#reedy falls

[getoutofthisplace]

Dear Gus & Magnus,

The time-change confused us on our calendars this morning and we showed up an hour early for the shoot, but our people eventually showed up and we got some shots of our Greenville staff beside the river, then we went to the office and filmed some interviews to help them recruit additional staff. We've hired 20 people since our original two guys opened the office in December, and we plan to hire 20 more by the end of the year. This much growth in a new area makes for lots of excitement.

Today was a long day, but long days aren't nearly as bad when Mom is with me because I can shed some of the guilt I usually feel about being away from home. And she's kind of fun to have around.

Dad.

Greenville, South Carolina. 7.27.2023 - 9.36am.

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue October 15, 1961 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

(left) Reedy black silk jersey dress (underpinnings here need careful planning). Covered up in front-in the way of this year's most exciting evening dresses. By Philip Hulitar, of Jasco silk jersey.

(right) The girdle was one of the essential elements that we wore under the tightest dresses in order to erase unsightly bulges. This is a black nylon electric net, nylon lace, satin woven with Lastex. By Treo, in Du Pont nylon, which fits perfectly with this reed dress.

(à gauche) Robe roseau en jersey de soie noire (les bases ici nécessitent une planification minutieuse). Couvert devant, à la manière des robes de soirée les plus excitantes de cette année. Par Philip Hulitar, du jersey de soie Jasco.

(droite) La gaine, était l'un des éléments indispensable que nous portions sous les robes les plus ajustées afin de gommer les bourrelets disgracieux. Celle-ci est un Filet électrique en nylon noir, lacet en nylon, satin tissé avec Lastex. Par Treo, en nylon Du Pont, qui s'adapte parfaitement à cette robe roseau.

Model/Mannequin: Anna Carin Bjorck

Photo Horst P. Horst

vogue archive

[luveline]

I know you’re asking for Spencer fics… While I adore single dad!Spencer… How about some single mom!reader and Spencer? 💕

You and your daughter work your way into Spencer’s life one chess game at a time. fem, 1.3k

It all starts with, “Hello.” 

Spencer looks up, and he finds any word he could’ve said dead on his tongue. You smile at him oddly gentle, and he assumes he’s got something on his face your afraid to point out.

“Hi,” you say, unperturbed by his lack of response. You keep your head ducked but seem friendly enough as you lick your lips. “I don’t know if you’re busy, but I was wondering if you’d play chess with my daughter. You don’t have to say yes, but she’s really polite and she won’t cheat, and she really wants to say hi.” 

Spencer looks behind you, where your daughter stands a ways away pretending not to watch. She could only be three of your years old —if she can play chess, she’s a prodigy. She has on stripy tights and a dress, a vinyl coat open over the top, her hands wringing together. 

“Okay,” Spencer says. 

Your smile is even nicer, then. Relief and thankfulness aimed fully at him. “Thank you.” 

You meander back to your daughter and bend down to whisper instructions too quiet for Spencer to hear. Shy, your daughter shimmies forward, then walks proper steps when you encourage her with your hand behind her shoulder. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “let’s say hi.” 

The chess boards are built into the tables at the park. Spencer sits on one stone stool, and your daughter makes herself comfortable on the opposite one. You kneel beside her without worry, knees on the dirty floor. 

“Hi,” your daughter says. She has a high voice, reedy, like she needs a drink. 

You rub her arm. 

“Hello,” Spencer says. “Have you played before?” 

“Me and mom play.” 

“So you know the rules?” 

“Some,” she says. 

Spencer’s only human. He does think about the horror of being trapped opposite of a toddler for the next half an hour bumbling through the steps, but it’s not as though he has other things to do, and, really, he loves people. He’s scared of talking, that’s all. 

“We play a lot on my phone, where it tells her what moves she can and can’t do,” you say. “But it’s okay. I have practice, I can be the phone.” 

Your daughter laughs like this is the funniest thing on the planet. “You don’t look like a phone,” she says. 

“That’s nice of you, but that’s ‘cos you’ve never seen my wires.” 

She laughs again. 

“I know all the rules, too, don’t worry,” Spencer says. “Are those your pieces? Or we can play with mine?” 

“Sofie has her pieces, it’s okay, we don’t wanna lose yours.” 

You let your backpack slip down your back and unveil a chess board box with sellotaped corners. The sleeve inside is unhurt, and you put it in the middle of the table. Spencer takes initiative and grabs the purple ones. You and Sofie arrange the pink ones in a mirror. 

Sofie is surprisingly good at chess, considering her age. Sometimes Spencer ends up playing against you, your advice murmured in her ear, and every time you smile at him he feels a little nauseous.  

He lets her win, of course. The first few times, at least. Over weeks, you and Sofia occasionally see him in the park playing chess, some days in the middle of a game with someone else, other times alone. Sofie comes up to him increasingly confident to ask for the next game, and Spencer realises he’s somehow made two friends. 

“Spencer!” Sofie shouts, tumbling over the grass bank to stop on the end of the retaining wall bordering the chess tables. You’re just behind her, looking tired. 

“Sofie, hi!” 

Sofie jumps down off of the wall before either of you can stop her. “Spencer, where have you been?” She rockets toward him. He stands, worried she’ll fall flat on her face, but she continues to race toward him until she’s throwing her arms around his legs. “I missed you.” 

“Well, I missed you too,” he says, surprised. He gives her back a tentative pat. “I’ve been learning new techniques.” 

“But where did you go?” she asks. 

“I went to Alaska. It was super cold.”

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet, flushed as you plop down on the stone seat opposite him. 

Believe it or not (easily believable), Spencer didn’t ask you your name the first time you met. Or the second. On the third occasion you met, you actually apologised with too much sincerity and said, “I’m so sorry, I never asked what your name was. I can’t believe it. I’m Y/N.” 

So now you’re introduced, and Spencer has a raging crush on you. 

Spencer grins as Sofie sits on his seat, shuffling over so they can sit together. “What, you’re on my team today?” he asks her excitedly. 

“Yes!” She pats the chess board. “Mom, my pieces.” 

“It’s okay, we can use mine.” Spencer’s are already out on the table. He’d been hoping to see you both. 

“I won’t lose them,” Sofie promises. 

“I might. Where have you been, Spencer? Sof made us come here four times last week, we had to play chess with Melinda.” 

“I was working,” he says. “We’re always going somewhere far away, I didn’t realise we’d be there for so long.” 

“‘Cos he’s a special agent,” you whisper to Sofie. 

She puts a finger over her lips, “Mom, don’t so loud!” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” You nudge a King back onto his square. “Did I blow your cover?” you ask, your voice a rolling murmur.

Spencer holds Sofie’s back reactively as she wiggles on the seat. He has an answer. He should play along —he’s been reading up on how to flirt like he’s not a lonely weirdo and that’s with confidence and running jokes, but the way you’re looking at him stops him in his tracks. 

No one ever mentions the panic of a shared smile. 

“What happens if people find out?” Sofie asks worriedly. 

“Nothing happens, Sofie, I’m the boring kind of special agent where nothing I do is a secret.” He winces at her crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can have a secret mission together? Me, you, and mom?” 

“Really?” you ask, surprised. 

Spencer nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course.” 

“Like… dinner?” 

Spencer bites the tip of his tongue, to an immediate sting. It’s not the first time in his life a conversation he’s in has occurred without him: you’re shared smile was you flirting first. His reciprocation, while not intended, has served as flirtation. 

He didn’t mean to do it, but he doesn’t care, he won’t mess it up, “If you want to?” He clears his throat, his voice returning to a more acceptable tenor. “We could go for dinner… tonight.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Not tonight. Not… unless you want to?” 

“We didn’t have dinner yet,” Sofie says helpfully. 

Your gaze falls to the chess board. “I don’t think I’m dressed for dinner. I had such a long shift.” You’re shrugging, minimising yourself. 

Spencer moves his and Sofie’s first pawn. “You always look beautiful.” 

He cannot look at you after he says it, but he doesn’t need to. 

“Mom, you're doing that smile like when Mr. Mailman brings our letters.” 

“Thank, Sofie,” you say. 

Spencer sneaks a glance at your smile. It’s decidedly shy, and if he were to touch your cheek, he guesses he’d find your skin warming. “What does he do when he brings the letters?” Spencer asks. 

You pin him with wide eyes. 

“He says she’s pretty with a big ‘p’,” Sofie whispers. 

“She is pretty,” Spencer whispers back. 

You move a chess piece with a breathless laugh. “Okay, then let’s get dinner after I wipe the floor with you both.” 

Spencer decides now is the appropriate time to reveal that he is very good at chess. He and Sofie win in ten moves. 

[atlaswav]

CATACLYSMIC ☾

INFO: 5252 words..... dr ratio x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: You hate him, of that you're certain. You hate the man behind the alabaster figurehead, and you want to see him unravelled, but you don't know exactly what you do to him. WARNINGS: um alcohol and one kiss. also some swearing but mostly fine AUTHOR'S NOTE: rising from the grave to bring to you this thing i found this in my drafts from who knows how long when I was obsessed with this man (still am). someone help. i can no longer write this much for one fic. what was i on.

Veritas Ratio made it no secret that he despised those who lived in ignorance. He openly shunned those who were stupid enough to turn their eyes from knowledge – they’d be beggars in due time. They didn’t know how the world was governed, and ignorant fools would play victim to fate’s cruel touch.

With this philosophy of his, you often wondered whether or not his ivory figurehead would soon burst with the tumultuous storm of the man’s self importance. You wondered what would lie underneath. Surely, the divine makers would’ve allowed balance in his creation – surely, his face was horribly disfigured in exchange for such otherworldly intelligence. 

He was both delightfully astute and horrendously ill mannered at once. Brighter than your entire class combined – your entire university combined, no doubt – but his pretentiousness was overflowing, and you believed he was in dire need of being put in his place.

Arrogant and pretentious were two of the words that came to mind when someone mentioned Dr. Ratio, and you were sure you weren’t the only one who refused to worship his word like the gospel. In turn, he seemed to despise your very existence, as if you were merely a faded annotation in the footnotes of an ancient epic. Vandalising a work of art. A moustache on the Mona Lisa. Circe in the Odyssey, if she’d welcomed sailors with open arms, allowing them to degrade her as they would a common concubine, not a descendant of the gods.

Yet instead of sharing the witch’s beguiling, seductive nature, you only shared her mortal voice. Thin, reedy, quiet, compared to the booming voices of gods. The voice of Veritas Ratio. Your achievements could only pale in comparison to his, and it took everything within you to clap politely as he received his third – fourth? (you weren’t intent on keeping track) – diploma.

God you hated that man. You’d muttered as much under your breath countless times.

“Dr. Ratio is fine. No need to worship me.” he’d once corrected. But the attempt at humour was lost on you as your classmates began to laugh. The divine makers likely brought him into existence just to spite you. Oftentimes, you fought your urges to hurl the nearest textbook at his caricature head and watch the plaster crack, fall to the floor, and reveal his disfigured face. 

Not that you’d seen it before – lingered around him enough to see it disappear.

His scorn held no favourites, and certainly not when it came to you. He’d openly dragged your work through the dirt a couple of times before, and it was only a matter of time before he did it again. His words were scalding, leaving burns across your thin skin and leaving your mouth tasting of ash. Your voice, faint and human, fell quiet at his ‘gospel’. 

If it weren’t obvious, the hatred was mutual. He’d never admit it outright – he was far beyond these meaningless, trivial things such as immature hatred – but you felt his scathing glare in your soul, even through that perturbing headpiece, and that was enough. 

“Have you found it?” 

You turn around, meeting the cold, blank, unseeing gaze of his caricature head behind you. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but no one else had asked him about it, so you never pushed him further. None wanted to invoke his wrath, no matter what circumstance. It was a miracle neither of you had exploded at each other yet, but you suspected that he’d gladly put aside any type of loathing he harboured for you so that this project would get done faster. 

You were happy to oblige as he took the lead. A free credit was a free credit. But you did have your limits.

“Nope. The text is ancient. I doubt this library has it.”

“Nonsense.” he clicked his tongue, glancing to the side. “I’m asking the professor. Go work on your part.”

Patience is a virtue, as you keep reminding yourself. 

“Sure. Let me know if you find anything.” you say instead of the retort that sits on your tongue. False niceties and biting, underhanded remarks. This charade was entertaining, at the very least.

How did everyone love him? There had to be people like you who shared your dislike towards that conceited scholar. With a long suffering groan, you took a seat at one of the plethora of tables in the university’s library, clicked your pen and began to write. 

Maybe the reason he despised you so was because of your ideas, arguably the opposite of his own way of thinking. Where his twisted logic, rearranged rationality and pulled apart natural reasoning to formulate new material, you cut and stitched the work of others together to create your own emulations. (Frankenstein's monster. Was that a cliche? For Ratio, it probably was.)

He’d likely scrap what you’d written as soon as he returned, but that didn’t stop you from trying to spite him anyway. You hoped your readings wouldn’t go to waste as you recorded your findings, then started to draft an outline for your project. 

The scratch of paper became white nose, your hand struggling to keep up with the pace of your mind – was it even worth it? He’d likely call it worthless, snatch it from you and throw it into the recycling bin, then start writing his own outline. It only angered you further as you frowned at the page, wondering how he’d approach the project. 

The thump of a heavy tome on the wooden desk snapped you out of your sombre thoughts. 

“Here.” Ratio took a seat at the chair opposite of yours, brushing the dust off the thick text, leafing through its yellowed pages. “I told you they’d have it. You just need to search better.”

You offer him a tight smile. “Noted.” More false niceties, more flat remarks.

Then the figurehead disappears in a blink, and you nearly drop your pen. He barely pays you any mind as he runs a hand through his hair, flipping through the text. You’d heard the rumours of the handsome face beneath the statue, but you’d never have imagined him to be so disgustingly perfect. 

Statuesque. 

His deep violet locks looked unbelievably soft. His crimson eyes showed laser focus as he scanned the text in front of him, ignoring you completely as he noted something down. After a brief silence where you skim over your outline and he presumably attempts to decipher the undeniably unreadable and ancient text which you were opposed to reading in the first place, he turns to you with a sigh. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“I wrote an outline.” you hand the papers to him begrudgingly, fidgeting with the pen in your hand. You don’t meet his gaze, afraid that his calculating gaze might see too far into your soul. 

“This?” his distaste seeps through his tone. You don’t need to look at his face to know that he’s frowning. 

You say nothing as he skims through your work, twirling your pen between your fingers.

“...It’s not the worst thing I've ever read.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. 

“It’s not good, either.”

You scowl at him. 

“I can salvage it.” he nonchalantly throws it back onto the table, returning to the text at hand. 

You want to shove his grotesquely perfect face into the book. He really was put on this earth to spite you.

“Don’t just sit there. Go look for texts on criticism of our stance.”

You don’t know how you’re going to find the patience to survive this project. If anything, it irked you further to find that there wasn’t some monstrosity hidden behind that figurehead. In everything he did, he seemed to be inventing new ways to get on your nerves. However, unbeknownst to you, Veritas Ratio held you higher than you gave yourself credit for. He believed your ideas to be invigorating. Refreshing, almost. A welcome reprieve from the same reiterated, chewed, swallowed and regurgitated approaches that your other classmates had. 

You weren’t like the rest of the mindless, studying machines at the university. You could be brilliant, and it annoyed him that you didn’t know this. He’d admitted as much to himself before, but he’d never tell you. But it was still not good enough for his standards – far better than what the imbeciles in your class could’ve come up with – but still far behind him. Or so he kept telling himself. 

Days passed by without a word from either of you. You were content to write your part in the solitude of your dorm, and he seemed perfectly content mulling over whatever he’d found in that indecipherable ancient text. By the time you’d nearly finished your part, he decided to meet with you once again to share your findings. 

His definition of deciding to meet with you meant simply cornering you after class and asking you to follow him. 

You started to protest, but he’d already turned and briskly walked out of the classroom, so you groaned and followed after him, winding up in the library again. This time, in a secluded corner with the late afternoon sun pouring through the window, illuminating the small table and workspace with a warm glow. 

You wondered how he wasn’t winded after trekking across the entire campus. You certainly were. His muscled build suggested that a mere leisurely walk couldn’t possibly have tired him out. What did he eat? Was he what Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote of the Superman? 

“What are you doing? Sit.” he gestures to the seat across from him, and you sink into the armchair, taking out your papers. His headpiece disappears once again, and your breath catches in your throat. 

His hair cast a faint shadow across his face, and his eyes seemed to glow. As you leaned in closer, you realised there was a thin ring of gold around his pupils. 

“Are you done with your part?” he demands, breaking you out of your trance. 

You silently hand over your drafts, watching his eyes flit across your paper. His eyebrows furrow slightly, eyes narrowing, but he remains quiet. Were his eyelashes always this long? They created an indistinct shadow on his cheeks. His skin was pale, fair. Not the sickly kind of pale you thought he’d be. Did he exercise? You wouldn’t be surprised, with all your classmates always fawning over his broad, strong chest and narrower waist. 

Was it your imagination, or were his cheeks slightly flushed? It might have been the light. 

“It’s deplorable.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as you sit back against the armchair. 

“Your ideas are rudimentary. Have you been reading at all?” he sighs, holding his head in his hand. “No matter. I can fix it. I don’t need you to do anything anymore. You can go.”

You stay seated in shock, unable to move. You’ve heard the anecdotes of people crying over being scolded by him, but was he always this harsh? 

“You know it’s a group project, right?” you begin before your better judgement can decide against it, “My work is just as important as yours, it doesn’t matter if you think my work is ‘deplorable’. I’m in the same class, I take the same course, I learn the same things as you do, you don’t get to look down on me no matter how stupidly smart you are.”

He raises an eyebrow, unamused. “Why not?”

“Take that stick out of your ass, Veritas Ratio. Get off your high horse.” you snatch your papers out of his hands and take your leave, ignoring his calls of your name. 

Were you dramatic? Yes, but not without reason. Given Ratio’s reputation for prioritising academics over everything else, you suspected that it wouldn’t take long for him to find you, either. 

You were so wrong. 

More days passed with no contact. He didn’t seem to be affected by your dramatics, and never once batted an eye in your direction unless necessary. It seemed your hypothesis of him inventing new ways to get on your nerves was on the track of being proved correct. But if you didn’t do something within the next few days, you trusted him to turn in the project without your name on the paper, resulting in a zero. 

He was just as stubborn as you, and though you were nothing compared to him in actuality, you were so close to grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you for who you were.

Seemingly, even in the battle of wits, he seemed to emerge victorious. 

“Ratio.” 

He barely glances up, engrossed in his writing. “What?”

“Are you done with the project?” Biting the bullet stings your teeth and left a bitter taste on your tongue. 

“No. Not yet. Why? You’re finally going to help?”

“Are you going to stop looking down at me?” 

The library is nearly empty. The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon, and the voices of students float down the corridor beyond the grand stacks of books, yet you’re here. Why do you bother? Are you really that desperate for his validation?

“Are you going to keep writing such reprehensible work?”

You glare at him. “Guess not.” you turn on your heel.

“You’re absolutely infuriating.” he sighs, leaning back in the armchair. “You’re not aware of what you can do, are you?”

You glare at him. Your chest stings. 

He looks at you, then. Truly. His complexion relaxes, and he rubs his temples. “Sit. Let’s go through your part.”

“Why?”

“I mulled it over. Your part is brilliant.”

Your eyes widen.

“But your expression and research is appalling. Have you learned how to write academically at all?”

You’d never simultaneously wanted to slap and kiss a man at once until today. “What happened to getting off your high horse?”

“I got off it. Now sit and listen, I won’t repeat myself.”

You supposed that was the closest to an apology he’d ever give you, so you sat. It pained you, but you did. Besides, he had called you brilliant – your part – but still, you couldn’t force the smile from your face as you listened to his instruction. 

“Your ideas in your introduction are well formed, but from there, it all goes downhill. You have to reorder your logic for it to make sense, and we will be deducted points if you don’t elaborate on the principles of your concept first.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So how would you do it?”

“For one, I’d restart completely and get straight to the point.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Show me, then, if you’re so good.”

His eyes narrow at you, but he says nothing as he motions for you to come closer. 

The librarian was likely too scared to kick either of you out after closing time. Your arguments were heard by all of your neighbouring desks, and whenever there was a break in conversation, it seemed as if everyone held their breath. There was pin drop silence except for the two of you – but neither of you realised it. 

He was blunt, and had no idea what you were thinking, but perhaps this is what entrapped him. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how he had called your ideas brilliant. 

You quickly learn how good of a teacher he is. Maybe it’s his forced patience or once-in-a-millenium genuine praise that spurs your decision, but you find yourself so willing to prove yourself, and he finds himself willing to help. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. 

“Just fix it, stop arguing with me. I’m right.”

“Why? Do you know every single thing about our topic?”

“No, but I have four degrees and more experience than you.”

“Jackass.”

“Change it.”

You grumbled another insult under your breath, yawning as you scribbled out the section you wrote and began to reword your thoughts. The sudden quietude was jarring, and as you looked around, you realised the overhead lights were off, the only source of light from the lamps illuminating the desks. 

“Is everyone gone?” you ask, sitting up straight and stretching. 

“Who cares? Finish up, then we can head back.”

“Fuck you, give me a break. I don’t write at the pace of a robot.”

“Then learn.”

“Fuck you too Veritas Ratio.”

“Expand your vocabulary while you’re at it.”

“Why are you so intent on irritating me?”

“You get irritated easily. Not my problem.”

“If you know I get irritated easily, why do you keep provoking me then? Do you want me to hate you more?”

He seems to pause. Minisculely, almost unnoticeable had your gaze not been trained on him for the past few hours. He had a habit of pausing and furrowing his brows when you said something slightly out of line. 

“Just finish the paper. You talk too much.”

You sigh and get back to work as he leafs through his own research. 

Amicable silence passes. The night is alive outside, gleaming and glistening with the touch of benevolent gods and whispers of long gone wishes – pearls stitched by fate’s knowing hands. 

“I’m done.”

“Show me.”

You pass the paper to him as you watch his expression carefully. 

Crimson eyes flit across your work, gold ringed irises flickering in the scarce light. If you could capture the way the light reflected in his eyes in a jar, you think wishfully that you’d stare at it forever; Until the light died out, or it decided to escape the ephemeral glass confines. 

But you’d never admit it out loud. It was wishful. If Veritas Ratio could read minds, he would undoubtedly reprimand you.

He clears his throat, and you snap to attention, swatting away your fantasies of stealing and bottling evasive light. 

“It’s good.”

You wait for him to speak further, but he says nothing. “Just good?”

“Well, by my standards, no, but for you, it’s good.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he leans on the table, forearms flexing. “That you’re finally starting to live up to your potential.”

“Huh?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What potential?”

He shakes his head absently, almost in disbelief. Forget light, you’d barter with the lady of fate to let you preserve this moment in a frame so that you could glimpse this expression forever. You’d never seen him so dumbfounded and awed at once – you doubt anyone ever has. He’d always been a man of knowing, and whatever he didn’t know, he would find out. Nothing was ever a “maybe,” or a “probably,” it was always absolute. It had to be absolute in his philosophy. 

You happened to be the one exception. 

“You’re not aware of the potential you have?”

“You think I have potential?”

“Aeons,” he murmurs under his breath, before standing and gathering his belongings. “I’m going to bed. See you in class tomorrow. We’ll finish up then.”

He leaves before you have the chance to question him, but as you slump back in your armchair, you can’t help but smile. 

Potential was as close as you’d ever get to a compliment from Veritas. 

—

The lady of fortune and lady Themis looked him in the eyes and saw their mortal emanator at his birth. He’d never been certain what he was made for, but he never let it burden him. Things like these weren’t made for him to ponder, that was up to the dreamers and inventors. 

He was a being of logic. A doctor of calculations and reason, and everyone knew him as such. 

But he simply couldn’t figure out what it was about you – your naive gaze or that pout that absently curved your lips – that had your words and scent and eyes lingering in his mind like a vengeful phantom. 

You were the being of all chaos and irrationality, but you were so bright. Unhoned, rough and unhewn. A gemstone shining with impurities but shining still, casting a beautiful mosaic cast across the ground with indecipherable shapes and patterns. 

It was deplorable. He hated you for being on his mind, and hated you even more for your wasted potential. He hated how you stared, how his cheeks would redden from the intensity of your gaze, and how he’d have to pretend he was unfazed, because he couldn’t afford any distractions. 

You were the being of his undoing, he was sure. You were brought into existence to spite him, to bring an unaccounted variable into the equation of his being, and present a causality dilemma for all he was. 

He wanted you gone, but he wanted you closer all at once. 

He hated it. 

It wasn’t common for him to sleep in either, so when he woke five minutes before class was supposed to start, he cursed you with all the spite in his heart and rushed to class, clutching papers from the night before, still imbued with traces of your lingering fragrance. Just how long had you pored over those papers for your smell to latch to them? It should be impossible. Fate was clearly against him. 

Fate brought you back together as he entered the brimming lecture hall, and the only vacant seat was the one next to you. 

“Did you get the papers in order?” you asked, glancing at his dishevelled state. The Dr Ratio you knew was never dishevelled, but this was the closest you’d ever seen him to it. 

“Yes. Just write your name on your bits and sign the sign off sheet and it’s complete.”

You take the paper from him, scrawling your name across your work, then handing it back. 

With your project finally submitted, you could breathe easy again – never endure his biting remarks and criticism again. 

But as the class progressed, you realised you were in trouble. 

The professor was merciless. He flicked through the presentation on the new topic with haste, rushing through new concepts, formulae and calculations with record speeds. You’d nudged Ratio, whispering for help, but he rolled his eyes and kept his stare attentively on the presentation. 

You wanted to slap him. 

Was he tolerating you because of the project? Was he going back to cold stares and dismissive glances?

You wouldn’t allow it. Not when you were so close to discovering the man behind the alabaster figurehead. As soon as the professor signalled the end of the lecture, a collective sigh was released from the class. 

You turned to Ratio, and he was already staring at you. 

“What was it you wanted to say?”

“Tutor me please.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re smart.”

“Pick someone else, then. I don’t see why I should.”

“You asshole, I’ll buy you lunch if you tutor me.”

He frowns at you as he begins to leave. You trail after him. “Please?”

He sighs deeply. Like a man burdened with the weight of his own world on his shoulders. Byron’s brooding, romantic hero, in his melodramatic glory. “Fine. Stop annoying me.”

You smile. “Thanks. Meet you at your dorm after dinner?”

He sighs again. “ Don’t be late or I'll lock the door and go to bed.”

He watched the seconds tick by in agonising motion – a man awaiting his sentence, but also his reprieve. Is this what his classmates felt before they took tests? It certainly seemed like it. Relief was on the horizon, and yet great suffering was imminent. He’d never known the feeling until now.

But as they say, the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his quest to decipher you. 

It seemed mutual as he paced in front of his front door, having eaten dinner at the cafeteria early to mentally prepare himself. 

When your knock finally sounded at his door, he sighed, checked his watch, then reluctantly opened the door. 

You were a picture to behold. 

Hair slightly damp from a shower, drowning in loose, oversized clothing. It was all painfully domestic to see you walk through his doorway, scanning his living space. In the back of his mind, he thought it felt right, but he shook his head. 

You were messing with him again. 

Two could play that game. 

“Take a seat.” He pulled out a stool from his kitchen island. “Want a drink?”

“What, like alcohol?” you huffed. 

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“Only if you want me to be.” you shrug, setting down your notes on the bench.

He sighs exasperatedly, already berating himself for agreeing to this. He never agreed to tutor anyone. Why were you the exception? You shouldn’t be. 

His hypothesis: you were trying to get something out of him. A way to cheat the class, his academic favour, something hedonistic, even. It seemed plausible enough, but you listened intently as he explained the concepts the professor spoke of in the lecture, asking questions and actively engaging with his explanation. 

It didn’t seem like there was any ulterior motive. So why was he letting you break his rules and defy his nature?

“God, why didn't the prof explain it during that lesson? Everyone struggled.”

“You’re not smart enough to understand his concise methods, then.” he huffed. 

“You’re too smart.”

“You’re not smart enough.”

“Smart ass,”

“Get back to work. You did that question wrong, by the way.”

You groaned. “Where?”

He was so caught up in your quarrels that he didn’t notice the time grinding away at the pestle. It was nearly midnight when you’d finally caught up with that day’s classwork, and he sighed in relief. 

“You understand?”

“Yes. You don’t have to worry now.”

“I won’t. Now get out.”

“No drink?” you frowned, pretending to sulk at his expense. He simply stared at you, getting up from his stool and walking to the fridge. 

Remarkably, he pulled out two beers. 

“Don’t speak. If you do, I'll regret allowing you over again.”

A smile befell your lips. “I’m not saying anything.”

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

“Wipe it off then.”

A frown.  His new hypothesis: you were trying to seduce him for better grades, more tutoring sessions, or for his own downfall. 

“Drink and leave.”

“If you say so.” you take the chilled bottle and drink. He watches your throat move, and he thinks of himself as pathetic as he drinks as well, wincing at the bitterness. 

“Do you live by yourself?” you ask, head propped onto your hand. 

“I do.”

“Are you lonely or something?”

“No, people are irritating.” Like you.

“What a ray of sunshine you are.” You’re not much better.

“I don’t have to put up with any idiocy.”

“If you say so.”

Quiet passes as beer fizzes in the bottles, golden liquid sloshing at the sides of the glass. 

One thing you learn that night is that Veritas Ratio, the famed multiple time valedictorian of your university, is an extreme lightweight. His cheeks become red quicker than you can finish your bottle, and he starts to grumble nonsense under his breath. 

“You’re really smart, you know?” he suddenly says after mumbling something about quantum physics.

“What was that?” 

“You’re really smart. Really smart. Impressive.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you idiot, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” he leans on the bench, not entirely aware of his surroundings as he does so.  He squints at the ground. 

He’s a cute drunk, you realise begrudgingly.

“Thanks, Veritas. You’re smart too.”

“I know.” he drinks from his bottle again, swirling the dregs. “But I can’t figure you out.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Do you hate me?”

You hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why are you like this?”

Your eyebrows raise. 

“You’re making me irrational. I can’t figure it out.”

“...Sorry?”

“You should be. You know, I was nearly late to class today because of you. You kept me awake.”

“Really?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking. Thoughts. And things.”

You laugh at his predicament, draining your beer and gathering your things. Trying to leave before he said anything that could turn the encounter south. 

“Wait. Don’t go.” he slams his palm onto your notes, determination in his eyes. 

“I need to go to bed.” you say as if scolding a child.

“I need to figure you out. You’re still an enigma to me. The anomaly of my behaviour. Is this your intention?”

“What are you talking about? You’re drunk.”

“I can think. I can move. I can see fine. I’m not drunk. Answer me.”

“Maybe I'm just so mesmerising to you.” you joke, but his brows furrowed in thought. 

“Maybe.” he retracts his hand from your notes, and you stow them away into your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder before he can do anything else. 

As you’re halfway to the door, he pushes you against the wall. 

You never realised how tall he was until then. How much of a height difference you had, or how muscular he was. He had to have worked out on a daily basis. The pungent smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, and his cheeks were tainted with deep red as he searched your gaze. 

You decide he’s officially lost his mind, but who were you to complain?

“Are you mesmerising?” he whispers, eyes trailing down your face, examining and analysing, his hand tracing down your body with those slender scholar’s hands.

“You tell me.”

Then he grabs your face and mashes your lips together. The kiss is rough, biting and rushed. You freeze for a sliver of a second before returning it, letting him decide your allure with his own devices. 

He pulls away almost too fast, lips kiss bitten, breath fast. 

“You’re a siren.”

“Am I?”

“You’re going to ruin me.”

“What a weak man you are, if it only takes one woman to ruin you.”

“I hate you.”

“Really?”

“I hate it because I’d probably let you.”

“Are you a masochist?”

“Not in my right mind. I’ll wake up and regret everything, but it’ll all be the same, fundamentally.”

“So what’s your conclusion?”

He still has you pushed against the wall, caged within himself. “You were put into this world to bring about my destruction.”

“How? Why?”

“You’re my opposite. Brash, naive, carefree.”

“Are you normally this analytical of people?”

“No, which supports my point.”

“I see. So you’re going to let me ruin your image?”

“No. I hate you for it.”

“Let me go then.”

He wordlessly steps away, and you stumble to the door. 

“So what are we?” you ask, turned away from him. You can’t see the way he drinks in your visage like a starving man, and the small, sober part of him is grateful for it. 

“Polar opposites.”

“I mean who am I to you?”

He’s silent for a while, so you turn back to him to find him leaning on the wall, gazing into space. 

“Veritas?”

“You’re my undoing. A catalyst, maybe, for my downfall. But there must be balance, right? So what are you?”

“What am I?”

“I don’t know.”

You knew then that he was beyond reason. Was this what you did to him? You took some sadistic pride in seeing a man such as himself reduced to a mumbling, questioning, incoherent mess. You were somewhat pleased with the effect you had on him., but you could never let him know this. 

He crumpled to the floor, back to the wall, clutching his head in his hands. “I’ll figure you out.”

“Sure you will. Goodnight, Veritas.”

“Night.”

Your smile was brighter than the morning as you left his apartment, embracing the night’s welcoming chill. 

written by @atlaswav , published 15th of July 2024

[kyuuviix]

first time posting el oh el!!!

NSFW warning!!! laios from dunmeshi x reader type beat

im nowhere near used to the format so ill get there but this is just a lil blurb i wrote in maybe 30ish minutes??

tw: cunnilingus, def ooc laios, he's horny as hell 😞

enjoy i hope

-

-

another orgasm bubbled out of your sopping slit, thighs trembling as your high, reedy moans crumbled into low, broken cries as tears ran down your face.

"my lord- fuck, please...!"

you wept, sweat trailing down your neck and making your skin stick to the filled-out parts of your messy silk button-up.

the king- or rather, your husband had come back from his dealings hungry, and with his limit of preferred food, (monsters no longer being on the roster) you were the next best thing.

"still talking with such formality when i'm eating this pretty little pussy of yours? hope all of that royalty talk didn't fog your brain while i was away."

your eyes were on the verge of rolling into the abyss of your eyelids, chest quickly falling and rising as his grip tightened around your thighs.

your lips felt bludgeoned, a tingling feeling rippling over your face, your spine- and especially between your legs.

his tongue flayed against your messy cunt, prodding and thrusting the slick muscle against your folds, suckling down onto your warm bud as his lips trickled out a deep groan in response.

"but don't worry, you'll call me by my name soon enough."

as soon as he came home to the castle, he was quick to locate you in your usual spot, demanding everyone leave to a different floor, as he needed time to 'debrief' everything to the queen. as you could easily tell, he needed his fix.

he dragged you to your shared bedroom, which you were more than ecstatic to follow along with, after all, it's been far too long since you two were intimate.

and here you are now, only in your unkempt button-up with your thighs held apart, sweat dotting every inch of your skin as your husband happily nestled his head between your legs, lapping at your cunt fervently.

his hips pressed against the comforter of the bed, sucking your sweet liquids into his mouth, pulling an uneven whine out of you- which made him grin.

"you just love what my tongue does to you, huh?"

his lidded gaze was scoped on you, laying his tongue flat against your clit and gently caving it inside of your tight slit.

your back arched upwards with a defeated cry, head pressing into the silk comforters, legs instinctively trying to writhe out of his grip.

but the way your hand tussled and messily gripped at his ash-blonde tufts told him otherwise, your spare hand gathering in the covers.

his pupils dilated further as his tongue dipped into your warm, velvety walls yet again- a coy grin eating at his lower jaw. he was teasing you, he knew you were close to cumming again, he just wanted you to beg for it.

and beg, you'd do.

-

sorry this is so half-assed lol

[pursuitist]

[Vid] FALL for Greenville: A Weekend of Flavor and More to Explore

[Vid] FALL for Greenville: A Weekend of Flavor and More to Explore

Get ready for a southern smorgasbord! Greenville, South Carolina gears up each October for its annual weekend full of flavor and fun — Fall for Greenville — which includes multiple days and nights of tastings, drinks, and musical performances, and the 41st iteration of the gourmet event will be taking place October 14-16, 2022 in the heart of Greenville’s downtown. This foodie festival is where…

[kittenintheden]

sip the tea

lol I dunno it's a smutty drabble, enjoy.

Rating: E Word Count: >1k Content: 18+, temperature play, blowjob, mild cumplay

---

Astarion's reading in his usual spot by the fireplace, posture relaxed, leaning his head on one hand. You approach with a steaming mug. He glances up and gives you a smile.

"What's that, love?" he says.

"Peppermint tea," you respond, setting it on the side table beside him.

He looks at it, then back at you. "Erm. Sweet, but you know I don't really drink tea. It all tastes like ash water."

"I know," you say, moving around in front of his chair and going to your knees. You run your hands up the tops of his thighs and his book droops a bit in his hand as he gives you a knowing look.

"It's not for you," you say with a smile as you go to undo his laces.

"What are you up to?" Astarion purrs as he lifts his hips for you to slide his soft trousers and smallclothes down his toned thighs. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I was making myself a cup and I had a thought," you reply, running light fingers over his cool skin, lighting up the areas over his thighs, his abdomen, his pelvis. His soft cock stirs, arousal waking. His hand falls over the side of the chair, book forgotten and dangling from his fingertips, eyes half-lidded as he watches you tease.

You hold his eye as you lean forward and take him in your mouth, encouraging him harder. Astarion gives a soft groan of approval, fingers of his free hand reaching out to play with your hair.

"Still not sure what the tea's for," he breathes. The soft skin of his cock goes taut in your mouth, his erection coming to full mast. You press your tongue firmly along the underside as you slide off of him, amusement in your eyes as you blow on his spit-slick skin.

"Ooooh," he murmurs with a lilt, his erection jumping a little at the sensation. "But why'd you stop?"

You raise an eyebrow at him and reach for your tea, the ceramic cup nearly too warm to touch, and sip a careful mouthful. It's still quite hot, but not scalding. Cooled just enough to comfortably hold it in your mouth, which you do, allowing the soft and tender flesh inside to grow warmer than your natural heat allows. The mint tingles on your tongue. Astarion watches, intrigued. You smirk as best you can with your mouth full.

Then you swallow and immediately take him fully into your mouth again.

"Holy-" Astarion growls, throwing his head back and involuntarily arching his hips up, deeper, seeking the molten heat that is your mouth, heightened even more against his own cooled skin. He hits the back of your throat and you give a small cough, a tear forming at the corner of one eye.

You pull away, saliva and his clear pre-fluid connecting your lips to the head of him, and say, "Too much?"

Astarion's chest heaves and he blows out his breath as he tilts to look down at you, an inferno in his eyes. He shakes his head.

You grin. "Good." You take another sip and go again.

He melts under you, one leg twitching a bit from overwhelm as the rest of him sinks deep into the cushions of his favorite armchair. His head lolls to the side and he pants, his tongue moving barely past his bottom teeth as he watches you work him, eyes hooded. You twist your head and swirl your tongue, warming every bit of him. Each time you pull off to reheat your mouth with more tea, you see the head of his cock swollen and flushed pinker than usual.

He whines when you leave and squirms when you return. Sweat begins to bead along his forehead.

"Darling," he whispers at last, his thighs tensing on either side of you. "Oh, darling, keep it up and I won't last another minute."

You take your time, keeping him right on the edge until you go for one last mouthful of tea, keeping a little in your mouth this time as you swallow him down. He twists his fingers in your hair and whines out a reedy, "I'm going to come, I'm going to come, I'm coming-"

And he does, salted spunk mingling with the peppermint still on your tongue. You swallow it all, helping him ride it out to the last. When you pull back, peering up at him with your mouth wet and pink, he's collapsed bonelessly in the chair, still staring out at you from half-closed eyes. His throat bobs.

Then he reaches out, quick as a blink, and palms the back of your head to bring your lips to his, his tongue delving into you to taste that last bit of mint and heat and slick.

[nyoomerr]

May I request another mer AU drabble but this time Shen Qingqiu is a merman? Whether Binghe is a human, merman or octobing is up to you

aye aye cap'n 🫡 warnings on this one for what is definitely a more violent sort of atticwifing

(also i still have like 3 more mer related drabble requests in my inbox, y'all are really into the mer AUs rn huh?? very nice)

---

There’s a mer following Luo Binghe. 

He’s been following Luo Binghe since he was a child, a guardian angel of the sea. Luo Binghe used to throw himself overboard just to feel the mer’s gentle touch as he’d drag him back to the surface; at night he’d poke at the little pinpricks in his skin from where the mer’s claws had made him bleed despite the gentle way he was held. 

That was years ago, though. Luo Binghe hasn’t seen the mer in a long, long time. One time he fell into the ocean - a genuine accident, that time - and the mer wasn’t there, and then the mer was never there, ever again. 

For a kid who hadn’t felt a kind touch from a human since his mother had died, the loss of that mer’s rescues had been a devastating loss. 

When Luo Binghe had realized the mer was still there, and still following Luo Binghe - occasionally leaving out little shells for him, or scaring off sharks when Luo Binghe had to get in the water to scrape barnacles off the ship - the loss had begun to feel more like a betrayal.

The mer hadn’t abandoned Luo Binghe - he’d only grown distant, only decided that helping Luo Binghe was only worth it if he never had to touch him. 

Was the mer’s assistance only out of pity, then? Or perhaps just some sort of animal curiosity? 

The friend that Luo Binghe had imagined himself to have, as a kid struggling to survive the life of an orphan on a pirate ship - did he ever exist, or had it just been a foolish projection of human motivation onto a creature acting on whims that Luo Binghe could never understand?

It wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to Luo Binghe; not by a long shot. For as long as the mer would keep following him, though, it would itch at him, a problem that was never quite resolved.

Fine, then. Luo Binghe is a long way away from the little orphan kid just trying to survive the high seas, now. If there’s a problem that itches at him, he’ll scratch it until it bleeds.

Once he sets his mind on it, it only takes three days before his crew manages to catch the mer. 

Luo Binghe stands over him now, taking in the sight of him. Before now, he’d only ever managed glimpses, and his memories of being held by the mer as a child had grown fuzzy. Dragged onto the deck of the ship, the mer is far larger than Luo Binghe had thought: the human head and torso were roughly the same size as Luo Binghe’s, but the mer’s tail was so long it seemed more like a serpent’s than a fish’s. 

He’s pretty, too - more than just the way his scales glint in the light, or the way the rope of the net digs into his skin in a way that makes him look so soft Luo Binghe could take a bite out of him.

The delicate bridge of his nose, the slant of his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw - Luo Binghe wants to cut him into little pieces to eat almost as badly as he wants to have him stuffed in one beautiful, elegant piece.

The mer had stopped thrashing in the net when he’d seen Luo Binghe approach, though his chest is still heaving with the exertion of it. Luo Binghe watches the frantic rise and fall of it for a long, hypnotizing moment before deciding he’d like to inspect the mer even closer before deciding what is done with him.

“Hello there,” Luo Binghe croons, kneeling down in front of the mer. 

The mer watches him with intelligent, panicked eyes, but makes no sound in return.

“You’ve known me for a long time, now,” Luo Binghe says evenly. “Do you remember my name, from back when I used to try and speak with you?”

The mer licks his lips, a nervous tick that reveals what looks like two separate rows of needle-sharp teeth.

“...Binghe,” the mer says eventually. His voice has a reedy, inhuman quality to it, but the tone of it does not surprise Luo Binghe nearly as much as the sound of his name does.

So you didn’t forget me, he thinks almost viciously. You didn’t forget, and you were listening.

He doesn’t give the mer the satisfaction of hearing those thoughts, though.

“And you? Do you have a name, or should I call you as I please?”

This time, the mer remains silent. 

Luo Binghe hums, assessing the mer from beneath lazy, half-lidded eyes. “I’ll give it some thought, then,” he says. “I’ve got all the time in the world with you now, after all.”

The mer’s fins twitch, his eyes slipping away from Luo Binghe to look for some means of escape.

Luo Binghe decides quite quickly that he doesn’t care for the mer to look away from him.

“You seem able to breathe air just fine,” he says, louder than the soft voice he’d been using before. “And you can speak like a human, too.”

The mer’s eyes flick to him again, then back away. Luo Binghe narrows his eyes.

Slowly, he leans towards the mer, reaching out with one hand. The net keeps the creature pinned to the deck of the ship, but it wouldn’t stop him from snapping Luo Binghe’s fingers off if he got too close.

Luo Binghe brings his hands to the mer’s gills anyway. The mer does not try to bite.

“If you can breathe air just fine,” Luo Binghe says, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of the mer’s gills. “I wonder: what do you need these for?”

The mer makes an aborted, panicked movement to jerk away from Luo Binghe’s hand. Luo Binghe catches him by the throat, his fingers sinking into the mer’s gills to keep the hold firm, and the mer goes entirely limp. 

“...Binghe,” The mer says, his voice soft and nearly pleading. 

Luo Binghe relaxes his grip. He does not pull his fingers away from the mer’s gills. Instead, he runs his fingers along them, his touch firmer than before, and slowly - so, so slowly - pushes one finger inside. 

“I think,” Luo Binghe says softly, “that I could take these away, and then you’d never have the chance to hide from me again.”

Luo Binghe flicks his gaze up from the mer’s gills, stretched painfully around Luo Binge’s finger, to meet his eyes. 

The mer’s pupils are blown huge. He looks more human like this, without his eyes peering at Luo Binghe through a snake’s slitted pupils.

Slowly, Luo Binghe withdraws his hand. 

“Well,” he says. “I have time to think about it.”

[didhewinkback]

ii most wanted

a post engagement road trip for the something old kids aka i cannot stop listening to this song and ended up writing 2k words of smut about it

word count: see above, warnings: see above

---

The wind was whipping through your hair, the sun streaming in through the windshield, old 70s rock on the radio. The leather of the car seat felt like it was sticking to every inch of your skin but you didn’t mind. The weed you smoked made everything move in slow motion, all your senses heightened. Everything feeling loose, easy, free. Your hand making waves out the window through the wind, up and down in an addictive pattern. 

A warm palm slides on your thigh, his thumb moving up and down before squeezing and you all but melt into the seat, turning to look at him. He smiles over at you before looking back at the wide, empty road. 

“Y’ good?” he asks, lips twitching up into a smile.

“So good,” you say back, laughter bubbling over your words, heart skipping when he laughs with you. You can’t pinpoint what’s funny and maybe nothing is. It’s just… everything feels so warm and right and real. You turn back to look out the window, marveling at the open roads, the way it's just you and him for miles.

“Look good like this.” he mumbles, voice barely audible over the wind.

“What, stoned?”

“Nooo,” he laughs, shaking his head, wide grin on his face as he looks you over once more. “Meant y’ look happy. Relaxed. Look nice with that ring on your finger.”

You hum, holding up your hand with said ring on it, thumb twisting over the band, back and forth, taking a moment to admire it in the light.

“It’s a good one, innit?” you say and you can see the way his eyes roll even behind his sunglasses but he still grabs your hand and pulls it towards his mouth, thumb brushing over the ring once before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Your man did good, huh?” he says, releasing your hand to slide his back on your thigh. You slide your hand into his hair and he preens, leaning into the touch. 

“Yeah, my man did.” you say and he squeezes your thigh, a soft smile on his lips as you rake your hand through his curls, taking your time to study his profile. The cut of his jaw, the line of the beard he’s been growing out. God, he’s nice to look at. He looks good behind the wheel, too,  the flex of his arm as he casually holds the steering wheel, legs splayed wide, his lips moving as he softly sings along to the radio.

You’re struck for a moment at the view, at this man you’ve loved for most of your life, at the ring he proposed to you with gleaming against his hair and you think you want to have this view for the rest of your life. To get to be by his side till the day you die. You can feel it wash over you, almost bowling you over. Knowing he wants the same.

Your hand slides down his hair, playing with the curls at the nape before resting on the back of his neck, his muscles jumping at the touch before you squeeze once and he hums in appreciation. A deep sound from the back of his throat and - oh. 

It’s been warm all day but you suddenly feel a rush of heat from the inside out. Your eye catches on a bead of sweat falling down the side of his neck, tracing along the tendons until it pools into the collar of his t-shirt and you’re suddenly parched, desperation flooding your veins, overwhelmed by the need to taste, to touch and be touched. You could blame the high but you know it’s him, it’s always him. 

You dig your thumb into the muscle where his shoulder meets his neck, the spot that’s always bothering him. His hand tightens on your thigh for a second before he groans when the muscle starts to give way under your touch. 

“Harry,” you choke out, your voice reedy and he hums in response. “Pull over.” 

He snaps his head to look at you, confused, before he does a double take, brows shooting up behind his sunnies as he reads what must be obvious need all over your face.

“Y’ serious?” he asks incredulously and you nod fervently, shifting in the seat. “Baby, we’re in –”

“The middle of nowhere, we haven’t seen anyone for miles.” you cut him off, quickly undoing your seatbelt and sliding over on the bench seat, ignoring his muttered “jesus” as you press so against his side, his arm going across your lap as a makeshift belt, hand gripping your outer thigh. His eyes flicking between the road and you and you can see the swallow he takes before you’re leaning in to press your lips against his neck, taking your time to kiss along the skin. 

You keep one hand on the back of his neck, the other sliding down the front of his shirt, twisting in the hem before teasing at the waistband of his jeans, sliding down to palm him, biting down on his neck when he inhales sharply.

“Please,” you mumble against his neck, squeezing him once more, his hips twitching up to chase the touch. “Unless you want to keep driving and I can just -” 

You go to duck your head down but he stops you, hand tight on your thigh as he sputters out a “crash the bloody car if you do that” that has you laughing into his neck.

“Jus’ hang on a mo’ - let me -” he can barely string a sentence together as he drives for a bit longer before pulling off the road onto where there’s a dip in the tall grass, in between two cypress trees. You watch as his shaky hands throw the car into park, waiting until he pulls the keys out of the ignition before you’re turning his head towards yours to capture his lips in a kiss that has him moaning into your mouth. 

You kiss him once, twice, three times before he’s pulling back, mumbling a “let me get these -” and pulling his sunglasses off and throwing them on the dash before his hand wraps around your neck to pull you back in. Your tongue darts out to lick at the seam of his lips before he’s opening up, the first touch of his tongue against yours wrenches a moan from the back of your throat. His hands move up and down your sides, squeezing occasionally before they slide to your hips, shifting you both until he’s in the middle of the seat as he pulls you into his lap.

You slide your hand up into his hair, getting a steady grip as you kiss him with everything you have. His hands feel like they’re everywhere, all at once, sliding up and down your sides before they slide around your back and down, grabbing a handful of your bum as his tongue glides over yours. Everything is warm, perfect heat as arousal pools in your stomach, slowly losing your mind with every drag of his lips.

He wrenches away from your mouth, panting as he catches his breath, his blown out eyes darting all over your face. 

“Want me so bad y’ made me stop the car, hm?” he teases and you’re not even thinking of a comeback before you’re nodding and leaning back in. 

You kiss him slowly, taking your time to lick into his mouth, goosebumps erupting at his soft moan, the way his hands grip you tighter, the high making you feel everything ten times deeper. He knows just where to touch you to make you sigh into his mouth, his hands sliding up and down your thighs before resting back on your arse, the other sliding up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s gentle until he’s not, squeezing hard and laughing against your lips when you bite down on his in retaliation. 

You lose yourselves in each other, each taking turns to take over, mouths and hands exploring as you please. It’s when he’s got his hand on the back of your neck, controlling the kiss with an expert flick of his tongue that you can’t help yourself and grind down against him. 

“That’s it,” he says when he pulls away, one hand falling to your hips to encourage their roll as he kisses along your jaw. “Go after it, baby.”

“Need you naked,” you whisper, pulling his head back up towards you to kiss him again. “Need you - backseat.” 

He nods, pressing a searing kiss to your lips before pulling away. You climb off him and gracelessly climb over the backseat, breathless with laughter when you watch him do the same. He cups your jaw, kissing you deeply before pulling away.

“Get naked,” he murmurs and you both pull your clothes off as quickly as possible, hands banging against the roof and sides of the car, grunts from when you accidentally kick each other as you’re pulling your jeans off. He makes to hover over you before you shake your head, pushing him back against the seat so he’s sitting up as you straddle him, feeling his hard length right against your core, his eyes wide as he looks up at you, his hand coming up you cup your cheek. 

“Baby - someone could see you.” he mumbles and you simply respond with a roll of your hips, making him bite down on his swollen lips, his hands sliding up your thighs and resting on your hips.

“Want them to,” you say, reaching down to curl your hand around him, pumping a few times to watch his neck go taut as you line him up with your center. “Want them to know I’m yours.”

“Jesus- fuck ,” he grunts out, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, his head tipping back to rest on the top of the seat as you sink down on him in one fell swoop, his grip like a vice on your hips. 

You’re not so sex stupid to actually risk getting caught - you’re on an abandoned road in the middle of Tuscany - but there’s something about the idea of someone seeing you that’s clearly working for the both of you. You move your hips forward and back, getting used to the stretch as he leans forward to press a line of kisses down your sternum towards your chest, hands sliding up your back as he sucks a nipple into his mouth and gropes the other, soft hands and tongue making you melt.

“How’s it feel?” he mumbles against your chest, switching sides to your other breast as you roll your hips, both of you moaning at the sensation. 

“Good. Full.” you mumble, almost delirious in your pleasure, sparks shooting up your spine each time you roll your hips just right. “So full.”

You pull his head off your chest and back up to your mouth to capture his lips in a kiss as you start to find your rhythm, what was once rolls of the hips become full bounces up and down, making him groan against your tongue.  He pulls back, one hand falling to grip at your ass as he rests his head against the seat, brow furrowed as he watches you fuck him.

“Y’ so beautiful,” he says, eyes dropping down to where you’re connected. “Fucking - drenching me. In the backseat - shit.”

Your head grazes the roof with every bounce but you can’t be arsed to care, not when he’s looking at you like that, pure want and desire in his eyes, beads of sweat dripping down his chest, his butterfly glistening in the sun. He’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and he’s looking at you like you’re everything and nothing, nothing has ever felt better than this. 

“Y’ so good to me,” he grunts out, eyes following your every move. “Love you like this. So fucking hot.” 

Fire licks up your spine, your rhythm getting sloppier as his words hurtle you towards your finish. You can barely catch your breath as you dig your nails into his shoulders, grabbing his wrist and pulling it up to your face, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth. 

“Fuck. Y’ close, huh?” he asks and you nod around his fingers. “Let’s get you there, baby. Want you to come first, want y’ to come around me.” 

He pulls his hand from your mouth, leaning up to kiss you deep, his hand dropping to your clit, drawing mind-numbing circles that have you crying out against his mouth, your hips driving against his more aggressive than ever. 

“That’s it. Go after it for me. Want y’ to come, my gorgeous girl.” he mumbles against your lips, pulling back to watch your face with brows furrowed in concentration as he flicks your clit just so and you explode around him, feeling like you’re burning from the inside out as you come, moaning out his name as he doesn’t let up until you stop fluttering around him. 

You don’t stop your hips, continuing to grind against him despite the overstimulation, your hand latching on to the back of his hair to kiss along his jaw.

“Need you to come,” you gasp out against his jaw, moaning when he groans and grips you tighter. “Want you to fill me up. Want to feel it.”

“Shit - baby. Fuck. I’m -” He bites down on your shoulder, hands falling to your hips as he rocks his hips up to meet yours, thrusting once, twice, and coming, moaning against your skin as you feel his release coat your walls, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you against his chest.

The two of you breathing deep, panting as you try to catch your breath. He kisses against your collarbone, his hand coming up to brush your hair back behind your shoulder as he leans in to kiss along your neck before leaning back against the seat, looking well-fucked with rosy cheeks, a soft smile on his face as his chest heaves. 

“Got my balls all over the upholstery,” he says and you bark out a laugh as he laughs with you, both of you shaking with it. You lean back to ease him out of you, his hands helping guide you as you slide off his lap and sit next to him, your hands immediately reaching for each other, fingers interlocking as you roll your head along the top of the seat to look over at him.

“Just fucked you within an inch of your life and that’s the first thing you say?” you ask and he huffs out a laugh. 

“Y’ did, didn’t you?” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can’t believe you just fucked me in the backseat. That was the hottest thing to ever happen to me.”

“Shut up,” you laugh.

“‘M serious. You’ve got no idea what you look like when you’re looking at me like that. Like ‘m the only thing that matters.” he shakes his head, taking a deep inhale before rolling his head to look over at you, deadly serious, his voice rumbling out like gravel. “Makes me feel like I’m on fire.”

He leans over to capture your lips with his, kissing you so slowly, so carefully, you can feel the fire burning in you once more, the fire that never quite goes away with him.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against his lips and he inhales sharply before kissing you harder, letting go of your hand to bring both hands up to cup your face, holding you in place while he drags his lips against yours. 

“Love you too, baby.” he mumbles, kissing you once before pulling back. “Lay back for me. Gonna make you feel how you make me feel.” 

“H, you already - oh” you cut yourself off with moan as he sucks a kiss behind your ear, at the spot on your neck that always drives you crazy as he gently pushes you back against the seat.

“Then we can smoke some more, make some sandwiches and take a nap.” he says, lips dragging against your skin.  “No rush, yeah? We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” you say, melting against the seat as his lips find yours once more, his hand sliding down your body until it falls between your thighs, making you gasp against his mouth. “We’ve got - we’ve got time.”

You lay back, eyes drawn to the way the sun reflects off his naked back, the pattern his lips draw against your skin making your eyes flutter shut as he presses his fingers into you. Your mind is still hazy but nothing has been more clear. This is all you want. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him. Till the day you die.

---

a/n: no ones dying btw its the song lyrics just wanted to make that clear. havent been able to finish writing someting in literal months, have requests in my inbox for not this, but here we are. my blog, my rules. not sure anyones still interested in reading this but i wrote it so im posting !

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[hazbinshusk]

Angel and Reader shoot a homemade cam show as a naughty surprise for Husk when their anniversary comes around—the man has never been more flustered and overcome with desire in his life.... What a lucky guy!!

- ⭐ blue-dream-boye

oh my god, can you imagine though?

he turns on the screen and there you are sitting on the bed looking so sweet but so bashful, even dressed in the prettiest little set of lingerie. it's nothing he's seen you in before, and somehow he knows even before he sees angel in the video wearing a complementary set that he had a hand in picking it out.

and angel's giving the camera this cheesy, flirtatious wink before he slips in behind you. he spreads his long, long legs on either side of yours and you lean back against him, and angel's eyes are on the camera as he coos for you to relax and 'show daddy what we talked about'.

and angel keeps talking, low and reedy and so sweet in your ear, eyes falling teasingly down over you every now and then before returning to the camera as he tells you how to touch yourself for 'daddy'. he skims his fingers over your shoulders and your waist and your hips, lingering in that last spot because he knows that's where husk likes to grab. and he's so honeyed and you're so cute with your trembling and your quickly building neediness as you work your hand between your legs that husk for a moment isn't sure if the 'daddy' the spider is teasing you about is angel or him.

but then angel moves to sit beside you and soon you're both moaning husk's name as you cum together with twin vibrators pressed inside you and that bartender is at risk of staining the inside of his pants.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Break Down (dp x dc)

Dani gasped as she failed to halt the sobs pushing to be let out. She dug her fingers in dark earth and shut her eyes tightly as she struggled to slow her breathing. Yet, the churning in her chest wouldn’t let her, a high-pitched whine, escaped from her clenched jaw, quiet and reedy.

Her breath wouldn’t stop hitching as her lungs seemed to struggle for air. 

“No,” she choked to herself, haltingly.

Without noticing she had started to rock herself back and forth. Her fingers burrowed deeper.

Behind her closed lids it was as if she could still see flashes of it, of necks tilted at the wrong angle, of wide blank eyes, of blood-soaked hair.

Again and again and again.

She squeezed her eyes harder until she could see stars but it did nothing for the screams she could hear echoing. Letting her forehead fall to the ground she brought her hands to her ears and pushed. Then, she started scratching, clawing at them desperately.

“Stop,” she whimpered to herself, to soft to hear. Her breath was coming shorter and shorter and her sobs were turning into wet gasps for air, but there wasn’t enough, why wasn’t there enough, and everything felt like too much, then like it was all so far, and her ears were buzzing as blood rushed past and her fingers felt nerveless, darkness was creeping up until it covered everything, and then there was nothing.

Until-

“-think from here.” A voice sounded from beyond the cotton in her mouth feeling in her mind. Then another, “Do you see-?”

It was like she could hear the words but her mind was lost, unable to make sense of anything.

“-my god!” The person sounded distressed and she wanted to see why but despite her best effort the thought slipped through her fingers. The darkness was pulling her in again, but before she could fall to it completely, she heard one last thing.

“Martha, it’s a girl!”

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 1: Love is... Letting someone take care of you (Prompt by @starryeyedjanai)

wc: 722 | Rated: G | tw: the ever-present possibility of Steve vomiting, migraines

Tags: Sick Fic, Steve Has a Migraine, Caregiver Eddie

Eddie makes his way down the hall, following the sounds of gross, loud and retching coughs, his pace quickening with each step.

Steve was supposed to meet him at the arcade an hour ago. Steve isn’t exactly the most punctual person (despite the guy always looking at his watch with a laboured sigh). He sleeps in more often than not.

But he’s never an hour late at 2 in the afternoon.

“Stevie?” he asks, just narrowly missing the doorframe as he practically spins into Steve’s bedroom.

He doesn’t wait for an answer and tiptoes towards the blanketed form that is spluttering gibberish like Steve is attempting to answer.

Eddie looks around the room, his hand hovering over Steve’s form.

The place looks about the same as usual – a little too clean for the bedroom of a twenty-year-old boy, curtains drawn like they were downstairs. Steve’s work clothes from yesterday are discarded on the floor...

Wait.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, rubbing the blanketed mass now.

The lump moves to reveal a muss of Steve’s hair, sticking on end, looking greasy and tangled at the back. Steve grumbles.

Eddie rounds the bed, hoping the other side will reveal Steve at least a little.

“So dizzy,” Steve mutters as soon as Eddie spots his flush, pained face in amongst his bedding.

His eyes roll back and close, a full-bodied grimace shaking the pile of bedding.

Eddie eases down and reaches to comb his fingers through Steve’s fringe, only to be hit with just how clammy his boyfriend is. He swoops back the sweat-caked hair, patting it down gently.

“Think I’m gonna… throw up,” Steve says clear as day and gulps.

And Eddie thinks this might be the first time he has ever seen someone’s face flush green.

“I’ll go get your bucket,” he says, earning a reedy whine in protest.

Steve doesn’t embarrass easily, but he does when it comes to his (sometimes vomit-inducing) migraines and the yellow bucket Claudia Henderson brought by after Spring Break and demanded he keep close by. It sits under the sink in the ensuite bathroom now.

Eddie makes quick work of retrieving the bucket, plus some tissues and a glass of water. There are more supplies he could do with, he thinks, but they’ll have to wait.

“Come on, Big Boy,” he says, tugging at the covers, “Time to sit up.”

Steve moves at a snail’s pace to get himself untangled from his cocoon and sit upright. The blankets eventually fall away to reveal a flush, bare chest.

“You naked under there?” Eddie teases.

“Clothes sting,” is all Steve says as he swings his legs around with a monumental effort to hang off the side of the bed.

“Feet on the carpet, sweetheart,” Eddie instructs, placing the bucket in his lap and spotting it with his own hands.

“I’s gross,” Steve mutters, head falling into the receptacle, his voice echoing in its (so far) emptiness, “Go... away.”

He sways a little as if those limited, broken words were too much. Eddie wraps his free hand around his boyfriend’s middle.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he begins, “And you are not gross. You need help. I’m here now.”

He soothes his hand up Steve’s back, feeling him relax a touch.

“O-okay,” Steve hiccups, a tear falling onto his cheek.

“I’m here to look after you,” Eddie reassures, his voice barely above a whisper, “And I’ll get you good enough that we can pack you up and get you over to my house. Sound good, hmm?”

Steve half-nods into his bucket before he looks up.

His eyes are glassy. Nose red. His fringe now sticking to his forehead. He looks like a wreck, unkempt and sweaty. Now only a pale, pink-tinged green.

But Eddie leans forward and presses a kiss to his partner’s cheek anyway.

“Just think about your feet on the carpet, okay?” he whispers when he pulls back, “Your feet are planted on the ground – balanced, steady. Focus on that for a while. It’s okay if you throw up.”

Steve huffs and nods.

“‘Kay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve.”

Steve drops his head towards the bucket again and Eddie begins detangling at the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

“Thanks,” Steve rasps after a long while of silence (and him not blowing chucks everywhere), “L-Love you.”

[vintageshanny]

For the First Time

Content: 18+ This is a one-shot about Elvis losing his virginity. I do not claim to be an expert on the details of this. I have heard different rumors, and this is, to me, one possibility of how things might have happened. There is smut in this, but I’m more focused on how he might have been feeling at this time. As always, my tender little heart bleeds with love for him and everything he went through in his life. I would very much appreciate any feedback. ❤️

Thank you @lookingforrainbows for talking me through ideas on this and letting me know it didn’t sound ridiculous. You are a beautiful soul. ❤️ 😘

Fall 1954

Elvis ran his fingers over the outline of the condom package that Scotty had slipped into his pocket at the beginning of the tour. “I know ya got a girl, EP, but put it in your wallet man, just in case. Ya don’t wanna come back with more people than ya left with,” he’d added with a wink. Somehow rubbing his fingers over the rough edges calmed Elvis’ ragged nerves a little bit.

His mind drifted to Dixie and the promises they’d made to each other. To wait. To wait until they were married to consummate their relationship. Sure, they were affectionate with each other, always hugging and kissing, but whenever Elvis tried to sneak his hand up under her skirt or unbutton a couple buttons on her dress, she’d firmly push him away and say, “That’s for our wedding night, silly.” Sometimes when they were kissing, she’d let him grind against her through their clothes, and he’d get so worked up that he needed to make an excuse to go to the bathroom so he could relieve the amount of passion coursing through his entire body.

The promise to wait had seemed so much easier six months ago when they talked about it. Now, it was damn near impossible. He saw the way these girls looked at him after the shows. He was dying to know what it felt like to explore every part of a woman. He thought maybe if he just got this out of his system, the waiting with Dixie wouldn’t be so hard. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he was a man after all, and she didn’t need to know about this. He could experience this on the road and be good for her at home. He just needed to find a way to make sure everyone was happy and taken care of, like he’d always tried to do.

Dropping the condom onto the rumpled bedspread, he rose from the edge of the bed and started pacing the hotel room, the voices floating up from the courtyard below making his heart thud in his chest.

“Maria! You came!” Scotty’s reedy voice rang out.

“That’s the idea,” Bill added, only slightly under his breath.

“You should head right up! Elvis should be waitin’ for ya. He’s been waitin’ a looong time.”

Elvis cringed at Scotty’s words as he looked out the window and saw the two of them clink beer bottles and laugh.

Maria paused and turned to look at them, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. “What’s that supposed ta mean?”

Elvis held his breath, willing Scotty not to divulge too much. He’d never come right out and told the guys he was a virgin, but he saw the way they nudged each other and smirked whenever he was talking to a girl after the show. He slowly exhaled as Scotty responded.

“Aw nothin’, honey, I just hope you two have fun on your date.”

Maria rolled her eyes and headed for the stairs, carefully ascending them in her white kitten heels. She took a deep breath, smoothed out her pale yellow sundress, and tried to brace herself for what was on the other side of that door. She had been with a handful of other men, but this was a bona fide star. He probably invited a different girl up every night. Maybe that’s what the other guys had been joking about. She hoped she would live up to his expectations, especially after her bold proclamation earlier. The conversation replayed in her head as she lifted her hand to knock on the door.

“Hey baby, I could see ya dancin’ from up on that stage. Looks like ya really enjoyed the show.”

“I sure did. Maybe I can return the favor with a show of my own.” A sense of satisfaction had consumed her when he unexpectedly blushed at her advances.

Maria’s mind snapped back to the present as Elvis flung open the door. He was wearing black dress pants with a pink jacket open to the naval. As he rested one hand slightly below his hip, she took note of his long slender fingers, nails chewed down to the nub, and the fuzzy little trail of hair leading down from his belly button. Up close, and in the fluorescent lighting of the hotel, she could see he had a pimple on his chin and another close to his collarbone. The entire scene was absolutely intoxicating.

“Maria, I was startin’ ta think ya were gonna stand me up, baby.” Elvis flashed a crooked little grin and stepped aside to let her in the room. He quickly kicked a stray sock under the bed where he’d hidden the rest of his dirty clothes. After sniffing each pair of socks, he had decided it was best to just stay barefoot after his shower. His toes scrunched up at the feel of the rough carpet under his feet.

“No, of course not,” Maria giggled nervously. “I suppose I just took too long tryin’ ta look nice for ya.”

“Well ya sure do look nice, honey,” Elvis whispered lowly as he closed the door and grabbed her by the waist, feeling the soft flesh of her hips. He leaned in and smushed his lips into hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth when she let out a little gasp.

“Wow, you don’t waste no time gettin’ to the action, hmm?” she laughed a little bit when he finally pulled back for some air, his eyes closed. His hands had moved up a little bit, his thumb gently rubbing at the side of her breast.

“I-I-I thought that’s what ya wanted, baby,” Elvis stammered out, trying to read her expression. “If you’d rather just sit and talk, that’s okay.” He led her over toward the bed, and they both spotted the condom at the same moment. Elvis’ face turned bright red as he snatched it up. “Oh, I-I-I’m sorry baby, I d-d-didn’t mean ta leave that there like that. We really ain’t gotta do nothin’, I-I-I mean-”

Maria just laughed and pushed him gently backward until he was sitting on the bed. “It’s okay, Elvis.” She unbuttoned his jacket the rest of the way and slipped it off his shoulders. “I always make good on my promises.”

Elvis stared in awe as she reached behind herself and unzipped the yellow dress, letting it fall to the ground, revealing a silky pink bra and panties. Elvis gulped nervously as he stared at her body. The material was so thin and sheer, he could see the outline of her nipples and the little mound of hair down below. He stifled a groan as he could feel his cock growing hard, straining against the briefs that he now wished he’d forgone.

“You’re really gonna make me put on a show for ya, huh?” Maria teased as Elvis just sat there studying her. “I thought ya might join in.” She reached back and unclasped her bra, her perky breasts now on full display for him.

“I-I-I’m sorry honey, ya jus’ got me a little speechless here. I’ll join in,” Elvis murmured as he pulled her closer to him. He tentatively leaned in and took one of her nipples in his mouth, caressing it with his warm tongue.

“Mmm, that’s more like it,” she whispered. “You can touch me anywhere, Elvis.” As she grabbed his hand to guide it toward her panties, she realized he was literally shaking with nerves. “Elvis? Are ya okay?” As she looked at him with concern, the meaning of Scotty’s “He’s been waitin’ a long time” suddenly hit her. “Are you, I mean, is this your, um, first time?” she asked softly.

“Wh-wh-what?” Elvis exclaimed, jerking his trembling hand away. “N-n-no baby, I-I-I’ve been with plenty of girls. I-I-I jus’, um, I mean, n-n-none as beautiful as you, that’s all,” he stammered out, trying to distract her with a compliment.

Maria wanted to tell him it was okay, that she was flattered, that he didn’t need to be nervous, but she decided it was best to just drop it and help him relax. She smiled and nodded. “You’re sweet, Elvis. I wanna see if ya taste sweet too.” She dropped down to her knees and unbuttoned his pants.

“Wh-wh-what are ya doin’ honey? Ya ain’t gotta do all that.” Elvis heard the words come out of his mouth, but somehow his body’s desire betrayed him by lifting slightly off the bed so Maria could pull off his pants. His heart raced anxiously as she reached inside of his briefs. He knew from being in the locker rooms back in school that not everyone had a sheath of foreskin covering their dick, and he hoped she wouldn’t mock him the way some of his classmates had.

Maria could feel her panties getting wetter by the second as she wrapped her hand around something thick and warm inside Elvis’ briefs. “We should just get these outta the way,” she murmured, pulling them down his legs and watching as he sprang free from the confinement. Her eyes widened with surprise when she realized he was not…well, not like the other guys she’d been with. There was something extra wrapped around him. She liked the way it felt as she pumped it with her hand.

Elvis squinched his eyes shut, too afraid he’d see a look of disgust before she jumped up and ran off. Instead, he felt something warm and wet wrap around his hard dick. He opened his eyes to see Maria taking him deep in her mouth, and the moan he let out made him kick himself for not closing the window tight. The whole hotel must know what’s going on in here. Her tongue traced its way around his shaft before taking special care of his sensitive tip. Elvis thought he might explode right on the spot as she sucked on him.

“You do taste good y’know,” Maria said with a little wink as she pulled off him and stood up again. She slid her dampened panties down and stepped out of them, so they were both totally naked. “Do you wanna check if I’m ready for ya?” Elvis nodded and this time let her guide his hand between her legs.

“Baby, it’s so wet down there,” he murmured as Maria started moaning. He found her entrance and slipped a finger inside of her, moving it in a way that felt natural. She felt so soft and silky, he thought he could just play with her pussy for hours. But Maria wanted more than a finger.

“You should slide right in then,” she whispered as she moved his hand and laid down on the bed next to him. He grabbed the condom again and opened it, rolling it onto himself, hoping Maria couldn’t tell he’d never done this before. Maria smiled at the awkward way he put on the condom, and noticed that she could feel him trembling again. “I want it so bad, Elvis,” she reassured him, pulling him on top of her.

“Me too, baby, me too.” Elvis reached down and guided his dick toward her slick opening. Once he’d gently pushed in a couple inches, he thrusted in the rest of the way, her wet pussy consuming his entire length. “Oh, goddamn,” he moaned out, unprepared for the feeling of something so tight and wet wrapped around him, clenching at him. He tried to take it slow, tried to make it last, but the pleasure was overpowering. He thrust a few times before his orgasm completely took over, leaving him panting on top of Maria, his sweaty hair dripping down onto her forehead.

“Oh wow, baby, you are amazing.” Elvis slowly pulled out and rolled to his side. He carefully peeled off the condom and tossed it into the trash can by the bed. “I-I-I’m sorry, I usually l-l-last longer, I jus’, uh, got so excited,” he tried to explain, his face turning red from the lies and the exertion.

Maria just smiled and patted his chest. “That’s okay, I thought your excitement was very sweet.” She hesitated, then added, “Do ya think you could, um, help me get there though? Your fingers felt magical inside me,” she admitted with a blush.

“Really?” Elvis perked up at the compliment. “I mean, of course baby.” He reached over between her legs and started playing with her pussy again, taking mental note of what seemed to work the best. She moaned deeply when he put a finger inside her, but he noticed that her toes curled up and she could barely even function when he rubbed at her little button. I wonder what both at once would do. He kneeled next to her and put two fingers from one hand inside of her while his thumb on the other hand worked that little nub.

“Oh, God!” she cried out in ecstasy, her legs shaking, her arousal leaking out onto his fingers. “Oh Elvis, I c-c-can’t take it,” she moaned, begging him to stop. Elvis removed his fingers and smiled, very pleased with his ability as he leaned down to kiss her soft lips.

“Was that magical enough?” he whispered in her ear.

“Pure magic.” Maria pulled him in for another passionate kiss.

“C-c-can I ask ya somethin’, honey?” Elvis gently stroked Maria’s arm with his fingertips. “After talkin’ to ya, ya seem like such a nice sweet girl. Wh-wh-why did ya do this with me?”

Maria tried to sort out the thoughts in her head, wondering how much she should share. “You seem like a nice sweet guy. Why did you do it?” she finally asked.

“W-w-well, that’s different, I mean, I…I wanted ta feel good I guess,” Elvis stumbled over his explanation, unable to really articulate what he was feeling at that exact moment.

“So did I,” Maria responded. “Elvis, I’ve been through some really bad experiences. I suppose at heart I’m just lonely and this is a way to feel close to someone, to feel connected and cared for, even if just for a little while. Ya know what I mean?”

Elvis swallowed a lump in his throat. It was like she had put his exact thoughts into words. “I know exactly what ya mean, honey. Does it work? Ta make ya feel close ta someone, I mean?”

Maria let out a little sigh. “Sometimes. Sometimes not so much. But we all just try the best we can, I suppose.”

Elvis nodded as Maria stood up to get dressed. “I should get home. My mama will worry and wonder where I’ve been.”

“What will you tell her?” Elvis asked as he pulled his clothes back on.

“That I was having a deep conversation with a friend,” Maria laughed. “Y’know, not really a lie, but not the whole truth. Not everyone needs ta know everything.”

“Will I, uh, will I see ya again at another show?”

Maria smiled and hugged him tight. “Maybe. But maybe we were just the connection the other needed in this moment.”

Maria paused at the door and looked back. “Elvis?”

“Yeah, honey?” Elvis’ mind was a muddle of confused emotions right now.

“You are very sweet and very special. Never let anyone make ya feel like that ain’t enough.” That crooked little smile would be burned into her mind forever.

Twenty minutes later, Elvis descended the steps to the courtyard, wondering what the guys were up to. Scotty and Bill were playing cards when they saw him approaching and started a round of applause. “There he is!” Scotty yelled out. “I told ya that condom would come in handy.”

“Aw quit it,” Elvis snapped, but he couldn’t deny feeling a tiny surge of pride at being considered “one of the guys” for the first time in his life. He couldn’t see it now, but over the years ahead, he’d sacrifice so much for the desire to fit in, to connect with people, to wish they could understand him. What he’d give for just one person to really understand what he was going through. To understand his heart.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @lookingforrainbows @thatbanditqueen @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @arrolyn1114 @atleastpleasetelephone

[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 5 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jessica knows she should just head home for the night, but Jake's sincerity keeps her at Chippy's. He tries to secure a second date and her still elusive phone number as he learns bit by bit just how sweet she can be.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing, eventually 18+

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

There was a first time for everything. At least that's how the saying went. Jessica had never been stood up before. But it was the fact that she was completely blindsided by it that really got to her.

It was 7:34. Jake was more than thirty minutes late. He wasn't coming. She had been stringing him along for too long without giving him her phone number. Or maybe she really was just as dull as she thought she was. Regardless, she was going to have to stand up from her table and walk back past the bar and out the front door. Alone. She recognized two of her students sitting a few tables over, and she wanted to cry. Doing this pathetic walk of shame out of Chippy's would be enough to have her in tears on the drive home. She just knew it. 

"Shit," she muttered to herself as she slid off of her stool so her heels clicked against the dirty floor. She adjusted her glasses with the backs of her fingers and then picked up the journals she brought with her along with her purse. Then she tried to keep her face neutral as she nodded at Chippy who looked extremely displeased behind the bar. 

"Night, Reedy," he murmured as she walked past. She wished she could reach the big trash can from this side of the bar, because what sane woman keeps giving a hot man scientific journals all the time? She'd throw them away in the dumpster near where she parked. And then she would go home and reevaluate just how she managed to mess this whole thing up in the analytical way her mind wanted her to. 

She skirted past her students and pushed the door open to the cool, evening air and the sounds of traffic. She managed to let out the breath she had been holding, but now the tears were right there, and she was hoping to get home before they spilled over. 

"Jessica!" 

She knew it was Jake. She knew his voice. She also knew she couldn't run to her car in high heels fast enough before he caught up with her. So she turned toward his voice and waited on the sidewalk as he rushed toward her.

He looked like a mess with grease stains on his jeans. His hair was disheveled, and he was all sweaty. "I'm sorry I'm late," he panted, out of breath with his hands on his hips and his head tipped back as he gasped for air. 

She wasn't sure what to make of him like this. She didn't know if she even wanted to try. "I'm just going to head home," she replied softly, taking a step in the opposite direction. "It's already 7:40."

His eyes looked desperate when they met hers. "Fuck!" he grunted under his breath, broad chest rising and falling rapidly. "Stay? Please? Just let me get you one drink? And we can talk?" He was so handsome, she desperately wanted to cave and still spend the rest of the night drinking cheap beers and eating peanuts with him. 

"Why are you late?" Jessica asked, adjusting her glasses. "I thought you were looking forward to Chippy's." She kind of shrugged like she was already expecting some stupid excuse, and then Jake brought his hand up to her cheek and brushed her hair back with his fingers. 

"My truck was in the shop last week, and it appears to be having problems again. Once it stalled out and I couldn't get it started again, I just left it and ran here. Because I have absolutely been looking forward to Chippy's. And you look beautiful, by the way," he drawled softly, fingers tangled with her hair as his breathing evened out.

"Where did you leave your truck?" she asked, leaning slightly into his touch. 

"By the Starbucks on Collier Avenue," he replied softly, green eyes fixed on hers.

Then Jessica gasped. "That's like five miles away!"

"Mmhmm," he hummed. "I should have just left it there as soon as it died, but I tried to mess with it first. That's why I'm so late. I'm sorry."

"Oh." She didn't know what else to say. He ran five miles to get here. 

"Yeah. Oh," he said with an edge to his voice. "I emailed your university account, but I figured you don't check it after you're done working for the night. And I still don't have your phone number, or I would have called you immediately."

Jessica felt warmth in her cheeks as Jake closed the distance between them like he was going to kiss her. "If you give me another chance and your phone number, I'll buy a new car before our next date to guarantee I'm on time. Or I can just leave early enough to run the whole way."

She giggled softly. "You're funny, Jake."

He just shook his head and said, "I'm pretty serious right now, Reedy." Then his gaze dipped down to her lips, and Jessica could tell he wanted to kiss her. His fingertips were still gently tangled in some strands of her hair. His body was warm as he crowded her against the outside of the bar, and she was flattered that he ran to get to her. 

"You must be thirsty after all that running," she whispered, tugging on the collar of his shirt. 

He turned his head so his lips brushed along her knuckles, and she gasped as he said, "I'm thirsty for more than beer or water, Jess. But I'd still love to take you inside and get some drinks and some peanuts."

And then she found herself nodding and leading him toward the door.

----------------------------

The bartender was glaring at Jake as soon as he held the door open for Jessica, and it just intensified when he let his hand rest on her lower back. "Reedy?" the other man called out, absolutely scowling as he let his fist rest on the bartop. 

"It's okay, Chippy," she replied, glancing up at Jake as she walked toward the only empty table in the dive bar. 

"The bartender is actually Chippy himself? The man, the legend?" Jake asked softly as he pulled out one of the stools for Jessica and watched her set her journals and cute little purse on the table. 

When she slid onto the seat and crossed her legs, she said, "Yes. Don't mess with Chippy. That man was nice to me when nobody else was."

Jake studied her pretty face as she adjusted her glasses. "Who in their right mind wouldn't be sweet to you?"

She looked down at the journals and pushed them aside like she was suddenly embarrassed. "It's been known to happen."

"Shouldn't though," he replied, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Now let me go mend fences with your main squeeze. I want to be able to show my face in this fine establishment again in the future."

Jessica was smiling brightly at him as he turned toward the bar where Chippy was wiping the same spot with a rag over and over again. "Good evening," Jake said to the older man who still looked like he wanted to snap Jake in half. "Could I get two pints of whichever beer is Reedy's favorite?"

"Sam Adams," he grunted, tossing the rag aside. "And sometimes I get the Sam seasonal kegs for her. When I can." 

Jake just nodded. Chippy was a big fan of Jessica's. He really needed to make sure this guy liked him, and he was pretty sure leaving another massive tip was not the answer. "Right. Two Sam Adams pints then, please."

Without another word, Chippy pulled two beers from the tap for Jake, setting them down a little hard in front of him before he scooped a bowl of peanuts. 

"Thank you," Jake told him as the bowl of peanuts came thudding down next to the beers. 

While Jake dug a ten dollar bill out of his wallet, Chippy grunted again. "She waited a long time for you to show up." His voice was accusatory. 

Jake smoothed the bill between his thumb and index finger, stealing a glance at Jessica a few tables away. She was playing with her hair and reading something with a soft smile on her lips. He turned back toward the bar and met Chippy's eyes. "It won't happen again."

"No. It won't. Because next time I'll kick you out permanently," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you can even manage to get a next time, that is."

"That's certainly the goal," Jake informed him. 

"Well, a lot of men look, that's for sure. And I think she's oblivious to most of 'em. But not you, for some reason," Chippy said, scowling once again. "Handsome and annoying," he muttered. "Be nice to her or I'll kick you out once and for all." Then he reached for the rag again, completely ignoring Jake. 

"Right." Jake picked up both glasses in one hand and grabbed the pretzels, and he headed back to the table and Jessica.

"Did you have a nice conversation?" she asked with an amused expression as Jake slid one of the beers in her direction and sat on the stool opposite her.

He leaned on the table and whispered, "Not particularly. Pretty sure he'd happily kick me out given the opportunity. I had to swear on my life I'd never be late again."

She laughed behind her pint before taking a sip. "His bark is worse than his bite. Mostly. But actually, the head of the chemistry department has a lifetime ban, so maybe not."

"Damn," Jake murmured, taking a sip of his own beer. "Was he late meeting you two times in a row?"

Jessica looked down into her beer, swirling the glass gently, a solemn look on her face. "Something like that...let's just say the fact that Brian Conley isn't allowed in here is just one of the reasons this is my preferred hangout."

"Okay," Jake said softly, wondering if this Conley character had anything to do with the rumors Bradshaw's wife had been telling him about. Regardless, he was going to side with Chippy on this one. Conley could eat shit if Jessica didn't like him. "We hate Brian Conley," Jake told her as they both reached for the peanuts. 

For some reason this got Jessica laughing again. "We do," she said as she picked up a few peanuts and held her hand open to him. Jake rubbed his thumb along her palm before selecting one and cracking into it. "Now, did Chippy tell you I like Sam Adams? Or did you guess from last time we were here?"

Jake tossed the shell on the floor and said, "You think I'd leave that up to chance? I one hundred percent asked him just to be sure. And now I know what kind of beer to buy if you agree to come to my place and let me cook dinner for you."

Jessica froze with her hand in the air, ready to throw her peanut shell. "You know how to cook?" 

"Yeah," he replied with a smile. "I love it, actually. I usually meal prep on Sundays after I buy all my groceries for the week."

She was gaping at him. "There are two of you with the uniforms and the kitchen skills?"

Jake laughed, realizing she must have been referring to Bradshaw as well. "First of all, he's married. I'm single." She finally tossed her peanut shell and rolled her eyes. 

"I finally made a friend at work," she said, cracking another shell and throwing this one at him. "You think I'm going to risk that by even looking at her husband for a second too long? No."

Jake tried to keep a straight face as he said, "Nobody's gonna get mad if you look at me all day long, Reedy."

"Tempting," she said before sipping her drink without meeting his eye.

"And," he added, running his fingers along her palm as she handed him more peanuts, "the kitchen isn't the only room where I have skills."

She met his eyes and adjusted her glasses with a smirk. "Care to tell me more about that, Lieutenant Seresin?"

He nodded and said, "I'm really good in the living room, too. You should see how well I can lay on the couch and watch University of Texas football."

She laughed and said, "I almost forgot for a second that you're from Texas."

"How did you know I'm from Texas? And, oh shit... did all those A&M boys already ruin my chances for me? I almost never wear my boots and hats around, I swear."

Jake grinned as she threw more peanut shells at him. "Stop!" she whispered as she laughed, and Jake loved the sound of it. "The only thing they ruined for me is Lone Star beer and line dancing."

Now he was laughing, because yeah, that made sense. "You're a Yankee, obviously. Don't tell the Texans I've been visiting you at work. They won't stand for it."

"Oh, sounds like Romeo and Juliet," she replied. "Except without the balconies, old English, and hermits giving out free drugs to children."

"Wait," he said, now the one who was laughing too hard. "My condo has a balcony."

"Shiiit," she whispered, eyes wide in feigned shock. "I was hoping this was a comedy, not a tragedy."

"Oh, it's definitely a comedy, Jessica. The audience is in riotous laughter over the fact that I still don't have your phone number."

This time she had to cover her mouth with one hand as she laughed. And when Jake glanced toward the bar, Chippy looked decidedly less aggressive now when he met his gaze. 

"You Yankee girls must have a very particular vetting process. You from New York?"

"Massachusetts," she replied, still giggling. "I went to MIT undergrad."

"That explains the Sam Adams. Also, I'm never getting your phone number, am I?" he asked playfully, reaching across the small table and tucking her pretty hair behind her ear again while she laughed. "You've got me showing up to see you at work and running five miles for dates."

"Don't count yourself out quite yet," she said as he stroked her cheek. 

"And you got me reading physics journals on my couch while the college games are on," he added softly. "You brought some more for me to take home?" he asked, dropping his hand and tapping the stack on the table next to her elbow. 

But now she had a dreamy look in her eyes. "You really read them instead of watching the game?"

"Mmhmm." He nodded and said, "Picked one up at halftime and realized I missed the entire third quarter before I was done reading it."

Her lips were softly parted as she blinked at him. "Yeah. I brought you some more. But you have to promise you'll read them all cover to cover."

"I always do."

"Good. You won't be disappointed."

Jake laughed and looked down at the peanut shell in his hand before he tossed it over his shoulder just to make her smile. "I doubt you could ever disappoint me, Jessica."

God, the way she looked at him when he dished out something sweet could probably bring him to his knees. And the thing was, it was never a line. He wasn't throwing out bullshit to see if landed. He meant every word of it. Her eyes were unguarded as they always seemed to be with him now, and he couldn't believe he almost completely blew this evening with his fucking truck. 

It was getting a little late now, and he needed to try to secure the next date while she was still looking at him with those dreamy eyes. He just didn't want her to think he had any certain set of expectations but suggesting his place. 

"You know," he started, "my couch is big enough for both of us to watch some football and read some journals together. I could buy some Sam Adams, and we could make dinner together on Saturday night."

He watched her front teeth sink into her lip. She was hesitating. And it was killing him a little bit. "I think I can make that work," she said slowly, sliding the journals across the table as his heart pounded. 

"Gonna need your phone number so I can text you my address," he whispered, reaching for her hand before she pulled it away. "Please?" 

He drew a little heart on her palm with the tip of his index finger, and a smile bloomed across her face. "You'll find it, Jake. I know you will." And then she slowly closed her hand and stood, leaving him to pick up the journals. "But it's getting late, and Thursdays are early for me."

"Right." He followed her past the bar and watched her wave to Chippy who looked at her with a very kind smile before giving Jake a look of warning. And maybe he needed that warning, because he was looking at the gorgeous swell of her ass and enjoying the way she walked in high heels a little too much. So he nodded at Chippy, and kept his eyes on her wavy hair instead.  

Once they were outside, Jessica dragged the toe of one of her shoe a few inches along the sidewalk as she leaned against the building. "Thanks for the three dollar beer," she said with a smile. 

"You know, I'm pretty sure Chippy would give them to you for free if you were alone."

Her smile turned into another pretty laugh. "You're not wrong. Do you need a ride back to your truck?"

"Wouldn't mind one since I need to get it towed," he murmured, not quite ready to move from this spot where her face looked so perfect in the dim light. "But I'd be more than happy to run the five miles back."

And then her right hand reached up to tug on his shirt collar, and she didn't look so hesitant now as he eased himself closer, letting his hand rest on the wall next to her. "You have a peanut shell in your hair," she whispered, releasing his collar and brushing her fingers along his temple. 

Jake swallowed hard. His lips were just a few inches from hers as he softly said, "That's probably because a beautiful woman was throwing them at me."

Her laugh was quiet and breathy, and then the space between their lips was negligible. And then she was kissing him with her small hand wrapped gently around his neck. Jessica was smiling against his lips, and he wasn't used to it being this sweet. He didn't kiss the girls from the bar like this, and they never teased his cheek with the tip of their nose or ran their thumb delicately behind his ear. 

Oh, he was going to crave this now. Soft, exploratory kisses that tasted like beer and peanuts. And the sound of her soft moan as he let his hand trail from the wall near her shoulder down along her side to her waist. Yeah, this was going to become a necessity for Jake. 

She brushed her lips along his again before looking up at him with surprised eyes as he held her a little tighter. And then six more little kisses while her hand trailed down his neck. "I was really afraid you stood me up earlier," she whispered, trailing some kisses along his chin.

"I wouldn't do that, Baby. You have any idea how much I wanted tonight to happen?" Jake had one hand full of physics journals and one hand full of Jessica, and he was already thinking about what he might cook for dinner on Saturday night. 

With a soft laugh, she started to lead him down the sidewalk to her car. And he got to do even more things he never really did. Like open her car door instead of call her a cab at two in the morning. And lean over from the passenger seat and kiss her cheek gently as she started the engine. 

"What's your day looking like tomorrow, Dr. Reed?" he asked, linking his fingers loosly with hers for the short drive to his truck. 

"Department meeting, lectures, more lectures, a lab, and then my office hours."

Jake's mind was already working on a plan. "I have a long day ahead of me, too. There's my truck," he said, pointing to the piece of shit he was afraid he was going to have to replace. 

Jessica pulled up next to it and put her car in park, but when she reached for the key, he covered her hand with his. "Just leave me here. I'll get it towed to the garage again and then get Bradshaw to drive me home from there. I want you to go right home. It's late and it's dark out."

Jake wrapped her hand around the steering wheel again as she said, "Okay." But the single word was muffled by his lips crashing against hers. He kissed her long and hard one time, and her glasses were a little crooked when he was done. He straightened them out before he reached for the door handle. 

"I had a great time tonight. I'm sorry I almost ruined it by being late."

"You made up for it by running five miles," she whispered. "Night, Jake." 

And then he was watching her pull back into traffic as he called for a tow truck, keeping his eyes on her brake lights until they were out of sight. Just for good measure he looked up some new trucks for sale as he sat behind his steering wheel, but that got boring after a few minutes. And then he thought about the way Jessica told him she was confident he would find her number. 

He lunged for the journals sitting on the seat next to him, and he spread them out to read all the covers. His eyes caught on an edition of Applied Physics from late last year that said Jessica Reed, PhD. on the cover under an article title about combustion in jets. 

"It's gotta be," he whispered as the tow truck arrived, and he frantically flipped to the page where her article had been printed. He would read the whole thing later. He wanted to read the whole thing later. But right now his eyes settled on a small, handwritten note. He recognized her writing from the mini lecture he'd accidentally attended, and a smile crept along his lips. 

Jake,

If you made it this far, you can call or text me anytime. 

Her number was written beneath it, and he was entering her as a contact in his phone when he got out to talk to the tow truck driver. He felt like he just won the lottery as he added the picture of her he had saved from the San Diego State University website as her contact photo. 

Jessica, I'm sending you my address for Saturday. You and me, my couch, physics journals, college football and dinner? Please say yes. 

It was getting very late now, and maybe she wouldn't respond until tomorrow, but Jake felt like he was on cloud nine. He just kept thinking about how sweet Jessica was. About how he wouldn't mind wrapping her up in his arms for some more soft kisses on his couch. 

Once the driver was unloading his truck at the garage, Jake opened a different contact on his phone and made a quick call. 

"It's 10:30, Hangman. This better be important."

"Bradshaw. I need a ride home from the garage. My truck is acting up again," Jake replied, trying not to smile at how annoyed Rooster sounded. 

An exasperated sigh carried through the phone, and then Jake could hear his wife in the background asking, "Who is it?"

"It's Hangman. He needs a ride."

"Oh, well we can always finish this later, Beer Boy." His wife sounded less annoyed than him, thankfully. 

After a brief pause, Bradshaw said, "Give me twenty minutes. I need to get dressed."

"Thanks. Much appreciated," Jake replied. He dropped his keys into the overnight box with a note telling the mechanic he was having the same issues as last week. And then he waited for that blue Bronco to pull into the lot, and when Jake climbed in, Bradshaw looked pissed as hell. 

"Do you have any idea what my wife was about to do to me when you called?" he growled, shifting into reverse before Jake even had the door closed. 

"Come on, man. Your wife's hot, but I don't want to be imagining what the two of you get up to."

"She was about to reprimand me for turning in sloppy math homework," he said, completely disregarding Jake. "And I'm virtually sure she will no longer be in the mood for that when I get back at 11:30. So you owe me. I don't even know what you owe me yet, but it's going to be big. Because I'm assuming you expect me to give you a ride to work in the morning, too."

Jake cleared his throat and said, "If you wouldn't mind."

"Fuck," Rooster growled as he pulled up to Jake's condo building. "I'll pick you up at 7:30. Get the fuck out."

"Thanks," Jake said, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. Jessica had just texted him back, and he was all smiles even as the Bronco peeled away. He was in.

------------------------

As Jessica undressed in her bedroom, she ran her fingers along her lace bra. She wondered what Jake's favorite color was, because she probably owned a pretty matching set that she would love to wear for him. She should have known this was going to happen; one kiss from him, and she was thinking about spending a lazy Sunday in bed with her fingers tangled in his hair. 

"Stop," she told herself half heartedly with a dreamy smile in the mirror. She'd given him the journal with her number inside, and now she just had to wait. He'd probably find it by tomorrow. Maybe she would see him at her office hours again. Her whole body was tingling with excitement as she unclasped her bra, and then she heard the ping of her phone notifications. 

She tossed her bra and bounded across the room in just her panties and saw a text from an unknown number. 

Jessica, I'm sending you my address for Saturday. You and me, my couch, physics journals, college football and dinner? Please say yes. 

She squealed as she flopped down onto her bed. He was good. It took him almost no time to find her phone number. She typed back a message as she thought about his big hands and his southern drawl. After she hit send, she closed her eyes and imagined everything she wanted to do to him in her office as she let her fingers glide along her body.

Don't forget the Sam Adams. See you on Saturday.

-----------------------------

Yes! You run those five miles, Jake! Anyone else just love Chippy? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 6

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[twst-drabbles]

Deuce 4

Summary: You were boiling eggs because Crowley is over at your house, nursing a hang-over after downing a whole bottle of wine for a bet. You decide to make him boiled eggs. Deuce takes a bite out of one of them.

Yes, yes, Crowley didn't exactly ask for just eggs but his whining got you up too early in the damn morning and now the only thing he's getting is boiled eggs.

That and you know Crowley. If you make too much food, he's going to try and eat all of it just to not leave any leftovers behind, and get himself sick for the rest of the day because of that. You're not exactly the best at measuring what's too much or what's too little, you only know your own limits.

“Have you finished yeeet?” For someone with a throbbing headache, he certainly can be loud.

Deuce, ever the helper in what ways he could, squeaked for your attention, then patted his puffed up chest. ‘You can rely on me!’ He’s probably trying to convey, even though there’s really nothing you need his help for.

Well, moral support should count for something, right?

“Alright, alright, continue being you,” you patted Deuce on his head, “Just don’t fall off my shoulder, ‘kay?” Chances are he might fall in the ice bowl full of boiled eggs. He certainly won’t like that bath.

“…am I truly alone in this wooorld?” Whine Crowley once more, and the crack in his voice struck out the edge of annoyance and made you laugh.

“Shove it Crowley,” you yelled back, though there was no malice in you. Yes, he’s a hassle to deal with, but he’s such a flavor of silly that you can’t help but want to use that against him when he’s gets sober. There’s no shortage of embarrassing memories in your head and you have no trouble making it known.

You should probably take him home, if only so you don’t have to deal with midday snoring but eh, it’s fine. It’s more trouble than it's worth anyway. He'd fall asleep in bed, snort awake and then end up right back in your house again via whatever magic spell he can remember that day.

It always has to be your house. It couldn’t be any other persons. Yours. Oh well.

You shake your hands to rid them of egg shells. You looked to your shoulder. “Hey, Deuce?”

He propped himself up, at attention. You dragged an empty bowl next to the ice one.

“Put them this bowl, please.” Certainly, you could do it yourself, but your pets get whiny if they can’t help you with simple tasks. Puts a hole in Deuce’s confidence especially.

Deuce pumped himself up with a sharp, reedy whistle and slid right down your arm. The eggs you boiled were a really weird variety, way bigger than a chicken’s egg. About the size of your entire hand. You don’t remember which creature this came from, but it’s the kind of eggs Crowley likes and the ones he gets you so may as well use them.

Point being, Deuce had to use his entire body to hold the egg up. Each step he took towards the bowl, Deuce gave a grunt, and it was at such a rhythm that you’re pretty sure he’s subconsciously recalling Riddle’s training.

One two, one two. And finally, Deuce got the boiled egg in the bowl.

“Good job, little buddy.” You patted his head when he rushed right over, ready for the next egg. “Here you go.”

And so you both continued, you peeling the eggs and Deuce carrying them to the bowl. Until, eventually, Deuce didn’t come right over for the next egg.

“Deuce?” You raised an eyebrow, egg in hand ready to be delivered, “You doing alright?”

You looked over, seeing Deuce still carrying that boiled egg, hidden behind it in such a way that you could only see his little legs.

“Deuce?” Your voice sunk a little lower, warning, and you saw him flinch.

Then, Deuce peeked from around the egg. His cheeks, evidently filled to the brim with egg, wobbled as he continued to chew. He looked guilty, and yet he continued to eat. You continued to stare as he swallowed down that huge bite in one go. It hit his belly a stone would.

Deuce looked down, clearly waiting for something on your part, but you just shrugged.

“You know what, you can have that one. I made too many anyway.” No you didn’t, Crowley eats way too much honestly, but eh, it’s not as if he’ll starve if he has one less egg than usual.

Deuce’s eyes sparkled and he popped his head right back into the hole he made in the boiled egg.

…are you gonna have to purchase more of these eggs now? They’re kinda expensive.

[blackkatmagic]

Kat you’re planning on writing/publishing a book!?! Could we perhaps have a hint about the genre …👀? Either way I’m so excited and hope to hear more about it in the future.

:3

There's water dripping somewhere close, echoing off the broken stone, and Grey’s breath rasps in his throat, too loud, too harsh, too noticeable. Jagged edges of stone dig deep into his spine where he’s pressed up tight against a fallen column, and the world swims like a heat haze.

At the edge of the cracked column, sprawled out and twisted, still twitching, is the commander’s hand. Grey knows it is because he saw the man fall there, but—

It hardly looks like a hand at all anymore, and fear beats harsh and bloody in the back of Grey’s throat as he strains his ears, tries to quiet his breathing. Nothing is moving but the dripping water, and somehow, that’s a thousand times more frightening than the screams that rose a moment ago.

In the echoing darkness, something shifts. It drags, scraping and crunching and liquid all at once, and blind panic rises, almost drives Grey to his feet to make a run for the distant dot of light that is the entrance. The limp, twisted forms of those who tried are scattered across the temple’s floor, though, and at the last moment Grey forces himself back down, digging his fingers hard into the stone as he tries desperately not to move.

The dragging slide of something too large and misshapen pauses, and then there's a high, thready, terrified moan. Armor scrapes across the stone, a desperate attempt to crawl to safety, but a bare second later there’s a hiss, too deep and multifaceted to come from any mortal throat. It rises and falls like a tide, and the paladin screams, bare and weak and full of nothing but terror—

The cry cuts off so sharply it makes Grey’s stomach turn, and something wet and meaty cracks, cracks again, thumps back to stone and metal and drags like a flayed corpse rolled across the floor.

The door, Grey thinks, that unbearable fear clawing at his insides. He needs to get to the door. They came to fight a god and failed, and now there’s no one left standing but him. If he can just get to the door while it’s distracted by the bodies—

“Please,” a thin, reedy voice calls, cracking in the middle of the word, falling away in fear. “Please, Ylthos, please—”

The fear doesn’t abate. Nothing changes. Ylthos doesn’t answer her paladin’s cries, even though Grey holds his breath, waiting. There's another hiss, another dragging, scraping slide as the thing moves, and nothing happens.

That paladin, or maybe another, is crying, and the thin sobs echo in the hidden temple, drowned out a moment later by the sound of a body twisting, breaking, reforming into something horrific. A wash of blood slides across the floor, stained black in thick ripples as it moves, and Grey squeezes his eyes closed, then forces them open again.

His sword fell into the water, back when the thing first hit them. It vanished into the deep pool, and if Grey turns his head, he can just see the edge of the water, still perfectly clear in the guttering light. All the other weapons the paladins bore in here were twisted, or changed, or broken, but—his sword wasn’t. If he can just get to it, there might be a chance.

Ylthos isn't answering their prayers, but the light of that last blessing is still there. Grey can feel her kiss against his forehead, can see the lights of the Sun Temple if he closes his eyes. Ylthos isn't answering, but maybe she can't. Maybe Grey is the only one who can do anything.

And then, dragging, slick and wet and heavy, something moves on the other side of the broken column.

This isn't how it’s supposed to go. This isn't how it happened.

Grey wrenches to his feet, but instead of bolting for the pool, he turns. In the same moment, a hand closes over cracked stone, and the thing that they came to contain hauls itself up, a dark, twisted shape that only shares the vaguest similarities with a human form. It drags itself along with its hands, long nails scoring deep into the stone as it hauls itself up and over the column, keening, reaching. Grey recoils with a shout, reaching for the blessing, the flame inside him—

Even as light kindles, pure white and blazing, the creature cries, the sound scraping Grey’s flesh raw, sinking barbs into his mind. He stumbles, goes down, sprawled out on the wet stone, and the creatures surges up, grabbing, pinning him even as he struggles. It’s like struggling against a tree, though, or a mountain, and his fingers slip on raw flesh that oozes black blood. With a surge of terror, Grey grabs for that light, throws it up between them like a barrier, and the thing wails. Ichor splatters Grey’s face, drips into his mouth as flesh singes, and he looks up into burning red eyes that are fixed solely on him.

Dark, limp, stringy hanks of hair tumble around them as the thing lowers its head, those long, broken spidery fingers clamping down tight around his arms. A mouth opens, too many teeth, another splatter of ichor that burns sharp enough to make Grey scream, and then—

A voice, wavering, broken, as sharp as needles and knives. It keens, right next to Grey’s ears, so loud it burns. None of the sounds it’s made have ever had words before, but now there are. Now there’s something in the midst of the rage and hatred and fear, and it inscribes itself into Grey’s bones like a vast hand is writing it with a red-hot quill.

Save me, the god says, and Grey stares up into red eyes, the perfect mirror of his own, as it leans in, claws digging in all the way to the bone. Save me save me save me save me—