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punk-in-docs · 2 years

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‼️YOU (don’t) KNOW I’M NO GOOD‼️

Detective (Killer) Quinn x Reader

3.6k words - Sequel to Tainted Love -

Inspired by *that* photo shoot - this is for @ceriseheaven 💋

Summary: Danger is apparently closer than you realise. ‼️ TW dark themes within: graphic descriptions of death/murder, and some mild stalking ‼️ porn coming up hot in the next one folks (I forever wish I could be one of those writers who just hops right on into writing smut - you’ll have to hear me waffle a little bit first Kay?)

A Hooker is found dead off Sunset Boulevard. Throat slit.

Her lanky limbs, stuffed into a horrible stinking dumpster behind the Whisky a Go-Go.

A blue dime store high heel lays in the alley. There’s blood spattered on it

You were there like a flash. Still tripping into your heels and zipping up your skirt, pulling on panty hose. Doing up your pussy bow blouse as you waited at the bus stop. No food or coffee in your belly. You’d no time.

Just sheer gut adrenaline and deep throbbing hunger for this continuing nightmare. Your story is here and you’ll hunt it out.

The bucking up bootstrap talk you give to yourself every morning. Shaking off shallow sleep. Finding that well of your elbow grease and getting the bit tight between your teeth. Grabbing your lipstick and your voice recorder as you run out the door.

Forever hauling ass to and from the corner of Clinton and Larchmont at the Chronicle office. Whenever you’re needed; have pen and gumption, will travel.

Sleeping at your desk with a deadly knotted crick in your neck. Back and fucking forth, from your baby pink and slowly rotting Las Palmas apartment building.

You exist from ends to end of cigarettes and chucking back shots of bourbon at night after a steamy shower. You scrounged your way by on half snatched lunches on the go, mustard hotdogs or everything bagels, black coffee, two sugars, no creamer. Gin with ice and lemon on Friday nights, and little to no sleep at all.

News never sleeps. Why should you-

You’d scrape to the bottom of this hellscape crime if it killed you.

Oh Birdie, Birdie, Birdie.

Another girl mangled dead. Another bloodstain soaking into the very same stretch of tarmac that’s laid with the gold star walk of fame.

A house way up in the Hollywood hills with two male roommates. And now a Hooker dead a stones throw off the boulevard. It’s random. There’s no pattern there. No food-chain event to yet glimpse a rhythm in.

You’d managed to elbow your way past the male reporters. Balding fat Murray’s and Brad’s, who came flocking from the Times and the Glendale Press.

With their cheap brown suits and oily moustaches. Ketchup blobbed on their polyester shirts and sweat pit stains, and usual brand of misogynistic bullshit. The way they talk about the dead hooker is like she was vermin.

You struck gold. You found the girls. You shamelessly shove your nose, and your cheap Jet Rag heels, all up into the business of the deceased’s friends.

Gathered around the cordon with you, tear streaked. Wiping weepy mascara trails. Last nights make up still caked on and very high heels. Hickies around their necks and up fingertip marks cobwebbed up their thighs.

You don’t take shit from them. No male reporter thinks their input is valuable? You do. You carve out time for them in this callous fast paced city that sees them as unwanted features.

You learn her name. Skinny Tina. So called because of her love of smack. Junkie to it. Liked leopard print dresses and her blue denim jacket. Smoked lucky’s. Came from Nashville. Old fixture on this block. Older than the stars she trod over.

You learn how she kept her corner. Worked her patch solid, from Bob Hope, all the way up to Ella Fitzgerald. That was her turf.

They tell you about the John she got off with last night when they last saw her. You cling to that morsel like it’s your lifeline. Root out as much as you can.

Scribble furiously. White male. Mid forties. Red Thatcherite braces, whiff of Wall Street about him. Prick from a lawyers office or some shit like that.

You nod. You ask. You write. Pulling meat off the bones of this case

You’ve no idea you’re being watched.

From behind the shiny windscreen of a Porsche no less. He sips his shitty weak coffee. Slips his eyes all over you as you stand there with the hookers. Unswerving determination behind those glasses lenses of yours.

You give each of them your card. You tell them to get in touch if another girl goes missing. Or if anything happens. Catch anyone skulking around. Ring you. Day or night.

Like you care toots. You just want your name in the paper right? They stand there with one hip cocked. Eyeing you with spiky pessimism.

You’re punchy. You meet eyes and you don’t shrivel away. “I care.”

You scribble your personal number on the back in red biro and hand it over. Shove it at them with hard core stoicism. You take the time to stand here and give a shit about these women.

You stand behind the yellow tape and write endlessly on your pad, the girls drift away from you. Heels clicking sharp on tarmac. Back into the filthy streets. Back to brutality and drugs and trying to make a living.

The cops buzz around the scene like the very same flies that drift off the trash. Shooing people off from the alleyway. Overflowing garbage trampled all over the sticky greasy puddles in the concrete.

Poor girl. No place to die.

You feel your heart sink low, dragging deeper down like sediment as you consider how it must have been to have it all end like that, in a place like this.

This shining golden city of angels and hope and promise, and this is the worst part of its seedy underbelly. Rock clubs of legendary name and girls selling themselves outside of it. Dying out in the back alley, being left to rot like trash.

Worst of all, is that no one gives a shit. Another hooker dead.

That’s LA’s normal beat baby.

Out the corner of your eye you catch that car again. Flash of it. Hot rod red. Waxed shiny. You know he’d be here somewhere.

He strides into the crime scene past you. Time of no concern. Dunkin’ coffee cup in hand. Licking sugar glaze off his lips. Box of six glazed his other hand. Like this is some sort of brunch date, and not the scene of a homicide.

The big boots are still a fixture. Bell bottom black trousers like he’s on the set of Starsky & Hutch. Sitting on that trim slutty waist. Sways with his hips as he walks. A satin black button up with a too big collar, undone to his sternum. Wearing a gold medallion chain with a saint, but he sure as hell ain’t one.

His neck swims in sainted things but his hands have committed all manner of sins.

Peers at you across those ray bans. Brown eyes swimming up your legs. Licks his lips. Sweet sugar.

That prim little blouse he swears he can see your bra poking through. Dainty lace cups holding your tits. Skirt grazing good big sexy handfuls of your hips.

Fuck you look heavenly.

“Well well. If it ain’t my little Birdie.” He calls across to you as the tape is lifted for him by a stony faced cop. Macabre grin.

You look up from your pad. Meet those swallowing chocolate eyes. He’s leering over his shades at you.

“Quinn.” You swallow.

Try to ignore the way the blaze of morning sun slips like liquid amber down his skin. Slipping between his pecs and collarbones like he’s bathed in mandarin orange oil. Glimmering off that necklace. Ocean cold blue neon from buzzing sign shot through those dark curls from behind. Bleeding out the alley.

You don’t know what it is about him that you like. He looks so wildly slutty that it’s making your mouth water. He’s definitely anything but boring, and your mind absolutely runs to a filthy place with that insinuation

He’s got you trying to recall the last instance you carved out time for some sex in your life. It had been months. The clench in your gut made you aware.

“Are we making a habit of this?” He checks. Narrows eyes at you all playfully.

You, me, the yellow crime scene tape. Mangled bodies. Sirens shrieking. Yeah. Romantic as hell-

“Let’s hope not. Detective. Hardly the stuff of foreplay.” You counter. “Can I get a quote for tomorrows edition.”

“Wouldn’t that be neat of me.” He teases.

You bite back annoyance. He sees it in the scrunched set of your jaw.

He brings up another doughnut to his lips and takes a huge untamed bite. Smirking at you.

He swaggers away and up to the dumpster. Prances around the evidence. Not that the killer left much- blood spattered shoe. The cut throat. Same old same old. Blah blah blah.

You sigh as you make ready to leave. Blood out of a stone. You won’t get anything else here.

Only a small scrap of what you’d hoped for clutched in your pocket. That will get you shunted back to your usual place on page six.

You turn away and begin to head up the Boulevard. Maybe you’d find a place for some breakfast. Your feet are aching. Head sour for lack of caffeine.

“Miss.” Comes a bark from a gruff cop. Who steps under the tape and towards you.

“Chronicle. I was just leaving.” You flash him your staff badge and back away thinking you’re gonna get chewed out for being nosy. You’re a girl reporter, the axe blows tend to fall heavier on you from grumpy cops. Sexist fuckers.

“Quinn asked me to give you this.”

He hands you an empty cigarette packet. Lucky Strikes. The paper is worn thin. Perfumed like it’s been in a purse. Not a pocket.

Skinny Tina smoked Lucky’s.

You look at the cop. He just rolls one shoulder up in a shrug. Not his job to care. Plods away.

You open the well thumbed crimson cigarette packet and inside is a line of scrawled text. Slanted spidery scrawl. Pin nib stabbing into the paper.

This is the work of a serial killer.

Your world grows cold. Sudden and terrible like someone’s sucked out all the dry choke of that LA heat. You thumb the packet in your hands. When you peer up and spin back to the cordon-

Quinn locks his eyes on you. And smiles. Those eyes glow at you.

There’s your story, Birdie.

Rain is LA is vanishingly rare. But when it comes, it comes fucking furiously.

It’s spitting down your windows so hard it’s like it will do anything in its power to shatter the glass.

Palm fronds from the stumpy trees outside your windows skate and scrape the glass and cast long fingers of spindly shadows. A faded essence of tropical paradise about this shabby place. The pink walls, palm trees. The empty pit of a mouldy swimming pool out back, filled with graffiti, crumbling tiles and trash.

The air walking home was so thick and smooth you could sip it. Full up of rain clouds and chasing away the humidity.

You turn home and show your back to this water-logged night. Your shoulders and hair damp from running from the station.

You draw your thin drapes but the red light soaking into the room through the shitty pink things. The light stains them up like they’ve been left bloodied.

Your bedside lamp glows in the corner. Peachy pink from the rosy shade. Your room is entirely bathed in lapping tongue red and rose pink.

You cranked your pathetic shower up high and stood under the warm spray until it drained to cold. Your scrubbed your hair from dripping to damp, and slipped on an old white t shirt that slipped off one shoulder. Black lace panties.

Hair still wet as you padded through to your bedroom. Empty glass of bourbon on the nightstand. Half full bottle. You’ll be dipping well into it tonight.

Today was long. Endlessly so. Dragging you down like you’ve got concrete blocks tied on your heels. Cutting into skin as it drags you down.

There’d been another one. Found tonight way out past skid row, under the 6th street bridge.

Stabbed in the back and left to bleed. A kid. A stupid punk teenager, with his apple green spiky hair, belt chains and ripped spray painted anarchist shirt. Bruises on his knuckles showed he put up a fight.

A bag of weed and ketamine in his pocket. Track marks up his arms. All tangled and fired up in fiery self-rebellion. And it led him to dying under a bridge like some junkie.

There was such a clamour at the crime scene cordon that you got physically shoved aside, and ended up skinning your knees in the process. Tearing your pantie hose. Walking home with blood peeling down your calves. Stuck with muck and grit.

You felt miserable. You were miserable. Another day designed to sink you. All teeth and stomping jaws clamping on your pride and happiness.

You hounded as much as you could squeeze out the cops on scene with bleeding knees burning. Hands scraped from your fall. Not much at all.

Your mood was as far in the gutter as it could get. The shower helped. You swiped stinging betadine across your broken skin and chucked back Bourbon to ignore the grating pain.

You drunkenly shuffle to your small strip of a kitchen. Aqua blue and white tiled lino. Cheap but clean. Your whole place was really. Pink drapes and thick blue carpets bleached and matted with age.

Bathed briefly in the blue light and puff of cold from the fridge. You reach and chuck more ice in your used glass and fill it up with even more brown liquor. Mind swirling away and you let it. Close your clunking fridge door with a sloppy hand.

The booze helped. You were ignoring the irony that after a hard day you were crawling into the bottom of an Old Taylor bottle.

You were supposed to be a man about all this. Man up. Well. You’re a woman and you have to do this job twice as hard and relentless and with double the scrutiny from men. And in heels. So you decided long ago;

Fuck that.

You laid on your bed and thought about having dinner. A sad tin of soup or some box of ramen you’d forgotten about in your cupboard.

But instead you just lay there on your sheets and let the bourbon take you away.

And then your phone rings. Shrills to attention on your bedside.

You twist your head back to look at it. Past your cheap peach satin sheets. Your crappy cracked pink telephone won’t shut the hell up.

You launch over the bed and sit up to answer it. If it’s another call out to a murder site, you swear you’ll quit. “Yes?”

There’s a second or two of huffing crackling static the other end. And then,

“Nasty night isn’t it?”

That voice makes your whirling head sit up and pay attention. Oh that voice. He hears the way skin grazes on your covers. The pull of your lungs seeking breath. That makes him outwardly think of your tits too and he can’t help his mind wandering off into filthy plains.

“Quinn?” You check. Your mind is curling and blurry. But by now you’d know his tone when you hear it.

He bites his lip cause it gets him hard. Rubs his fingertips into the square box of the telephone he’s curled against. Sweat on his fingers chafes against the black plastic.

“Hey Birdie.”

“How did you get this number?” Your drunk mouth blurts out. Your tongue feels all fat and clumsy with drink. Loose- even.

He chuckles. It’s breathy and it’s beautiful. Slips like melted chocolate into your ear through the receiver. It may be a smooth sound but it does something sharp and twisting to your gut. A tug.

“I have my ways.” You can hear his stupid big grin.

“Cop ways I’m guessing?” You counter. He detects a tone levelled at him. Flash a badge and he can own this town. Walk in anywhere.

You reach over and bring the phone onto the bed. The cord of it trailing behind as you wrap the coiled wire around your finger. You sit up and cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder.

Eyes flicking over for a second to that well thumbed Lucky Strike’s packet. The one he wrote in and gave to you.

“I don’t need to go flashing my badge as much as you’d think. I can be very persuasive.” He charms. Like he could pluck down all the hanging stars and set them at your feet.

You don’t doubt that. Silver tongues and doe brown eyes seldom mix.

“You weren’t at the scene today. Worried me a little.” He adds.

“I worried you? You hardly know me.” You state.

“I personally-“ There’s a clink as he presses his hand flat to his collarbone. Clink of a chain. “Think we should change that.”

You sigh in confusion because you just can’t think of what else to do. Is he asking you out? Is he hitting on you? Is that what’s happening here?

“I was at the 6th street bridge today. Up until I got knocked down by the clamouring TV and camera crews and skinned my knees. And then it started to rain, I was getting nowhere so I called it a day.” You offered up.

The blazes up something in him. Sparks churning friction against the liquid gunpowder of his temper. All it takes is a spark. He has to take a deep breath at the thought of you bleeding.

“You alright?”

No not really.

I saw a kid brutally mangled and stabbed today. Skin ripped where someone tore him open with a knife.

I’m fucking lonely in this city and I have no friends for miles.

My job is the fucking pits of Tartarus some days.

“Ask me after my hangover tomorrow. When I don’t feel like a failure. And I didn’t see a dead kid torn to strips. And I’m- sober.” You curse under your breath.

Bulldog tone of yours all snappy and treading the borders of your patience. Bone weary.

“That sounds like a lot on your plate.” He offers. He sounds tender. The tenderest thing you’ve heard in a while.

“It sure as shit is. But I’m not sure I should be venting to a cop about it.” You admit gruffly. Standing up and holding the phone to your ear. Idly gazing at the rain outside. Coming down in sheets, hammering cold at your window ledges.

You pour yourself out more bourbon. Cause fuck it.

Oh, you play spiky and icy and he likes it. He’ll play you into his hands. You’ll be worth the wait.

“What if I’m one of the good ones.” He grins. Licks his lips. Outright lies.

“Don’t play games with me, Quinn.” You warn.

Funny; that was his line. Usually with a knife in his hand edged against a fragile throat.

“What if I can help you out with some private information on these cases.” He leans right in and purrs into the phone. It makes you feel squirmy. Like you’re under his gaze again. That flirty one that gets peered over his ray bans.

“And why on earth would you be doing that for me?” You keep your head screwed on straight. What little sense there is left that Bourbon didn’t steal.

“Mutually beneficial arrangement.” He drawls.

“Listen Detective, if you think you’re gonna get your dick wet just cause you toss me some scraps, you’ve got another thing coming, and it’ll be my heel stabbed in your eye.” You promise with punch.

He chuckles. He can’t deny the threat of that and the thought of fucking you had him harder than he’d care to admit. The glimpse of you he had in his head on your back and taking it. Indecent. Glorious.

“I’m no idiot, Birdie.”

His dark eyes graze through the glazed rain walls of the phone booth. Glass striped with wriggling rain and haloed car lights burst through in reds and searing white. The Porsche sits waiting behind him. Dotted in silver.

He can see you through your window.

He’s across the parking lot in the phone booth. One arm braced against the metal wall. Eyes pinned on the slice of that tongue pink room and the vague shape of you he can see through the thin drapes.

White shirt. No bra. Lace panties. Sat on your bed in that entirely pink-red washed room. Light kissing and wrapping your skin. And you’ve no clue he can see you.

You’ve no idea how bad he truly is for you. It’s delicious that.

“Why did you give me that cigarette packet, Quinn?”

He’s quick to answer. He’s thought about this answer. “Leverage.”

“Leverage?” You repeat like you can’t comprehend the word.

“Over those assholes at your paper who think that you don’t deserve your spot alongside them. Scraping together your sanity for every shot at the front page.” He says.

He cut to the quick. Like he’s torn your skin away to see in. Your dimly lit life with your bottles of booze and your struggles. Somehow he pieced you together so well it was like he had your blueprints.

“You don’t know me.” You gasp out. It’s incredulous. He’s making your head spin.

“I know a lot more than you’d think. It’s my job, after all. I like to think I’m good at it.”

“That sounds like a lot of ego talking.”

“In that case you should let me take you out for lunch tomorrow and see for yourself. Buy you something to soothe that little Bourbon hangover.”

Your spine flashes clammy.

“How the hell do you know what I’m drinking?”

Your head is thumping. Dread curling horrid up in your stomach like dead burnt leaves come fall. Crunching and crushing.

“Like I told you. Birdie. I’m just that good.” He chuckles.

Oh but he isn’t.

There’s a click and he promptly hangs up.

You’re left there watching the rain skate furiously down your windows. Listening to the dead tone on the other end blare. Thunder grazes the valley.

It feels more sinister than it should.

My Taglist for my JQ babes: (if I’ve missed anyone out I’m so sorry !) if anyone would like to be added drop me a comment on here babes !

@indouloureux @stiegasaw @munsonquinns @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @ceriseheaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn stranger things #i would die for this man #Eddie munson #joseph quinn gif #joseph quinn character #joseph quinn characters #punkwrites #serial killer #killer #murderer #stalking #crime scene #1980’s LA #pretty woman vibes #pretty woman

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vintagestagehotties · 10 days

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Hot Vintage Stage Actress Round 1

Judy Holliday: Billie Dawn in Born Yesterday (1946 Broadway); Georgina Allerton in Dream Girl (1951 Broadway); Ella Peterson in Bells Are Ringing (1956 Broadway)

Bambi Linn: Louise Bigelow in Carousel (1945 Broadway); Alice in Alice in Wonderland (1947 Broadway); Blanche Bushkin in I Can Get It for You Wholesale (1962 Broadway)

Propaganda under the cut

Judy Holliday:

you have no idea how much work i had to do to hunt down this picture of her cause it’s just that hot

(Editor’s note: I used said picture as her main poll picture)

Bambi Linn:

#vintagestagehotties #vintagestagepoll #vintage tournament #vintage poll #judy holliday #bambi linn #ladies round 1 #vintage ladies

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 1 year

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Life Is Short So Make It Sweet

Chapter Seventeen: Farewell Kiss

Summary- 3.5k Curtis Everett x Plus!Sized Reader. Ending the rest of your Christmas with Curtis, returning back to Duluth is like a giant welcome home. Ella welcomes you into her home with the last of the holiday celebrations.

Warning- Hot steamy time in the Hot Tub. Some body image doubts for a brief moment.

A/N- The end of their first holiday's together! It is no surprise I'm sure to anyone that the holiday months are my favorite and I had so much fun giving them that same kind of joy, even among some of the hard moments. Thank you so much to everyone for reading this series and commenting. I appreciate it so damn much. Thank you @what-is-your-plan-today for reading it through first. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics

Chapter Sixteen / Masterlist

The rest of that morning was spent opening the last of the gifts. You managed to surprise Curtis with a wool coat that was shorter than the one he typically wore to the freight yard and a simple black beanie that he greatly appreciated since the one he was wearing was starting to fray and stretch out of shape.

But, as nice as they both were, neither was as special to him as the charcoal drawing you had gotten from Steve.

When opening your gifts, you stammered at the chunky heeled leather boots he had purchased. With supple soft leather in a wider size for your foot and calf, they fit perfectly and when you questioned it, he was forthcoming that he had taken a sneak peek at another pair you favored on date nights. In addition to the boots, he gave you season passes to the aquarium and a set of honey-colored amber stud earrings that you had fallen in love with in the local jewelry store near your apartment.

“I can’t believe you remembered.” You said in surprise when you flipped open the grey velvet box.

He seemed to think nothing of it as you admired them in the sunlight beaming down on the two of you sprawled in front of the Christmas tree. “You pointed them out to me Honey, of course, I remembered.”

It struck you how easy he made it sound, that something that made you so happy he took note of. You leaned across the bits of torn Christmas paper to cup his cheek and give him a kiss. One that he was happy to accept, drawing you through the torn paper till you were half sprawled against him, making you giggle against his mouth. “Thank you, I love them so much.”

Curtis even helped you put them on, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline and tilting your face just enough to catch the light. “They were made for you Honey.”

You spent the last of the daylight outside. Strapping into the snowshoes, you let Curtis break the trail down to the lake while you followed behind him. Brushes of snow once in a while fell from the branches overhead, leaving snow crystals clinging to your jackets and hair. The air was a refreshing chill that streamed out in rapid puffs around both of you.

Every so often, Curtis would stop both of you, pointing out markers from the trail and together trying to catch your breath as snowshoeing in the fresh powder was harder than it looked.

Tracks were easy to find and although you were familiar from your studies, you were fascinated to see them in person, following them into thick underbrush and winding away deeper into the forest where you two would investigate a bit before circling back around.

You found other things that made you eagerly would grasp his hand and tug him closer to go look at. Curtis happily went along with you, even snapping pictures on both of your phones for you to print out for the classroom. Your favorite one was following a set of rabbit tracks through the deep snow that suddenly stopped, a set of wings imprinted where the last of the tracks were. Curtis tucked in closer to look while you tried using your boot as a way to measure the wingspan in the snow imprint while snapping a picture.

It didn’t nearly come close.

“Owl’s hunting probably.” He glanced up into the trees, seeing if it was still nearby. “If they are out, it's getting late. If this was last night, the wind would have blown it away.”

You hummed while you gave up trying to measure it, giving a guess as to what kind of owl it could be. “Means it will be dark soon.” You held out your hand for his, offering to help him up. “Head home? We got the hot tub tonight and I’m ready for a good long soak in that.”

He wrapped an arm around you, tucking you to his side where you let yourself lean into his body to rest. You didn’t want to admit but your calves were screaming and you were starting to feel chilled beneath all the winter clothes you had on. “I can’t think of a better way to finish Christmas Honey.”

Surprisingly the cabin was closer than you had realized, within a short amount of time Curtis had you back inside and up into the loft to get changed while he got the hot tub opened. You slipped into the bathing suit you brought, a flowy two-piece that still showed off part of your stomach. Your hands slipped along your showing skin, hiding the stretch marks from yourself in the mirror while you did your usual pep talk. Not to mention that your thighs would be on display, and you felt more exposed in this new bathing suit than you did with the Christmas Eve lingerie.

“Why are you nervous Y/N? You guys will be in a hot tub. Underwater most of the time since it's cold out. And it’s dark.” You peeked outside to see Curtis already stripped to nothing and easing himself into the jet-streamed water. Half the tub was in the dark, just a bit of light under the water. He happened to glance up and you waved at him nervously before wrapping yourself into a robe. Your reflection gazed back at you in the mirror and your worried look melded to one of determination. “That hot water is gonna feel so good after today, get down there.”

It was that push you needed to make your way down from the loft and although tightly gripping your robe around you, you wandered out onto the deck to where the hot tub was steaming away. Curtis shifted over from where the steps were, settling across from where you dropped your robe.

Curtis admired a lot of things, a well-built engine, a good meal, and spending time with his family and friends. None of them compared to seeing his girl step from that robe. You cautiously dipped your toes in and then sunk your foot into the steaming water with a sigh of bliss on your face. Your bathing suit, although meant to keep you covered, he was aware of that, did almost anything but and he was unashamedly basking in admiring you. The only thing he hated was that your lowering into your seat covered your voluptuous thighs and curves peeking out from the fabric of your suit.

As you continued to sink, you let your head tilt back against the lip of the tub, giving a sigh as the bubbles surrounded you and you looked probably as relaxed as he has ever seen you. Perhaps that was good enough for now.

Your foot stretched out, running along the inside of his calf. The porch lights were dimly lighting the area, giving the whole scene a more intimate feel. “This feels so good Curtis.”

His hand captured your ankle, rubbing along the curve of your foot which encouraged you to sink further into the water, letting Curtis have more of your leg to massage. “I know, I think this has been one of the best holidays I have ever had. Although Halloween and Thanksgiving were hard to beat this year.” He grinned wickedly, blue eyes glinting in amusement as you bit at your lip, your toes curling as he ran a finger along the arch of your foot.

“I’m glad I could give you those lasting memories.”

Curtis tugged on your leg gently, easing you to float over to him and turn you around so your back pressed against his chest, his hands still working some magic under the water. “Mmh, and more to come. What’s the next holiday?”

“New Years.” Your head tipped back against his shoulder, feeling your tensed muscles ease looser while his hands rubbed along your thighs. “Then Valentines Day.”

“Well, New Years we will be at Ella’s if you still want to go-”

“Of course I do.”

“Then Valentines, you are all mine, Honey.” He started pressing kisses against the side of your neck, sure to hit those sweet spots that had you going breathless. Your ass wriggled back, and he knew you had to feel his cock pressing against you.

“I think I’m all yours right now.” You tilted your face to meet his, sharing soft kisses and sighs against him. He shifted the tip of your bathing suit, rubbing his warm palms against your breasts in a slow manner, making you feel every touch so intimately that you were arching for him.

“Yes, you are Pretty Girl.” He kissed you deeper, searing some part inside of you that made you forget to be self-conscious with him. It left you chasing for him, even when he pulled away once more to ask you a question. Concentrating when he was pulling and teasing your nipples like that was hard, his entire palm would cover them again, turning you on that much more as he paid attention to you. “You are not too sore after our hike though?”

“No, not at all.” You reached behind you to rub your hand against his cock, squeezing just as you knew he liked to feel him shudder in your touch. Curtis wasn’t a small man, but the way you were stroking him, he ached to feel you stretch around him, feel you squeeze him, and cry out in the dead of winter to tell the whole of Minnesota how good you felt with him. His hand dipped, rubbing at your clit when he eased your bathing suit aside to feel you start to give in, riding on the tip of his fingers rubbing at your pearl. “I want you inside me, Curtis.” Your voice was needy, a plea for him to give you what he had been wanting too.

“I got you, Honey." He assured you while lifting you enough to resettle you where he wanted you. Easing his cock into you, you grabbed his forearm wrapped around your waist to let yourself enjoy the feeling of him stretching you. You breathed out sharply when you felt all of him inside of you, his teeth nipping at the hinge of your jaw with a groan at how good you felt. "Ready?" Curtis checked, still stroking his fingers against your clit.

When you nodded with a sultry "Please?" did he give powerful thrusts that had you bouncing easily on his cock, causing the water to roll and slosh in the tub.

It was quick that you found a rhythm that caused you to hold back whines of pleasure, but he could still hear the soft “Oh’s!” whenever he hit you just right.

“Come on Pretty Girl, it’s just us on the lake.” He encouraged, tilting your head back so he could find your mouth and kiss you breathless. “You don’t have to keep quiet like in the apartment.”

You whined, a beautiful pitch among the sound of water sloshing around them as he gave measured thrusts into you. “Right there, Curtis.” You finally said, while his arm banded across your chest to keep you pressed against him.

“Like this?” He sucked a loving mark in the crook of your neck.

“Yes, yes please.” Your voice rose sharply while your pussy clenched around his cock, making him hiss at the way you pulled him in, bouncing up and down to match him. “I wanna come.”

“Then come for me.”

“I need-”

“Need what?”

“Need-” You reached behind you to grasp the back of his neck to keep yourself grounded to him, arching with each thrust he gave. His hand grasped your belly, down to your hip, rocking you back into meeting him. “-touch me, Curtis touch me.”

Curtis could feel you almost peaking your high, releasing your hip, he rubbed his fingers against your clit, listening to your satisfied cries that echoed out in the open. “Yes, don't stop, fuck Curtis, fuck.”

“Lemme feel you come for me Pretty Girl, show me how good you feel.” He encouraged, feeling you melt for him as you cried out once more.

Curtis didn’t stop, not till he had you coming for him a couple more times and you whined for him to come with you, and with such a sweet request from you, he couldn't say no. “Shit.” He cursed against your shoulder, his movements jarring and demanding till he felt his body snap, filling you with him until you both sagged back in the hot tub, letting the water soothe you both back to rational thoughts.

You twisted in his hold, hugging around him while he rubbed at your back, you felt good in his hold, all soft and warm with your lips once in a while pressing sweet kisses to his jawline. You would sigh softly, satisfied. “Merry Christmas Curtis.”

Returning home was a welcome sight. There was always something about leaving that was exciting and coming home was satisfying. The next few days after Christmas was a lazy sort of busy. You bounced between your apartment and Curtis’s house depending on what you needed to get done. Curtis spent the next few days snow shoveling his place and helping Tanya and Timmy get theirs done and then Curtis ‘hired’ Timmy to continue helping him with other neighbors who needed the extra hand. It typically ended with you helping Tanya out in the kitchen, making a hot meal for Curtis and Timmy when they finally came inside for the day, Timmy eating quickly and passing out in front of the tv while the adults sat around the table chatting till it was time to leave.

New Year's Eve was a bit different. You had a back seat of your car with gifts for Sophia and this day you dressed up for the day. A green velour tunic fell down your thighs with a pair of dark grey leggings underneath. Curtis himself dressed in a similar shade of green flannel and black jeans, effectively making you two look like a put together couple.

Arriving at Ella’s proved to be a bit of excitement as the three year old could be heard from inside yelling “Uncle Curtis! Uncle Curtis” and Ella flung open the front door to see Sophia peeking around her with a giggle.

“She is more excited today than she was on Christmas morning.” Ella declared as Sophia tried to bolt to Curtis, but she was quicker and grasped her daughter from running out onto the icy steps. “Careful, I haven't gotten a chance to salt these yet.”

You motioned Curtis to give you some of the stuff he was carrying, but he just shifted them into one arm and took your hand to help you up the steps. Ella was sure to smirk at him which made him roll his eyes at her. “Don’t want anyone slipping.”

“Sure you don't Curtis, it wasn't just an excuse to hold your girlfriend's hand?” She teased while she stepped aside to let you both in. He handed her off the gifts, sure to hand one just to Sophia.

“That too. Go help your mom put those under the tree Sophia Bear and I will be right there.”

Sophia went into the living room shaking the package the whole time listening while Ella followed behind her.

“I could have helped you.” You said while Curtis drew your coat off and hung it up.

“Could have, but I rather hold your hand.” He winked at you while grabbing the bag of salt from the hall closet. “Make yourself to home Honey, Ella refuses to let you act otherwise.” He stepped back out and you followed where the other girls went, finding them mixing your presents in among the others Ella had under the tree. Sophia marched over to you to take your hand, much like her uncle had, and led you to the couch.

“Look what Santy bring me.” She climbed up and Ella settled in nearby while you sat next to Sophia, going ‘ooh and ahh’ at all the things she handed you.

“Yeah, Santa must have dropped his sled off at your grandparents.” She snorted as tucked her legs up, getting comfy while watching you two. “Grey’s parents always get her so much. Want some toys to bring back to Curtis’s?” She chuckled.

“Well, it might not hurt to have some there for when Sophia comes to visit.” You pointed out as you worked on brushing the hair of a doll and braiding it.

“Ha, I will do just that. Curtis can’t say no to this kid and she has so much here and at Grey’s place. How was your Christmas Y/N? Curtis said that the cabin was stunning.”

“Oh, it was, beautiful. They had us a little tree to decorate, a nice wood stove that Curtis kept the place warm with. I talked to my parents and sister's family that morning. We went snowshoeing.” You drifted off as you handed Sophia back her doll.

“Mmhm, yeah sounds great. Curtis said the hot tub was his favorite.” Ella grinned cheekily and you were sure you felt your cheeks heat up.

“It was.” Came a voice behind you as Curtis made his way into the living room, Grey following behind him. Sophia abandoned her toys for her father and her uncle came into the room. “After a day of snowshoeing, it was just what was needed.” He winked at you while handing Sophia off to Grey.

"Mmhm, mmhm." Ella grinned at the two of you, a knowing look on her face. "Hot Tubs are good for that I suppose."

“Can we open more now?” Sophia asked looking at all the adults, her little bottom lip poking out in a plea. Saving the two of you from Ella's teasing for now.

“Didn't you open enough with Meme and Papa?” Grey questioned and she gave a firm shake no. “Okay kiddo, how about you hand out presents this time?” That made her perk up, skipping over to Ella’s tree and crawling underneath it to start digging out gifts.

Grey settled in the chair near the tree to help Sophia with figuring out who got the gifts while Curtis shifted a pile of toys aside and settled next to you, his arm circling over your shoulder. “Y/N gave me a stunning drawing that one of her coworkers did, next time you come over Ella make sure I show you.”

Sophia came over carrying a box all nicely wrapped while she pushed it into your lap. “From me Y/N.” She said, excitedly opening her mouth. “It’s tea and-” Curtis pushed forward to cover her mouth, scooping her into his lap.

“Sssh, can't tell Y/N what it is.”

“I wrapped it!” Sophia changed tactics while you tugged at the bow.

“Do you want to help me unwrap it?”

“Yeah!” She reached around Curtis to help you rip at the paper. Sending it flying. Ella sat at the other end of the couch giving a dejected sigh.

“I worked so hard on wrapping this year too. All for it to last two seconds?”

Curtis snorted in laughter as Sophia was sure to personally show you every bag of tea Ella had packed in the box. “Reminds me of when you used to unwrap everything, including mine.”

“Santa didn’t properly label the boxes.” She huffed as Grey handed her a gift for Sophia, which she beckoned Sophia away from you to find out what was in it.

“What did you get of Curtis’s?” You asked as you tucked away the box at your feet while watching Sophia open her gift.

“Boys jeans in three sizes too big.” Ella laughed as she helped her daughter take the doll out of the box. “I insisted they were mine and Grammy hemmed them up for me.”

“Cause you wouldn't drop it.” Curtis pointed out and Ella shrugged.

“Hey, I wore those jeans for years. My favorite pair.” She reached around to grab a large box and handed it to Sophia. “Go bring this to your uncle to shut him up.”

Sophia made the effort to put it in his lap, patting the box while looking sternly at Curtis. “Momma said shut up.”

“Thanks kid. I appreciate it.” He worked on opening it up, and once the lid fell off, he stood up, a pair of jeans unfolding in front of him.

“Is that better Curtis?”

“A little bit.”

The evening wore on to the later hour. Sophia had long since crashed after playing with all her new presents from that evening. You and Curtis worked on picking up the living room while Grey and Ella went to put Sophia to bed for the night. Once they came back out, child-free, Ella broke out some bubbly to celebrate and cards to take up the hours with the tv playing in the background. When the midnight hour was almost there, you four gathered around the tv, counting down.

Anticipation curled in your belly, you could feel excitement at being able to kiss Curtis when midnight struck, almost like a sign of good luck to come if you two caught it just in time. As soon as the television announcer exploded with the midnight sign, times square in New York blasting with celebration, Curtis tilted you back slightly and kissed you enthusiastically. Making you giggle into the kiss at the sweeping taste of champagne coming from him.

Next to you Grey and Ella pressed for their own friendly midnight kiss on each other's cheeks, but you lost focus on them. Your grasp dug into Curtis’s shoulders although he held you secure in his arms, making your head swim as his tongue pressed for yours to tangle together.

Seconds, minutes, it really didn't matter. You kept going for more as he gave it and when you both broke apart gasping for some air, your grins matched one another.

“Merry Christmas ya filthy animals and a happy new year.” Ella held up her glass of champagne and you tilted your glass towards hers, letting the gentle clink welcome in January officially.

#life is short so make it sweet #curtis everett and honey #curtis everett x honey #curtis everett and reader #curtis everett and plus sized reader #curtis everett and you #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x plus sized reader #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett au #chris evans characters #amber writes #sweater writes

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wonderlandleighleigh · 1 year

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It’s 1989, Nora Maisel is five years old, and she breaks her arm after being shoved unceremoniously off of the monkey bars at recess.

“Who did it?” Joel snaps as he arrives at the hospital that afternoon, shedding his winter coat. “I’ll kill ‘em.”

“You’ll…kill a five-year-old girl?” Julia Maisel asks her father-in-law, utterly perplexed.

“You know what I mean,” Joel says, flapping his arms.

“No one knows what you mean,” Esther tells him as she steps up behind him. “You are, as usual, incomprehensible.” She kisses her father’s cheek before hugging her sister-in-law. “How’s Nora?”

“Shook up, but she’ll be okay,” Julia assures them. “She’s very excited about having people sign her hard cast.”

“Just don’t let Lenny draw dicks on it,” Joel quips.

Esther rolls her eyes. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you over all of that ugly bitterness.”

“Behave, or I’ll find straight jackets for both of you,” Ethan warns as he steps out into the waiting room. “I know they have ‘em here somewhere.”

“How is she?” Esther asks.

“She’s a trooper,” Ethan waves a hand. “She picked out the brightest pink cast they had, and she’s thrilled.”

Julia chuckles. “I’m gonna go back and sit with her.”

“Ma is back with her, so she’s not by herself,” Ethan reminds her.

“Midge is already here?” Joel asks, confused.

“She was my first call,” Ethan tells him.

“Why?”

Ethan flounders a little. “Cuz…cuz she’s Ma.”

“Dad here?” Esther asks.

“He took Noah to get something to eat in the cafeteria,” Julia smiles. “They’re on the hunt for tater tots.”

“Not exactly healthy,” Joel grumbles.

“The last time you had the twins, you fed them twizzlers for dinner,” Ethan reminds him.

“I’m here!” Kitty chirps as she dashes over with Ella in her arms. “Is Nora okay? What happened? I just got a message that said she was here.”

“Some little jerk pushed her off the monkey bars at school,” Esther explains. “She broke her arm.”

“But I’d like to reiterate that she’s okay,” Julia jumps. “Really. She’s a tough little cookie.”

“Of course she is, she’s a Maisel,” Joel points out.

“The point is, she’s gonna be fine,” Julia says calmly.

“Oh, good, I’m so glad,” Lily says from behind them, making everyone jump.

“Hey, Lilbit,” Ethan says. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” Lily grins. “I brought snacks.” She lifts up a shopping bag of pretzels and various other snack foods, which Julia takes and starts rummaging through, obviously hungry. “Lan called from LA. He says he’s sending Nora get-well-soon chocolate.”

“Lan called you?” Joel asks, perplexed.

“And Chaim called me,” Kitty says as she sets Ella down on a chair with a stuffed animal. “He’s completely stuck at the paper until tonight, but he’s sending some form of adorable plush toy to your place.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of him,” Julia grins as she munches on some chips.

“And Mei left a message on my pager,” Ethan says. “She sends lots of love, and she’s also gonna send soup, apparently.”

“God I love that woman,” Julia sighs.

Joel wrinkles his nose at the mention of his estranged second wife.

“Hey, the gang’s all here,” Lenny says as he carries Noah up to the group.

“Hi!” Noah chirps, waving a hand.

“Hey, buddy!” Ethan grins, lifting his son. “You find those tater tots?”

Noah nods enthusiastically. “Pop-Pop helped me put hot sauce on them!” With that, he blows a breath right at Ethan’s face and giggles as his father recoils a little.

Lenny looks a little guilty. “Sorry, kid. Your son inherited your mother’s love of spicy food.”

“It could be worse,” Ethan shrugs as he tries to get some non-toxic air. “He could have inherited her self-destructive nature, or her penchant for dirty jokes.”

“Eh, he still might,” Lenny shrugs as he kisses Kitty, Esther and Ella. “Hi, girls.”

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Pop-Pop!”

“Lenny,” Joel grouses.

Lenny nods. “Joel.”

“One brave kid comin’ through!” Midge calls as she carries Nora over to the group, her arm in a hefty, electric pink cast.

“Hey, there’s my baby,” Julia beams, taking Nora from her mother-in-law. “How do you feel, Nora?”

“I’m tired, and I’m hungry,” she says, settling her head against her mother’s shoulder.

“We’re all a little hungry,” Julia commiserates. “Who’s up for Chinese food?”

Ella perks up then, looking up from her toy. “Dumplings?” she squeaks.

“You bet your cute little tush, dumplings,” Lenny chuckles, lifting her up and kissing her cheek noisily.

Kitty laughs softly. “We’re in.”

“Same,” Esther grins. “I finished up all my meetings for the day this morning.”

“Miss big-shot lawyer,” Midge beams, tugging her into a hug.

Lily looks at her watch and then seems to do some math in her head. “I can study more later.”

“You work too hard,” Ethan complains. “And you don’t come for dinner enough.”

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Lenny agrees.

“Excuse you, I’m studying for something very important,” Lily defends herself with a laugh. “I’d like to be Doctor Bruce before the next century starts.”

“I wanna be doctor, too!” Noah chimes in.

“Two doctors in the family, I’ll just kvel so hard I’ll die,” Midge jokes.

“I’m gonna call the paper and let Chaim know where we’re going to dinner,” Ethan says, handing Noah over to Esther. “Maybe he can sneak off early and meet us.”

“Fat chance, Mr. bigshot New York Times editor that he is,” Lenny jokes.

“Good Chinese or the place with the sewer water eggrolls?” Midge offers.

“I am not feeding Ella sewer water,” Kitty tells her.

Midge nods. “Good place it is.”

“Ella, will you sign my cast?” Nora asks, doing her best to lift her broken arm.

“Sure I will!” Ella chirps. “I’ll draw a big pretty heart.”

“Yay!”

“Is it weird to anyone else how much they like each other?” Joel asks.

“No, they’re cousins, why wouldn’t they like each other?” Julia asks.

“I dunno. Just…they’re very different,” Joel shrugs.

“I have seventeen cousins,” Julia reminds him. “And when you put us in a room together, you can’t drag away from each other.”

“Anyways,” Joel mutters. “I gotta get to the club, so I’ll miss dinner.”

“We’ll eat a few dumplings for you,” Esther promises.

“Bye, Zeyde!” Nora says.

“Bye, Nora, feel better, Sweetie.”

Everyone else says their goodbyes and watches Joel go, and once he’s out of earshot, Esther turns to the rest of the group.

“Anyone else a little weirded out that he was here?” she asks quietly.

“Big time,” Ethan agrees as he steps back over. “Chaim is meeting us at the restaurant.”

“Why was it weird?” Midge frowns. “Joel cares.”

“He hasn’t shown up to any family event or holiday in the last year,” Julia points out. “Ever since Mei went out to LA to be closer to Lan, he’s totally dropped off.”

“Well, maybe he’s trying,” Midge offers.

“Don’t defend him, Ma, he’s not worth it,” Ethan reminds her. “Who’s hungry?”

Julia’s hand shoots up first, followed by the kids and Lenny.

“Then let's get a move on. They’re already gonna be pissed that we’ve got ten people and no reservation.”

And they do.

#fic #au #tmmm #midge x lenny #and the fam #future fic

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sharpenings · 2 months

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#ella hunt #pretty #cute #hot #brunette #actress #model #girls

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bookaddict24-7 · 5 months

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REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Books I’ve read so far in 2023!

Friend me on Goodreads here to follow my more up to date reading journey for the year!

___

229. Nectar of the Wicked by Ella Fields--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This was me when I finished NECTAR OF THE WICKED and realized how in love I was.

Trust me, when I went into Fields's book, I was never expecting it to hit me in this way. I was aching for a dark fantasy that would capture me and hold me tight until it was time for me to let go. I was hoping for some cute moments and maybe some decent smut.

Yeah, I definitely got that and way more.

NECTAR OF THE WICKED is a dark fantasy romance with some intense smut scenes and a morally grey love interest. We have surprise identity reveals and a hunt for the truth. We get bickering and an intense enemies to wary lovers that leaves us on a tantalizing cliffhanger, our brains trying to decipher the truth from the lies and the idea that sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

This poor MC goes on a journey full of anger, hatred, and a twisted sense of love.

I loved every moment of it and immediately bought a physical copy (thank you, KU, for existing.)

Read this if you want a love interest you love to hate and an MC who bites off more than she can chew.

Come for the smut and anger; stay for the character development and that sequel that comes out at the end of the year!

Also, I will say this put me in a mini-slump for audiobooks because I wanted to do nothing but keep reading off my Kindle. That is all.

___

230. Definitely Dead by Charlaine Harris--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Re-read November 2023

Yes! I am finally at the last book I read back in 2012, everything from here on is something fresh and new. Also, I'm happy to have finally come across one of the characters I was thinking about when I first started my re-read.

I liked this one because we got to see a new side of Sookie, including some revelations as to why she is so appealing to so many supes. She's also badass in this with her tiger sidekick. Also, I've totally been spoiled for who she ends up with and some of the events in this book intrigued me because we're still so far from that final decision.

Also, glad that we finally see the end of one arc that started with a really annoying character--even though I could wholly sympathize with the family.

Onto the next one!

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231. Ignite by Melanie Harlow--⭐️⭐️⭐️

IGNITE had some of my all-time favourite tropes:

✓ single parent ✓ age gap ✓ adorable kids ✓ sassy best friend/siblings

I loved all of the above, especially when the MMC underestimates the FMC because of her age. They also had some great spicy moments full of chemistry and wit. I loved that we got to see the FMC through the MMC's perspective because she seems a lot more carefree and daring when we don't have her internal thoughts questioning and under-estimating herself. It was hot and I was 100% here for it.

The daughters were hilarious and such a great addition to story. It's always sad when single parent romances don't have kids who showcase their own little personalities. There's so much opportunity there and Harlow definitely did her best to showcase this in IGNITE!

This is clearly a part of a longer series, which I have not read, and I can only imagine how long and extensive the stories are. I saw how woven into this story those backstories are, including that of the FMC's dad's similar romance story with her stepmom.

What I wasn't a huge fan of is how...instant the romance felt. One of my favourite single parent romances, MEET ME HALFWAY, is one of those single parent books that will forever set a standard for me. I love when couples take time to get to know each other and build that foundation. When the third act break-up happens, which is usually the case, sadly, I want to BELIEVE that there is enough of a reason for the FMC or the MMC to fight for that love they supposedly built up over the weeks. Why should I root for you two if you've only know each other for a short time? I know love grows in different ways, but that's always been my problem with insta-romance books. Especially when the MMC is so adamant on being single forever. It's gotta take more than a pretty neighbour being cute and adorable to break that ice, right?

And going off that, the lack of communication and self-sacrificing is always the bucket of cold water I never ask for when it comes to books like this one. It ruins the mood and sours a chunk of the book, tbh. I understand they're both jaded af, but the age difference is a lot smaller that it appears when they both are acting like children.

Anyway, I loved the tropes and the story overall, but those last few reasons are why I didn't rate this higher and why I didn't race out to buy the physical copy. I enjoyed myself for the most part, but I've read better. I do still recommend this, though, for fans of the tropes I mentioned earlier! Those sweet little girls give this book so much personality and I just want the world for them!

___

232. Egotistical Puckboy by Eden Finley & Saxon James--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Sometimes I crave a really good hockey romance to take my mind off the world around me--or, to just be my gateway to spiralling into the deep, dark hole of romance that I usually fall into at least once a year. The moment October ended, I was immediately starting to crave something a lot lighter than the horror I'd been reading since late August.

EGOTISTICAL PUCKBOY scratched that itch I was getting and then some. First, I LOVE the trope of these two men absolutely hating each other, but secretly pining for one another. I am also a massive fan of the man who is relationshipphobic who is tamed by the one guy they never expected to like them or want them back. Add in hockey, hot smut, dirty talk, and a delicious tension and you've got a formula for something really, really fun and addicting.

The two MCs were different, but at the same time, they both dealt with similar hurdles to overcome. I loved that through time and proximity, they slowly started to figure each other out and not only survive as teammates, but also as something more. They helped each other out and grew together. There's something so enjoyable about two men just growing together and accepting that they're both worthy of love.

Eden Finley and Saxon James are two of the best when it comes to writing m/m hockey romances and whenever I see one of their books, I immediately fall in. This did not disappoint. And even though it wasn't my most favourite of their books, it was definitely a binge-able read.

___

233. Irresponsible Puckboy by Eden Finley & Saxon James--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

I ran straight to this book after reading the first in the series because I knew who this one would follow and I am the biggest, biggest sucker for books that feature a man so far in the closet that he doesn't know which way is out. I also love a man who is the biggest and most lovable himbo. We get this in IRRESPONSIBLE PUCKBOY. Plus, we also get a great friendship and so much angst and a quiet love that grows and grows as the story progresses.

I loved how these two characters took care of each other and how, despite the impending heartbreak, they couldn't leave each others' sides. I liked that this one touched on stereotypes and the messy side of having such a public romance--especially a non-hetero one.

Much like with the first book, I couldn't put this one down and I was smiling so much at how silly the one character was. Bless his heart.

___

234. Generation One by Pittacus Lore--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Re-read in November 2023:

I went into this one with expectations because even though I remembered basically nothing about this book, I had this clear idea of what was going to happen. While it was definitely an adventure, it's wasn't as "whoa" as I remember it being. I just finished the original series, so naturally, I wanted to jump right into this one.

There was definitely some action and some very X-men type of powers. I enjoyed learning about the different abilities and how the world was being affected after the war. I just didn't feel that sense of urgency that I first felt with this series. I didn't have a "wow this is cool" moment.

It was weird not reading through the perspective of Four, but I also know that this new generation will have many adventures up ahead. While I did enjoy this for the most part, it didn't hold that same charm from the original series (for me) and I might postpone listening to the next book. We shall see!

I only took one start off to honour my initial review years ago.

___

235. Still Beating by Jennifer Hartmann--⭐️⭐️⭐��⭐️⭐️

I came across this book by chance at work and was immediately intrigued. Even though I did have that initial interest, I wasn't 100% sure how I would like STILL BEATING, considering how dark it was promising to be. Well, after binge reading the hell out of it, I can safely say that I loved it.

Years ago, I read a book called THE AIR HE BREATHES and while it dealt with vastly different themes, the level of emotional distress I felt while reading that book is the only one I think could be comparable to my experience reading STILL BEATING. Both books dealt with dark and taboo topics, and the guilt that comes from taking and accepting the only remedy for a destroyed heart.

One of the things I loved most about this book was how honest the characters were with each other when it came to finally coming to terms with what they needed to heal themselves. This isn't a cutesy read where the happy ending is straight forward--it's a book with characters who get a hard-fought-for HEA that carries a massive asterisk because even though they've survived, that PTSD and experience will always live with them.

I was recommending STILL BEATING to a coworker and I had to explain the massive trigger warnings for r@pe, because it IS something that happens. They are abducted by a monster who does horrifying things to the FMC. Though the scenes usually fade to black, or are alluded to, this can be incredibly triggering--so please, proceed with caution. There is no glorification of the attack. There is no glorification of the monster.

STILL BEATING is messy, dark, and frankly, terrifying with how surviving the nearly-impossible can still haunt you. As the characters often comment: you might have left the basement physically, but the basement will always be in your mind. While the taboo topic of this being a love story between the FMC and her sister's fiance is one of the big themes, it was their resilience, and their fight to survive that held my interest and love.

This isn't a book that will be begging a re-read any time soon, but it was definitely incredibly memorable. I look forward to reading another book by Hartmann in the future.

___

236. Boys in the Valley by Philip Fracassi--⭐️⭐️⭐️

In the defence of this book, I read this after my craving for horror books had already passed. But that's the only defence I'll give BOYS IN THE VALLEY.

I went into this expecting something terrifying and don't get me wrong, there were definitely some super creepy moments, but while I can objectively see why this book is so popular, I don't fully 100% understand. First, I didn't realize it would be so religious-based. While I do believe in certain things, I'm not exactly the biggest fan of books the spout religious content at me. Although, in retrospect, that could very well be one of the themes meant to incite horror in the reader.

While I enjoyed this for what it was, it was kind of just meh? I think I zoned out a few times while listening to the audiobook and I was just not very connected. I will, again, admit that me not being in the mood for this genre most definitely affected my interest. But having that argument, I wonder if this book had been more compelling, would I have liked it more?

You might like this if you're a fan of things that go bump in the night (and proceed to kill you in said night), and if you're cool with religious horror.

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Have you read any of these books? Let me know your thoughts!

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Happy reading!

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