#i haven't written this year

[matchabot]

swordmaster fashion

[undressrehearsal]

dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?” 

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes. 

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?” 

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed. 

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.” 

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.” 

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.” 

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?” 

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?” 

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?” 

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?” 

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.” 

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?” 

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.” 

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in. 

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress. 

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?” 

You grinned. “$200.” 

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.” 

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.” 

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips. 

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling. 

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.” 

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.” 

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor. 

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?” 

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!” 

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.” 

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder. 

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone. 

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning. 

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away. 

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.” 

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you. 

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”) 

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you. 

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?” 

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-” 

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!” 

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-” 

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?” 

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?” 

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.” 

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?” 

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.” 

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing. 

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints. 

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.” 

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light. 

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies. 

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar. 

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own. 

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?” 

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands- 

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?” 

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited. 

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse. 

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk. 

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat. 

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed. 

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?” 

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.” 

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.” 

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic. 

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.” 

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else. 

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.” 

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.” 

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart. 

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there. 

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.” 

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.” 

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover. 

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer. 

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face. 

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth. 

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp. 

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest. 

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving? 

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.” 

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body. 

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue. 

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.” 

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone. 

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.” 

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin. 

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips. 

“What?” 

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no. 

“Truth,” you sighed. 

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?” 

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing. 

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs. 

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?” 

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips. 

And you decided to play her game. 

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes. 

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.” 

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.” 

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment? 

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue. 

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach. 

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.” 

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.” 

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple. 

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones. 

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease. 

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again. 

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.” 

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan. 

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye. 

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.” 

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission. 

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence? 

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them. 

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been. 

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs. 

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place. 

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….” 

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job. 

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-” 

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted. 

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-” 

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it. 

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs. 

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity. 

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple. 

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?” 

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?” 

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?” 

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.” 

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin. 

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again. 

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you. 

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.” 

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.” 

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?” 

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.” 

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?” 

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you. 

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.” 

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.” 

[rebrandedbard]

How does the great Sandpiper successfully smuggle 130 children out of the Nilfgaard-occupied territory of Hamm? With the power of a forgotten story, a traditional song, and a masterful lie.

A piece for my upcoming fic, The Piper of Hamm, based on The Pied Piper of Hamelin, next in my fairy tale series.

[thestarsofpines]

a little wip of a combination of prompts and AUs I've seen that I just had to give my own take on.

Damian was bored. He’d followed Father around for most of the night, listening absentmindedly to the trivial blabbering of rich socialites that tried to suck up to the prince of Gotham. He could only handle it for so long, patience quickly running out as a few shoved their own children his way, perhaps hoping the young heir would make a friend and create easier access to the Wayne wealth. Pitiful. 

The young teen stood off to the side of a polished dance floor that had couples mingling and swaying to the soft classical music playing. He’d picked up a drink and was sipping at it slowly, just to have something to do with his hands. He itched for something to do that wasn’t making small, meaningless talk.

He hears footsteps approaching, perhaps a bit heavier than intended, as if it was a warning for someone that they were approaching.

“Little Badger, we talked about this in great detail earlier, you are not to leave my sight-“

Just as a man moves to place a hand on Damian’s shoulder, the teen turns around and glares at the man. He takes in the details of the man quickly; older, likely mid forties if not older, gray hair pulled back into a low ponytail, vibrant blue eyes that at first are narrowed at him in perhaps annoyance before they turn wide with shock. The man recovers quickly, expression turning apologetic as he steps back.

“Oh-my most sincere apologies, I thought you were someone else!” He breathes out, and his expression shifts again to one of slight surprise as he takes in more of Damian’s features from the front. “My, you two do look quite alike.” He says easily, hand coming back to rest beside him before he places both his hands behind his back. “I do apologize again, young sir…?”

Bruce spots this interaction, politely ends the conversation he was in, and makes his way over to investigate. 

“Damian Wayne, my son.” Bruce slides up to the pair, standing easily at Damian’s right. “Vlad Masters, yes?”

Said man’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the easy recognition and at the fact that he could’ve accidentally torn into such an influential young man as he’d been planning to do to whoever he was looking for, but he recovers quickly again.

“Yes, I was just apologizing to your boy here, Mr. Wayne. It seems he has quite a lot of physical similarities to my godson.”

Damian remains silent, but nods in the direction of the billionaire. Something isn’t sitting right with him about Masters, but he can’t put it into words. He’ll allow Father to handle the situation, for the moment. 

“Oh? Why, that is quite interesting.” Bruce smiles, open and disarming. He places a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and gives a subtle squeeze. “What’s the young man’s name?”

“Daniel,” And the grip tightens ever so slightly. “He is the son of some old family friends who unfortunately cannot take care of him anymore, so I’ve become his legal guardian in their stead.”

“How kind, opening your house to a youth in need.” Bruce continues, pushing for more information. “From experience I know how hard that can be. Raising a teenager is no cakewalk that’s for sure.”

“Oh yes, I do recall hearing of your experiences with adoption; you’re up to four adoptions now, yes?” There’s a hint of something in Vlad’s eyes, likely aware of the information seeking nature of this conversation but unconcerned by it. Intriguing. “I can hardly claim to have such kindness, one fifteen year old is enough for me.”

Damian has to physically restrain his face from reacting. Perhaps this is another cloning situation. Perhaps this Vlad Masters should be higher on the priority list of people to investigate closely. 

“Oh, well I do believe I have taken up enough of your time, Mr. Wayne. I really must get looking for Daniel, as we do intend to leave soon.” Vlad holds out a hand to the two, smiling confidently. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.” 

Bruce takes it and shakes it politely; Damian’s following is more forced in its gentleness. Vlad Masters unsettles him and it is driving him mad that he cannot pinpoint why. 

“Enjoy the rest of the gala, Vlad Masters. Perhaps our paths will cross again soon.”

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[leave-her-a-tome]

For every note I'll write a page in my wip next year

[karizipan]

orv dump 5(?)

[solacium]

touch // aventurine

i think he would be like a cat. come to you for affection? not a chance in hell. but ok..... you know maybe lean his head on your shoulder while you're reading on the couch. maybe you shift to accommodate him, drape an arm across his shoulders, pull him in, almost absently. no sudden movements, you'll scare him off. and if you're just gentle enough, he might let you. might remain where he is, head on your shoulder, unmoving but for the rise and fall of his breathing. no searching hands, no reaching — but you can stroke his hair, softly, occasionally. twirl it around your finger idly, no tugging, not too much. it'll make him smile, on a good day, but only when you're not looking.

today, he just sighs. you don't ask how he is — some things can't be put into words, and that's not what his are for — but you can rest your head atop his, breathe along with him, arm around his shoulders firm and gentle. if you're attentive, you'll feel the way he slowly, reluctantly lets go of the tension in his body— the coil in the base of his skull, the taut line drawing his shoulders up imperceptibly. he'll learn to melt in your hands, one day, but you'll have to earn it. for now, this is enough. maybe you melt first, forget what you were paying attention to initially, feel the warm weight of him against your frame, the scent of him, the ebb and flow of his breath, slowing to match yours; his pulse, slowing to match yours. he's let you this close, he might fall asleep on you. if you notice, you'll put what you're looking at away and twine the fingers of your other hand with his. he won't know how to ask for it, but if he hasn't completely drifted off, he'll squeeze your hand, gently. sleep, you'll whisper, i'll be here. and he won't reply, but you'll feel him press closer, soften against the shape of you, drift away. you watch him for a moment, watch the fan of his light lashes against his cheek, and how his eyes flick beneath his lids with unseen dreams. if you fall asleep with him, you might catch him as you're waking, an uncharacteristic softness in his features, before he notices you've noticed. maybe if the time is right, he won't care that you have. but you won't speak of it. you'll both wake, and he'll interrupt the moment, eventually, rise from the couch, put the mask back on, but the sweetness of it will linger, barely perceptible, only to you.

[monstrousvoice]

"What about me?"

Husk's ears flicked behind him at the sound of your voice. He didn't turn away from the stock of bottles and booze lining the bar wall as he cleaned up for the morning.

"What about you?" He grumbled. He heard you shift around on the bar stool, the leather seat squeaking with your weight.

"You said you 'know everything' about everyone cause we all bitch at you when drunk...but you didn't complain about me." The cat demon felt his chest tighten at your words. He took a deep breath in through the nose.

'Don't turn around, if you do you'll see those big round eyes and you'll crack old man. Don't turn around.' The patronizing voice in his head hissed.

"Did you want me to air your dirty laundry for everyone?" He asked, peaking over his shoulder. He only caught a glimpse of your arm supporting you on the bar top before forcing his eyes back to the bottle racks infront of him. Bottles that didn't have your smile, or match the color of your eyes...

"Pfft," You scoff in return, "You know I don't, of course! But no one else wanted it either, and you still called 'em all out. So why didn't I get the same treatment?" Your voice was soft by the end of your question. Husk didn't dare let himself hope that you would be understanding. If you knew why...you'd laugh. What other response to his feelings could you have?

'Disgust is a strong possibility...' The voice whispered once more.

"I don't know what you mean doll, Angel just interrupted me with his fake ass flirting before I could get to you, I guess." He has been scrubbing this same bottle clean since you sat down. The label was incomprehensible by now.

"Husk." Your sweet voice has gone firm. The bartender braced himself, putting on his best poker face as he turned to face you.

And what a sight you were. Like always.

You simply raised your eyebrows, giving him a pointed look. He was...relieved? to not see judgement in your eyes. Such pretty eyes...like jewels on a crown...

Embarrassed by his own thoughts he coughed into his fist, hoping his fur would hide his blush. By the way your lovely eyes darted around his face, he could guess it didn't.

"Look, I just...happen to like you as a drinking buddy more than the rest of these chumps, alright? No big deal." His tail swished along the floor in frustration. What kind of stupid ass lie was that-

"Oh, I had been hoping it was a bigger deal..."

He froze, watching as you shifted around again. You stared at the bar top, fidgeting with your hands as you looked anywhere but him. When your eyes did meet, you have him an apologetic smile and a shrug.

"Sorry, I guess I was reading too much into things...looking for something that isn't there. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, b-bud? Eheh..." With an awkward chuckle you stood up, stepping away from the bar.

Away from him.

"I'll uh, leave you to it then. See ya later-"

"What if I lied?" Husk blurted before he could stop himself. The voice in his head was committing full arson on the wiring of his brain for being so stupid.

"H-huh?"

"Just now. What if I was lying? What if-what if you are a bigger deal to me?" He could feel his blood pounding in his veins, his heartbeat making everything sound muffled, like his head was stuffed with cotton.

But you weren't leaving anymore.

"Wh-well...I don't know, really..." You mumbled, arms wrapping around your middle in a hug. "I have some ideas but..." You met his gaze again, a small smile on your lips that definitely didn't make his stomach feel funny, or make the world seem pink and bright.

"Ideas?" The cat demon whispered, finally setting his rag and bottle down onto the counter. He suddenly found himself leaning closer to you over the bar, uncaring of the wood digging into his chest and unwilling to pull away again. Especially not when you got back into your seat, leaning closer to him too.

It felt like the world slowed to a crawl as you smiled at him, one of your hands sliding across the counter to nudge his hand. Gentle. Hesitant.

"Well, dinner always sounds nice yeah? If that was something you'd like to do~" You cooed. He couldn't stop the small smile he gave you even if he wanted to.

"I'd uh, have to agree. On the dinner. Dinner is always good." Fucking god above just have Alastor step in and crush his soul right now, he sounds so fucking idiotic-

"Great!" You perked up immediately. "I know this niche little place a couple blocks from here, they hardly ever get robbed cause no one notices them. They have some pretty good steak and whiskey." You looked at him hopefully, like the promise of meat with some quality whiskey wasn't his absolute dream date.

How did you get more perfect the longer he spoke to you? Wasn't the point of being perfect that you couldn't improve anymore? And yet here you were, somehow proving it was possible with no effort.

"I think I'd like that darlin'." His fingers found their way in-between yours, entwining your hands together.

Yeah, dinner sounded real nice.

[hedgehog-moss]

My top 10 nonfiction reads of 2023 (the asterisked ones are in French with no translation as of yet) :

Belle Greene, Alexandra Lapierre

The Indomitable Marie-Antoinette, Simone Bertière

Reporter: A Memoir, Seymour Hersh

Red Carpet: Hollywood, China and the Global Battle for Cultural Supremacy, Erich Schwartzel

Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty, Patrick Keefe

Servir les riches, Alizée Delpierre*

La Comtesse Greffulhe : L’ombre des Guermantes, Laure Hillerin*

Le Courage de la nuance, Jean Birnbaum*

The Book Collectors of Daraya, Delphine Minoui

Flowers of Fire: The Inside Story of South Korea's Feminist Movement, Hawon Jung

[mychemicalrachel]

Full disclosure, I have not seen the Teen Wolf movie and no I do not plan on it. I have caught a few things through the magic of tumblr and I had some thoughts. So if everything I saw is accurate; Derek has a kid Eli (basically a Stiles replacement since Dylan wasn’t in the movie. Also, nobody knows who his mother is?) and Derek dies, and he leaves his kid to Scott and Allison. Am I right so far? I’ve seen a few posts entertaining the idea of Stiles being Eli’s other dad, fix-its that have him resurrecting/saving Derek in some capacity. And so it got me thinking of my own version of how I would fix this dumpster fire and like,

What if Stiles was not Eli’s dad?

No no no, hear me out, okay?

Derek had Eli with some one night stand or whatever, it’s not important. She’s not in the picture but neither is Stiles. Stiles is just the one that got away, he’s the guy Derek has been pining over for the past fifteen years, and nothing more. Stiles finally got away from the supernatural shitshow and Derek is not going to be the one to drag him back into it just because he has feelings for him.

But Stiles is still the closest thing Derek has ever had to family and it makes sense for Derek to entrust his family with Stiles’ family. So what if he left Eli in the care of John? (hIS NAME IS JOHN, FIGHT ME ON THIS.) And John, he kind of adores the kid, right? Of course when Derek dies (because he does) John takes Eli in just as he promised he would.

But John is getting older. Eli is a handful because he is just like Stiles. John has to tell Stiles eventually what happened and he really could use some help trying to wrangle a grieving teenager, so he calls Stiles.

Stiles is FURIOUS when he finds out what happened. He hasn’t been in contact with Scott for years because he realized what a piece of shit Scott was, but the fact that Scott didn’t even call when everything was happening makes him angry. The fact that they let Derek die?? More than angry. Angry enough to kill somebody. But when he meets Eli, all that anger disappears. Eli, who is this weird mix of Derek and Stiles, who is mourning the loss of his only parent, his only family. He knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but even after his mom died, he always had his dad. Eli doesn’t have that so Stiles makes it his responsibility to become that figure for him. Not his dad because nobody could replace Derek, but a guardian.

He moves back to town, he bonds with Eli, and in his spare time he maybe starts to explore the possibilities of necromancy. Death in a place like Beacon Hills has never been permanent– Peter and now Allison are proof of that. He doesn’t tell anybody because he doesn’t actually plan on bringing Derek back, it’s just a thought that keeps him from falling apart entirely. During this time, he realizes not only his feelings for Derek, but Derek’s feelings for him. He wishes he could have just a few minutes with Derek, wishes he could go back in time and redo everything. Maybe he would have stayed in Beacon Hills, or he would have asked Derek to leave with him. And time travel, yeah that’s a possibility, too, but time is a fickle bitch and Stiles isn’t willing to gamble with it. What if he messes something up and erases Eli from existence?

In the end, bringing Derek back is kind of an accident.

Years have passed and Eli is healing, Stiles is healing– they even manage to fix the jeep together because symbolism. Stiles is going through some old journals or something of Deaton’s and he finds something that looks kind of promising (something about true love being the one thing more powerful than death or something equally as cheesy) and he’s reading it out loud and it just happens. No fanfare, no sparks, almost like it’s not magic at all. One second, Stiles is alone, and the next, Derek is there– older than the last time Stiles saw him, just as beautiful. There’s some panic because what the fuck, the last thing Derek remembers is the fire and being so sure he was going to die and thinking if only I could see Stiles one more time and now he’s here, standing in front of Stiles– also older than the last time Derek saw him, and just as beautiful. But after the panic, there’s some kissing and some crying and some long awaited love confessions, and by the time they go home, Stiles still isn’t sure exactly what happened, what he did, what the consequences might be, but he’s got his arm around Derek’s waist and the burn of Derek’s stubble on his lips and Derek is alive so nothing else fucking matters.

[temeyes]

i'm a shadow, i am cold and now i seek for warmth

[osamusriceballs]

One week

Bokuto x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW

Words: ~ 1,7 k

About: Just Bokuto missing you so, so much. And kinda cumming too fast.

It's been a week.

Only one short week of you being apart.

You remember how you held Bokuto's face in your hands and told him that you'll miss him—and how he adorably pouted and told you that he'd miss you more and win this game for you and make you proud.

You had smiled and told him that you're always proud of him, and he had simply wrapped his arms tightly around you and kissed you goodbye.

It's been a week since that moment, and now you've been anxiously waiting for him to come back.

He did win the game. For you, baby, as he had proudly reassured you on the phone, telling you that he'll make sure to take the next flight to visit you—and you know he will come home any second.

A rustling noise of keys makes your ears perk up, and after a few moments that seem like forever, you finally see him.

Koutarou.

"Y/n!" His energetic voice echoes through your whole apartment, and you barely manage to get up before he already makes his way towards you and wraps his big arms around you.

"Baby, I missed you so much. So, so much." He emphasizes every word by pressing kisses against your cheeks, your lips—everywhere he could reach, his full lips feeling soft against your skin, just like you're used to remembering his touch.

"I've missed you too, Kou." You smile and press yourself closer to him, not leaving any distance between your bodies now. He instantly responds with his hands coming from your back to your hips, holding your body in a firm grip. You look up at him, noticing how intently he's suddenly looking at you. You squirm in his hold, a sudden feeling of want and need rushing through your body—oh, how you've missed his touch too during the past week. He seems to feel the same, his hands roaming around your body, wandering up on your shoulders, and resting on your ass cheeks finally, gently squeezing the soft flesh.

"Baby, can we... can we go to the bedroom, maybe?"

Your heart stops for a second, your body already tingling with slowly building anticipation. As much as you want to talk to him, you also want to be close to him- and, oh, how much you crave his touch now.

"Please." You tilt your face upwards and press your lips against his—in a deep and intense kiss, hoping to feel the same hunger from him, and he is quick to push his tongue into your mouth, turning the kiss into a messy tangle of tongues, lips molding against each other, and bodies pressing hardly against each other. His hands move from your ass to your thighs, and it only takes him one firm movement to grab them and wrap them around his waist. You grab his shoulders and bury your hand in his hair, enjoying the feeling of his soft fluffy hair, slightly pulling on the strands because you know the effect this has on him. He groans into the kiss, blindly stumbling in the direction of the bedroom, not paying too much focus on anything else besides you. You mentally bless his reflexes and strength for saving you both from falling when he stumbles against his bag that he had left on the ground, and he slightly pulls back to focus on the way, walking into your shared bedroom with a few hasty steps.

His grip on your thighs tightens when you rake your nails against his chest, feeling his muscles under the black shirt, your breathing pattern irregular when he finally reaches the bed and stops. An excited grin is displayed on his face when he turns to sit on the bed, the motion effectively placing you right on his lap. His hands leave their place on your thighs and wander under your shirt, feeling the warm skin of your stomach, grazing against your ribs, causing a whine to leave your lips while you involuntarily try to close your legs—a futile attempt when his thighs both rest between yours.

"Baby, I missed your body, missed touching you like this." He breathes out when he roams his hands against your bare skin, feeling you everywhere within his reach. "Kou, please touch me." You know that you sound whiny, that he is already touching you, but you just need more of him—you want to feel him everywhere.

"I am, I am, already touching you. What do you need, baby? I'll give it to you." One hand comes up from under your shirt and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are full of love and affection, a dark need lingering behind these pure emotions. That's the Koutarou you've been missing for so long—

"Want to feel you. Want everything." You mumble, knowing that he will take care of you so good—he always does. And he immediately nods and leans back to pull his shirt over his head, effectively leaving his upper body bare—and god, the smooth sun-kissed skin covering his muscular body makes your cheeks burn and flush. You push against his shoulders, and he gets the hint and rests his back on the bed, waiting for you to join him. And you're quick to lean down, still sitting straight on his crotch that you feel hardening with every shift of your body, and you start to kiss down on his neck, making your way down to his collarbones and chest. "Baby—" his voice has turned darker, more needy, and he throws his head back into the pillow when you lick and bite the skin on your way to his prominent v-line and to his dark happy trail right above his boxers.

"Baby—" a loud whimper leaves his lips, and he suddenly bucks his hips almost to your face. You lift your head and look up at him, his chest heaving heavily, and he suddenly sits up and leans down to kiss you intensely.

"Wanna feel you, baby. Please let me." He gently grabs your arms, and now it's your turn to lay on your back, and he gently pulls your shirt up to expose your chest. Your hands fist the sheets underneath as he pushes your bra to the side, and his head instantly leans down to kiss the valley between your tits. "Kou—" a gasp leaves you at his eagerness when he leaves messy, wet kisses against your body, but his hands already fumble with your pants. Bokuto helps you shed yourself out of your pants, and your panties are quick to follow.

You barely register how he undresses himself; in the next second, he's already hovering over you again and gasping your name against your neck.

"Y/n—missed you so much, baby," his voice right next to your ear makes you shiver in anticipation and you know he won't make you wait any longer. You arch further into him and push your hips against his, until you feel his bulge against your stomach. He grinds against you, the hardness of his cock pressing against you, and you slowly bring your hands down his back to bring your hand between your bodies to his cock, but he is quick to stop you when he realizes what you're about to do. "Can I—put it in already? Wanna feel your warmth, wanna be buried in your pussy." A shiver runs down his body, and you nod with a breathy whine when he lines up at your entrance.

So full. Only the head of his cock nudged between your legs, and you already feel full. He slowly inches deeper, the stretch delicious and welcome, especially since you haven't seen him for quite some time, and your body is overwhelmed with sensations and feelings. "Kou—"

"It's okay, baby. It's okay. I'm here." He keeps eye contact as he pushes deeper, but you can see him struggling as well, with his breath shallow and fast and his face blissed out.

He moans loudly for you when you clench around him, the sound unrestricted and loud in the room, and you tug on his silvery-white strands as a response. His moan changes to a whimper, a cute needy sound coming from this big, beefy man, and he finally allows his hips to move, to feel your warmth and wetness. You know you're already dripping for him, making his cock wet, and the lubrication makes him easily glide in and out of you. The first few thrusts start steady and slow, but the whimpering sounds won't stop coming from his lips, a few beads of sweat running down his forehead while he slowly ruts his hips against yours. "Baby—I'm sorry—" he gasps and presses his head against your neck. "Can't fuck you- like I want to—'s too much, missed you too much—" his hips suddenly stutter, and his body tenses on top of yours, and you feel him cumming, the warmth filling you up and making you feel so good while he cums and cums, throaty moans escaping his lips along an incoherent mixture of your name and prayers.

His body finally goes limp above yours, his massive weight caging you underneath, and you gently rake your nails against his back and caress the smooth skin under your fingers.

You stay like that for a few seconds, only your rapid breaths filling the room, until he tenses and sits up a bit to look at your face.

"Baby—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cum so fast," another whimper leaves his lips when his softening cock slips from your pussy, and his cum starts leaking out from you. It's a lot. You felt him cumming before, and you know that he usually cums quite a lot- but the amount that's starting to leak from you now is insane.

"Kou—you came so much. All for me?" You ask and bring your hand to his cheek, only for him to lean into your touch. "All for you, baby. Haven't touched myself since I last saw you. Wanna give you everything, always."

He brings his lips down to yours and connects them in a deep kiss, his body slightly trembling from having just finished. He pulls back eventually with a look of sadness on his handsome face, and you know that he is disappointed in himself. "You didn't finish, baby. I want to make you feel good too." Your heart swells with affection at his words, and you smile at him with hearts in your eyes probably.

"It's fine. I'm feeling really good already."

"Y/n, baby." He smiles when he says your name and fully lifts his body, his prominent muscles on his chest and arms all showing when he leans back and looks down at you. "You know that I can give much more than that." He grins, the sweet playful grin that you love so much on him, and he leans down to kiss down on your body, his hands holding your waist and pressing you down to the sheets, and you know exactly what he's up to.

"Now, I'll make you feel really, really good, baby."

[writeouswriter]

The curse has lifted (finally wrote more than like 10 words on something)

[uncanny-tranny]

Genuinely, doing things "half-assed" or for a short period of time is generally better than never having done it in the first place.

Writing one sentence is better than none. A minute of brushing your teeth is better than zero minutes. Answering two questions for a homework assignment is better than answering none.

The overwhelming mountain of things can be done peacemeal. You do not have to do it all at once. It is okay to take life in whatever amount you can. The point is to allow yourself the grace to be.

[yikesharringrove]

steve being absolutely whipped for steve is my favorite thing ever. like ok what if they were friends and billy likes steve, and steve's oblivious to it but billy will drop whatever he's doing to make steve's like a the tiniest bit easier and it's so cute

It all starts with homework.

Homework Steve dropped on the floor in the hallway, to be more specific.

He fucking tripped and his shit went everywhere, and he was scrambling to pick it all up, when he noticed another pair of hands shuffling with his papers.

“Thanks, Hargrove,” he muttered.

“Most of these are wrong.” Steve snatched the math worksheet out of his hands, his face hot as he stuffed it in his backpack.

He tried to push past the absolutely solid wall that was Billy Hargrove, but the other boy kept blocking him.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

It was a fucking lie. He knew he’d gotten most of the problems wrong. They were working on some weird formula that had to do with area, or volume, or something like that. And Steve really didn’t understand it.

But he didn’t want any help from fucking Hargrove, who would just spread it around the school that Steve Harrington is in remedial geometry as a senior.

But Hargrove had reached into Steve's backpack, and yanked out the assignment, using the pencil he had stored behind his ear to erase Steve’s shitty work.

“All you have to do is multiply the length by the width by the height. And that’s volume.”

Steve had added those three values and then cubed them. It had taken him hours.

“I know.”

Billy gave him a scathing look.

“Meet me in the library at lunch, and we’ll fix it.”

-

Steve wasn’t actually expecting Billy to be there, but he was. And they fixed Steve’s math.

And he got an A on the homework, his first one all year.

So it became a thing. They’d do Steve’s math homework at lunch together. And Billy would walk him through the tough problems, and clap him on the back when he got something by himself.

His teacher noticed his progress, and congratulated him on it.

“I got a tutor,” he told her.

They were studying on some random Thursday together, Billy with his nose in some worn-out novel, periodically peeking over the pages to take a look at Steve's math homework.

He was doing much better, and now Billy only had to silently point to an incorrect answer for Steve to go back and fix it.

Steve's stomach rumbled, breaking the silence,

"Jesus, Harrington. I think your stomach is trying to eat itself."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he smiled at Billy.

"Seriously, just eat lunch."

There technically was a rule against food in the library, but the librarian liked Billy, and tended to turn a blind eye to whatever he was doing at his usual back table.

Steve checked his watch.

"I'll just grab something later. I need to finish this."

He kept working on his math. His stomach growled again.

Billy sighed.

He dug into his bag, pulling out the crumpled brown paper bag Susan has passed him in the morning. She always made him lunch after a rough night with his dad.

Consolation prize, he guesses.

He pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, placing one half on Steve's open textbook.

Steve looked at him with round eyes.

"Nah dude, that's your lunch. I can get something after school."

"Like hell. Just eat the sandwich, Harrington."

Steve scarfed the first half like a small animal, and Billy glared at him until he had the second half.

He'll be okay, he can just sneak some food at home before his dad gets back from work.

-

"Harrington! How many times," Coach yelled from the sidelines. "You're leaving yourself too open!"

Steve was breathing hard, sprinting down the court after being bowled over by one of the guys on the other team.

It was deafening in the gym, the stands packed full.

Steve was playing like shit. The other team was dogging him, stealing the ball from him, blocking his every move.

He was point guard to Billy's shooting guard.

Billy yanked him by the back of the jersey, pulling him back to mutter in his ear.

Steve nodded once.

It was a good play, a simple pick and roll.

The other team scored, and Billy nodded at Steve.

They brought it down the court, and Billy made eye contact with Steve as he moved to set a pick on the asshole guard that kept knocking Steve down.

Steve moved, sprinting to the basket to finally make a fucking shot.

As he moved, the guard followed, but there was Billy.

They collided hard, and Billy got knocked flat on his ass.

His head cracked against the wooden floor, and he saw stars for a second.

He was fucking pleased as punch to see the other guard flat on his back, too. Looking as dazed as Billy felt.

There was a hand in front of his face, and he took it, allowing Steve to bring him to his feet, a look of concern in his big eyes.

"You okay, dude?"

"You score?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm fine." He clapped Steve on the shoulder, jogging back to get in the game, shaking off the dizzy spell.

-

Billy paid no mind to the phone ringing.

He was sat at the kitchen table, finishing up his chemistry homework.

Sometimes he and Max did homework at the kitchen table together. Neil would give approving looks when he walked by if he saw Billy helping her with something she pretended not to understand.

"Hargrove residence." Neil was the only one who answered the phone that way. The rest of them said Hargrove-Mayfield.

Billy tightened his grip on his pencil.

He could feel his dad's eyes on the back of his head, standing straight against the wall where the phone was mounted.

"Yes, he is here."

Fuck.

What could Billy have done now? He's been a model fucking citizen for the past week.

And no one can trace that fucking fire under the bleachers back to him. Besides, he put it out before anything could really get burned.

"Billy, the phone's for you."

At least if he was in trouble, the person wouldn't be asking to speak with him.

Billy stood up, ignoring Max's questioning look.

Billy took the phone, not making eye contact with his dad.

"Hey! Sorry, I know this is weird, but I got your phone number from Max a little while ago, and I know usually we just study during school, but I am so fucking confused on this assignment. And I'll pay you! I'll even order food if you want to come over to help me. Oh! This is Steve by the way."

As if Billy wouldn't recognize his rambling.

"Um, sure. I can help you." He looked at his dad. "And no need to pay me."

"Just try to get out of here without any money. I dare you. So, can you come over? Tonight? This is due tomorrow."

Billy wasn't supposed to leave on school nights.

"Can you give me a second? Please?" He didn't wait for Steve to respond, he just lowered the phone.

"Dad," he started.

"How long have you been tutoring that Harrington boy?" Neil's voice was unreadable.

"A few weeks. Mostly at school. He needs some help tonight, and uh, offered to pay me if I come by his place."

"And you said you didn't want to be paid?"

"Yes, sir."

Billy tried his very best not to flinch when his dad patted him on the shoulder.

"That's good. Rubbing elbows with the Harrigntons. I was wondering why they didn't press charges when you beat that boy to a pulp."

Billy fucking hated when Neil brought that shit up.

It wasn't his fault he has a hard time controlling his rage. If anything, it's Neil's fault for slapping him around before sending him on an errand.

Steve just happened to kinda get in the way.

But Billy apologized, and Steve said he got over it, and clearly he did, if he's inviting Billy over to his house to work on his homework.

He raised the phone back up to his ear.

"Sure, I can help you. But I can't be out late. It's a school night."

Neil nodded approvingly, and Billy flipped him the bird the second he turned his back.

"Yeah, whatever. The front door's unlocked, just come upstairs when you're here."

Steve didn't even wait for a reply before he ended the call, and Billy quietly placed the phone back on the receiver.

He cleaned up his own homework, and took his bag with him.

"Billy," his dad said as he was halfway out the back door. "Curfew's at 8:30. And I'll be locking the door."

"Yes, sir."

-

Harrington's house is fuckin' huge.

Billy should've expected it, with Steve's family being as well connected as they were.

He let himself into the house, as Steve had told him to do, and was immediately met with a slight woman, staring at him like he'd just walked uninvited into her home.

"Uh," he said. Why the fuck would Steve tell him to just come in? "I'm Billy? Billy Hargrove. Steve's tutor."

And then her face brightened, and holy shit, Steve looks exactly like his mom.

"He is upstairs, I'll show you." She waved him to follow behind her and she took off up the stairs.

Billy scrambled to kick his boots off and raced after her.

She was lean like Steve, with long legs and insanely thick,dark brown hair that went clear down to her ass.

(Steve even kinda has his mom's perfect ass.)

She knocked on the door to Steve's room, even though it was slightly ajar, and let herself in.

Steve was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, all curled up and sitting cross-legged on his chair.

"Tesoro, il tuo amico è qui."

Steve turned, and he fucking beamed at Billy.

"Grazie, Mamma." He waved Billy over in the same motion his mother had done downstairs.

Billy felt awkward in the room, and his face felt hot, and his palms were sweaty.

"Avete bisogno di qualcosa?" She asked, and holy shit, how has it taken Billy this long to realize that Steve and his mother were not even speaking fucking English to one another.

He knew he was staring.

"No, grazie."

She smiled again at Billy as she left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Damn, your mom's hot," was all Billy could think to say.

Luckily, it worked. Steve rolled his eyes, turning back to his work and shaking his head. But Billy could see a tiny smile on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't start that shit and just help me with this, okay?"

Billy peered over his shoulder.

Steve was working on an English assignment, the same one Billy had completed last week.

It was a questionnaire about the Shakespeare play they had read in class, Othello.

Billy knew it was grueling, fifty multiple choice, ten matching, and three essay questions.

He had the book open text to him, and there had been lines and passages highlighted and annotated.

"This shit was nasty. I did it last week."

Steve scrunched his brows up at Billy.

"You're in English 12? How? You're a junior?"

Billy shrugged.

"That's just what I tested into when I moved here. I was on a fast track in California." Yeah, he would've probably gotten to graduate a semester early, if they had stayed.

"Okay, well, then you can help me. Because I can barely read as it is, and this stupid Shakespeare stuff just doesn't even make sense."

He put his head down on his desk, leaning his forehead against the questionnaire and groaning loudly.

"It's like another language. You have to learn to translate it. I mean, you and your mom were speakin' something, so you know how to do this."

"Yeah, and that's kinda the problem." Steve sat up, looking at Billy. Billy moved to sit on the corner of his desk. "My mom's from Italy, and I didn't even speak English until I was like, six. Regular English has never made sense to me, and then they give us this shit." He flipped the book closed harshly.

Billy had to bite his tongue, because the only thing he could think to say was you sure do talk a lot for someone who allegedly doesn't understand English. But he didn't really wanna be a dick right now.

"Okay. Here's what will do. We'll answer as many questions as you can. Once we get to the ones about specific passages, I'll read them in plain terms, and you'll be fine, okay?"

Steve nodded glumly, but he picked up his pencil.

"Okay, dude. You can definitely answer this first question."

Question one: Who wrote Othello.

Steve circled the correct answer and Billy pat him on the head. Steve glared at him playfully.

They went through the questions.

Some were easy, and clearly all Steve needed was a cheerleader, because he circled the correct ones right away.

But then, some were fucking difficult.

"Okay, question 36: What is the significance of Othello's handkerchief?"

Steve flipped through the book desperately.

"What fucking handkerchief?"

-

It was a little past eight, and Steve was just barely halfway through the packet.

He was clearly trying not to get frustrated, as he came across harder and harder questions, understanding less and less.

"So, in the passage, Iago is basically trying to turn Othello against Desdemona. He's saying that if she deceived her father, she would deceive Othello."

"But, I don't get why she lied to her dad. Like, what was the lie?"

"He didn't want her to get married to Othello, but she did anyway."

Steve just looked desperately at Billy.

"So, she did cheat on Othello? And Iago is telling him about it?"

"No, she didn't Iago is trying to fuck with Othello."

"Wait, so Desdemona did nothing wrong, and then Othello still kills her?" He looked incredulous.

"Yeah, man. It's Shakespeare. In the tragedies, everyone dies. In the comedies, everyone fucks."

"Why?"

"Because it was Elizabethan England, and everyone was fucking and dying, and half of these stories are based on the Greek plays that came before, in which everyone just fucked and died."

"I wish my life was like that. I just wanna fuck. And then die." Steve put his pencil down, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry, man. That I dragged you here to help me with this. I'm just fucking dumb."

Billy smacked Steve in the back of the head, and he yelped, glaring at Billy and rubbing the spot where Billy had merely tapped him.

"You're not stupid. This is hard. Now, let's keep going. This isn't gonna finish itself."

-

Billy ended up finally leaving Steve's close to ten.

His mom thanked him for helping Steve, and shoved a wad of cash in his hand that Billy felt too awkward to count until he had parked in his spot behind his house.

Jesus Christ, she gave him fifty bucks.

He put it with the rest of his stash, in the locked glove compartment, and wiggled into the back seat.

He doesn't doubt that his dad had locked the house promptly at curfew. He doesn't doubt that he was gonna get his shit rocked tomorrow after school when he showed up back at home.

But Steve had finished his assignment, and had flung his arms around Billy when it was finally over, and it's okay. Billy can take a few smacks.

-

"Hey!"

Billy turned to see Steve rushing towards him down the hall. His cheeks were pink and he was beaming.

He thrust the assignment from last night into Billy's hands, and there was a big red A- on the top.

"That's my best English grade, like, ever. Thank you! Seriously, Billy. Thank you so much. I'm taking you out for dinner this weekend, okay? To say thank you. I'll buy you a burger and a milkshake, and anything you want."

"Nah, man. Your mom paid me last night, it's okay."

Steve shook his head, his hair flopping onto his forehead, and he pushed it back, still grinning. Fuck, he's so pretty.

"Can it. We're going to the dinner and you're gonna eat fries until you puke, okay? We're going Friday."

Friday.

Billy's supposed to help Susan trim all the hedges on Friday.

Okay, if he wakes up early, he can do the front before school, and if he comes home during his free period, he could-

"Sure, Pretty Boy. Friday."

-

He was up before the sun, cutting hedges.

He had to shower before school, which he fucking hates doing, because he doesn't have enough time to properly do his hair in the mornings.

But he finished them.

He finished them all.

And he told Susan such when she handed him his pity packed lunch that morning.

She thanked him, and his dad narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" He barked.

Billy tried to act casual.

"Couldn't sleep, thought I'd just get it out of the way."

Neil didn't stop staring suspiciously at Billy until he and Max had closed the backdoor behind them.

"Why did you really do all that this morning?" Max asked when they were safe in the car.

"Jus' have plans after school."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, that's rich. You're going on a date."

Well, he hopes so.

But that's never gonna happen.

The school day seemed to pass as slowly as fucking possible. He was anxious all day, fidgety and nervous, and a tiny bit sweaty.

Steve was leaning against his car outside when Billy finally stomped away from the school, and he smiled brightly at Billy.

"Should we just meet at the diner?"

"Yeah. I gotta drive Max, so." He gestured lamely.

"Okay. See you in a bit." Steve tapped the hood of the Camaro, and normally Billy would've threatened to bite anyone that knocked into his car like that, but Steve can kinda do whatever he wants as far as Billy is concerned.

Billy made sure to idle in front of the house, making sure Max got inside alright, and making sure his dad watched him drop her off.

He'd be in worse shit if Neil thought Billy made Max walk home by herself.

But he sped back into town the second the screen door slammed closed behind her.

Steve already had a booth when Billy arrived, and he waved Billy down enthusiastically, as if Billy didn't hone in on him the second he walked through the door.

"Hey, man! Glad you could make it," he said, as if he didn't insist that Billy make it.

Billy grunted at him, shuffling into the booth on the other side of Steve.

"Thanks again, dude. My grades have never been so good. My dad even said I've been doing alright, which is, I think, the nicest thing he's ever said to me."

"Yeah. It's no problem."

"Why don't people know you're smart?" Steve's question took Billy off guard a little bit. "You act like you're a dumb jock, like me."

"You're not dumb. And it's just self-preservation, I guess. I don't need every pretty boy in this school to know I'm a good tutor. Already got my hands full."

Steve's cheeks went the faintest bit pink, and if Billy didn't know better, he'd say that Steve's casual shifting of position was more like a little squirm.

"I guess that makes sense," Steve mumbled, picking at the edge of the menu in front of him.

Their waiter came at that moment, and Steve ordered right away, rattling off what he wanted like it was second nature.

"So the usual, then?" The waiter winked at Steve, and Steve flushed a little deeper, looking shyly at Billy.

"I'll have the same." The waiter nodded, and swept off with their menus.

"So, you're here a lot?" Billy didn't want to look too far into it, but he was ravenous for little scraps of information about Steve. A little peek into his life.

"Yeah. I come here for dinner when I'm home alone a lot. Cooking for one person is kinda lame, and I like being somewhere that's not so. Quiet."

"How often you home alone?"

"Every few weeks. My mom travels around with my dad a lot, but she feels bad about leaving me on my own. Doesn't really stop her, thought." And Steve looked positively glum, like a pouty little cat caught outside in the rain.

"Well, next time you're alone let me know. I don't have too much going on. Usually."

Steve brightened, looking at Billy with a tiny mile on his face.

"Yeah? You don't have better friends then some dumbass you tutor?"

"I don't tutor a dumbass. And in case you hadn't noticed, I don't have many friends. Only been in town for a few months."

"I've been here my whole life, and I don't have many friends, either."

"That's their problem, then."

Steve beamed at him.