrowed brows.

He laughs, leaning back and relaxing into his seat, nerves already dissipating slightly from the distraction of your voice. He looks over to you, smiling, “Aww, don’t ask me that when you know I should say no.”

You throw him an exaggerated pout, glancing out of the front to see you had a while yet before he had to inch forward, “At least let me give you a kiss then.”

“Well damn, I’m not gonna say no to kissing my girl, am I?” He’s already leaning in to meet you in the middle, elbow resting on the centre console as he turns his head to slot your mouths together perfectly.

It’s a chaste kiss at first, closed lips lingering on each others before you’re both pulling back just a little at the same time. Then, he’s bringing his hand off the steering wheel to rest on your jaw gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. It has your stomach doing backflips the way Ino’s kisses always do, and when he leans forward and tickles the tip of his tongue against your lips you’re parting them for him without hesitation. His tongue swipes against yours, slow and light, and when you match his movements he’s pulling away, drawing you into his mouth as he smiles into your kiss.

Your head is spinning already, your panties wet, and Ino’s kisses have you ready to throw caution to the wind like always as you move your hand up his thigh to settle on his already hardened cock, gripping at it and letting a little moan travel from your mouth and right into his.

Then, you jump slightly, eyes opening and head snapping towards the back as a car behind you lets out a long honk.

“Shit.” Ino’s glancing back as well, then forward to see that traffic had begun inching along while you’d been distracted by each other. The car behind you was apparently not going to let a few feet of space between Ino and the vehicle before him stand, so he sits back, puts the car in drive, and closes the gap.

He puts the car back into park and his leg is back to jiggling again, and this time your pout is genuine, “Ino… I don’t want you to be all anxious…”

“It’s okay it’s not that,” he gives you a half smile, as if excusing himself, “I’m just trying to make it go down.”

“Oh.” You accept his reasoning, not wanting to risk the car behind you honking again because of your distractions.

You wait, only a few minutes, but those few minutes are an eternity to the impatient Ino who just wants to get moving already, and an eternity to you now that you’re left wanting.

“You still hard?” You ask, unable to stop dwelling on the effect you have on your boyfriend.

“Nah.”

You let out a little groan, feeling slightly frustrated that you were still so needy after just a little kissing. “Well that makes one of us…”

He chuckles, blushing a little as he looks over at you, “Aww, you still wet?”

You nod, slightly less willing to just let the heat in your core wither away to nothing. Ino had been spoiling you for far too long for that.

He looks back out of the front of the car, biting his lip and thinking as he notes how close the cars shuffling forward were to his. He waits, then when it’s his turn he moves forward, then puts the car back into park, turning to you excitedly, “Pull your panties down for me, baby.”

You raise your brows, surprised at the proposition despite knowing very well that he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry once you’d said something about it. He catches your expression, assuring you as though you were the one that was being convinced to do him some favour, “I can watch the road while I do this.”

This, he says, as he rests his elbow on the centre console again, bringing his other hand over to cup at your pussy through your panties. That alone has you clenching your thighs around his hand, happy for the touch already, and he’s drawing a long breath through his teeth at the feel of your wetness soaking through the fabric.

“Shit, I got you wet like that?”

You give him a look that says ’duh’, and tug his hand up and just out of the way enough to pull your panties down to your ankles, spreading your legs for him to have access underneath your skirt. He’s quick to have his hand back where you need it, middle finger sliding through your wetness, and this time his brows are furrowed for entirely different reasons as he caresses the place he loves best.

You’re wet enough that he doesn’t need to waste time building up to working you just right, able to coat his fingers in your slick and slide two in right away. He only pumps them in a few times, fingers dragging along your walls with perfect firmness, before he’s pausing and looking at you with worried eyes. “Better pull your dress up or you’ll leave a wet patch on the back.”

Takuma Ino, always the considerate boyfriend. You lean over, both to give him a quick peck for saving you the embarrassment at this special birthday dinner, and to listen to his suggestion, pulling your dress over your ass and sitting back so it’s bunched up and out of the way as you spread your legs again and Ino starts pressing and swiping at your sweet spot properly.

The rolled up and tinted windows, and the sound of music on the radio, gives you enough comfortable cover to leave your moans unrestrained, letting Ino know just how fast he was getting you there, and when his thumb joins the fray to rub tight circles on your clit the only thing stopping this from being perfect is the fact that Ino has to constantly glance forward instead of watching you come undone for him like he so loved to do.

As you watch him glance back at you, eyes lingering longer and longer, pressure building in your core, you note that worried expression bubbling up in his eyes right alongside your orgasm, and he starts moving faster, trying to make you cum quickly. Just as you find it in you to take your eyes off your boyfriend’s handsome face, you see a gap already there between his car and the one in front, and this time several cars behind you honk, pulling up dangerously close to bully you along.

Ino pulls his fingers out of you and you’re both whining: you whining out his name, and him giving you a, “Sorry babyyyy…”

He’s quick to move along, park again, and just as you’re going stir crazy from your orgasm subsiding so suddenly, his fingers are back inside of you. This time, Ino takes a chance at kissing you again, his soft lips adding to the hurry to make you cum hard to make up for tearing it away from you before. He knows how to do it perfectly, of course, having been in a rush to make you cum for him before, but never quite like this.

It makes your blood flow faster, your cheeks hot as you tangle a hand in his hair, arching your hips up and closing your eyes as your orgasm appears yet again hot and fast on the horizon. It’s interrupted only briefly, as Ino lets out a sigh of frustration. You join his gaze out the front this time to see the mass of cars starting to move much more quickly and Ino gives you a kiss of apology, not exactly able to hold up the now steadily moving traffic on the highway.

He’s apologising aloud too, even as you whine for more, “Sorry… I guess they cleared the road. This is terrible fuckin timing…” he glances at you with sad puppy dog eyes before looking back to the road to switch lanes as you get nearer to your exit.

“Inooo…”

“I’m sorry.” He means it, you can hear it in his voice. And you know if he could he’d pull over somewhere to take care of you then and there, but today was important to him.

You feel like you’re going to go crazy, but you still know you two have somewhere to be. So you make a selfish but measured choice, lightly tugging at one of Ino’s hands.

He takes it off the steering wheel once you’re off at your exit and back on the main roads, and starts to lace his fingers with yours, thinking that’s what you were after as you so often were. It’s not what’s on your mind at all, though, as you pull his hand between your legs, your fingers over his to guide them back into your needy hole.

“I need to cum.”

His shoulders slouch, and he looks over to you for a second before his eyes are back on the road, and his face broadcasts all of his momentary guilt. Like he’d been heartless to deny you and a fool to not realise he could provide just like this if he really tried. “Of course, baby, lemme take care of it.”

You move your hand from on top of his and loosely hold onto his forearm instead, hugging it like it made up for not being able to hug him right now. He pulls his fingers out for just a moment to caress your pussy, like a replacement for being able to rub your back in the embrace you were very much missing right now. You aren’t missing much for long though, as he slides his fingers back into your wetness and you squeeze your thighs together, trapping him there while he drives with one hand.

He bites his lip, glancing between you and the road with desperate eyes, like he was the one being edged and finally getting what he so badly needed. He’s skilled though, more than he’s often given credit for, so even as he keeps the car steady with one hand on the wheel, he fucks into your pussy with the other, fingers curling just right to leave you whining.

“Turn the radio off.”

You don’t expect the request, so it takes a minute for your brain to catch up.

“Please baby, I wanna hear it.”

It clicks then, so, with both of his hands busy, you reach forward to turn off the music playing, and both hear the sound that really moved Ino every single time. You’re soaked, squelching loudly around his fingers, and the way he sucks air in through his teeth from how much that sound does to him has you letting out a shameless moan, adding to both your feelings.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good when we get home baby, I promise.”

His words make you clench around his fingers, and his hand is tightening on the steering wheel. He’s always like this, and it always makes you just as desperate for him as he is for you, especially when his fingers are hooked inside of you, soaking his seats, tugging you back to that edge he’s pushed you towards several times before.

“Moan pretty for me? Please?” He has to hear it always, and you couldn’t dream of holding back for him so you do, loud and desperate.

It only makes his fingers move faster, palm slapping against your clit, elbow tapping at your heaving chest from the awkward angle his arm was at. You’re too far gone to hear the rest of his words as he asks you to cum for him, because you’re already there - stomach clenching, pussy pulsing, absolutely singing for him until you’re slouching back on the seat, rocking against his stilled fingers.

He pulls them out, turning into the parking lot of the restaurant with one hand, fingers still pressed to your entrance to feel you twitching for him one last time before his wet hand is back on the steering wheel so he can steer into a parking space.

You swallow hard, blinking as you take in that you’ve reached your destination. Ino takes off his seatbelt, leaning over to kiss you and look at your glowing face.

“I’ll get the towel, okay? Stay there.”

‘The Towel,’ regularly replaced in Ino’s trunk because this was far from the first time you’d made a little bit of a mess in his car and your boyfriend was nothing if not prepared for the whims the two of you often got caught up in. He tugs his shirt down over his erection as he gets out and grabs his towel from the trunk, handing it to you as he stands outside and stretches his legs, trying to make his dick soften yet again.

You glance at the time while you pat away the wetness on your thighs and then on his seat, before pulling your panties back up, and smile as you see you’re right on time.

[juminies]

in order to get to the heart

marriage of convenience, on occasion, is not so convenient.

♡ — jumin x original female character. small amounts of canon compliant jumin x reader, but mostly canon divergent (jumin is unhappily married prior to the start of the game). 1600 words. title from heartlines by florence + the machine.

They just say anything to each other these days.

“This façade drains me beyond comprehension,” Jumin confesses the minute he walks through the door. His fingers loop into the knot of his tie and pull it looser around his neck.

“So you say,” murmured half into a cushion tucked up to a woman’s chest as she types on her phone. “It’s not for our benefit though, is it?”

On some level, this is always how it was going to be for Jumin, he thinks. In a marriage stripped to its fragile bones. A sacrificial lamb for the sake of the corporation, for mutual social and financial gain.

He leans down to untie his shoes.

It would be untrue to say there weren’t veiled attempts, in the beginning, to love. When that didn’t work there were attempts to like. None successful, of course. Lately it’s becoming more difficult to believe this arrangement is better than any alternative. Between the two of them there is a lot of nothing.

The woman remains quiet—focused—but nods easily against the woven fabric she’s leaning into when Jumin asks, “Do you not get tired of coming home from work to find me occupying your space?”

He knows that in public they look good together. He knows that their careers slot together effortlessly. Despite what the media may suggest, however, they are human. Jumin included. The way he feels nothing for her does not match the way she feels nothing for him. The way she yells that he is robotic does not match the way he stoically calls her irresponsible.

They do not sleep together, or eat together, or do any of the romantic things Jumin wishes he hadn’t let himself privately indulge in the idea of. And it’s not that she’s not nice—she’s intelligent and beautiful and kind, when it suits her. Perfect on paper until she wasn’t. When she laughs with her chest Jumin can almost imagine a world where she smiles at him like she does others and it makes his heart weak. Part of him wishes, truly, that that was the case. In reality it feels like nothing.

It could be worse, he tells himself—repeats it like a mantra.

Concealed beneath it is fear. You could be like him. You could repeat his mistakes.

She throws her phone haphazardly onto the sofa beside her and looks up to where Jumin is standing in the doorway. He’s mostly backlit from the light in the hall, the lamp beside his wife barely grazing his features but lighting up hers in all the wrong ways. The orange glow casts unpleasant shadows over places she’s usually pretty. He should have the bulb changed to something less harsh.

“Not much we can do if you don’t want the press to kick up a huge fuss, sweetie,” she says.

The pet names are a jest he has learned to tune out.

“Will they not make a fuss over our divorce in three years’ time nonetheless?” Jumin asks. It’s hypothetical, of course. They will.

“Maybe we’ll have grown on each other by then.” Her tone is disinterested; feels almost mocking. Her phone chimes to let her know her driver is outside. “I’m going out. Shall I take my card or yours?”

“It makes little difference to me.” Jumin looks at his watch. It’s almost 10pm but he doesn’t ask where she’s going. A bar, perhaps.

“Could you adjust my necklace?”

She holds her hair up messily, and he does.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he tells her, then briefly wonders if she’ll meet someone tonight and sleep with them. He pictures her naked beneath a stranger. It feels like nothing.

She takes her own card and squeezes his bicep softly as she walks by him on the way out. She shuts the door more forcefully than is ever really necessary.

At some point Jumin suggests she move out of their—his—apartment and into the one directly below; just recently made vacant. He probably would have suggested it earlier had the apartment been available earlier, but their district of Seoul tends to be under high demand.

“I thought we agreed it was a bad idea to live separately,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question. They had done exactly that.

Jumin hums, tired. Tired from his trip and tired from trying and at some point, it seems, he has lost an indistinguishable part of himself to her for good.

“We did. Although I would say that that was long enough ago now for us both to have become quite aware that we do not do particularly well sharing the same space for considerable periods of time.”

“You’re gone a lot anyway. The place is big enough for us to avoid each other if needed, and I like it here.”

She exhales sharply; amused.

Jumin has no idea why until she adds, “More so when you’re not around, to be fair.” And that explains it, just about.

“Stay here when I am travelling if you must,” he tells her. Somewhere along the way his suggestion has morphed into more of an instruction.

“Fine. Don’t tell your father, though. Or mine.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They buy it outright in her name, the cost split fifty-fifty. Jumin tells her to keep it all when she sells it later. She tells him she won’t.

They argue tonight, as usual, about who will be chauffeuring them to a company gala. They had agreed that Jumin’s driver would take them only for her to assert for the hundredth time at the last minute that she doesn’t trust him, though she has not legitimately spoken to him more than once and he has been working for Jumin’s family longer than she has been alive.

It’ll cause a stir if the two of them show up separately so they end up in her car, as usual. Jumin apologises to Driver Kim via text for requesting him when he wasn’t needed on the way there, and they arrive late.

The venue reminds Jumin of the last RFA party. His wife had not attended despite her invitation, so it is not proper grounds for conversation. However, when they are out like this they are a happy couple like the legal drabble says, so he says it anyway—if just to appear interested in her.

“I’m sure this is nicer than your friends’ charity get togethers,” she replies lightheartedly, and they are called over by her father before Jumin can retaliate.

The façade stays firm for the remainder of the event. Jumin can easily distinguish her fake laugh from her real one, and he can tell when she forgets who he is for a moment and touches him a little more tenderly than either of them really mean.

They are silent on the drive home. They are silent in the elevator, until it stops one floor below Jumin’s penthouse. “Goodnight,” he says. “Sleep well.”

“You don’t have to say that, you know,” she counters, and smiles softly as the doors slide shut between them. “Not when it’s just me.”

Elizabeth the 3rd is snoring softly when he unlocks his door, and it is the only sound he can hear. He basks in the bliss of having nobody around when he is already so mentally exhausted, and takes out his phone to see it’s just after midnight and Yoosung has opened a chat room.

He enters it, multitasking as he changes his clothes and brushes his teeth. His cat patters into the room and jumps up beside him when he perches on the edge of his bed. She smells frustratingly like perfume and something oddly like guilt threatens Jumin with a dull blade.

Wait!! says Luciel. Think someone entered the chat room.

Jumin checks. There is a name on his screen he doesn’t recognise.

Odd.

Who are you? Identify yourself.

“Jumin. It’s me,” your voice is soft and bubbly; maybe a little nervous but still pleasant on his ears. An intriguing introduction. He almost finds himself chuckling.

Jumin moves the phone from his ear and glances down at your name again, just to be certain he’s not imagining things, then focuses in on the plainness of the wall in front of him.

“I hope you realise blurting out ‘It’s me’ is not a proper way to identify yourself to the person on the other end of the line.”

He had hesitated briefly before telling you he is married. Now he has known you for five days and whatever he’s feeling is somehow, ridiculously, already far greater than any emotion he has ever felt towards his wife.

He invites her out for dinner at their usual restaurant the following evening, and she tells him if he has something to discuss with her she would rather keep it simple. As an alternative he invites her to the penthouse and opens a bottle of wine he knows she likes. When she arrives her hair is tied up experimentally and she is wearing a new shade of lipstick. She surprises him when she actually accepts his offer to pour her a glass.

“I am going to talk with my father,” Jumin says, and she knows what he means. It’s only later that he will find out she had already brought it up with hers. “For what it’s worth, however, I apologise that it ended up like this.”

“Me too,” she agrees. Jumin notices the light catch a glassiness in her eyes as she continues, “If I could have loved you, I would have.”

She stays for a few hours and it is the most sincere time they have spent together in three years.

That night, Zen has a dream.

[chickadooz]

tl;dr I've made a new goal for a replacement laptop again because my current one sucks so much that it actually became a hindrance when we were recently threatened with evacuation from a nearby wildfire. While that was thankfully thwarted, it was a violent reminder that I really, really need a new one. You can support me by tipping me, buying digital photos from my Ko-fi shop, or in my INPRNT shop. Every little bit helps immensely, so even if you can only spare $1, I would really appreciate it. 🧡

The full post that I made on Ko-fi is under the cut. I'd really appreciate it if you read it all for full understanding of the situation.

It's been some months since I had to give up on my goal of saving up for a new laptop in order to buy new equipment and expand my horizons, but we're back here again because things are even more dire.

When I talk about how my current laptop is literally being held together with tape, I'm not kidding:

Without the tape, the monitor is slowly cracking and peeling apart. And it's been through the ringer with a lot of internal components including (but not limited to):

A RAM card slot dying, forcing me to get a new stick that combined the total RAM of the other two and pray the other slot never dies

Replacing the wifi card

Replacing the battery

And it has a whole host of other problems too, including some that just came pre-packaged with this specific model.

As well, recently having to pack all my belongings while anticipating an evacuation order due to a nearby out of control wildfire, I was really wishing I had a laptop in better condition. Because of the monitor/lid cracking and coming apart, I can't actually close it normally. It's permanently stuck in the open position because trying to close it will likely break it permanently. I can't fit it into a case, so it would've just been free-ballin' it in the car, at risk of even greater damage.

When I talk about replacing it, it doesn't come from greed or the need to have the hottest new tech every year. I take good care of my belongings, especially the more expensive ones like this, but unfortunately when you buy bargain bin stuff, well, that's what you get.

So I've brought back my goal for a replacement, and intend to cover the cost of the lens filter I want through selling some stuff on eBay that I no longer want. I've set the goal to $800 USD because that should be enough to get one that won't fall apart and can actually run stuff like Photoshop and Lightroom. Y'know, so I can stop editing stuff on my phone like a zoomer.

If you're interested in helping me achieve this goal, here are a number of ways you can help, along with sharing my posts, of course:

Leaving a tip on Ko-fi

Buying something from my Ko‑fi shop

Buying something from my INPRNT shop

Thanks for reading, and I appreciate any and all help I get. Everything I get to do is because of people like you. 🧡

[eds6ngel]

hi!! if you're currently taking requests, could you maybe write something with robin and reader where reader is very sick and robin takes it in her own hands to come over to their house and take care of them, just something very fluffy and sweet 🙏

hey!! of course i can do this! this is so sickeningly sweet, so i hope you enjoy <33

warnings: fem!reader. pet names. illness. r takes some pills. swearing. mentions of homophobia and lesbophobia. tooth-rotting fluff. comfort. just some cute domestic stuff [1.4k].

You woke up that morning with the most pounding headache of your life. Stirring awake from your slumber, you cough as the smell of your bedroom infects your lungs. A runny nose supports you, leaning over to grab a tissue from the box as you sneeze and blow your nose into it. It was safe to say that school was off the cards today.

Meanwhile across town, Robin was putting on her band practice uniform, the plaid blue shirt combined with white tie making it the most uncomfortable outfit known to man. But, nonetheless, she battled through it. After all, you claimed it was your favourite outfit on her, so she did it just for you. She would do anything for you.

However, twenty minutes into practice and you were a no-show, very odd for someone like you who was passionate about academics, that and the fact your parents were super strict. All hell would break loose if you told them Robin was your girlfriend. Even if you were straight, they would still ground you for apparently “prioritising” a love life at seventeen.

Robin’s foot tapped against the floor, the teacher even yelling at her a few times for messing up her notes. But, she couldn’t concentrate. What if you were seriously ill? What if you were dying?

So, as soon as that clock struck ten and the school bell rung, she shoved her instrument into her case, flying out of the classroom and heading out to the front of Hawkins High. She put her case on the floor, slotting her 25¢ into the machine and waiting for the receiver to be picked up.

You were currently surrounded by a million tissues, plenty scattered across your bed and more dotted across the floor where your lack of strength meant they were unsuccessful at being thrown in the trash can across your room. You were trying your best to relax, your eyes closed as the morning sun shone through your blinds.

You were rudely interrupted from your peaceful state by the sound of your pink phone ringing on your bedside table. You lean across and pick it up, having to scoot to the left so the cord could reach. “Hello?”

“Jesus, my love. Are you okay?”

You sigh at her voice, you forgot to even let Robin know of your ill state, the thought crossing your mind, the only two places you had alternated between were your bed and the toilet. A fit of coughs tickle your throat as you reply, “I’m fine Robs, just a tad sick, that’s all.”

“It sounds like more than just a tad,” she replies, worry lacing her tone. You continue coughing down the receiver as Robin makes a quick decision, “I’m coming over.”

“Babe, no, seriously I’m fine. You’ll have to catch a bus, plus… plus you’ll have to miss class. It really isn’t worth it,” you cough, “I’m sure I’ll be back on my feet by tomorrow.”

“Well, tough luck,” she says, “I’ve made a decision and Nurse Robin will over shortly.”

You don’t even get the chance to reply as the receiver was slammed down, knowing that Robin was most likely in a hurry to get to your house, and the fact that she probably didn’t want to spend extra money on the payphone.

Two hours later, you hear a faint knock on the door, although your body was not allowing you to move out of your comfy silken sheets. Robin always knocked, having to play pretend in case your parents were home. If she walked straight in with the bag of food, medicine and tissues she had tucked underneath her arm, the facade of friendship would be stripped back instantly, your parents weren’t idiots.

After waiting a little and knocking for the second time, she was met with more dead silence. Knowing the coast was clear, she opens the door, “Babe, you in here?”

“In my room, Robs,” you croak out.

You see the bedroom door slowly open, Robin appearing in her band outfit, your absolute favourite. She whines out with a frown on her face as she sees you all bundled up, your nose red raw as you kept coughing into the corner of your arm.

“You look beautiful baby,” you whisper out, Robin approaching you and putting her soft palm against your forehead, “Yeah, you’re burning up, my love. Good job Nurse Robin is here to aid you back to health, isn’t it?”

“You gonna keep calling yourself that?” you softly chuckle.

“Sorry,” she clears her throat, “The beautiful, spectacular girlfriend who is also known as Nurse Robin will aid you back to health. That better?”

You try to laugh, but are met with yet another coughing fit, Robin springing into action as she lifts your pillows up, lying you back against them, your body now sat upright.

“Firstly,” she begins, “I’m going to get you a fresh glass of water, as this looks like shit,” she says, lifting up your half-full glass from the previous night, little bits floating around in it. Disgusting.

“And then, you’re gonna take this Tylenol for me, okay?”

You nod, “Okay, thank you pretty girl.”

Robin beams at the nickname, “My pleasure,” placing a kiss on your forehead as she heads to your kitchen to re-fill your glass. Whilst she is there, she unpacks her grocery bag and takes out the can of tomato soup, grabbing a bowl from your cupboard and tipping the opened can into it, placing it in your microwave and warming it up for the required time.

Robin hears a creak in the floorboards as she turns around from taking the chocolate bar out of her bag, seeing you standing there all bunged up, a fluffy pink blanket wrapped around the entirety of you.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she softly coos, walking up to you, “What are you doing out here?”

“I heard the sound of the microwave, so I was wondering what you were up to,” you reply, almost toppling over from where the blanket was covering your feet, struggling to maintain your balance.

“I’m just warming up some soup I bought for you darling. Just, head back to bed, I’ll bring it all to you in five minutes, okay?” she asks, rubbing your arms softly through the blanket.

You cough again as you reply, “Okay,” heading back down the hallway and to your room.

Robin shakes her head, chuckling to herself as she mumbles, “Stubborn girl.”

Exactly five minutes later on the dot and Robin returns to your room holding a tray full of an array of items, her beginning to list them all off. “Okay, so obviously your soup is in the middle, I just got tomato as it’s plain and simple, easy to swallow and does the trick nicely. Glass of water, as I said. Tylenol is next to you on your beside table when you are ready. A Hershey’s bar, just in case you feel peckish, and a pack of tissues. I also bought some lemon and honey, I’ve heard that helps too, but they’re still in the grocery bag in case you want to give them a try.”

“Thank you ever so much Robs,” you say, taking the spoon and collecting some soup, blowing on it and letting the liquid slide down your throat, basking in the warm temperature. As you kept eating, Robin was there wiping your nose, the heat making it run like crazy.

Once you finished your soup, you took the Tylenol, struggling a little as you always do, them getting stuck at the back of your throat. But, you power through regardless, knowing that the sooner you took them, the quicker you would feel better.

“Robs?” you say, Robin humming as she looks at you lovingly, “Can I request one more thing?”

“Of course,” she softly replies, “Anything for you, my love.”

“Can we snuggle?” you shyly ask, knowing that without your parents home, this would be one of the rare opportunities that you got to do so.

She doesn’t verbalise her answer, instead wrapping herself in the same cocoon as you in the silken pink sheets, you leaning your head into her shoulder as you unwrap the Hershey’s bar. Robin places a soft kiss to your hairline as you hold up a square, asking, “Chocolate?” which she happily takes from you and bites into.

Despite being sick, basking in the domesticity was something you truly loved. And although you recovered from your cold two days later, the closeness meant you passed on the nasty bug to your girlfriend, allowing for you to give her the same treatment she had done for you. But, it was okay. You got to spend extra time with the girl you loved, and that was your favourite thing in the world.

thank you for reading!! this is so cute, i just can't :')

[herkonular]

TORONATA - DEVASA+ (2)

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[accio-victuuri]

CPN : Same phone case timeline 🗓️📱

just when i thought the posts i’m making on here to archive all the candies couldn’t get any weirder, this happens. lol. i have to say that the cpn about the phone case has really become more popular ( and notorious ) than i thought it would be. it just seemed so common to have the same plain-looking case as someone — but if you really look at the variables, you’ll notice that some things don’t add up.

this is all speculation/interpretation/opinion in the pov of a bxg. the timeline is real tho.

I decided to make this because it seems like what we know about it’s first appearance is all wrong. initially, this was noticed w/ ZZ @ Weibo TV & Movie awards then we kept our eye on it. However, recent “developments” show that it was earlier than that.

• A fan found a photo ( i won’t repost here cause it was sneakily taken at a public place ) of Bobo back in 6/2022 as well as 8/2022 where he was already using that phone case with a card slot. his phone case design in recent years ( late 21-23 ) has really been difficult to place since he rarely ( never ) takes mirror selfies anymore or even takes his phone out in public.

I found this additional timeline explanation that says WYB’s assistant during CQL was also using a phone card case at that time. We don’t know the connection or if he is still in close contact with WYB and they used the same one. In ZZ’s vlog from 8/22, he was only using a clear case. He changed his phone in September so that’s when the new phone card case was bought, and he got one ( allegedly ) for WYB so they can really match. The one he used in 6/22 was him ( wyb ) starting the “trend” of the phone card case and ZZ was not onboard yet.

• 9/2022 to early 10/22, I’m using this month here cause in 2/2023 we got the SBMS behind the scenes video. There is a scene there where ZZ shows something on his phone to BBH, he was using the phone case already. We just didn’t know. Filming for this drama was around late september so i’ll add it to the timeline.

• 11/29/2022 ZZ was spotted with the phone case during the WB TV & Movie night. At the time, we were just clowning that he was texting WYB 😂

• 11/30/22 WYB was photographed on his way to Wuzhen and he had his phone out for a moment. We caught what his phone case looks like and that it’s the same as ZZ’s.

• 12/6/22 GG was photographed at the airport and he had his phone in the open, which is unusual. like bobo, he doesn’t take it out especially at the airport, but it was like he was confirming something to those of us who pay attention.

• 1/22/23 WYB attends a roadshow for Wuming’s release and fans saw him seated very close to the screen and alone. You can see he had his phone on his lap and it looks like the phone card case. but again, it wasn’t clear. the cinema was dark. then he didn’t take it out again.

• After this, we see the phone case on ZZ’s side a couple or times especially in video out takes shared by XZS for his photoshoots + work related filming. At this point, it was already identified with him especially by his fans and those who follow him.

• 4/27 Gucci Cosmos, ZZ shares a photo where his phone case is visible and it doesn’t look like the same one. This seems like an outlier. I’m not sure if he used it to match his outfit ( which is gray ) Or if this is even his personal phone ( but i think it is ). We will have to wait and see for future glimpses of his phone to see if he changes back. I’m seeing this as more of an aesthetic switch to match the event.

• 5/11/23 WYB shares photos on IG and we finally get a clear picture of his phone case and that it is what we think it is.

• 5/12 All the talk started about Bobo deleting the photo and cpfs linking it to being about the couple phone case.

• 5/13 The topic of the same phone case went on HS and fans from all sides came out to give their explanation.

• 5/19/23 after all the “controversy” XZ studio still includes a clear photo of the phone case for their Euro Trip photos 📷 Showing that they don’t give af about all the issue surrounding it.

• 5/20 HZT ( the actor who plays LQR ) posts a douyin of the same style phone case and it’s — so suspicious 👁️👄👁️

AND WELL THE SAGA CONTINUES. I think this is not the last time we will see it or maybe it will morph into something more.

A few clowning points:

• You may see some discussion about wfs on wyb’s side knowing about this as early as june of last year but they never said anything. They probably saw us speculating about wyb’s phone case when they already know the truth. lol. I can’t say for sure that they are purposely hiding something, maybe they didn’t think it was important. but i can see the ones who keep an eye out on xz on their side probably just chose to keep quiet. turns out, cpfs are the last to know about candies. 😂😂😂😂

• @rainbowsky pointed out here how this type of case may not be typically used in CHN. All because the card slot is almost useless. The way they pay is by their phone. They don’t need a train ticket or whatever for transportation too cause they have private vehicles. It’s like they both or maybe one of them went to the apple store ( in person or online ) and they saw that — decided to get a couple case. I’m thinking this is ZZ. My CPN is this is connected to WYB’s sudden use of an apple watch. The watch is good to keep track of your health so maybe ZZ gave it to him and while he was there “shopping” decided to get a phone case too for them to match. just boyfriend things. ssssshhhhhh 🤫

• THIS IS NOT THEIR USUAL TYPE OF phone case. If you’ve been following them for some time or have seen their photos with their phones out, they usually go for the ones with a design on them. of course, the style is more on their preference. So this sleek and almost simple type of iphone case appears to be a compromise for both.

but like, the “simple” or low key design has been more ZZ’s style. that’s why cpn is he bought it for them.

examples below ⬇️⬇️⬇️

• In the past, they usually changed their phone case for a specific month or season. That’s why I think ZZ’s “change” last April was only for the event ( but i could be wrong ). But for the both of them, using the same one for one year ( guessing here but most likely this is how long ) is unusual. You could say they are too busy / the case is good so why change it / they don’t wanna use graphic cases anymore/ etc etc the list of reasoning can go on and on. but you can’t deny that it’s out of the ordinary.

I think it really helps laying things out like this so we can see what is happening behind the scenes. what are the outliers. what other possibilities are there. what fits or not. usually candies are simple and clear, but some are not and needs more time to take apart and make sense of. whether you believe this or not and take it as candy is all up to you. 🫶🏼

It’s another YIZHAN Mystery. 🕵️‍♀️

-END.

[beebopboom]

The Meta Underground

A Guide to Navigating what has been my brainrot posting about Good Omens

I apologize in advance for how long a lot of these are

feel free to message and asks are always open!!

non good omens related blog -> @boppinbee

Meta Series

The Bookshop

A Bookshop in Soho Eden - the bookshop is set up like a garden, hidden Tree of Life, rivers of time, and is the whole of Whickber St Eden?

The Book of Life to The Second Coming Pipeline - a couple of theories about the book of life, the rings, the fly, bookshop, and coffee

The Second…….Ball? - Gabriel’s arrival really did trigger the Second Coming - at least a version of it

The Title Sequence

Background Shenanigans - hints in the background of s1’s TS that lead to s2’s and what that might mean for our story.

Timeline Theory - those walkways are timelines

Heaven’s Timeline - a more in-depth look at how the walkways are Heaven’s planned timeline

Three Final Acts -the three magic tricks we see in the title sequence and what they might be in the show

Not the Magic Trick we see - initial findings for Three Final Acts

Mystery symbol - the ongoing search for a mystery symbol

The Metatron

The Angel Behind the Curtain - some wizard of oz parallels - we are just warming up people

Always an Angel, Never a Man - let’s dive into who he is in scripture shall we?

Am I a Good Angel? Am I a Mad Angel? - some similarities between him and the figure head of the devil

A Kind of Magic - numerology, tarot cards, and is he cosplaying?

Words of a Wise Angel - an actual look into his actions in the show and some of his funny word meanings

Agnes Nutter

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter - a list of all her prophecies and images I could find from her book

Messages from Above - is she a witch? is she a prophet? how about both? let’s look into how she is getting her prophecies

Refined by Fire

(unfinished)

Clothing

there will be more here eventually and has to be updated

Clothing within Ranks -Angel Clothes and what the colors mean in show!universe

Aziraphale’s tartan - how lighting seems to effect his bow tie

Theories

Greasy Johnson: A Red Herring? - season three speculation about how the baby swap included Jesus as well, Hello Warlock

Unexpected Help - Saraqael was the one who opened the gateway in the bookshop

Nuns Night Out - what are those nuns doing at the theatre?

A Case of Missing Weaponry - ever wondered where Michael’s spear is? boy do i have a crackpot theory for you.

Meta Groups

Aziraphale

Aziraphale’s Flaming Sword - the human history behind his sword

The Halo was the Cause - why the Halo was the reason the Metatron showed up

An early journey of questioning - it really doesn’t take him long

Aziraphale’s Protection - how he protects Crowley

Aziraphale’s unintentional? placement - Aziraphale standing to the left of Gabriel in Job

A lying Angel - lying to protect his love

Choosing Death- choosing death doesn’t work maybe it’s time for something else

Don’t try to be God - why Aziraphale got nervous in Before the Beginning

Crowley

Crowley’s Fall - he really didn’t mean to Fall

Anthony J Crowley - a self discovery through his name

Defensive Crowley - acknowledging the consequences of the arrangement

Crowley losing the bookshop - and he’s the only one to have

Crowley giving up Alpha Centauri - he gave away their safe space

Stars to Plants - she just wants to watch her creations grow ok

Crowley’s Ringtone - not quite a normal phone sound

It’s always too Late

The Ineffables

The apology routine - maybe there is more to it than the dance

They love humanity - just in different ways

A duet - it’s not a want but a need

Nothing - their versions of nothing

Power dynamic - “second in command” ok wow that hurt

Paranoia and Isolation - how the pandemic may have affected them

Difference of Perspective - how the audience vs characters view A&C

Timeline

The Flood changed it all - it really fucked them up

Future Minisode time slots - the gaps in time for possible future minisodes

Heaven

1827 Second Coming? -crowley and aziraphale unintentionally fucking things up

Metatron future manipulation - something he is going to “let” Aziraphale do in s3

Angel confrontation tactic - they really like trapping Aziraphale into conversations huh?

Wildcard

Dirty Donkey Lift - just questioning why the hell it is there

Cut dream sequence - whose is it?

Something up with fours? - discussing some fours in the show

Angels don’t dance - and they don’t ask for forgiveness

Freemasons lodge - duality of the Resurrectionist

No Garden? No God - they left the garden

Maggie’s Ugrency - picking apart her misspelling

Questioning the Coffee Shop - only two beings do it - Crowley and the Metatron

Slamming of the books - Jim says some interesting things when slamming two books together and what it could mean

If Gabriel can leave Heaven and be with Beelzebub, why can’t Aziraphale do the same with Crowley - more of a ramble than anything else

The Wicked Bible - the second printing error

ASAP - further look at the many asap’s around the coffee shop and how it plays into the final fifteen

Memory Returns - a (currently) three way visual parallel of when memories are returned

Acrostic Clues

fuck I have to reorganize this again

[sam-loves-seb]

weely tag wednesday

thanks for the tags @energievie @metalheadmickey @deedala !

which character from any media would you like to have as a father? jed bartlet (the west wing)

if money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have? probably just a cat tbh i'm not a big animal person (i think they're neat, i just don't really have the desire to own any of them)

what is your Chinese takeout order? pork fried rice and chicken fingers

what's your favourite emoji? this one: ✨

would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house? a home theater. a library would be sick but i read mostly ebooks so i think a theater would get more use out of me.

what childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly? Spongebob Squarepants. me and my sister used to watch this every single night with our dad when we were little, but if we wanted to stay up and watch it we had to be all ready for bed by the time it came on

what was your tumblr like when you first joined? it was a lot of reblogs of aesthetic photographs because it was 2012 and i was 14. not long after that tho it turned into a sebastian stan fan blog which is how i got my url, and over time that slowly morphed into the multi fandom madness you see today

what clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself? god i don't know, my closet is a little bit of everything because i always wanna try a new style when i see it. i honestly don't think i have an answer for this one, i really do love fashion and my style is constantly changing

if you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best? i have no idea. acotar maybe? solely because i've read those books so many times? yeah i guess i'll go with that

what is your favourite piece of art? café terrace at night

do you have a water bottle? what does it look like? i have a light blue wide mouth nalgene water bottle that is covered in stickers and has two friendship bracelets dangling from the cap strap. it's giving major camp counselor vibes.

what fanfic trope is a quiet fave? look, if i go on a quiet hunt for fics tagged aftercare every now and then, that is between me and god so shut the fuck up about it

do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it? nope. i don't have an office bag bc i wfh and on the weekends i absolutely despise carrying a purse. i have one of those phone cases with card slots on the back and it holds everything i could possibly need.

if you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be? sexually i think it'd have to be lip, but if i could platonically ship him with someone i think i'd pick fiona. idk i just think they'd get along better than anyone would think.

what is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did? friends to lovers kinda snuck up on me in my adulthood. i used to be very against it as a teen, but now that i'm grown and have actually seen the trope done well in fics and in media, it's one of my favorite tropes of all time.

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian? yes 100% absolutely and anyone who says otherwise is lying. (did we all see noel's s11 body? we saw the abs right? mans was ripped in the last season even tho the writers like, never showed it, and it is my personal mission to avenge this wrongdoing) i'm kidding about the lying part but yeah, he absolutely can still carry s11 ian, being able to lift his husband is the only reason he still goes to the gym

who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house? debbie. i think carl wanted it, but he already has a gun so he gave it to debbie instead.

tagging: @suchagallabitch @gallawitchxx @callivich @michellemisfit @iansw0rld and anyone else who wants to play !

[huilovc]

starter: open where: clean laundromat

well, this was embarrassing. rachel had piled all her clothes in the machine, inside-out and sorted by color, sprinkled in just the right amount of detergent, and now she stared at the device which refused to turn on.

it was obvious she'd never used one of these before, wasn't it? everyone else had come in, started the laundry, and left. and now she'd been here suspiciously long, clueless as to how to do this. she'd never used a laundromat before. there was a coin slot, but no one carries coins anymore. surely there's a way to use her card, or her phone... but where is it?

she took slow, deep breaths. she was just missing some obvious sign or something, right? the information would be somewhere on the walls, or the machines, or... she wouldn't need to ask for help. that would be the worst case scenario.