#just now i had the image of the time i put half of a plastic egg on my cat's head

[bomberqueen17]

stencils

ah i did the stencils on tuesday and i forgot to post about it! i have been Out Of Sorts lately and also i remembered how to post on instagram so i put it there and then forgot i had not put it here.

BEHOLD

[image description: a teal wall with yellow-orange trim, stenciled with a tiled pattern of metallic gold stars over the entire surface]

I bought this stencil and some metallic gold "stencil creme" paint, and a stencil brush, and just spent an entire day doing it.

Yeah I should've started at the top left and worked over, but I started at the middle right and worked out instead. i might go back and add points to the top border and circles to the left border. Not sure. Not urgent either way.

The directions they give you on the website mention that a dry brush is critical to stenciling success, and this is a thing I did already know; i have stenciled mostly t-shirts in my time, with dumb bullshit stencils I cut out of manila folders. But they tell you to load up the brush and then take most of the paint off the brush with paper towels, and let me tell you my stencil creme pot barely covered this wall and would not have if I'd put most of the paint onto perfectly good paper towels. So what I did instead is, I went to the grocery store and I got a cannoli, and then I washed out the container it came in, and then I cut the container at the hinges and made myself two paint trays, and one of them I used as a pallette to mix the paints for the outlet covers, and the other half I used as a roller tray to paint the windowsill, then rinsed and used for this. I had that plastic tray nice and dry and I loaded up the brush and then worked that brush around on the plastic, and it was good and dry and then when I came back I could pick up the paint I'd offloaded onto that plastic, and use almost all of it. And later in the process I added a few drops of water to that pallette, and I was able to thin the paint just a tiny bit, just enough to get it to flow a little better but not so much it went under the edges of the stencil.

[image description: a white-stained clear plastic tray with a pot of gold paint sitting in it, a stencil brush propped on the edge, faint traces and blobs of gold paint swirled around it.] when I added a few drops of water they'd collect in the fluted bits around the edges, so if I wanted them I could go swipe the brush there, and if I didn't they stayed out of the way.

I could have been more exacting and precise in my stencil placement, but I knew I had to just do it, so I just did it. Used a level, discovered that the level disagreed with the ceiling and the floor, remembered that this house like all houses is in fact handmade, and so my imperfections would just have to harmonize with the imperfections built in by the builders and the 75 years of settling and whatnot. So I was Zen about it and it worked out.

[image description: a wide shot of the kitchen showing gray cabinets and unadorned blue wall: the stencil is spotless, taped up with blue painter's tape, a stepladder beneath it with a yellow level sitting on it.]

I used painter's tape. The tutorials say you can spray the back of the stencil with spray adhesive to keep it tight against the wall and reduce bleed at the edges. I own spray adhesive, and I know it's sticky as hell and gets on everything. No thanks, I figured I didn't need it, and I don't regret that, I had no problems. I have, as it happens, stenciled a lot of things in my life.

I should make some more stupid stenciled t-shirts, they've been fun.

[image source: two repeats of the stencil have been applied to the wall, and now the plastic stencil template is taped sideways at the bottom of the wall.]

It's a well-designed stencil, and the way you lined it up is that some of the elements are designed to repeat so you just plop them over the previous version. I hadn't premeditated or measured this, but it turned out the last repeat, I could just turn it sideways and it tiled beautifully that way too. No problems. Worked great. The stencil creme paint dried fast enough that there was no problem overlaying it like this either, though I did make a point of doing the ones I was going to overlap first so they'd have the longest to dry. I doubt that mattered.

[image description: the stencil template laid over the edge of a previous repeat, showing a blue edge where the previous repeat doesn't quite align with the new placement.]

This is where me not doing math was maybe a problem. I was not perfectionist about this, I just sometimes accepted that the template had shifted slightly on the previous repeat, and while it lined up perfectly in one spot, it would not quite line up in another. I gambled that this would not matter, and in fact took this photo to check. After I removed the template this time, I went back to photograph this spot to see how the misalignment looked, and... couldn't find it. Could not tell, even though I knew where it had been. So obviously it did not matter. (In these cases, I did not touch up the edges of the misaligned bits, I left them as they'd originally been stenciled. The other elements were not far enough off the anticipated alignment for it to be noticeable. A touch-up would have been more noticeable, an element becoming oversized or slightly misshapen or having a visible edge of layered pigment in it.)

[image description: the stencil template crammed against the edge of the wall, bent and roughly taped in place, and the light switch, plate removed, poking through one of the holes at the right.]

This was the trickiest bit. I just held one hand against wherever I was working, flattening that bit of the stencil to the wall as I worked, and then I'd let go and put my hand on the next bit, and maybe they weren't perfectly in alignment with the previous bits but as long as the stencil was touching the wall well right where I was working, it was a good enough result. The light switch was a bit of a problem and i should properly have removed it but I wasn't about to do that so I didn't. I did the inward-facing points of the leftmost stars, and then did not try to do the upward-downward points or the circles, because it was too hard to get the stencil flat right there. I could go back and add them now, and I might yet, using the very edge of the template, We'll see if I do. It looks fine as it is.

[image description: a plain blue wall with a double outlet plate in it, and the points of the eight-pointed star are around it, protruding from behind the lightswitch plate.]

I had always intended to stencil an element behind the light switch plates on the plain walls, because I felt they don't stand out enough against the teal. I did one, and then realized it was impossible to center it and hard not to get paint on other bits of the walls, since the stencil template is so huge and was covered in paint from doing the whole wall. I realized then that it's just points and I could freehand those. So I did, this is me freehand faux-stenciling the star around this outlet plate, LOL.

[image description: the darkened kitchen early in the morning, under-cabinet lights on but the room dim, and in the distance the wall is shining]

anyway so the next morning i went out and was sitting at the window and turned around and was like "this looks amazing" so I am well pleased with how it turned out, really and truly.

#about the author #kitchen remodel #stencils #painting

[fandomwritingbit]

william afton x afab reader x henry emily 

A/n: I have no idea what this is. Pure horny weirdness ig, just uh... enjoy?

Warnings: swearing, smut, voyeurism and inappropriate relationships

It was that time of day where Henry found no choice but to go and interact with his co-worker, he had a plastic wallet thick with documents that he’d wanted to see, something about monitoring stock after a big party. To be honest, Henry didn’t really see the point, the accountant could do it when they come in on Fridays, but hell, keep the peace. He took himself across the building and down the maintenance corridor which housed William at the end of it. But the second he stepped in and the staff-only door closed behind him, he was greeted with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and he stood for a moment in sheer disbelief. 

He finally moved closer to William’s office, the sounds more apparent and lewder, the desperate moaning from you coupled with the wet sounds of William using your cunt. Then it struck him who you are. You, the relatively new day security guard. He liked you because you’re sweet and very capable, and yes, gorgeous; and at hearing your intimate noises and sighs he found himself rock hard under his trousers. His eyes widened in panic, he couldn’t see why he didn’t just walk away and come back later but God, he was throbbing, the image of your pretty body underneath him was too fucking good.

Hating himself the moment he thinks of it, Henry peeks his head around the corner to see Will’s back, mercifully still dressed, and your legs wrapped around his waist. He can’t take his eyes off the spectacle, your scratches on his shoulders and knee hooking him in, he’s suddenly overcome with a wave of pungent jealousy. He tears himself away and collapses against the wall outside the office, just obscured by the door frame, his cock prominent and visibly erect through the fabric. And he falls victim to your mewls and begins stroking himself, hopeful that the ruffling of his clothes as he freed himself wouldn’t give him away. 

It felt gross, but only for a few seconds as he lost himself in the idea of fucking you himself and feeling of his cock in his hand. He matches his pace to your moans, trying to block out the sounds of his co-worker, and only half succeeding. Thrusting his dick into his hand with the picture of the two of you at the forefront of his mind, trying to keep himself quiet. 

“Fuck, Will.” you half-squeal half-laugh as he pushes your back flat against the desk you’re being pounded on, pulling on his arms to get him closer to you. “God, I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop. Please...” His cock fit so well inside you, stretching you open and repeatedly hitting that spot inside you that made you crumble.

You do, clamping down around him in the most perfectly tight way. “You dirty fucking girl. You gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours? Huh?” The rasp in his voice makes you shiver.

“Noooo,” you whine, not letting him pull out of you. “Inside, Will. I want it inside.” you squeal again as he ruts into you harder, his pace staggering as he gets closer.

Your words were now etched into Henry's mind, you asked for him inside, hell, near begged for it. You still were, though it became more and more incoherent. He couldn’t believe how filthy that was, how that came from you and not some video on his phone. At your moaning he came, not having thought it through at all, releasing his load on the tilled floor, having to bite his arm to stop any sounds escaping. 

When he gained enough sense about him to fix himself, Henry put himself away and dabbed at some sweat coating his brow, still swimming in the high. He ignored the urge to flee back to his own office, instead listening to hear the aftermath of your activity. 

“You are absolute filth, my dear. Really going to finish your shift like that?” You grin, letting his cum seep out of you, still sat with your legs spread on his desk. Henry could only dream of the sight.

“Why, is it distracting?” From out the door Henry can hear William chuckling, followed by the sound of you hopping off the desk. Your boss watches you shimmy your knickers back up your legs, only half catching his release and your slick, then your skirt which you smooth down even though it did nothing to make you look more presentable. 

You go to move past your boss, your make up smudged. “Get yourself here after hours.” He speaks into your ear, as you walk out the door, slapping your arse when you pass him, a smirk on his face. 

As you opened the door, Henry did his best to make it look like he’d just arrived, in the traditional sense and not the way he had, giving you a polite smile without meeting your eyes. 

“Oh hey, Mr Emily.” you say, taking a moment to look at him, “You alright?”

His breath hitched at your question, but you didn’t quite realise why. You must be too fucked out. “Yes, uh fine.” He manages, internally willing you to just walk away. You do, smiling at him in your usual friendly way like he didn’t just hear you ask your boss to fill you up.

“Henry...” Will emerged himself, his tie undone. He raises his hands, presenting his palms, speaking jokingly, “I can explain.”

He sighs, “Yeah, I’ll bet.” His sarcastic tone and the look on his face told William more that he would have liked. 

His head fell back in laughter, “You heard then?” When Henry’s face didn’t change, he just laughed again taking a minute to curb it before finally asking, “What are you here for, Henry?” though the grin remained. 

“I have the inventory documents you wanted, after the big party.” He says dryly, eager to end this conversation and avoid more gloating, because his jealousy was evident, as was the proof of his activity still on the floor. 

Henry is faced with a look of boredom from Will that pretty much mirrored his own expression. “Just leave it on my d- actually, not the desk. The uh filling cabinet, leave it there. I need a piss and a smoke.” He moved past Henry, adjusting his tie as he walked away. 

About half a pace from where he left his co-worker stood, he slips, his heel catching the mess Henry had left on the floor. It was only brief, but enough to make him look down at the stickiness on his shoe in disgust, though fortunately to Henry he didn’t catch on. 

“And get a fucking cleaner in here, shit.”

#william afton #henry emily #william afton x reader #william afton x you #henry emily x reader #henry emily x you #afab reader #william afton smut #Henry Emily smut #fnaf smut

[blindmagdalena]

Any Port in a Storm

18+ 1.7k homelander solo fic. masturbation, selfcest? praise kink.

Homelander struggles to put himself first during his "Me Time," but a friendly voice comes to the rescue: his own.

yes this is the bath fic i said i would write. no it's not what i was supposed to be working on. happy kinktober!

Homelander’s world is spiraling out of control.

The world saw him. The real him, and they fucking loved it.

At least, some of them had.

The rest were calling him a murderer.

He’s been channel flipping for nearly an hour listening to the different reports. Biases everywhere. Footage recut, reworked, every witness giving their own spin to the narrative. No one seems to care about the truth. They’re too concerned with their own petty little agendas. Half the time they don’t even talk about him, just what this means for two opposing sides.

They want him in jail. Him, Homelander. America’s Favorite Hero.

The remote cracks in his hand. He hisses out a tight breath and stands, tossing the plastic shrapnel onto the couch. He needs to blow off some steam. Take care of himself.

God knows no one else will.

He runs a bath, turning the water as scaldingly hot as it will go. He lets it fog up the mirrors and the windows in his bathroom, inhales the steam while he undresses. Once the bath is mostly full, he turns off the faucet and slides in, the heat drawing a low sigh out of him as he sinks into it. The water doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even turn his skin pink, but it does seep in and help alleviate some of the tension in his muscles.

Resting his head back on the curve of the tub, he closes his eyes, taking a moment to simply be. The weight of the world has been on his shoulders for so long, he doesn’t know how to be truly weightless, not even when he flies. This comes close, though. The water laps idly back and forth, taking on his weight, before settling still around him. 

For all that he cannot control in his life, there’s at least one thing that never fails him.

Adjusting, he moves his hand from the edge of the tub and settles it at the base of his soft cock, huffing a breath from his nose. He strokes slow and shallow at first, sifting through the images behind his closed eyelids for something suitable. All he needs is the thought of a warm hole, something tight and reverent wrapped around his cock. He’s not picky right now, whatever does the trick.

Any port in a storm, after all.

His mind's eye constructs vague shapes: lips, a flicking tongue dragging over the head of his cock before they take him down their throat. He lets out a breath, cock giving a weak twitch in his hand, but he’s still far from even a half chub. He needs something more. He imagines reaching down and feeling soft hair, stroking his fingers through it. It morphs blonde, and blue eyes look up– ”It’s not even gay if it’s with yourself.” Homelander hisses through his teeth, opening his eyes to banish the image– the memory–of his stolen face peering up at him with weak, watery eyes. Fucking Doppelganger.

Whatever momentum he’d gained has vanished. He gives his cock an impatient, irritated tug, as if it’s somehow at fault, and settles back down, closing his eyes. C’mon. C’mon, soft. Long hair. Something… Something else.

Turns out not any port.

Starting over, he tries to find his way towards something less existential. Something easy, sexy, wet and good. He imagines hands first this time, strong hands in his hair, on his chest, pinning him down and riding him fast and hard. He squeezes his cock just like she had, remembers how good it had felt to fuck someone who wanted him as bad as he wanted them, how eagerly she’d thrown him around, climbed in his lap. They never did fuck in a bed.

A puddle of blood in a bed. That’s all that was left of her.

“Fuck!” He snaps, giving his cock a yank hard enough that it actually hurts a little.

He’s losing it. He’s been fucked with so thoroughly, been robbed of so much, and now this? He doesn’t have a single good memory to pull from, and his amorphous fantasies turn around to bite him like serpents. Even now, he can hear Stan fucking Edgar in the back of his mind leering about bad product because he can’t even get a proper boner going.

“You fuck–you fucking–” He’s jerking himself hard and fast, half hard only by sheer stimulation, but it doesn’t feel good.

Whoa, whoa! Hold your horses, his inner voice calls, drowning out the noise. Jesus Christ, take a breather. Let go of your dick before you rip the damn thing off, he says to himself, finally easing the tension in his grip. He opens his eyes, panting, on the verge of tears as he rubs at his face in exasperation.

That’s it. Relax. That’s what you’re here for, right? To relax.

He nods, pushing his hands through his hair, breathing shallowly.

Learn from your mistakes, champ. You know what all this is, don’t’cha? You’re still too reliant on other people. Even the ones that’re dead and gone, you’re clawing at them to help you. Make you feel good. They’re poison, and you don’t need ‘em. Y’never did.

He presses the base of his palms into his temples, swallowing back the surge of sadness like bile, his throat burning with it.

“I’m so fucking alone,” he grits out.

You are the only person you’ve ever needed. C’mon, snap out of it. Lemme show you.

Sucking in a breath, he grinds the wetness from his eyes with his palms, exhaling roughly, and then sinks his hands back down into the water. He moves to reach for his cock again, but stops himself.

Not so fast. I’m driving now.

Instead, he slides both hands down the length of his torso, his sides, down his thighs, and back up. He moves slowly, touching his chest, his nipples. He focuses simply on the feeling of being touched, on how little his hands feel like his own right now. He tips his head back while his hand settles on his throat, squeezing lightly.

Feels good to be touched, doesn’t it?

“Yes,” he sighs, swallowing against the press of his palm. He tweaks his nipples with his other hand, sliding back and forth under the water, rolling his thumb over it until each nub grows hard and sensitive. At least those still work.

Quit being so hard on yourself. You’re perfect. You hear me? Fucking perfect.

He licks his lips, nodding. “Yeah… Yeah, m’fuckin’... M’fuckin’ perfect…”

The hand on his chest moves gradually lower, pausing to trace patterns on his stomach. He can’t remember the last time he touched himself like this, slow and exploratory, as if he were a lover new to himself. His hand slips lower, but he bypasses his cock entirely, cupping his balls beneath it. He makes a little noise at that, planting his feet flat in the tub so that he can rock himself gently, water sloshing back and forth with him as he rolls against his palm.

You feel good, don’t you?

“Yeah,” he rasps, the hand at his throat squeezing as he speaks, reminding him of his hold, of his strength.The feel finally makes his cock jump, which has him smiling a little. His middle finger rubs at the soft flesh of his perineum, pressing in lightly. His hand moves up from his throat, cups the side of his face. His thumb strokes over the jut of his parted lips.

Go ahead. Kiss. Know you want to.

He does. He desperately misses kissing someone. Feeling their lips soft against his, their breath on his lips. He might love kissing more than he loves fucking. He purses his lips against his thumb, kisses it like he would another person, the noise of it soft and wet in his ears. He opens his mouth enough to take his thumb between his lips and lap at it like it’s someone else’s tongue.

Atta boy.

He screws his eyes tightly shut, thrusting up. His cock has filled out all the way now, and it bobs against his stomach a few times, the warm water flowing all around him. “M’ready,” he says feverishly, half muffled around his thumb, fingers cupping his cheek. “M’ready, wanna touch.”

So touch, his voice says, amused. No one’s gonna tell you ‘no’ ever again.

He pulls his hand up from his balls and wraps it around the base of his shaft, squeezing lightly before pulling his grip slowly up the length of his cock, shivering. He feels sensitized all over, hyper-aware of the same body that felt numb to him moments ago. His cock is hard and heavy in his grip, the thick vein along the underside throbbing. He angles his hand so that the pads of his fingers follow the line of it as he strokes himself. He moans against his hand, turning his head to push deeper into it.

Who are you?

“Homelander,” he pants, water sloshing over the edge of the tub as he thrusts, fucking the tight channel of his hand.

What are you?

“A hero,” he says, brows furrowing. He feels hotter than the bath water ever was, his eyes burning red behind the veil of his lids. He bares his teeth like something wild. An animal never to be caged again.

No, no. You’re more than that now. You’re not just their hero. What are you?

“A fff–a god, I’m–I’m a fucking god!” He roars, slamming up against his fist at the same time heat and light erupts from his eyes, the wild surge of it shooting straight up and through his ceiling. His toes curl and his back arches into a perfect curve, wave after wave of pleasure lapping through him in one of the most earth shattering orgasms he’s had in fucking years.

The porcelain around him cracks from the push of his body, his foot breaking through the bottom right side. Water rushes out of the tub, but he doesn’t care in the least. He sinks to the bottom as it empties, high as a kite on his release, and the sound of his own voice purring affirmations in the back of his mind. His own palm remains warm on his cheek, thumb stroking along his skin.

He doesn’t need any port. He is the storm.

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #cozy corner kinktober #mirrorlander #if you squint lol #my writing #smut

[foreverdolly]

Stay-at-Home Sweater Dad Elvis fixin' peanut butter banana sandwiches for the kids 🥪🥪🥪

“Where is mama?” Teddy asked for the third time in a row, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He kicked his small leg back and forth as he gripped onto the doorframe, his little sock covered feet sliding against the tiled floors. Elvis let out a small sigh as he cut the sandwich in half, arranging the pieces on his children’s plastic plates. “She’s sick, baby. She’s upstairs resting in mama and daddy’s room.” He opened up the fridge, pulling out a container that had a few carrot sticks that Miss Mary had already cut up for the kids. He had decided to give the woman the day off, letting her get situated in her new home. Elvis had recently surprised her with a house of her own, buying it for her so that she wouldn’t have to keep living in an apartment complex. She made constant complaints about her younger neighbors being disrespectful, and Elvis didn’t take kindly to anyone treating his loved ones badly.

He placed a few on each plate before shoving it back in the fridge. You, your husband and your children had been spending a lot of time up at the Buddhist gardens recently, and seeing the way that they lived had inspired the both of you. You two were on a health binge, throwing out anything that contained unnatural sugars, dyes or large quantities of unhealthy fat. Which meant no bacon. It had been a difficult sacrifice for Elvis, but the man was thirty four and hadn’t felt this good in his entire life. 

Peanut butter had been the one thing that he refused to give up, and so you and Miss Mary had perfected a homemade recipe, which was made with honey rather than cane sugar. It was better than the jarred stuff, that was for sure. His love for peanut butter and banana sandwiches had been passed down to his children, and so whenever it was his turn to take care of the kids? They got what they wanted, because he spoiled them rotten. You pretended to be stern about his constant cooing and pampering, but he knew that you secretly loved it. “Why is she sick, daddy?” His son had an even stronger southern drawl than he did, but it was only because the six year old boy was missing his two front teeth. He smiled to himself before turning around, pointing the butter knife at him. “She got it from you, lil’ boy. Now you’re feelin’ better and runnin’ amok in the house. I liked you better when you were all sweet and cuddly two days ago.” Teddy wrinkled his nose, grinning up at his father before running over to his side, wrapping his arms tightly around his leg. Elvis reached his hand down, running his ring clad fingers through the boy’s hair. Your son was the spitting image of Elvis. Looked just like him to the point where it was a little scary sometimes. His mannerisms though? All you. 

“Where’s your baby sister, hm?” Elvis grabbed the plates, hobbling into the hallway that led down to the jungle room. Teddy was still clinging to his leg, refusing to let go. The father just dragged the kid through the house, used to his antics. “Daisy Lynn Presley! Get your tiny butt down here!” He called out, ducking his head into rooms to see if he could catch sight of his runaway toddler. The ebony haired man stumbled a bit as his son put all his weight on his leg, chuckling as he gently tried to kick him off. “You tryin’ to kill me, boy?” Teddy shook his head, giggling as he let go to run off in the direction of the jungle room, plopping himself down on the hideous couch so that he could be right in front of the television. Elvis handed the boy his plastic plate, placing the other one on the coffee table as he started his search. 

After he had checked the lower level of the house and found that the small girl was nowhere in sight, he began to grow panicked. He was quick to climb the stairs two at a time, but froze as he saw her small form in front of the closed bedroom door. She was sitting down on the carpeted floor, looking up expectantly at the door as she gently knocked every few seconds. You were probably passed out cold from all the cold medicine Elvis had given you this morning. Poor little thing- you were as sick as a dog. “Daisy girl, what are you doin’, baby?” He cooed, moving to reach down and pick her up. Weaning her off of her pacifiers had been an uphill battle, so when she started mumbling around the paci, he was quick to grab the end of it, pulling it out of her mouth. “You gave your daddy a heart attack. What were you thinkin’ climbing up the stairs all by yourself? You could fall.” He started his descent, and she was quick to look over his shoulder. “Mama!” She reached out with her small hands, motioning over towards the door. “Mama is sick, baby girl. I don’t want you to catch it.” There was nothing that Elvis hated more than seeing his family sick or injured. He felt bad for you, and had been checking in on you every hour, making sure to give your sweaty forehead extra kisses.

Elvis had seen just how bad off you were with your headaches and stuffy nose, and the last thing he wanted was for your small daughter to be just as bad. Her body was so tiny, afterall. “I’ve got peanut butter and banana sandwiches downstairs, baby. Let’s go watch some cartoons, alright? And then after that, we can go outside and play on the golf carts.” And with that he plopped his daughter down onto the couch next to his son, handing her half of the sandwich he had made for them. She was quick to abandon her pacifier, making quick work of the sandwich. Teddy had already finished his and was currently staring at the television, munching on his carrots. “You gotta eat all of those, alright?” The boy was too engrossed in The Muppets to pay any mind to his father. “Theodore, look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, baby.” Teddy turned his head, looking at his daddy before picking up another carrot. “That’s my boy.”

#foreverdolly #askdolly #elvis presley drabble #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #daddy elvis presley #dad!elvis presley #self insert #reader insert #anon answered #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis baz luhrmann #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis x reader #smut #elvis fluff #fluff #austin fluff #elvis presley fanfiction #austin butler fic #sweet nonnie #fanfic request #elvis presley #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #baz luhrmann elvis

[tom-whore-dleston]

life in plastic 👠 - enemies to lovers w/ marc spector; “I have the feeling that you’re trying not to kiss me and I give you permission to just do it.” 👀

congrats again jordan, to the next 900 followers ❤️🥂

God Damn that Marc Spector

Pairing: Marc Spector x f. reader

Genre: fluff/rom-com

Be aware of: enemies to lovers (?), SamBucky wedding, hella banter, alcohol consumption, Sam and Bucky are DRONK, accidental confession, making out, suggestiveness, Steven and Jake are not present

Summary: You grow closer to the man you hate when both of your best friends marry one another.

Word Count: 2k

Notes: omg Isla, please forgive me for how late I am to writing this 😭😭 I was starting to lose hope in finishing this but a sudden burst of inspo came and now I will be having Marc brain rot for the rest of the century dlkgjaldkhg thank you again for the request and I love you forever bb 😘🫶 Huge thank you to @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for looking over it when I first started writing this and to @yummymatcha for being my Marc hype woman and beta-reader!! Remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed what you read 😊

Marc Spector was a name that made your eyes burn from how hard you rolled them every time you heard it. Even the thought of him and his shit eating grin made you want to pound your fist against a wall. However, you never did because he wasn’t worth bruising your knuckles nor putting a fresh dent in the wall. 

Years ago, your best friend, Sam, and his boyfriend, Bucky, set you and Marc up on a blind date. They figured that if they set up their best friends together, you all could go on fun double dates together. It was only five minutes into your blind date when you both realized how much you and Marc hated one another. Bucky and Sam were disappointed that it didn’t work out between you both so they tried to keep you both at a distance. That was until they got engaged.

It was no surprise that Sam asked you to be his maid of honor and Bucky asked Marc to be his best man. This also meant that you and Marc had to collaborate on making sure the wedding was absolutely perfect. The only obstacle you had to pass was not killing each other before the big day.

The first few times you met with Marc, you resisted the urge to stab him with the nearest object because of his sarcastic remarks. The only thing keeping you from murdering Marc in daylight was the image of your best friend beaming with his new life long partner all thanks to the work you did for him. Eventually, you learned to settle your differences with Marc and work as a team.

By the time Sam and Bucky’s wedding arrived, you and Marc watched your best friends become married. Thankfully, neither of you had a scratch or stab wound in sight. The rest of the wedding was full of love, laughter, and many, many drinks. You and Marc may have had a hard time seeing eye to eye in the beginning, but the one thing you could both agree on was an open bar all night. Unfortunately, it did lead to both Bucky and Sam getting wasted.

The newlyweds couldn’t make their grand exit out the banquet hall because they were stumbling over their steps. As maid of honor and best man, you and Marc stepped in to escort Bucky and Sam to their honeymoon suite at the top floor. While in the elevator, Sam turned to you with his eyelids half open.

“Hey,” he whispered loudly, despite only the four of you occupying the elevator lift. “Did you finally tell Marc that you like him?”

“What?!” you shrieked, face warming up like a tea kettle over fire. Although you fought to avoid Marc’s gaze, you already knew he was snickering with his hands on his hips. Meanwhile, Bucky stared off into space, watching the floor numbers change.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ You literally told me that you were going to take that tie off of him and wrap it around his wrists so you could-”

Ding!

Saved by the bell.

You sighed, “Alrighty, you and Bucky are clearly drunk so let’s get you both to bed.” As the elevator doors opened, you and Marc dragged Bucky and Sam out towards their suite at the end of the hall. Sam giggled hysterically.

“Oh my god, Sam, Marc is soooooo hot!” He pitched his voice so it matched yours. You gritted your teeth as your lips turned into a thin line. He may have been your best friend, but right at that moment, you wanted to murder him more than the man you actually hated.

“Sam, gimme the key so I don’t have to search your pockets.”

“I know who’s pants you want to search though.” Your best friend looked at his equally drunk husband, both of them bursting into a fit of cackles. God, it felt like dealing with two 12-year-olds in grown up bodies. Finally, Marc jumped in.

“C’mon, Sammy.” The exhaustion was apparent in Marc’s voice. “Today has been a blast, but me and the lady need some sleep and would rather do anything other than babysitting you two.”

Sam blew a raspberry in Marc’s face. “What a party pooper.” He rummaged through his pockets, pulling out the key. Your best friend turned to you. “You sure, you wanna bang this guy?”

Blowing off his comment, you snatched the key from him, hovering it over the sensor on the door. As the door unlocked, you glanced over to Marc, mouthing a sincere thank you, in which he just winked smugly at you. 

You and Marc managed to guide Bucky and Sam towards the giant king size bed. Bucky and Sam didn’t bother shedding off their tuxes before climbing onto the bed and immediately falling asleep. Loud snores echoed throughout the bedroom, taking that as your sign to escape quickly without a peep.   

“Well, that was interesting.” Marc huffed out a breath of relief. You both chuckled in unison without looking at one another. 

“That’s Sam for you,” you added. “He talks out of his ass when he’s drunk.” The two of you began walking slowly to the elevator, trying to stall time so you could have more quality time together. By the time you reached the elevator, Marc cleared his throat.

“I don't know about you, but I’m starving. I barely ate during dinner and I have a huge craving for curly fries. Care to join me?” Your stomach rumbled as he mentioned dinner. The same dinner you also neglected since the steak you were looking forward to eating was a little too well for your liking. You nodded, stepping into the elevator before Marc.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

On the way to the nearest fast food joint that was surprisingly still open, you and Marc talked about the wedding, including all the pros and cons. It was safe to say that the wedding was an overall success, minus Bucky and Sam taking advantage of the open bar. You shared a few laughs with Marc while reminiscing on every single moment of the day. Even though he kept his eyes glued to the road, you took in the way they crinkled when he concentrated. 

Then, you began to notice other features that never crossed your mind. He would lightly bite his tongue after hearing your giggles. He’d also run his hand through his dark hair when there was a moment of silence. A few gray hairs peeked through on the side of his head, even on the stubbles of his beard. 

Yes, Marc was an extremely handsome man, and also yes, he was starting to grow on you. However, you still couldn’t shake yourself from the blind date that made you hate him all these years. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t fair to hold that grudge, especially with all the progress you have made with Marc. But were you truly ready for something more with the man that gave you hell?

“Hey, sweet pea, what’s on your mind?” That nickname gave you butterflies every time he called you that. He didn’t start referring to you as sweet pea until you started planning the wedding and demanded the DJ to play “Sweet Pea” by Amos Lee as part of the grand entrance playlist.

You brushed your thoughts off with a short laugh. “Oh, I was just thinking about what to order. I’m debating between a sandwich or cheeseburger. Or anything with cheese at this point.”

“Quite the inner conflict, I bet,” Marc joked. “Whatever you want, go ahead and order it. It’s all on me.”

“What? Are you sure?” 

“Don’t worry about it, sweet pea. I know you were swamped today so let me treat you.” Your cheeks warmed up and your palms grew clammy. 

“Thank you, Marc! Really, I appreciate you for having my back.” Suddenly, your hand was engulfed by Marc’s, his thumb grazing yours gently. 

“Consider this a second chance date.”

As you headed back to the hotel, you ate your meals in silence. “Sweet Pea” blasted through the speakers and Marc caught you swaying to the song out of the corner of his eye, your cheeks filled with bites from your cheeseburger. He smiled to himself as he kept driving, sipping on his soda.

Once you arrived back, you had finished eating and fell into the typical fast food coma. You cursed as you exited Marc’s car, the frosty air biting at your exposed arms and legs. Marc rushed to your side, slipping off his jacket and draping it around your shoulders. The heat and smell from his body transferred onto you as you buried yourself into the jacket. A new sensation coursed through your veins, a sensation that you typically felt while thinking of Marc late in the evening. You tried your hardest to ignore it as he walked you to your room.

By the time you were in front of your room, you didn’t want to let go of the warm jacket, nor did you want to let go of this moment with the man you were trying hard to get out of your head. As you were returning the jacket to Marc, he shook his head and pushed it back towards you.

“Go ahead and keep it, sweet pea. I’ll come back and get it in the morning.” He gazed up and down your frame, thinking about how adorable you looked swimming in the jacket.

“Oh, okay. Good, I was still cold anyway.” You fought the urge to stare into his gorgeous gaze. All of a sudden, you were frozen. Your hand tried to reach for the room key in your clutch, but an invisible force was holding you back. Actually, it was just Marc using just one finger to lift your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. 

“I have the feeling that you’re trying not to kiss me and I give you permission to just do it.” This caused you to blink in bewilderment.

“Uhh…excuse me?” You couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“Second chance date. Remember?”

You rolled your eyes and backed away from him. “Jesus, Marc, you’re exasperating.”

“Ooh, that’s a big word.” Marc laughed. “I may be exasperating but at least I’m not the one lying to myself.”  

Your blood was boiling. For once, you were actually having a more than decent time with him and he decided to ruin it with his stupid remarks. You wanted to spit another insult in his face. You wanted to slap him, punch him even. Instead, you yanked him towards you by the collar and slotted your lips against his.

All logic flew out the window as you pressed your chest against his as his arms wrapped around your waist. His kiss was so intoxicating you could have fainted from the way his tongue slid across your lower lip. Your tongues tangled passionately, all the built up tension releasing for your mind and body. Marc pinned you against the door frame, causing you to snap back to your senses. You pulled away from Marc, catching your breath and straightening your posture.

“Well, there you go.” You threw your hands in the air. “Happy?”

“Unfortunately, no. You didn’t give me a chance to kiss you more.”

“Well, that’s too bad because it’s not gonna happen again.” You reached into your clutch for your room key. 

“You sure about that?” Marc asked rhetorically. You paused as Marc leaned his side against the wall. For a brief moment, you actually considered kissing him again right then and there. But where was the fun in that?

You scoffed and shook your head. “Good night, Marc.” Once your room key scanned against the door sensor, you wiggled the doorknob and retreated to your room, not bothering to glance back at Marc’s cheeky smirk. 

You shimmied out of the oversized jacket, throwing it over the armrest of the love seat. Then, you changed out of your dress and into a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. Yet, the touch of Marc’s hands still lingered on your body. No matter how long you brushed your teeth for, your lips still savored the bittersweetness of his mouth. And you found yourself longing for at least one more taste.

God damn that Marc Spector!

Navigation | Fic Masterlist | Marc Spector Masterlist

#barbie and the 900 followers #life in plastic 👠 #buckybleu #jordan loves isla #marc spector #moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fic #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fluff #moon knight fic #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fluff #inklaur

[okiidokii]

Obligotry Once-a-Month art post, and here's the main five designs lol.

I'm hella busy right now and I already barely had time to draw the Lagoona and Cleo designs, I then realized I had some problems with my first take on the big three so I redesigned them. I'll make bios for Lagoona and Cleo (as well as Ghoulia and Spectra, who are supposed to be part of this "Wave 1" lineup), but just unshaded full-bodies for now.

edit: Individual artworks cause the main image is blurry as shit 😭

Tangent under the Cut!

I made some little changes for Frankie ( I now realize I didn't even complete the pattern of the leg warmers, but ngl I'm vibing with the asymmetry). I just thought their design was too busy to work for a doll. Not that I am planning on making these designs into dolls, but that was my mindset when designing them. The excessive patterns, while looking cool to me, might seem off-putting to see on shelves so I toned it down a bit. Also removed some layers of clothes cause LOL there is NO way Mattel would ever put that many layers on a playline doll. Also changed the shoes, kinda rushed the first ones I designed I didn't like them at all. I feel these one fit my direction for Frankie a lot more.

Cleo was very inspired by Mcbling era of 2000s fashion. I like G1 Cleo a lot, but I think she was of the main dolls who didn't really have a clear fashion style attached to her, just wearing Egyptian motifs. Which don't get me wrong, looked really good at times, but I feel a lot more could be done with her. I associate the Mcbling era with extreme consumerism and hyper-femininity, and like... if that's not Cleo. Gave Cleo hazy eyes, jaundice, and generally ashy skin so she looks especially dead looking.

I didn't really have that much beef with my Clawdeen design as much as I had beef with her drawing. Like it looked SO bad compared to the rest. I actually sat my as down and drew her braids this time. I also changed her bra-mesh shirt cause 1.) again, Mattel will never put that many layers on a playline doll 2.)IDK maybe I'm a prude but perhaps it was too much for a 15 year old?

Lagoona was really a case of having my cake (making her Australian) and eating it too (making her a WOC). My Lagoona Blue is a Yawk-Yawk, a sea creature with sea-weed hair from the Bininj indigenous people of Australia. I wanted to connect her to an actual sea creature because honestly G1 half-sea nymph thing was vague as hell, and G3 is giving us literally nothing.I'd like to imagine the seaweed being a plastic mold at the back of her neck, like Viperine snakes. A lot of redesigns of Lagoona tend to go for streetwear or sport-leisure, but I went for beach fashion cause I liked the vibes. To compensate for the utter mainstreamness of her fashion, I tried to give her weird makeup.

Drac changed significantly because she was the only one whose design I outright disliked, at least for a hypothetical core doll. I removed the pink streaks cause I thought while it might look cool as a drawing, it might look garish on a doll (that and It'd be difficult to root with a machine). Still think the design might be a hassle to translate to doll form (the skirt is WAY too much), so I might have to revise it, again. But I like this direction much more.

#honestly lagoona is my favorite simply for how much I snuck into her design #like her choker is the plastic rings of soda packaging (they get infamously caught by turtle in the ocean) #Her headflower is the Stuart Desert Rose(the national flower of the Northern Territory in Australia where the Bininji people are) #her eyebrows resemble fish skeletons #her earrings are dragonflies (an insect Yawk-Yawks can transform into) #and her seahorse from G1 holds her fisherman's net-looking crochet sweater together (an Idea I stole from Moderngurlz design lol) #they're references in the others as well but yeah Lagoona definitely had the most #Monster High #Hokii's Dokiis #redesign #fanart #Monster High fanart #Monster High redesign #Frankie Stein #Cleo de Nile #Clawdeen Wolf #Lagoona Blue #Draculaura #my post #ohh boy here comes a bunch of tags

[girl-next-door-writes]

I've Gotta Go Away

Characters: Steven Grant x Reader

Summary: Just a cozy Christmassy date with the lovely Steven Grant.

Word Count: 1068 words

Prompt: #2: Drinking hot cocoa in a small café

The darkness was punctuated by the flurries of white that danced within the harsh winter breeze, illuminated by the streetlamps and shop windows creating a strange and mystical ballet which nobody paid attention to. People on the street scurried by, heads down and collars pulled up against the elements, eager to finally find a respite from the frightful weather. Pavements became damp slush with banks of murky snow lining the edges, preparing themselves to freeze overnight and prove hazardous to any early morning pedestrians.

From the warmth of his seat, Steven stared out at the snowflakes creating intricate patterns on their way to the ground. His damp coat and scarf hung on the back of the wooden stool, the smell of wet cloth covered by the aroma of coffee from the counter and vanilla from the various reed diffusers strategically placed around the shop. It all mingled with a hint of pine, which was strange as the overly decorated tree in the corner with the soft twinkling lights was entirely made of plastic. Perhaps that was one of the mysteries of Christmas, how just the image of a tree could conjure up the familiar smell, like a sense memory. 

His hands were wrapped around a half full mug of hot chocolate, tiny marshmallows, half melted, bobbed around on the surface happily. Steven had placed them there himself. He always felt a little awkward asking if the marshmallows were vegan whenever he went to a coffee shop, not wanting to put anyone out or make things difficult. He definitely didn’t want to be one of ‘those’ vegans and they had already been so kind to make his drink with almond milk. Instead, he had taken to carrying around a small pack of marshmallows on the off chance he might want a sugar hit.

He had managed to snag one of his favourite seats, sat at the high bench in the window. It was ideal for people watching, but as the sky grew darker the glass changed from a window to more of a mirror. He could see the twinkle of the fairy lights over by the counter, the flicker of the candle on the table in front of him was twinned, and then there was his own reflection staring back at him. Steven had to admit that he looked tired, and quickly shifted his gaze, uncomfortable with the look he was giving himself.

“You sure you don’t want a top up?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts as you returned to your seat beside him.

“No, thanks love. I’ve got half a cup still left.” He gave you a soft smile, still not quite believing that you were really here with him.

The two of you had been trying to meet up for a few days now, and he had resigned himself to yet another year of almosts and near misses. You had not been so ready to give up on the Christmas miracle yet though, and he had been pleasantly surprised when he looked up from the gift shop counter and saw you standing there. Turned out, you had managed to get the afternoon off work and wondered if he wanted to go for a drink when he’d finished. Of course, he had immediately agreed and the end of his shift couldn’t have come soon enough.

That had been three hours ago, and neither of you showed any signs of leaving yet. Steven had even been looking for any indication that you might, that he was boring you or you had realized you’d made a terrible mistake, but there had been none. In fact, you seemed to be enjoying yourself as much as he was. The conversation was easy, although Steven did find himself nervously stuttering over a few words every now and again. The butterflies in his stomach had calmed somewhat. There was still a nervous energy, but the anxiety that had laced that feeling had dissipated.

Time seemed to fly by, and before he knew it the staff were indicating that they wanted to close up for the night. Checking his watch, his eyes widened when he saw the time.

“Oh, I am so sorry for keeping you so late! How are you getting home? Will there still be a bus running?” He looked at you with such concern, feeling that he had somehow made your life difficult and now you would be less inclined to meet up with him again.

“I’ll just get an Uber, it’s fine.” You assured him with a warm smile. “We can share one if you want, that way you’ll know I got home okay. And I will know you got home okay too. Plus, it means we can keep hanging out a little longer.”

“Y-yeah?” It came out more of a question than a statement but you had simply nodded and pulled out your phone to open the app.

“I’m gonna need your address though, to book it.”

Steven gave you his address and it wasn’t long before the two of you were standing in the doorway of the café, staring at the small screen as you tracked your lift. The wind had picked up outside, the flurries of snow now creating mini hurricanes in the air, and neither of you really wanted to brave the cold until you really had to.

When the car pulled up, you had grabbed Steven’s hand and carefully crossed the soggy pavement, a gesture he didn’t fully comprehend until the two of you were safe and warm in the backseat and your hand remained in his. That wasn’t something just a friend would do, that meant you liked him, didn’t it? At least a little. He couldn’t help but let hope grow within him, perhaps this had all gone so well that you might be open to a more obvious date scenario.

All too soon, the car pulled up outside your home. “Well, Steven, it’s been lovely. We should definitely do this again” You said softly, leaning a little over and pressing your warm lips against his cold cheek. The action caused his brain to short circuit for a moment and before he could regain his senses you had been climbing out of the car and into the snow. His fingers pressed against his cheek, the ghost of your kiss still lingering there. Yes, he thought you should definitely do this again.

#Steven Grant #Steven Grant x reader #Steven's Greetings #gndw fic

[copperbadge]

Dearborn is the most creature of little creatures. 

[ID: Two images; top is a downward shot of a pizza I baked this morning, with the cheese just barely beginning to caramelize, while the bottom is a picture of Dearborn the tortie, curled up at the edge of a sofa, looking more like a fox than any cat really has the right to look.]

More organizing of clothing and storage today which continues to be visually uninteresting so here are some other photos instead. While the pizza was rising/baking, with Dearborn’s supervision I tried on all the remaining shirts, filled both under-bed storage boxes with stuff I’d like to have access to (winter accessories, extra bags, etc) and sorted out the trousers. As @katestamps pointed out to me, trying on trousers with a broken ankle is a perilous proposition; I thought about sitting down to do it but even then you have to point your foot which I’m not really supposed to do. So I put all the ones I know I like and fit me on the clothing shelf and packed the rest away, with a note to myself reminding me to sort through them the next time I get them out, which will probably be next winter.  

Of the big plastic storage bins, I’ve managed to fill one and label it so it’s gone back to its “home” behind the dresser shelf; the stack of bins that normally lives there is a favorite place for the cats to climb, so they’ve been upset about it being gone and were very excited that Bin #1 has returned. The rest of the bins have stuff other than clothes in them so those will take longer to sort through. I’m not sure if I’ll continue working on the bins tomorrow or shift gears to something else so I don’t get bored and frustrated with the bins. I’ve got two of the six that are essentially empty now, which is fantastic. 

It was a bit of a shorter process than usual this morning partly because of the pizza but mostly because I had a wonderful but very long day yesterday and I’m physically sore today. I listened to part one of “How The Roman Republic Became A Police State” by Behind The Bastards, another podcast I’m working through the back-catalogue of, which was an hour and a half of delightful classical history. 

#naclyoho #salty pirates #cleaning #food

[b-afterhours]

Avenue of Sins: Neon

A Sequel to Avene of Sins

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

The completed first series can be read and found here.

Chapter Seventeen

May 1993

Bill woke up alone in Alma’s bed, confused and rubbing his sleepy eyes. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to wake up, and then images of what had transpired during Alma’s “lunch break” came to mind.

He was so exhausted from travel that he passed out after they had their romp. He was still naked from the waist down, wrapped in her soft white Sherpa throw blanket. Drawing the blanket up to his chin when he turned over, he saw a sheet of notebook paper left on the bed. 

“Off at 6 today. Bringing dinner.” Alma wrote with her half-cursive, half-print writing. 

The vision of her blowing him while he drove to her apartment came to mind, and the last thing he remembered was her getting up after a very brief post-sex cuddle. He reached for her hand, trying to pull her back into his embrace. 

“I gotta go,” she giggled. 

“Leaving me so soon. You make me feel cheap,” he chuckled. 

“There’s a twenty on the nightstand for you,” she winked, leaving him to go to the bathroom. 

When she came back to get dressed, he was snoring rather loudly. Still half naked without a care. She draped a blanket over him and left him be after leaving the note. 

Out of the shower, he felt so much more refreshed, but it was mostly the fact that he had sex, that satisfied him the most. While he appreciated the explicit photos of her that helped the visuals in his mind's eye, having to rely on just his hand was frustrating. Especially knowing he could have the real thing if he had stayed in Seattle.

He checked the time and figured that Alma should be on her way now with Echo. Before taking a seat on the couch, he noticed the place was a bit of a mess. He wasn’t paying attention when he first entered; he was too focused on getting undressed. He paused then, picking up the bomber jacket and his jeans off the floor, along with Alma’s white tank top near the entry. 

Putting those away in the bedroom, he saw a hamper full of clothes sitting in the living room. He left it alone because, even after sniffing a few garments, he couldn’t determine if they were clean or dirty. The dining table was littered with school work, mail, and other odds and ends with sprinklings of dry Cheerios between it all. Echo’s toys were just scattered everywhere in the living area. He frowned a bit but also remembered that Alma didn’t have time to clean. She would have if she had known of his arrival.

He took it upon himself to start tossing Echo’s toys into the chest behind the couch. He cleared the dining table the best he could. Mostly, he sorted her schoolwork in a neat pile along with her mail. But not before he flipped through it. There was nothing of note except a birth announcement that had been delivered to her by an old friend. 

“Eduardo and Carla Marquez are pleased to introduce the arrival of Tomás Eduardo Marquez.” 

It had the child's birth date and a photo of them swaddled on the postcard. He put it to the side and placed a copy of a local alternative magazine on top of the mail. While using his hand to sweep the cheerios off the table into his other, he saw headlights shining through the living room windows. 

Quickly, he went to throw the cereal away in the kitchen trash can and noticed it was full. So he tied it off to take it out later. He strode over to open the door, and Alma was walking up the two steps up the porch with the baby’s backpack over one shoulder while holding a plastic bag of takeout, all while holding on to her daughter perfectly balanced on her hip. Alma raised her brows upon seeing him, happy to see that he was awake. She wasn’t certain he would be.

“Look who’s here, Echo,” she said, looking down at her daughter, whose head rested on her shoulder. 

She lifted her head, her thumb in her mouth, and then turned. Her eyes lit up, and she snickered happily with her thumb still between her teeth. Bill reached for her then, kissing her head. Alma could comfortably stand straight now that she didn’t have to hold her along with the bags. 

“Didn’t expect to see me, huh?” He said hugging his daughter. 

“Papa!” She said, grabbing his face with her little chubby hands.

Alma scooted past them, noticed her place had been tidied up, and cringed a bit inside. The apartment has been in a bit of a state these last few weeks. She had been tired. Finals were around the corner, and it was taking up her free hours after work, not to mention she had her child among all of that. 

"Sorry, you had to clean,” she sighed, putting the food down on the dining table and appreciating the neat piles he made of her mess. 

“I don’t mind,” he said, petting his daughter's hair back. 

“I’ve been busy, you know… but thanks. I bought fried chicken for dinner. It smells so fucking good,” she said, rolling her eyes at the very smell of it. She was starving. All she had to eat was a banana in the morning and half a bag of stale cheese puffs she had stowed away in a desk drawer when she got back to work. “You two can eat. I’m gonna shower really fast since you’re here,” she said, shrugging off the backpack to drape on the back of a chair. 

The way she was speaking rather quickly, which sounded like it was out of anxiety. He caught her arm before she could walk off. 

“You haven’t given me a kiss.” He said looking down at her, meeting her eyes when she looked back, relaxing her shoulders. She took a step towards him, and she noticed he steeled himself a bit before he wrapped his arm around her and leaned down for a kiss. “Relax a little. I’m here.” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, inhaling deeply through her nose to settle a bit. 

When she entered her bathroom, the joy of actually being able to close the door filled her. It was little things like this that she would miss. When she glanced down at her small bathroom counter, she groaned a bit. It was cluttered with hair ties and clips, and the toothpaste was uncapped. Bill had noticed her counter before his shower earlier but she had left his bathroom counter at the penthouse in a similar state. When she left, he had asked the housekeeper to leave it be but eventually, he placed the clips, hair elastics, and stray bobby pins in a drawer designated to the things she left behind. She was finally in the shower, shaving her hairy legs after messily sweeping off the counter into a drawer. The toothpaste remained uncapped; it had been missing for a week now. 

She joined her family with towel-dried hair and in a dark blue celestial-patterned nightgown. Bill had the back of his fingers against his daughter's forehead while she gnawed on a chicken drumstick. She sat down in front of a plate he had made ready with chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni, and roasted green beans with bacon. 

“She’s kind of warm.” He stated, turning to Alma and checking her out with a smirk. 

“Oh. She has molars coming in. That’s why I bought chicken tonight. She eats the drumstick, but she teeths on it too. I know it’s country as hell, but it works,” she said, taking a bite into her chicken after shaking a few dabs of vinegary, tangy hot sauce on it. 

Bill looked a little amused at how Alma ate her food quickly, but he was slightly regretful that he had taken her away from a meaningful lunch. Knowing her, though she didn’t have any regrets about it. 

“Did you look at this?” Alma asked when she finally paused for a sip of water. She reached over for the local alternative magazine from the edge of the table with her pinky and ring finger to keep from marring it with her other chicken grease-coated fingers. “The Seattle Offbeat.” She read the publication's name out loud as she wiped her hands with a flimsy brown paper napkin from the restaurant. 

“No, I looked at that baby announcement from your friend, though.” 

“Yeah, it’s like her fourth kid now, I think. Carla married a Houston firefighter, which is so on track for her. But, uh, this magazine,” she said, wanting to get back on topic. “Some journalists come to review shows pretty often. One of them saw me taking pictures at a gig and asked if I could submit some.” She said thumbing through the pages to a dog-eared page close to the middle. “See,” she said, pushing the magazine toward him.

He wiped his hands and picked up the magazine. The black-and-white photo she took was taken from stage left. The band was fronted by a woman who was leaning into the crowd of mashed bodies, screaming into the mic, wearing a babydoll dress and military boots. Even in a still photo, the scene looked active and full of energy. Just below the photo, it was credited to her, Alma Lucio.

“Holy shit, Alma. It says your name and everything. This is good,” he smiled proudly. 

“It’s kind of a trip, huh! But I’m glad they picked the one I liked the most.” She said, peering at the photo. 

“You should frame it.” Alma laughed at that. “I’m serious. Can I get a copy?” 

“Yeah. We have some on the stands at the shop. I only just got that one yesterday, personally delivered by the journalist who wrote the review. You can keep that one.” She scooped some mashed potatoes on her fork to take a bite. 

Bill peered down further on the page, looking for the journalist's name. Evan Samuels. Skimming the review, it seemed pretty favorable toward the band. 

“Speaking of the shop. I was talking to Darby, you know, about how Lewis is in town. There are a few places he haunts when he’s here. He hardly deviates according to him.” 

“Did you tell him that I’m thinking about buying the place?” 

“I did. He was surprised but said it would be ‘rad if you do'. There’s been some murmuring, but remember, no one else knows it’s even up for sale except for Ulyssa. So if you talk to anyone else at the shop, be careful with what you say.” 

“Right, right,” he nodded. “I’m technically not supposed to know any of you. At least not more than a casual customer would,” he lightly chuckled as he finished the last of his green beans. He turned toward Echo for a moment, who was contently chewing and drooling on her shredded drumstick. He offered the sippy cup of water to her to remind her to take a drink. 

“So anyway, I was saying, I think if you run into him, like, somewhere, he goes. Maybe it’ll come off as more casual. He likes people who take initiative, I noticed.”

“So even if it seems like stalking, he wouldn’t mind?” He said before taking a sip of his water. 

Alma rolled her eyes. “I guess,” she lightly chuckled. “I’m not sure if she traveled with Lewis, but if you run into him and see a short white-haired blonde woman around him, do not engage. That’s his wife, and she’s a little, eh?” she grimaced. 

“She’s not nice?” He raised a brow.

“She’s bitchy,” Alma said bluntly. “But I mean, he was supposed to retire, and then he didn't, and blah blah. The whole if it doesn’t sell by the end of the year or it’s lights out, I’m sure was her ultimatum.” 

“I see,” he nodded. “So, I have your intel on the business. But also, what does he look like? I need to know that, especially because on the internet there’s a photo I think is of him, but it’s blurry as fuck.” 

A mischievous smile appeared on Alma’s face, it felt fun plotting with him. “I got you,” she winked at him. 

…

Bill was in the living room with Echo after dinner, playing around with her and the little toys she would bring over to him while Alma looked over her homework. She had a pre-test tomorrow night, and after that, the next two weeks of classes will just be prep for the final. Bill heard her yawn loudly, her head propped up with a fist, as she read through her textbook using a pink highlighter as a guide. 

She leaned back, scratching her damp hair, switching her writing utensil with a pencil, and writing a few things down in her notebook. She looked over at her family in the living room and noticed Bill snatching his hand away from the grips of his daughter's teeth. 

“Ow, baby, that hurts.” But in the same instance, he reached a hand out towards her forehead, feeling her temperature again, and frowned. 

"Echo, be nice,” she gently reprimanded. “There’s baby Tylenol in the bathroom,” Alma suggested.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Bill said to her when she began to get up to follow them. 

“I know, but she doesn’t like it. She actually hates it.” 

They were all cramped in the bathroom, but Alma had asked Bill to distract their daughter while she snuck behind Echo to quickly discharge the syringe full of liquid medicine into the back of her mouth. 

“Hold her mouth closed,” Alma urged. 

When he did, his daughter looked at him with so much betrayal. Her lips were puckered tightly, her face scrunched with disgust, and she let out a wail once Bill took his hand away from under her jaw. Alma having help giving her medicine was nice. Usually, she had to use her legs to lock her in place to dose her.

“Papa,” she cried, making him wince with remorse. 

He held her close, rubbing her back and swaying her in his arms to settle her. “You’re alright, Echo.” 

Eventually, the medicine helped the baby settle from the discomfort of sore gums, and finally– after some cartoons– she was comfortable enough for bed. Bill had laid her down in her crib, and Alma was still at the dining table, writing in a notebook. 

“I’m almost done,” she said when she felt his eyes on her. 

“No rush,” he said, easing onto the couch. 

She noticed him, touching the side of his ribs uncomfortably. It was odd when he wouldn’t take off his shirt earlier in the day. She could see how much more built he was even with it on, but it would have been nice to see it in the flesh. 

When she eventually joined him on the couch, she straddled him, and together they kissed deeply and passionately. Tongues fighting. Her nightgown was bunched up around her hips, and he freely had his hands firmly gripping her bottom. He gently kissed the side of her neck and the tops of her breasts when she tried to lift his white shirt off. She thought grinding herself on his erection would distract him enough. Instead, he took her hand and pushed it past the waistband of his gray sweats. Although she frowned a bit at his obvious deflection, she gladly obliged him with a few tugs before trying to take his shirt off again. This time, he reached around her to sneak his fingers inside her panties and inside her. 

“Wait.” She said sitting back, which bumped his hand away from doing so. “What are you doing?” 

“What?” He said slightly annoyed. 

Alma tilted her head and looked at him skeptically. “You’re being a little weird.” 

"Alma, can’t we just make love?” He lightly groaned. “I’m so fucking hard for you right now.” He said, needily kissing along her jaw.

Alma melted into it and tried taking his shirt off once again, thinking he’d relent this time, but to no avail. “Take this off,” she said, tugging at his shirt with irritation. 

Bill paused. She saw his jaw tick, and a flash of worry went across his face. “Mm. I don’t feel like it.” 

Alma readjusted the thin straps of her nightgown back on her shoulders as she started to move off his lap, but he held her there. “You don’t feel like it? Well, then I don’t fucking feel like it either.” 

“Alma, don't be like that,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. 

“What’s wrong? I can tell you’re hurting.” She tried to reach for the side of his ribs, but he quickly blocked her. 

“It happened a while ago…” he said reluctantly. “At the gym. Don’t say I told you so,” he said when she opened her mouth to say just that. “It wasn’t an accident per se.” 

“Are you actually fighting?” She said displeased. 

“No… not like that. It was stupid, okay. I was sparring with that kid Aaron, and it was supposed to be just for fun, nothing serious. I didn’t want to, but Giancarlo was there, kinda egging me on to match with him.” 

“Gian is fourteen, Bill. What are you listening to him for?” She questioned with a confused scowl on her face.

“Well, I get that now. But yeah, Aaron got me pretty good, but I fucking ended it by knocking him out right after. So,” he shrugged. 

He wasn’t going to tell her that he and Giancarlo went to have McDonald’s breakfast right after and were laughing about it. It was too juvenile for him to admit. Alma did her best to keep the smile tugging at her lips from showing as she imagined him knocking someone out. It was attractive, but she didn’t want to encourage it.  

“Aaron is fine, by the way, if you care.” He said facetiously. 

Alma clicked her tongue. “Well, of course. Can I see?” 

Bill frowned. “Right now?” 

“Let go of me,” she said, trying to clamor off his lap again, but he locked her in tighter. 

“Okay, fine,” he sighed. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it off with her help. He heard a gasp from under her breath. 

Across the left side of his ribs was a deep bruise, the edge of it fading to ill shades of green and yellow. Alma’s brows were furrowed as she lightly touched them with the pads of her fingers, which made him steel himself from the pain. It made his muscles flex, but she couldn’t appreciate them like she wanted to at the moment.

“Oh my god, Bill.” 

“It looks worse than it feels.” He lied; it wasn’t as tender as when it first happened, but it still didn’t feel too great. 

“What’s his problem? What if he hit you in the face?!” 

“Well, he didn’t. It won’t happen again; it was just us guys being dumb. I only go to work out, I swear.” 

“Really dumb.” 

“Yeah,” he sighed in resignation.

“You look good, though,” she smirked as her hands ran down his abs. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, wrapping a hand around her and turning her to lie down on the couch as he kissed her. 

He disconnected to reach down and pull her panties off, and when he leaned back to push his tented sweatpants off his hips, he jumped back, startled. He quickly covered himself. Echo was standing at the threshold of the hallway with weepy eyes. 

“What?” Alma said, startled by his sudden reaction. She turned her head behind herself to see what had gotten that kind of reaction out of him. 

“Mama?” Echo lightly whimpered. 

“Oh!” Alma quickly got out from under Bill, pulling her nightgown down, to tend to her daughter while he stuffed her panties in his pocket and adjusted himself. When Alma joined him again, he had one of her throw pillows on his lap, and his shirt was back on to conceal the contusion on his torso from his daughter. 

“You wasted time by not showing me your bruise,” she playfully said to him. 

“She climbed out of her crib,” he questioned. 

“Yeah…” she sighed. This wasn’t the first time, but it had been a while since the last. She had hoped it was a little phase, but that was just a precursor. “She’s not warm,” she said after checking. “You don’t feel so good, do you, honey?”

Echo responded by laying her head on her mother, wanting cuddles. Bill petted her soft hair, feeling for his daughter's discomfort. Alma tried to pass her off to make her a warm bottle of milk, knowing that was something that gave her comfort, but she didn’t want to let her mother go. So she was forced to do it herself because Bill still didn’t want to stand up quite yet. 

“Sorry,” he meekly said. 

Alma was rocking her daughter in her arms as he held the bottle to her lips. She and Bill were silently talking about the concert that weekend. 

“What made you want to buy the place?” She asked, looking at her daughter and seeing her eyes getting heavier. “Was it me? How I acted last time?” 

Bill slightly frowned. He didn’t like seeing that she was clearly embarrassed by herself. “I was just thinking that it would make a good investment. We have to start moving money around.” 

“Okay?” It was such a non-answer. “And we can’t do that in New York?” 

"Sure, but I see that you like doing what you do here. I appreciate that you’re in school, and your knowledge will still be helpful, but can you see yourself doing that forever? I worry…” He cleared his throat and reached for his daughter's foot. She could see him contemplating his thoughts. “I worry that one day, you’ll resent me for it.” 

“I wouldn’t.” She was shocked that he would think something like that. 

“Hmm.” He took a deep breath. “I think you feel like you owe me for…” He bit his lip. “I don’t like that you feel that way. It doesn’t make this fair.” 

Alma swallowed hard and looked away for a moment. She felt caught. “So fair, is you buying the record shop?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me no over the phone when I told you I was planning to.” He quipped. 

“And what else? What do I give you back?” 

“Alma, I’m not trying to settle scores with you. I love you. Don’t you love me?”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation.

“That’s what this is. And it’s because I love her too. If you want to speak of it like this, then you, having her, already paid me back.”

Relief washed over her heart when he said that, and she smiled appreciatively. She decided then that she would give him one more—maybe not anytime soon, but she was more than willing now. Not to even score, but because she had finally seen what she had hoped for when she continued with her pregnancy. It had changed him as much as it had changed her. For the better. 

…

Alma was at work the following morning. She was tying off her flannel on her waist after breaking a sweat moving cassette tables to make some more room for the show. She resumed pushing one side while Ash pulled on the other. It was nearly noon, and she wondered what Bill could be doing. It was now his second day trying to run into Lewis, as well as the day before the big gig. She was hoping he ran into Lewis at the coffee shop he supposedly liked to go to daily when in town. The day before, he wasted his time at a used book store and a radio repair shop, where he ended up buying a turntable because it felt awkward not to. It was painful waiting on whether Bill’s acquisition of the shop would actually happen.

“Did your boyfriend fly in for the show?” Ash asked, straining as she pulled. 

“I’m sure it was a motivating factor,” Alma was nearly at a forty-five-degree angle as she pushed the large table. “Okay,” she huffed once they got the table in its spot. “Let’s leave the rest for the boys. Shit,” she said, putting her hands on her hips to catch her breath. “Let’s just grab the folding tables from the back so Marvin can set them up how he wants later.” 

Ash grimaced a bit but followed Alma to get the task over with. It was awkward seeing Marvin after their weird hookup, but he was the shop's reliable sound mixer for gigs. They were in the middle of bringing the tables from backstage. Ash was teasing her for coming back from her early “lunch break” the day before in a completely different shirt. They were laughing when their boss, Lewis, finally made his appearance at his establishment. 

“Lewis!” Matt cheerfully announced as he was ringing out a customer from the cash wrap. 

“Hello, hello. I see some rearranging,” he smiled at Alma. “It’s just you three this morning?” He pointed at all of them. 

“Ulyssa clocks in after lunch. Darby’s coming early to help move these tables around,” she said, pointing at them. 

“Ah, good deal.” He surveyed the customers in his shop with his hands clasped behind his back. “You got the number on the ticket sales?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “We sold quite a lot. We usually sell more tickets on the day of. It’s a Saturday night gig, so people often come to have something to do. ” 

“Of course. What better place? You think we can talk in the office?” 

“Sure,” she said, turning to Ash apologetically because she couldn’t help her with the last table left backstage. 

Alma pulled out a notebook she used to record ticket sales. It was the third notebook she had bought since she started. The pages were filling faster since she got off maternity leave. Lewis was sitting in the main office chair, smiling at the numbers he saw in the notebook she passed along. 

“This is good stuff. You’re good at this, you know? Better than Murphy, he’d drop the ball too many times. But tomorrow's show,” he let out an impressed whistle. “It’s going to be the best show of the decade.” 

“I’m a bit anxious about it,” Alma lightly laughed. “But I’m excited. A homecoming show for one of the biggest bands doing it right now. Yeah, it makes me anxious.” 

“That’s all part of the fun, though!” 

“I have a scheduled call with their manager after lunch. Finalize everything. I think they want to sound-check really early in the morning tomorrow. Or it was something about how they have their sound mixer wanting to set up. It wasn't quite clear the last time we spoke. Regardless, I have Marvin on standby in case.” 

“Good deal,” he said, nodding, and then he yawned a bit, setting the notebook down on the desk. “Sorry, late start today.” 

Alma didn’t like hearing that because that meant Bill was still sitting at the cafe. “When did you get into town?”

“A few nights ago. I’ve just been lazy and lunking about town. I set my alarm this morning, but I stayed dead asleep until about two hours ago.” He chortled.

“Mhmm. I’m curious but have you found any buyers for this place yet?” 

Lewis took a deep breath as he leaned back in the chair. “Well, yes. That franchise is still interested. And yes, I know how you all feel about them. Trust me, I get it.” 

“It’s none of my business but they're offering the most, I assume?” 

“They’re offering a pretty penny. So.” 

“But it’s so soulless.”

“That definitely bothers me,” he nodded with pursed lips. “I just have to see my options. It’s not only them asking about this place.” 

“Another franchise?” 

“No. Two partners from California. And a gentleman from New York. We’ve actually been emailing. He’s in town, apparently. Or that’s what his last email said a few days ago.” 

Alma nodded. “Maybe that buyer is serious?”

“Who?” 

“The email guy.” She internally rolled her eyes.  

“Yeah,” Lewis deeply sighed. “I should call him. I’m really bad about that. I’m sure you know.” He lightly chuckled. “But just know that I’m in talks. I haven’t abandoned you all; that's the part that kills me. I don’t want to leave you all stranded. Everyone’s put their time in this place, which I more than appreciate, so I’m trying.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him. 

“And, oh,” he said, snapping his fingers. “How’s your daughter doing? I was going to ask.” 

“Good. Just growing and growing, you know. Her personality is a lot bigger, though,” she smiled.  

“Glad to hear. You bringing her to the show?” 

“Hm. I don’t know. She’s going to be with her dad,” It technically wasn’t a lie. “Maybe at the sound check?” 

“That’s the better idea! Private show,” he said, getting up a bit slowly. He wasn’t all too inactive for his age, but he always started slowly before he spryly went on his way. “Alright, I’m headed to the cafe up the road. I’ll call before I come back. Bring back some coffee for you all, eh?” 

…

Alma was on her lunch break; she had to borrow Ash’s Ford Taurus with the promise of filling her tank since Bill had only dropped her off at work after taking Echo to the babysitters. She was in a big box store, purchasing the specific water the band wanted with the shop credit card. Of course, she knew better than to think they’d only want that, but luckily they only added towels, ice, four cases of Rainier beer, and gummy bears to their rider. 

She was swiftly and anxiously walking around the large store. She hoped Bill stayed at the coffee shop and hadn’t given up trying somewhere else. They were just mere minutes away from each other, the perfect distance for a casual run-in. She had no way of getting a hold of Bill, but after filling Ash’s gas tank, she drove by the coffee shop really slowly, trying to see if she could spot her Jeep anywhere nearby. 

"Oh, fuck yeah,” she exclaimed when she saw it parked around the next corner. She kept her hopes high and fingers crossed after that.  

…

Bill had just finished his coffee shop lunch of some kind of vegetarian wrap they offered. He noticed that there were quite a few restaurants that catered to vegetarian diets in Seattle as well as vegan diets, but there were fewer of them. He liked cheese too much to venture into that. 

He was looking through a copy of the local newspaper, feeling rather bored and thinking about having a cigarette, until he got a large report about a serial arsonist who had been recently apprehended. Now and again, he would try to rub his mustache—a usual tick—when bored, but he was clean-shaven now. Echo had startled him once again while he was trimming it down in the bathroom that morning. The buzz of the electric razor deafened him so he never heard the heavy patter of her feet as she barged in. As he quickly turned to see what had bumped into his shin, suddenly a quarter of his mustache was gone before he could realize what had happened. 

Every time the door chimed, he’d take a glance, but it was no one of note until an older man stepped in after holding the door open for two college-aged women. Alma had described him the best she could that morning on the way to Yolani’s duplex. 

The man had white hair slightly longer than an older man his age would keep, and he was balding on top. While Bill was still contemplating if this man was Lewis, he heard the barista greet him.

“Hey, long time, no see!” 

“Sure has,” he chuckled. “Can I get the usual extra shot of espresso for me this time, please? I need a jumpstart.” 

“For sure.” She quickly rang him up and passed his change before walking away to prepare his drink. 

Bill was up from his seat and at the register to order another coffee. He stood a few paces away from whom he assumed was Lewis. He didn’t want his tall presence to draw attention to himself, but it was rather hard. The old man only took a glance at him but hardly looked up to scan him as he shuffled to the other side of the counter to wait on his drink. 

“Oh, sorry,” another young barista said to him as he stood at the counter unattended. “Did you need anything else, sir?” 

“Uhm, could I just get a black coffee to go?” 

“Bill, right?” 

He nodded in response, passed a five-dollar bill over, and asked for no change. Glancing towards the other side of the counter, he wondered if Lewis heard that, but he was too busy looking at a glass display full of sweet pastries. Lewis was wearing a light blue bowling shirt and trousers he wore under his stiff old man's belly. It made Bill look at his outfit. His simple go-to of black trousers and a black polo felt like it didn’t look too relaxed. Maybe he’ll come across as uptight, especially since he took his gold hoop earring off that morning to look a little more professional. 

“Bill! Black coffee to-go.” Since Bill’s order was far simpler than Lewis', his order was announced first. He slowly walked over and passed Lewis. “And, Mr. Condor, here you go.” 

“Always with the mister mess,” he chuckled, reaching for his mug. 

Lewis had stepped in front of him, and he just went for it. “Condor?” 

“Hm, yes?” The old man finally looked up at him. 

“Lewis, right? Uhm, I’ve been emailing you this last month.” 

“Bill?” 

He smiled. “Yes.” 

“Well, hey, look at that, huh? A face instead of a screen.” 

“Right. It’s good to meet you. Do you mind if I join you? Unless you’re busy…” 

Lewis looked at his to-go cup. “Busy, eh, hardly these days. But you look like you’re on your way out.” 

“Yeah, but that was before I happened to run into you,” he chuckled. The to-go cup worked, felt less creepy than staking him out for hours at a far table in the room. 

“Hm, alright,” he nodded. “Follow me.”

They settled into the booth in front of a cafe, next to the window. He turned to where he sat last and saw his mess being tidied up by a barista while Lewis arranged the thin paperback book he had tucked under his arm and coffee in place in front of him. Bill took a look at the book and recognized it to be some sort of electronic manual.

"Um, if you emailed these last few days, I apologize, but I missed it. I don’t have immediate access to a computer here, unfortunately.” 

“No worries. I figured that was the case. I didn’t say much in my reply. At least maybe nothing you wanted to hear, but I did invite you to visit the record shop on your visit. So that we could meet, but I don’t mind this either.” 

“Oh.” Bill nodded, pleased to hear that. “But nothing I wanted to hear? Am I out?” 

“Hmm. No. I’m keeping our line open, but I haven’t decided anything yet.” 

“I see,” he said absentmindedly, spinning his coffee cup. “Hm, do you prefer someone more local? Or…” 

“Well, it’s a thought, but I don’t have those kinds of offers. Of course, it’s money-related, but I worry about my employees too. I’ve had so many crews over the years—well, decades, really. This crew has to be one of my favorites since maybe ‘75.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Of course, employees come and move on, but I don’t feel good about shafting these guys. I don’t want to lay them off, and I don’t want the store to be bought, but they still get laid off regardless. Makes the decision hard.” 

“So you’re looking for an owner who’ll consider them.” 

“Yes, if I’m able. You said you work in entertainment. You ever feel that way about your employees? Maybe I’m soft,” he lightly laughed. 

“Yeah, the crew I have is great. I couldn’t operate without them. I have a business partner, so things kind of fell into place a lot better when she joined me over a year ago. I’m able to move on to other prospects now. Like this record shop,” he smirked. 

Lewis nodded. “And what kind of entertainment? I can’t recall what you said in our email correspondence.” 

Bill considered how to approach his answer, and the only good way was to start from the beginning. “So in the early 80's, I moved to New York City from the Midwest. I didn’t have much, but I started managing a few punk bands. Well, really, one I worked for longer than the others; they always rebrand or break up. That’s just the scene,” he chuckled. “Then later, I became an in-house roadie for a venue for something more reliable at the time. But my time there led me to another club by way of a friend. And I’ll be honest, I was delivering like an 8th to this buddy's great aunt, who owned a gentleman's club.” 

“So you own a gentleman's club?” 

“I do,” Bill nodded, amused at Lewis’ grin. “Almost 10 years now. It’s a whole operation. It's not just the dancers, which of course is the main attraction, but we have a large bar people like to drink at, and recently we added a kitchen. It’s a place I’m really proud of. It took some time to get to the level it’s at now. But I’m happy where it’s at. At this point in time, I feel like I have done all I can there and so I’m looking to tackle another venture.” 

Lewis looked out the window in thought. “Hmm. Man, I don’t think I’ve been to a strip joint in like 2 decades. But back then, they were a bit raunchy. I’ve seen some wild stuff I don’t think I’ll ever unsee.” 

Bill lightly laughed. "Well, some still are, but mine has evolved into more of a high-class establishment.” 

“Nice,” Lewis nodded. “New York City is teeming with all kinds of money. Not bad. Not bad at all.” 

“If you’re ever there, you’re always invited.” 

Lewis scratched the back of his head. “Much appreciated. However, I don’t want to feel my wife’s wrath at this age. She’s only caught me once, and it might not have stopped me from going behind her back with friends, but I like easy living now.” He chuckled. “You said you had family here?” He glanced at his left hand and noticed he didn’t have any kind of band on his ring finger, but he took notice of the gold pinky ring set with a blue gemstone. “Girlfriend? She doesn’t give you the nth degree for doing what you do.” 

“Nah, she’s fine with it. Luckily,” he had almost said that Alma worked as a bartender at the club but that was revealing too much. “She’s also excited that I’m pursuing my next venture here. Closer to her and our daughter.” 

“Settling down?” 

“I hope to,” he smiled. “Do, uh, you have any children?” Bill knew he did according to what Alma informed him of, but it was a good segue. 

“I do, yeah. Adults now, though. I have a son, Junior. And Chelsea, she's a few years older.” 

“They didn’t want to take over the shop for you? Sorry if that’s too personal.” 

“Not at all. That would have been ideal, but they’re off living their lives. Chelsea is still single, but she’s an ER doctor, and Junior met a nice girl in grad school and ended marrying up. He’s the reason the family basically relocated to California during my semi-retirement. Even my daughter, but I don’t think she’s going to last. Too much sun there for her. She’s a Seattleite through and through,” he emphasized by cutting through the air with a flat hand. “And so, it’s just me. But maybe not that much longer.” 

“Right,” he smiled. “Well, uh, I don’t want to take up your time. I know you weren’t expecting to run into me when you came for a coffee.” 

“Time is all I got left,” he chuckled. “But I’m very glad I ran into you.” 

“Me too,” Bill nodded. “It was good talking without having the dial-up between us.” 

“Exactly,” he laughed. “Uhm, before you jet off. Are you busy tomorrow night?” 

“Tomorrow night? I don’t have anything planned.” He lied but looked intrigued for Lewis. 

“There’s a live gig happening at the shop. You should go.” He punctuated it with a nod.

“Anyone I’d know?” He bit his cheek to keep his smirk at bay. He took Lewis’ invitation as a good sign.

“A group called Double Helix. But I think they may surprise you.” He grinned, thinking he had a little secret up his sleeve. 

“Alright. You’ve been in the music game for a long time, so I trust your judgment.” 

“It’d be wise to,” he smirked. “Well, good to meet you, Bill. Really.” 

“Same,” he said, shaking his hand. 

…

Alma and Bill were speaking in the car on their way home now. He had picked up Echo from Yolani’s after meeting with Lewis, and she was in the back seat repeatedly saying Mama over and over again but was being ignored as Bill relayed his meeting a few hours before.

“And that’s good, right? That he invited you?” Alma asked. 

“Well, I think so. It works better than me already conveniently running into him again.” 

“Did you have to tell him about selling weed to Myrna, though?” 

“He did seem to care. It’s not like I told him I used to deal coke.” 

“Ma-mama. Mama!” 

“He's an old hippie, but I don’t get how that fits into– whatever.” She digressed. “And inviting him to Trigger Finger? 

“Mama. Mama. Mama!” Echo continued.

“Why not? I wasn’t going to hide it from him,” he shrugged. “At the end of the day, it’s business. And it’s a fucking good business.” 

“He didn’t seem uptight about it?” 

“I didn’t think a guy in a garish bowling shirt would be uptight. Hell, this polo makes me look like the uptight one. Anyway, he was telling me how he used to go back in his day.” 

“Mama! MAMA!” 

“Echo?” Alma said, exasperated, turning to her with furrowed brows. “What is it?” 

She waved her lidless sippy cup in the air, which was now empty. She groaned, seeing that the contents of it were now spilled all over her and soaked through her clothes. 

“We’ll change at the house, okay?” 

“What was it?” Bill asked when she turned around and tiredly rubbed her forehead. 

“She spilled juice all over herself.” Bill turned the blinker on to turn into her neighborhood. “It’s the next one,” she sighed. 

…

Bill watched as Alma sluggishly got into bed while he lay there, already comfortable and rubbing his feet together under the covers. She leaned a bit away, rummaging in her nightstand, and produced a bottle of nighttime cold medicine. He wasn’t expecting to see that; he thought she was taking out her bullet vibrator. She uncapped it, took a swig directly from the bottle, and then put it away. 

“Straight up like that?” Bill chuckled. “Are you getting sick?”  

“No. I need to sleep for real, but I have some time before it’ll kick in.” She gave him an impish grin. She couldn’t resist kissing him and tenderly touching his smooth face with her fingers.

Bill could taste the menthol of the medicine on her lips. “We can just sleep, love.” He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s an early morning and a busy day.” 

Alma deeply sighed as she rested her head gently on his chest. “My head is all over the place. Their rider requested several bags of ice, and I bought it today like a dumbass. We don’t have a big fridge to store it in, so I just gave them away to customers.” 

“Yeah, go to sleep.” He was amused as he gingerly ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s gonna be a big day.”

#bill skarsgard #my bill writings #avenue of sins #aos neon #aos

[bomberqueen17]

great great great

It's all going great, it is. I'm frazzled for no real reason. But it's going.

Wednesday it snowed and the contractors showed up later than they meant to; it was almost 9 when the van pulled in to the neighbor's driveway and I opened my front door and said "over here man" and the guy was like "ah whoops there's the house number" and we laughed.

Description and photos behind the cut, this got long, but anyway this is why I dont' have a chapter ready to go this week either >.>

The demolition crew was two guys, a white dude about five feet five named Andrew with a piercing voice and impeccable manners, and a taller quiet Black dude named Dave. They put plastic sheeting over the doors out of the kitchen and proceeded to just wreak mayhem in there. The "installer", who I assume is kind of a project lead from the way everyone talked about him, wasn't present, he was tying up loose ends on a previous job. ("We had a third party doing vinyl and they just walked out and didn't finish it," Andrew told Dave. "I thought we didn't use third parties," Dave mused. "Yeah," Andrew said, "well that's why we don't." I loved how sharp Andrew's voice was because I could eavesdrop even over all the crashing noises.)

Andrew never swore in my presence but again, piercing voice, so I heard him explain to Dave, "I fucked myself over on these jobs tho, one of the early ones for this company I had extra time and they were like keep yourself busy somehow so we can pay ya, and I was like okay and I went through and I pulled all the staples and left the place so clean and nice, and now they expect me to do that every time. But it means I always get the job, the installers request me, because I'm gonna pull all the staples." I have no idea what was stapled, but I do believe him, because Dave was like "okay okay I'll pull the staples" and then I never saw any staples.

He was done by about 3:30 pm, to his own surprise. "Thought we'd need another half day, especially with the late start I got, on the road for an hour like that," he said (he was commuting up from the snow belt, and while our area had gotten three inches, they'd gotten over a foot down there, and nobody was handling it well on the roads.) "I didn't work slow, but I took my time, but everything came off so clean I'm all set here and it's done."

[image description: My kitchen before work started. Yellow linoleum floor in poor condition, brown wood cabinets, white and yellow linoleum countertops on a little L-shaped area, and a half-wall dividing the room partially so it's a tiny kitchen and a tiny dinette.]

[image: the work in progress, from the other door of the kitchen. The half-wall of the leg of the L is still visible as framing. The linoleum is gone, peeled back to wooden subflooring. The plaster walls are gone, down to the bare studs. The electric fixtures are hanging from the ceiling. in the foreground, Andrew is leaning on a four-foot stepladder, on his phone; in the background, Dave is in a fluorescent yellow hoodie on his knees on the floor scraping up the remnants of the linoleum underlayment.]

There is not a scrap of insulation in those walls. I asked Andrew and he laughed and was like "usually there isn't, in houses like this one".

When he left the half-wall frame was gone, and all of it was hauled out to a dump trailer in the driveway, neatly stowed, and the room was immaculate.

[image: an empty room with bare wall studs. The new windows are white frames. You can see the sink pipe, and the drainpipe vent going up toward the roof, jogged around the window. You can also see, under the bay window, the reinforced framing in the wall to support the original, much smaller picture window that used to be there.]

So that was day one. Day two, The Installer showed up. A fiftysomething moustachioed man named Jim, with the soft-spoken sort of mumbly variant of the local dialect that Dude's dad spoke too-- I had forgotten, Hap (yes dude's dad's name was really Hap) died twenty years ago now, but I did know him-- he did this kind of work, too-- anyway, Jim was more reserved than Andrew, but I made a point of greeting him, and made a point of mildly swearing fairly early in the conversation in like a funny way. A little later another guy showed up, a younger guy named Chad, and Jim explained later that Chad was finished with his project and looking to fill some time so he'd come to help and Jim was glad of the help. Chad set to work demolishing the last half-wall that was supposed to come out-- Andrew hadn't because Jim wanted to put in some bracing beforehand, since the wall's load-bearing and they're going to put in reinforcements to support it a little later.

I came out to look, and apologized for being nosy, and Chad laughed and said "it's your house!" and then mimed hitting the wall with the sledgehammer again and said "Bam!" quietly, like showing that he understood that it was fun to do/watch, and I proceeded to watch in delight as he carefully demolished the plaster wall and carefully removed the light switches and thermostat wiring from the remains.

Jim laughed at me and Chad, and after that has been much warmer to me. i've been well-trained to stand out of the way, and have come to watch them do various things.

[Image: Clean new 2x4s arranged into a temporary brace from ceiling to floor, with a stepladder threaded through it, extending along a space about two feet into the room from where the half-wall was just demolished, to hold the load of the rest of the house. The light switches are dangling and the heat vent poking up out of the floor is just a hole.]

Unfortunately they needed me to clear out a section of the basement where I'd deemed it safe to store things, because there need to be reinforcements put in under the pillars and beam that are replacing the load-bearing wall. I worked on that, and they came and helped me move a table. The heat vent has to be moved, and Jim thought there was going to have to be some whole thing with concrete but midway through the day he had called someone to confirm and they were like what are you talking about and he was delighted to discover he was reading an earlier version of the proposal, and the final contract had said that he could just reinforce a floor joist and meet code that way, rather than having to demolish part of my basement floor to pour a new concrete footing for a new jack post for a pillar to support the corner of the kitchen. He explained this to me with wonderful clarity, and pointed out other places where the original builders of the house had used this same doubled floor joist reinforcement.

Meanwhile the company hauled away the dump trailer with all the demolition debris, and then showed up with a flatbed with all the drywall and insulation for my project, which they put into my garage-- which coincidentally I'd just cleaned out because we'd just had the garage door replaced (on Tuesday, that finally happened, which is great because that was the last possible day it could have happened ha ha no that didn't stress me out at all why do you ask), so anyway it was great to have a good spot to put all that. They even moved the snowblower so it'd be easy to get to, before they filled up the space with the drywall.

Today (Friday) Jim's back by himself, cutting out the old heat vent and extending it to the other side of the room, where it will come up through the kickplate of one of the cabinets. This means that cabinet will be warm and also whoever sits at the table built in to the window will have warm toes, so I approve. Probably Chita is going to want to sit there so we're going to have to figure out how to make room for that, LOL.

Tomorrow Dude's mom is leaving to travel for Christmas, and we're going to go over to her house to house-sit. I think Jim won't have any more questions for me by then, or so I hope-- I'm going to give him my number anyway, and review with him that he's got the house key and everything he needs.

We are living in the living room like gremlins, and have to move sideways through the space because it's so crammed. It was all fine and good until we forgot we'd need to put the stove in there too, and now it's a struggle. And the microwave can't be on the same circuit with the fridge, so if I want to microwave something I have to use an extension cord going into the kitchen. So I can't microwave my lunches. And even still sometimes it trips the circuit breaker. Me having pre-prepared a bunch of food to microwave is now kind of a bummer, because the damn circuit breaker tripping is so annoying and slightly scary.

[image: Haunted-house-looking-ass-shit-- the thermostat is taped to the temporary bracing with painter's tape, and the light switches controlling the pale yellow light that's illuminating the scene are just dangling from their wires into the dark room.]

Today Jim's working on that heat vent and then figures he can get the floor underlayment in. He's cautiously optimistic that the project can be done before Christmas-- they said it would be six weeks, with the kitchen "roughly usable" after three, and he explained it more to me yesterday as he was about to leave.

So once he has the underlayment in, then Monday and Tuesday ("mondee-chusdee", in his accent) the electricians can come, and "chusdee-wensdee" the plumber can come. (He'll mark out the locations of all the cabinets and heights of the counters in painter's tape, he said, so the electricians can work confidently to place the outlets and fixtures.) The plumber will move the stove gas line and the refrigerator water line (Jim was so casually contemptuous of the way the installers had plumbed the waterline for our fridge when we bought it last year. "We'll do it right," he said, "with a water box and a shutoff up behind the fridge so you can work on it from there, we won't use a little plastic hose." He sniffed. "We'll repair this." The installers had used one of those lil sharkbite things I think, to put a little T into the waterline so a plastic tube could thread up through the floor to the fridge. "These things are-- well they're easy for a homeowner to install," Jim said not unkindly, "but they're, well, they're kind of trash."), and will bring the sink standpipe up to code-- it's not bad but it's very 1950-- and then after that, Jim can come back-- but he's got some vacation coming up, he's going to Florida to see his mom, so his colleague Max who's out sick this week ("I told him we didn't need to share whatever he's got, he's a giving guy but it's okay to keep that to himself") will be taking over but it should be pretty seamless-- anyway he explained the master-carpentering things he's gotta do, including building the cabinets and such, which'll take a while. The cabinets get built-in, and then the flooring is installed afterward to butt up against them (the flooring doesn't go under the cabinets because they're not movable, but it does go under the appliances since those are movable), and once the cabinets are in he can get the final measurements to the countertop people, who then take seven-ten days to manufacture the countertop to spec. So that's the delay, he explained-- the appliances can come in and get hooked up, and then you have your stove and your fridge and you can kind of use your kitchen. But the countertop people have this delay before they can install, and that's always where the project feels like it's dragging and people get frustrated, but it's unavoidable. He was delighted to be told that we won't be in the house at that point, we're gonna be house-sitting and won't be breathing down his neck about it. And if we do have to move back in here before the countertops we'll know what's up anyway.

Anyway. "Six weeks is a kinda CYA," he said, "yanno? We wanna leave space for problems. But this is a pretty straightforward job and I don't think we'll have problems." His goal is to have his end of the work done in time for the countertop people not to have to spread their seven-ten day lag out over Christmas and make it even longer. "If I can avoid that, they can get their install done before Christmas, and we can be done," he said. "That'd be pretty great."

So there's that scoop. I ought to be finding this relaxing, as all I've had to do is be like, available, and I've mostly had my days to myself, but I have found it so stressful to listen to all the crashing and such I haven't really gotten much done. Oh well, it's okay.

I am doing a little mini sewalong with some Discord buddies of a Sew Liberated blouse pattern. So I'll have photos of that at some point. I did manage to get the fabric cut even with my house torn up, which is a considerable achievement.

#about the author #personal #house remodeling

[brooklynislandgirl]

💚 That Strange Doctor, Stephen

Imagine You and Me || Accepting

{{and tagging @tangleweave for a third time}}

Oh, Nonny. Dunno if you're the same one, but do buckle in. This one promises to be extensive.

How do I love him? Let me count the ways. Aside from my first exposure to the Xmen, which got me into comics in the first place {one of my prized possessions is an in-plastic is Uncanny X-men #266. The first appearance of Gambit}. But being the person I have always been, it was magick that drew me in deeper and that's when I found, at the same time, both Stephen and Constantine.Yes, my two favourite wizards, by whatever name you wish to call them. Originally, I was so mad about Benny being cast, I almost boycotted the movie, but my gaming group decided to see it as a group and for a friend's birthday so I was obliged. I left the theatre in awe. He looked the part. He sounded the part. And for some hours {and years, clearly} later? I was a kid all over again, experiencing it like it was new. A wonder I haven't felt often in a long time. I also owe a dear friend of mine about a decade or so worth of apology because I didn't understand Benny's appeal...until his cheek bones cut the diamond of my wedding ring in half.

Prologue concluded, onto the show.

Matt's Stephen is absolutely perfect, even when he thinks he isn't. Upon us discussing plotting, I put forth the idea...which I had already sort of HC'd about 4 years give or take; that Beth *had* been at medical school to be a Neurosurgeon. That she'd gone to Columbia, and then dropped out during her residency {so technically she does have an MD, she's just not a doctor}, and I never stated why, but that this all happened around the time of Andy's 'death'. Which if we match up timelines, puts Stephen working at and lecturing for Columbia, around the time of the Chitauri invasion. Everything lined up for Beth being Stephen's student, and Matt ~gracious and generous to a fault~ agreed to let that be a case, giving them an almost instant rapport, as they would have by now known one another for years. And this is where everything becomes...complicated. Beth being who and what she is often needs time to even find someone attractive beyond whether or not they are aesthetically/artistically appealing. Check and check. She needs to bond with someone to feel the slightest bit motivated to want anything beyond friendly interaction and good heavens does that person have to be intelligent {the quickest way to a girl's heart is through her brain and/or empathy}. Again, check. She appreciates a wicked sense of humour, a compassionate or humanitarian soul, and it doesn't hurt when a person can keep up with her familial lifestyle, and her need to ditch it all for some time away from the cut-throat world of the .001% wealthy and ambitious. You can see where this is going. Stephen is, and was, literally the most perfect man on the planet. So why didn't...? Because she literally met him between the ages of 16-18, when he was already at least in his mid twenties, if not slightly older. She was also his student, and say what you like about Stephen, he isn't a predator. Yes he admired her brain. Was proud of her skill and her adaptability. Maybe even marvelled, pardon the pun, at how quickly she could pick up his wavelength, and be an extra set of hands and senses for him. The drive, the ambition, all of that maybe reminded him of himself. Stephen claimed her, when no one else would. But then she left him, without ever saying why. She sacrificed her life, her career, and any potential for the sake of not damaging his reputation, tarnishing his image, or being faced daily, hour by hour, second by second, the one person she couldn't love.

She really should have had a chat with him, is what I am saying. There is so much more I could say about this, that it could be broken into many parts of this length or longer, or go under a read more. I'm going to stop myself. In various verses, regardless of ships {respected and appreciated and loved even if the other mun doesn't know it} there really is no verse in which Beth doesn't love Stephen. As a friend, a mentor, as someone who believes in her when no one else would, with every ounce of soul she possesses. It doesn't matter the circumstance. Beautifully, tragically, I believe Stephen feels the same again, with respect and admiration, regardless of verse and romantic partner. {Some of the best ones are actually those in which say... Eddie and Beth are a couple, and Stephen is with Wanda or Sigyn and each is cheering the other on and sometimes giving unsolicited advice. Maybe especially these, like 15-Verse Stephen.} But yes. I stand by the "I love you, in every universe." {{?????/10 because I can't even}} {{I also blame Matt entirely}}

#Mahalo!Nonnymouse <333 #Tangleweave #Sphere Music|Stephen and Beth #The Flames that Burn|Dr Strange au

[morvantmortuary]

Blood Fest Week 1: our strange duet

Blood Fest prompts: Rope. Teeth. Size. Blood. keywords: Wicked. Rain.

summary: Maxi has a hard time focusing at work after your date the night before, and resorts to some... unusual tactics to find relief.

warnings: smut, 18+ only, minors dni. descriptions of embalming and body restoration, of grievous mortal injury, grief, mourning. discussion of body dysphoria, chest anxiety. brief talking about being queer and hiding it in the deep south. brief discussion of male body image issues. mutual oral sex (m and afab receiving), brief facefucking, first time as a couple sex, period sex. discussions of the demon living in maxi’s body, for funsies. stalking, breaking and entering, sort of spying on someone in the shower, use of sex toys, size kink, voyeurism, masturbation, slight breeding kink if you squint, minor humiliation kink, maxi is the definition of a service switch, definitely creepy behavior from the serial killer, dead dove do not eat, don’t open the bag if you’re not a slasherfucker ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

general: Reader is non-binary/genderqueer, uses they/she pronouns; Reader is plus size, Reader is queer, Maxi is bi and talks about it. Everything else has been left up to the reader, please let me know if I need to tweak any language.

y’all wanna get a little weird with me this spooky season?

(I’ve been writing this one for funsies for a while, but I’m super grateful to the lovely Bree at @the-slasher-files​ for this delightful opportunity to share this for an event. Sorry mine’s so late, and they definitely won’t all be this long!! :’D Week 2 will hopefully be up later tonight or tomorrow, and I’ll hopefully not be too late with the rest of them lol

okay! here goes!!

Maxi was pretty sure he shouldn’t be thinking of you on top of him last night while he was preparing to embalm the forty-something woman on his table. No, in fact he was certain he shouldn’t. Despite the multiple layers of PPE he was wearing - his usual scrubs, gloves, and mask, and then a plastic splashguard over that - he still caught himself feeling oddly vulnerable in front of the decedent. He was used to empty, staring eyes, he’d been used to them for more than half his life. But something about Mrs. Berthelot-Yang’s glazed gaze today made him feel like he was the one with just a sheet for modesty’s sake, rather than the other way around. He kept dropping things, leaving them in his office or on the wrong counters, forgetting what he was doing in the middle of filling out paperwork - he couldn’t help but feel like he was fumbling in an entirely different sense, whereas last night couldn’t have felt easier.

But damn, if you didn’t seem to have him utterly bewitched, and you’d only been going out for a month.

Well, okay, three weeks, six days, thirteen hours, give or take fifteen minutes. …But who was counting, anyway. Certainly not him, nope.

There was something about you he was having a hard time putting his finger on, but since that kismet day in the cemetery, he’d found his mind wandering back to you at the most inexplicable moments. He couldn’t hear the afternoon rain pelting his windows without remembering your smile in the passenger seat of the hearse, giggling even when you were soaked. He couldn’t just lay on his couch in the grip of insomnia and watch a shitty horror movie without remembering your soft, clean scent when you were sitting next to him at the movie theater, and how he’d wondered if the cherry slush would’ve been any sweeter if he’d tasted it on your tongue.

And now, despite the purposeful chill of the prep room, he swore he could still felt the heat of your mostly-bare form pressed against his while it had taken everything in him not to devour you on the spot.

He’d been careful with you. He’d been so goddamn achingly careful with you, wanting to take this slow. He wanted to make sure he took his time with you, didn’t scare you off, didn’t lose your interest before he got the chance to...

He blinked out of his trance when he realized he was still standing over Mrs. Berthelot-Yang with the trocar still in his hands, staring at her still violently bruised and scraped bare abdomen. Motorcycle crash on the highway. Even with a helmet, she hadn’t been any match for the concrete barrier she’d swerved into in her attempt to move around a semi that had thrown on its brakes. The devastated wife was delivering her clothes tomorrow for her viewing this weekend.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he sighed, shaking his head in exasperation and feeling himself blush. “I don’t know where my head’s at today, I swear.” That was a lie. He knew exactly where his head was at. 

He heard a ghostly chuckle from the very edge of the salt that bordered the edges of the room — not the sharp, cruel ones of some of the House’s permanent residents, but something soft. Almost knowing. He glanced up to see the faintest flicker of movement near the door, as though a figure had just poked their head in the room and pulled it quickly back out again.

There was sudden wafting of a warm, light scent of jasmine and vanilla… a perfume. Her favorite, her wife had told him through tears in the client parlor upstairs - and Maxi couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he relaxed. It was always a relief to have an understanding guest of honor. 

Or, well, as much as they could be, under the circumstances.

“Thank you for bein’ patient with me,” he said, carefully lining up the sharp tip of the instrument with a spot just beside her navel. “Now, this is gonna look nasty, but I promise it’ll be better in just a sec—“

The tip slid through the soft flesh like butter, and he let the trocar do its work before carefully angling it again to perforate the other end of the cavity. With a couple more easy jabs, he set it aside, watching the new wounds attentively before he set to preparing to close what needed closing.

But even as his hands went through the same motions as they had for a little less than two decades, his mind wandered immediately back to you, and the curiously strong effect you’d had on him already. He couldn’t explain it to himself, but he felt like if he slept with you and you ghosted, it would drive him insane for ages afterwards. He’d had friends with benefits before, sure, but they were usually more of an obstacle to work around with his… other nocturnal activities, than something he ended up entertaining for long.

And he wanted more with you, he already knew that. He wanted so much more, so soon, and he was trying his damnedest to be cool about it, but god if you didn’t make it difficult in the best way. How you liked his morbid jokes, and he genuinely laughed at yours, how you didn’t mind his odd hours or his tendency to ramble about various histories of death and decay at the drop of the hat. How curious you seemed about his work, and your compassion for the families he dealt with. How he loved the way you talked about your own day, even if it was something as simple as your side gig, and the care you took with it even when it was frustrating you. He just liked you. All of you.

And he’d been so close to finally getting all of you last night, when the two of you had stumbled into your bedroom after you’d invited him over —

He maybe should’ve guessed something new was afoot when you’d wanted to change plans from actually going out to just staying in for a quiet evening at your place, but he’d been happy just to get to spend time with you, so he hadn’t thought about it too much. It had genuinely started as the two of you goofing around with some multiplayer horror title over pizza, but when you’d teasingly tried to distract him by kissing his neck like you usually did, you lingered there just a touch longer than normal. There was a bit of teeth to it, heat that the two of you had skirted but hadn’t quite explored yet.

Needless to say, he’d immediately dropped his controller to pull you into his lap. You hadn’t protested - to the contrary, you’d straddled his thighs with yours, your hand pulling his shirt collar like a leash to close any distance left. 

— Even through the rubber gloves he was wearing now, he swore he could still feel the silk of your skin like fire against his palms. He shook his head again, the trocar wounds closed and now trying to thread the needle so he could sew the dear lady’s mouth closed through the frenulum and up through the septum. But he felt his face burn under his mask as he remembered just how you’d sighed when he’d run his hands up your sides under your top.

Like you were relieved. Like you’d been waiting for him to touch you, almost as much as he’d wanted to.

If you had any idea how hard it had been for him to let you go, especially once he heard that sound, you would’ve called the cops—

“Son of a bitch,” he growled, putting the musculature needle down just a little too hard on the steel table top when he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking.

He was instinctively reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose under his glasses when his hand ran smack into the plastic face shield instead. Frustrated, his swore under his breath, about to fling the offending garment across the room when he heard another gentle laugh from the doorway. He hesitated, then carefully exhaled his frustration in a practiced sigh through his nose, before turning to look over his shoulder. “Well,” he mumbled, the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m glad one of us is havin’ fun with this.”

He could see a gentle swirl of white floating in the doorway, like steam out of a shower. For a moment, the swirl changed direction, as though something like a waving hand had interrupted its floating through space.

 With this small encouragement, he turned back to the waiting guest, taking another cleansing deep breath. “Get it together, Morvant, christ,”  he muttered, tilting his head to both sides to crack his neck before trying again. You had him acting like an amateur in his own house. 

This time, he hooked the needle through the needed places as easily as writing his own name.

He still frowned even as he neatly stitched the lips closed, hearing the faintest echo of his father in his head. Not the torso half-corpse chained to the wall downstairs, thank Everything Below. But the version that still loomed large in the crevices of his brain, that still snidely muttered about his every move if he performed his duties less than perfectly.

Mooning over a mortal. Jesus, his father would’ve taken the belt to him for that. Again.

Once he was satisfied with how her mouth lay, he picked up the wax he’d be using to fill some of the rougher contusions on Mrs. Berthelot-Yang’s face. With a careful angling of a flat blade to get it out of the jar, he rolled it across the side of his latex-gloved hand, letting it warm itself into something malleable.

You would’ve been worth his father’s wrath, he caught himself thinking. He didn’t know quite how he was so confident yet — the unbearable soon-ness of it haunted him again as he sized up the empty hole the glass shards had left in her cheek — but as he did so, he felt you again, flush against him like you were there in the room.

 He’d gotten greedy last night, he knew that, but you’d been right there and so soft, he couldn’t resist. He clenched his free hand through his glove as he remembered the scent of your neck, the lightest hint of some delicious fragrance as he’d taken small, covetous bites of your flesh just to feel you writhe in his grip.

He’d paused his tasting at the neckline of your shirt, sitting back to watch you open your eyes he stopped. “…Can I take this off you?” His hands were still up at your back, holding you close, but he indicated what he meant in the way he passed them over the fabric. The two of you had a tendency to be all over each other in stolen private moments during the brief time you’d been going out: at the House, in the hearse, on his favorite bench in the cemetery. But these had been careful explorations despite your shared enthusiasm, mostly over clothes due to him never being quite sure who - or what - might be lurking nearby. Now, there was no threat of a paranormal pest, or his spectral sister’s looming eyes from the shadows. 

It was just you and him, alone at last.

He was too close to you not to see the tiniest hesitation on your part - your teeth briefly grazing your lower lip - before you nodded, your coy smile back in place. “…I’d like to keep what’s under it on, though,” you admitted, your voice soft in how close you were to him. “Is that… Okay?”

“Anythin’s fine by me,” he murmured somewhat hazily, nodding as his hands slid down your sides to your thin top. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, gorgeous.” He savored the feeling of his fingers sliding under the fabric and finding the warmth of your bare skin, curling around its hem, before he glanced up at you one more time to double check. 

You nodded again, your eyes bright with anticipation, and that was all it took for him to yank the flimsy fabric over your head.

Maxi sat back slightly, taking in your mostly-bare torso — your soft stomach was adorably sweet, just as he’d imagined. He admired your clavicle, the way it was set into your shoulders, the way your skin looked with all the small marks collected over a life. You were a miracle, a work of art, just like he’d dreamed. He took you in almost ravenously, wanting to memorize every freckle, mole, spot. The small galaxy that was you.

You shifted in his lap, your arms drawing in slightly over the dark garment covering your breasts. He couldn’t help but move his attention there as well, pausing in his awe-struck inspection. That… wasn’t a bra. At least, not one he was familiar with. He was flustered internally for a moment; he knew he hadn’t dated around in a while, but did they really start making them a whole different way when he wasn’t paying attention? He swore he’d just put a regular one on a nice little octogenarian at work the other day; was that considered outmoded now? An antique?

“…It’s a half-binder,” you said softly, snapping his attention abruptly back to your face. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw you looking shyly down at your thighs, anticipation replaced with more hesitancy. “It’s. Um— It’s for when—“

“Oh, no, that’s not—“ Maxi stumbled and nearly bit his own tongue, cursing himself for interrupting you. But he was desperate for you to understand how much he was only looking at you with wonder, not with second thoughts. He wanted to curl into himself in agony at the mere thought of you having such a notion.

But the way you looked immediately back to him made him think you were almost more nervous than he was, rather than annoyed, and he felt a flash of protective fondness at the expression on your face. 

“I— It’s okay,” he soothed, nodding. He reached up to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kissed your jaw line. “It’s fine,” he reassured you again, smiling at you. “That’s all okay, baby. I only looked concerned because… well,” he paused, feeling his own face warm slightly. “I thought they’d gone and changed how they made bras on me, s’all.”

Your uncertainty was punctured by your surprised laugh, and he immediately felt relieved at the return of your smile, even as he rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to do anything that would make you think he was less than… capable, of taking care of you. But he was only being honest.

“No,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re sweet. No, this is a different thing.” You shook your head. “It’s… um.” The shyness crept back into your face, and as much as he wanted to reassure you again, he made himself wait for what you wanted to say. “…Okay, so,” you said slowly, letting out a breath that shook a little around the edges. “Sometimes, um. I have some presentation issues around my…” You paused like there was something stuck in your throat, instead gesturing to your chest under your binder. “And I don’t… really want to have them there. Or out. Or, like…” Your hand clawed for a moment in frustration as you tried to explain. “I just don’t want them to be a focus?” you managed at last, a sigh on the heel of your words. “I don’t know, sometimes I’m fine with them! I mean— Obviously,” you gestured shyly to Maxi, who immediately recalled every time he’d pulled down your neckline to nip at the top of your breasts greedily, on his couch during a bad movie, or against the wall of a crypt during a cemetery walk.

“I’m… very familiar, yes,” he agreed, smiling even as he felt the heat in his cheeks.

Your smile in return reassured him, and he watched the tension in you ease. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, and he had to fight not to shiver pleasurably at the contact. “I just… today was a bad chest day, is all.” You bit your lip again, clearly still somewhat nervous about this. “And I was just, um. I thought we might… and if I- I flinched, or something, I didn’t want you to think… it was you, or anything. Because it’s not. It never would be.“ You looked down at your thighs again as you trailed off, your hands sliding to his shoulders. “It’s just - this thing my brain does sometimes, and I don’t always know when.”

Maxi was trying too hard not to get stuck on the fact that you had implied you’d never flinch from him, from his touch, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest with muffled excitement. He had been trying to slow down just how hard he’d been falling for you lately, but you weren’t making it easy. You didn’t know, you didn’t know, he reminded himself sternly. He couldn’t take it entirely at face value if he knew what he was hiding from you, and you didn’t.

And ideally, he thought to himself, you never… would. Not completely, anyway.

Because there’s no way you’d stay if you knew what he was, was there?

Realizing he’d been still too long, been too quiet, his hands went to your hips and squeezed affectionately. “Hey.” He waited until you met his eyes to roll his shoulders in a slow, lazy shrug, smiling up at you. “I’m just happy to be here with you like this, darlin’,” he said, his tone hushed again as he ran his hands up your bare sides. “Really. That’s all. Whatever you don’t wanna do, or— don’t want me to touch,” His hands stopped a respectful couple of finger widths away from your binder. “We don’t have to, at all. Okay?” He shifted a little, going to loosen his tie out of habit before realizing he’d already taken it off and left it in the hearse before he walked in. He flattened his lips instinctively into a line for a moment, his eyes wandering off to the side as he realized what he wanted to tell you right now.

It wasn’t The Thing, but it something he didn’t discuss often, that was for damn sure.

“You’re sure?”

He looked immediately back to you, and realized you’d been watching his face. Your eyes were careful, searching - veiled, he noticed with a hint of panic. You must’ve thought his hesitation was about you, when nothing could be further from the truth.

“Yes,” he said immediately, nodding vigorously. “Yes, angel, absolutely.” He tapped his fingers where they rested on your skin. “Your boundaries are yours. I’m not about to want anythin’ you tell me you don’t, I swear.” He smiled at you again, feeling a little nervous now. “I was just… you got me thinkin’, is all.”

You blinked, your eyes lightening a little bit as you tilted your head. “Oh yeah?”

Maxi nodded, wetting his lips out of nervous habit. “I…” He hummed quietly, trying to figure out how to word this, exactly. He cleared his throat a little, before looking back to you. “…You, um.” He swallowed. “…On our first date,” he finally said, forcing himself to meet your eyes. “I saw your, um. Your pride pins. On your bag, and all. And then, of course, you told me ‘they’ worked for you, obviously,”  he added quickly, realizing he was just talking in circles. “So I just… god,” he sighed in frustration, his head falling backwards against the couch to stare at your ceiling. “Why is this hard.”

“…I could state the obvious,” you deadpanned, still straddling his lap.

There was a pause, and Maxi half-shrugged. “You’d have a point.”

He met your eyes again, and the both of you dissolved into muffled laughter, the tension at last broken.

“What are you trying to say, Maxi?” you asked when you’d both got it out of your system, tilting your head the other way to catch his eyes again.

Maxi sighed, looking up at where you were perched on his lap. “What I’m tryin’ to say,” he said quietly, forcing it out now. “Is that… me too?”

You blinked, your brow crinkling. “…You ‘too’?”

Maxi groaned, running one hand under his glasses over his face. “You’re gonna have to forgive me, Darlin’, old habits die hard.” He gave you an apologetic smile. “I mean… I have to be a little more careful about, y’know… who knows, and all,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the room to indicate Greymoon as a whole. He swallowed again, not sure why his heart was racing, why his palms felt like they were going to sweat. You of all people were someone he knew he could tell this to and be safe. So why did this still scare him? “I, um.” He felt himself flushing furiously, looking at you and mentally begging you to understand. “…If I could wear ‘em, y’know, and not get shit for it with my… my job, and all,” he said quietly. “I know we’d have at least one of ‘em in common.” He let out a quick, slightly unsteady breath. “I don’t say this to make things about me,” he said quickly again, his words tripping over themselves. “…But because I really want you to know, there’s nothin’ you could do, or change about yourself, or how you present, or anythin’, that would make me… not attracted to you,” he explained quietly. “Does that make sense?”

Your eyes visibly brightened when you beamed at him, clearly relieved - and, if he dared let himself believe it, even elated. “Yes,” you said, nodding excitedly. “Yes, it totally makes sense.” You leaned in, cupping his face in your hands. “I fucking knew it,” you added in a triumphant whisper, your smile delighted, before you closed the distance and kissed him intensely.

In that moment, Maxi was suddenly intensely aware of the feeling of something… else, looking out through his eyes at you.

Something that wanted you - to drink the light from your eyes until there was nothing left - with such a desperate ferocity, he could swear the scream was audible inside his own skull.

Startled by this unbidden urge, he broke this shared kiss abruptly, pressing a messy kiss to your pulse in your throat. External sensation tended to help shut the Reaper up or drown it out, and you gave him plenty of that: the softness of your skin, the scent you wore in your hair, the surprised noise from low in your chest that turned into a barely-muffled mewl. He lingered there, drawing it out, feeling you squirm on his lap as your hands found his hair again and tried to tug him upward. He winced only slightly, seemingly determined to leave his unmistakable mark on the precious column of your neck, but internally he was running a panicked inventory. After decades of being aware of the Reaper, the demon that had made him its home, he thought he’d gotten a good handle on just what could set it off. Sure, it had made noises about liking you, especially the more you hung around. It had done that with everyone he’d dated, as inescapable as it was. It was a jealous, territorial sumbitch, but so was he, deep down, so he couldn’t really blame it.

But that fascination, that need… what the fuck was that? Demanding as his darker self was, it had never been that… specific. Blood, flesh, souls, the usual maudlin bullshit, sure, he was used to it railing and howling and carrying on as it called for what it believed was its Due. Sometimes for sleepless nights on end, when he was younger and trying to fight his true nature.

But wanting you? Specifically, to watch the life drain from your face? To feel your flesh grow cold under his palms?

He had the unavoidable mental image of something else wearing his face, running a tongue over too-sharp teeth in his mouth, and he couldn’t fight a shudder.

Before he could really figure out what had triggered the spike of aggression, however, you’d turned the tables, yanking slightly on his hair so you could capture his lips when he reluctantly let go of your throat. Your hands moved to unbutton the dress shirt he’d worn having come straight from closing up, and he felt you pause when you got so far down, then the twist of your smile against his mouth as your hand found his shirt stays still on once you unbuttoned his slacks. 

“Aw, Maxi - for me?” As much as you were trying to tease, he could hear how you sounded slightly breathless, your fingers shy as they skimmed over the elastic.

His face positively burned, and he wondered if you could feel its warmth, as close as you were. “Well,”  he mumbled, suddenly unable to quite meet your gaze. “You mentioned that you, um. Didn’t mind, last time—“

“No,’ you corrected softly, and he looked up immediately. You were fighting a grin as you toyed with the one on his left thigh, before your eyes flicked back to his. “I said I thought they were hot, remember?” You gave him a coy smirk. “That’s different.”

He had to remember to swallow just then, the Reaper well and truly quiet as his brain was too overloaded to process much else besides your expression and your fingers tracing along the inside of his thighs. With some maneuvering, you had his shirt open a moment later, your hands roving over the coarse hair on his torso. 

Something else he couldn’t help but adore about you, besides the enchantingly warm squish of your figure against him, was the way you seemed just as taken with him as he did with you in that aspect. Lord knew why — he knew he was that slightly confusing mix of lean with a soft stomach, and he still didn’t know how to feel about that even now — but it was also the way you didn’t seem to flinch at any of his scars. Namely and especially the thick line of tissue over his heart, where his father had beat him to the punch and drawn first blood all those years ago, and where he’d painstakingly re-opened it not long after, trying a particularly dark bit of magic in attempt to dull his own pain.

As he’d held you last night in his arms, feeling your warm palm ghost over it with all the sweetness in the world, he was so bitterly glad that it had backfired - and not as badly as it had for his late sister.

“I want you.” You’d said it so softly, your lips brushing his, that it nearly broke him. “Please?”

“I’m yours.” He’d answered as automatically as breathing, and for a moment he’d felt at least a fraction of the blood rush back to his face, realizing just how… eager, he must have sounded. But you’d only laughed in that way that left him weak every time, and when he’d shifted underneath you to kiss you harder, it had hitched into the sweetest breathy moan when his cock pressed against the core of you through the cotton shorts you’d worn.

“Goddamn, Maxi,” you’d whispered, pulling away to glance down between the two of you, and it was everything he could do not to let himself smirk. You’d turned it right back on him though when your eyes met his again with what was unmistakably hunger. “You gonna wreck me with that, babe, or just make me suck on it?”

He’d heard the soft hissing inhale through his teeth before he even realized it was him, his hand gently settling over your throat. Even as he held it like it was made of glass, he still felt himself freeze, realizing he hadn’t asked you first. He watched your eyes, nervously retracting his hand just slightly to hover above your skin — only to relax when he saw the entertained glint there, and the way you tilted your chin back to grant him access.

He replaced his hand delicately, his thumb lovingly tracing the vein he knew lay just underneath your skin from years of filling others with formaldehyde. “You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, sugar,” he’d murmured darkly, unable to help himself. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna give me ideas.”

This was apparently the right thing to say, because you’d shoved your neck further into his palm as you’d kissed him furiously, grinding your cunt against his length as you did so.

He’d had to will himself to keep at least a modicum of self-control, both hands falling to your hips and pulling you harder against him to hear you gasp. As he felt the faintest trace of heat and slick through the thin garment of your underwear, his grip turned to steel, fighting the urge to yank away the meaningless little fabric between the pair of you and push into you to give you what you wanted — what he wanted, if he was being honest, just to feel you clench around him in any capacity. When he heard your gasp change to a soft, tremulous moan as you moved again, it took everything in him to force himself to let go of your waist.

“Your room.” He’d blurted it before he realized quite what he was doing, and you’d blinked at him, your eyes already sweetly hazy. “…Please,” he added, swallowing slightly. “I want to-- I need to do this right.” He pressed a soft kiss to your jawline, hoping he hadn’t just made a fool of himself. “I wanna do this like you deserve.” If this was going to go how he thought, he wanted to make sure it mattered. That even if it was all he ever got, he could say he’d gotten to really savor all of you while he’d had it ever so briefly in his grasp.

Your laugh was shaky but real, and you tilted your head to kiss him again (and, unbeknownst to you, muffle his sigh of relief). “You fucking angel, you’re so sweet,” you’d murmured, kissing his mouth and his cheek and the tip of his nose in quick succession. “C’mon.” You’d stepped backwards onto your floor, grabbing his hands to pull him up with you, and the two of you had only run into a chair and one wall when you couldn’t be bothered to look up from refusing to let go of the other person.

Maxi had been over to your house enough times that it wasn’t too odd how well he could pick his way through your living room, and then your hallway. Luckily, by the time he was walking you backwards to your bed, you were too busy nipping his lower lip and gripping the back of his neck to notice just how well he could navigate across your somewhat messy floor, sidestepping you carefully around things he logically shouldn’t have already known were there.

But he’d gotten very well acquainted with your floor in the last couple of weeks. And the space under your bed, which if he was being honest, was more comfortable than most, if only for the rug underneath and the lack of perilous storage boxes he’d have to contort himself to fit around. It would’ve been downright homey, comparatively, if he wasn’t constantly in danger of knocking his head on your bed frame if he sat up too quickly.

In that moment, he’d been beyond thrilled to be with you on top of your mattress as the two of you fell towards it. He was more than happy to be pinned beneath your full hips, his hands caressing your sides, and feeling you push yourself against his cock already leaking into his clothes as you sought any sort of friction between the two of you. This was more than agreeable. If you wanted to ride him until he couldn’t remember his own name, that would be divine. There would be plenty of time after to fuck you into your mattress until you ruined your sheets, he had all night. 

Your fingers had finally hooked into the open waistband of his slacks when suddenly you hissed a curse under your breath, withdrawing so abruptly he was left bewilderedly blinking at your ceiling for a moment.

“Gorgeous?” He sat up to see where you’d pulled back, your expression at once stricken and frustrated. “What’s wrong- you okay?” He felt himself snap out of his own blissful trance, looking you over for any immediate obvious cause of distress. “…Is it somethin’ I did?” He swore he’d just been laying here savoring the taste of your tongue - did he miss something obvious? Had he been careless, distracted? The latter had made him panic even more, wondering if the dark presence inside him had somehow made itself known when he had his guard down.

“No,” you shook your head quickly, pressing your lips together in a slightly aggravated line. “No, baby, it’s not you.” You sighed heavily, sitting back and crossing your legs as you looked… embarrassed? You bit your own lower lip hard for a moment, clearly annoyed with something, before you glanced at him from under your lashes. “…My uterus has the worst fucking timing, is all.” You have him a rueful grimace, wincing slightly as you did so. 

Maxi felt himself exhale a laugh in relief, his fear immediately abating. “Oh, babydoll - is that all? Hell, I don’t care.” He shrugged, his shoulders suddenly immeasurably light compared to a second ago. “Or — wait, shit, hold on.” He caught himself a second too late, blushing slightly at his own phrasing and quickly running his palm over his face under his glasses. Smooth, dumbass. “I mean,” he said, showing you his palms apologetically. “That I don’t mind. But obviously,” he gestured to you. “I don’t wanna do anything that would make you… uncomfortable.” He gave you a smile meant to be genuinely soothing, but only relaxed when he saw you let out a breath you’d seemed to be holding.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” You rolled your eyes, falling on your back next to him with an exaggerated sigh. He immediately stretched out next to you, determined to be as close to you as possible while he had the chance. You were always a vision, to him, but stripped down like this, you were something he wanted to treasure. “I tend to be really… sore, later, after my first day. Like, ‘hurts to sit down’ sore, sometimes.” You rolled onto your side, and your fingertip traced a soft line down his chest and stomach that stopped just above the exposed fabric of his boxers. He suppressed a visible shiver as best he could, but it was a struggle. “And based on what you’re packing, babe,” you said, your eyes flicking downward before meeting his and causing him to forget to breathe for a moment. “I don’t think I’m going to be quite able to handle it all tonight. Which sucks,” you added, with an embarrassed giggle. “Because if I’m being totally honest with you, I was really looking forward to it.” You have him a small, shy smile that still felt somehow conspiratorial. 

Jesus, you were going to kill him. He was going to die right there in your bed from the sheer thought that you’d wanted him as much as he’d pined after you.

He took a breath as subtly as he could, trying not to give away that you’d about knocked it all out of him. “Don’t worry about it.” He reached over, lightly moving some of your hair away from your eyes. “Again, I don’t want to do anythin’ you don’t want to do. Right now, later, whenever.” He smiled, admiring your bare stomach and thighs in the soft light of your bedroom window, how the beginnings of the blue hour reflected just a certain way off your skin. You were already lovely from his place in the dark, but out here with you? Where you’d wanted him to see you? “You’ve got me as long as you want me.” His eyes had met yours again, taking in how those shone as well, how he wished he could see them in this light more often.

“But I really do want you, though,” you said with just a hint of a whine, and when you leaned in to kiss him again, it was everything he could do not to roll and pin you down so he could kiss you everywhere, slowly and deliberately. You moved closer to him on your mattress, your hand skimming lower over clothes that now felt far too tight. “Can I… help with this, at all?” —

Maxi swore softly to himself as he mis-aligned the apple of the decedent’s cheek again, impatiently picking up the clay and re-rolling it into what it would’ve looked like if half of it hadn’t been ground off onto the hot concrete of the highway once the visor of the helmet had been smashed out.

“I swear I can do this,” he said over his shoulder, still smelling the hint of perfume. “I’m just… havin’ a day, is all. You know how it is.”

He paused, looking back down at the face he was working on restoring and feeling slightly mortified with himself. “I mean, of course you do. Of course. I’m so sorry, that was thoughtless of me. I’m - I’m just gonna shut up now,” he muttered, furiously re-rolling the clay in his hands to try to change the texture.

When he felt the tiniest ‘thump’ against his shoulder blade, like a heavy palm lightly clapping him on the back, he about jumped out of his skin. 

— As cool as you were trying to be about it, he could hear just the slightest hesitancy in your voice still, and he could’ve died at the idea you thought he would still say no to you. “I…” His face felt almost drunkenly warm as he tried desperately to get his brain to work with him here, overwhelmed with just how long he’d ached for you to touch him at all, the warmth of your flesh threatening to scorch his normally cool skin. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to? I—“ He forgot what words were for a second as he felt your hand move again, your fingertips skimming the skin above the waistband between the pair of you. “I’d wanna be able to reciprocate, somehow,” he managed, forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “However, um—“ Oh, you’d been positively teasing him then, sliding his trousers down as slowly as possible while you watched his face. Your expression was sweet, your lips parted just slightly as if in innocent curiosity, but he could still see that light in your eyes that told him you knew exactly what you were doing. “However you feel comfortable,” he said, buying himself time by gently taking your hand in his. “I don’t want this to just be about me.” He couldn’t have imagined anything more agonizing than you touching him and him not being able to touch you. It just wasn’t how he was built. He kissed the back of your hand, and the wickedness in your eyes liquified into something soft. “Please?”

You bit your lip thoughtfully, considering. He knew what it was to be vulnerable with someone new - to be even more vulnerable than you’d maybe expected, in your case. He gazed at you earnestly, hoping you would see that he was already devoted, there was nothing about your body that could scare him, because it was yours, and at this rate, he was as good as.

“…Okay,” you said at last, and he couldn’t help but beam when you smiled a little at his enthusiasm. “But only whatever you’re cool with. Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate in exactly the same way, if you don’t want to.”

“Try me.” Maxi said, quirking a brow in a playful challenge.

“Oh, I intend to,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth before dipping lower to trace the scar over his heart with the white-hot tip of your tongue.

Maxi fought to keep his surprised inhale from being too obvious as you did so, feeling his already present blush turn into a full flush down his neck and shoulders. He’d been with other people, sure, but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seemed to… savor that part of him, quite like you were.

But of course you’d caught that. You looked up quickly, meeting his eyes with a furrow of concern. “Sorry,” you said softly, your eyes flicking between his and his scar. “I- should I not—?”

“It’s fine,” he reassured you, kissing your cheek hastily. “You’re fine, sugar, I’m just… not used to that, s’all.” His fingertips ghosted down the line of your jaw, watching your brows ease apart. “…People tend to avoid it,” he explained quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile and a shrug of his shoulder.

You blinked. “Oh.” You glanced sheepishly down again. “I should’ve asked first, I know, I just—“ You lifted a hand, your fingers ghosting over the ridge of tissue you’d just claimed with your tongue, and Maxi found himself not only enjoying the feeling, but leaning into it as much as he dared. “…I just figured, it’s you,” you murmured, your eyes finding his again. “And I-“ You broke off, teeth grazing your lip self-consciously like you were fighting a laugh at yourself. “I want that too.”

Maxi sat up with an abruptness that drew a small squeak from you, lifting you so you were straddling his lap now. One hand tangled in your hair as he kissed you hard, the other hand squeezing your hip with a need he was sure gave away just how desperate he was for you—

He slammed down the clay knife a little harder than he meant to on the steel table surface, cussing up a storm under his breath as he failed for a third time to get it shaped exactly how he needed it over the partially exposed gums. “Come on,” he growled, not sure if he was more annoyed with his lack of focus or embarrassed at just how completely you’d invaded his every sense, leaving him stumbling like an apprentice on their first day. 

Probably even moreso, given just how long he’d been helping shape flesh back into faces before it was entirely legal for him to do so.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, straightening up and folding his gloved hands behind his head. He turned away, unable to quite face the woman he was making a fool of himself in front of on his on table. “I swear, this has never happened before, really. I’m absolutely gonna have you lookin’ right as rain for your viewin’, I promise, I’m just… feelin’ a bit off, today.” He gave a long, slow exhale, one that shook just a little bit around the edges. He had to focus. He had to try. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this hundreds of times.

But you — you were something new. He’d never had to work with someone like you in his head, before.

And it seemed to be having the worst time trying to hold his infatuation and his professionalism in the same amount of space.

— His brain immediately returned to how you’d kissed him back with just as much eagerness, your teeth nipping his lower lip, and when his tongue had filled your mouth, you sucked on it in a way that went straight to the base of his spine.

“PleasecanItaketheseoffyou?” he’d asked in a single breath as he broke away, his fingers hooking impatiently into the cotton lounge shorts you were still wearing.

You looked shy again. “Um. I’m not—“ You sat there for a second, choosing your words. “I’m not wearing a lot underneath,” you mumbled. “I thought I still had a day or so, and I wouldn’t want to—“ You gestured loosely at the white dress shirt he still had hanging loosely about his shoulders, more off than on at this point.

Maxi pressed another messy kiss to the side of your neck, emboldened and secretly thrilled by the idea that you’d been planning ahead for this. That you’d wanted to, been hoping for it maybe as much as he had. “I don’t mind,” he said against your skin, and he felt your head fall back slightly as he kissed down to the crook of your shoulder. “I swear to god I don’t mind, there’s no part of this I don’t mind, I promise you—“

“Okay,” you half-breathed, half-giggled in his ear, and you got your knees under you to hover over his waist just as he pulled down, finding the black mesh waiting for him underneath.

“Baby,” he nearly whined at the sight, his hands moving covetously over the curve of your ass as he admired you. “Fuck, you’re pretty. You always are, of course,” he added quickly, looking up at you where you were still perched up over him on your knees. “Of course I knew that, but— fuck,” he repeated, his hands moving up your plush hips and your soft sides adoringly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You giggled in a way that went right to his chest. “Calm down, Monsieur, you’ve already got me naked,” you teased, still looking a bit shy.

He hooked his arms around your waist, pulling your stomach flush to his chest where he was somewhat pinned under you. “I mean it,” he whispered, and he watched your face change - the self-conscious half-smile falling away at what must be the sheer dark intensity of his gaze. “You have no idea how much I want you. Just like this.” 

He was sure his eyes would have changed, the way he was looking at you. He couldn’t always feel it when they did, but the yowling ache of Want inside him as he looked at you like this, for him — you had to have to seen it. There’s no way you could have seen him and missed it, the way he wanted you all to himself, folded into his arms against the dark that threatened to swallow him up when he thought of being parted from you. 

He knew it was scary, especially so soon. It scared him too, in a way. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d unwound yourself from his grasp right then and thrown him out.

…But, miracle of miracles, you hadn’t.

You’d watched his eyes with a tilt of your head, transfixed by what, he wasn’t totally sure, but your stare was curious - and, eventually, oddly familiar. He saw it then, that flicker of pure Want, not quite as sharp or dark as his own. But it had been there as you looked down at him, your hands lightly carding through his hair… before one set of fingers tangled in it, scraping ever so lightly at his scalp.

That dark presence in him - something that had no business being so close to you, especially not this quickly - crowed in triumph in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time.

You leaned down, catching his lips in yours, and he met you with a kiss that bordered on ravenous. He couldn’t help the sound that escaped him when you gave another careful, experimental tug at his hair — which blossomed into a full moan when you’d pulled harder, eliminating what space there’d been still between you.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded as you broke away, the pair of you panting slightly as though you were starved for air. “What can I do for you?”

“…Those all the way off,” you said softly, nodding down at his open slacks as your tongue traced your lips - which, he’d noticed, had begun to look just the tiniest bit swollen with his attentions.

He let go of you only long enough to fumble with them and the accompanying underwear, unable to help the slightest of smirks when your own hands had dropped to help him when you decided he wasn’t quite moving fast enough for you. He’d been appreciative of every display of your enthusiasm so far, but the need he’d felt crackling between the pair of you at that moment had been undeniable.

Maxi slid them off with your help, immediately pulling you back against him as soon as they rustled to your bedroom floor. He was trying to keep his breathing level as he felt you finally skim your palm lightly over his cock, and he couldn’t help but glance down to see you sizing it up.

“Damn, Maxi,” you murmured, glancing back to watch his face as you took it fully in hand. He bit down hard on his lip as you spread the drops that were already waiting there over the head, trying not to be so obvious in how much he’d been wanting you to touch him. “Were you planning on making sure I couldn’t walk tomorrow?”

He opened his mouth to answer, only to have the words tangle into something somewhat incoherent when he watched you move down his abdomen to lick a long, hot stripe towards his hips. 

The pressure at the base of his spine was taking over the rest of his brain, and all he wanted was the heat of you around him, wishing he could do exactly as you said.

“Depends on what you wanted, pretty,” he managed through his teeth, feeling his fingers dig into his own palms. 

“Oh yeah?” You glanced up at him, moving so your torso was perched gently on his thighs. You ran a fingertip lightly up the inside of one, smirking a little as he obviously squirmed. 

Maxi forced himself to nod. “I swear I could— be careful,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he watched you lick your own palm lasciviously. “I wouldn’t hurt you, I promise—“

“Unless I wanted you to?” 

He knew you felt him flex in your palm in response. It was too obvious. He said nothing, looking from where his cock was aching, leaking in your hand to your eyes, where you were watching his face with such a dark glitter to them that he had to fight to keep his hips still in response.

“…Okay,” you said slowly, your smile enigmatic. “Good to know.”

Oh, shit. He was a goner now.

You didn’t say much else, your hand twisting up his shaft and gripping just enough to make him inhale raggedly. You gave him a couple of experimental strokes, watching still before your mouth was around him, and he had to fight to keep his shit together.

“Fuck.” His hands tangled hard into your bedspread, trying to keep himself grounded through this onslaught. He’d kissed you a million times by now - he couldn’t help himself when you were around - and just like then, you were slow, deliberate. Taking your time with him because you seemed to like keeping him right on the line of agony and bliss. He felt the softest puff of air, like a suppressed laugh, and when he looked down he felt everything inside him seize at the way you were watching him, your eyes mischievous as he saw a thread of saliva trace its way from your lower lip down his shaft.

He fell back against your pillow with a moan, forcing himself to look away for a moment so he could keep from totally embarrassing himself with you. You had no right to look that perfect with your mouth on him like that. His fist knitted tighter into your comforter, until he felt the soft touch of your hand on his - looking down, he let you gently pull his hand away from your bed and set it in your hair, holding it there for a second as if to reassure him before your hand returned to pinning his hips to your mattress. 

Tentatively, he curled his hand in your hair, not wanting to pull hard enough to hurt. He relished the feeling of its familiar texture, something he’d come to love in the time the two of you had spent on the couch with your head on his shoulder. He was just willing himself to be gentle when he heard the quietest noise, and it was only when he felt a shift in your mouth that he realized you’d taken him deeper.

He pulled hard on your hair reflexively, gasping at the change, at the soft sound of you fighting to take him into your throat. “Fuck, angel, you don’t have to...” He looked down at you, and the slight glaze of tears at the corner of your eyes made him forget himself so entirely, he felt his hips thrust forward before he could stop himself.

If you hadn’t been ready for him, he would’ve hated himself for being so careless with you. But you met his worried eyes with something of a challenge, your tongue tracing the underside of his shaft invitingly, and something dark in him delighted at the mirror it seemed to find in you.

Experimentally, Maxi thrust up again, and when he could feel you fighting to control your breath, he wound his fingers tighter in your hair and pulled.

Your moan couldn’t have been more exquisite, and Maxi at last let himself give in.

He wasn’t a monster - his thrusts were tempered, short, but he lost himself in the feeling of you around him: the warmth of your mouth, the soft ragged puffs of your breath, the spit that dripped from your lips. With the lovely wreck you made, and the way he felt you carefully take the rest of him in your hand to make sure no part was neglected, he found himself falling apart fairly soon.

“Darlin’,” he whined, glancing down at you through the now lightly fogged lenses of his glasses. “I can’t take this, I’m— I’m close, I have to—“

It was the way your eyes locked on his and the subtle shake of your head that finally sent him over. The sharp, clear gaze you gave him, the way you made it clear he was doing this your way. That this was something of his that you wanted for yourself.

He came with a shaky groan of your name, feeling the tiniest bit guilty he did so alone, but unwilling to deny how much he loved watching you as he did.

When you finally sat back, gasping, he sat up and immediately crushed his lips to yours like a man possessed, his hands gently cupping your face. He could taste just a trace of himself still on your tongue, and everything that just happened crashed over him at once, turning his kiss nearly feral. 

Even through catching your breath, you giggled again at his eagerness, and he knew immediately he would fight a pissed-off alligator for you if it ever came to that. Two alligators. Possessed ones. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t face for that sound.

“So you enjoyed yourself then,” you teased, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’d hoped so.”

“You were divine,” he mumbled, leaning down to kiss your bare neck like a man called to worship. “I mean - I already thought so,” he added. “But that was…” He felt his brain go pleasantly blank again, distracted by whatever scent you were wearing on your skin. 

You smiled under his praise, but there was the tiniest hint of relief in your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages, to be honest.” You leaned forward, kissing the end of his nose as he blinked at you in surprise. “I knew you’d be hot when you weren’t totally together. Not that you’re not hot when you’re put together,” you continued, seeing his eyebrows begin to knit together. “I mean, I’ve been wanting you to rail me in those suits of yours for ages, obviously.” You waved a hand as if this were, in fact, obvious, despite Maxi having a very distinct hiccup of brain activity at the mere thought. “But you’re always so… poised, Maxi,” you said, your hands lovingly coming to rest on his now-bare chest. “I know you have to be, with everything that can go wrong with what you do,” you went on, and he had to keep his face neutral at just how close to the truth that came. “But I’ve been… curious,” you leaned forward, your lips an inch from his as you searched his eyes. “About what I’d see when you finally let go for me.”

Maxi watched you apprehensively as you reached up and ruffled the hair that sweat had undone. You fixated on it slowly sliding over one of his lenses, where it was naturally inclined to lay when he didn’t attack it with hair gel and a comb every day, and after a moment, you sat back with a smirk. “I have to say, baby, I really like it.”

You weren’t totally prepared for when he moved forward suddenly, capturing you in a kiss while flipping you beneath him. He delighted at the soft moan around his tongue in your mouth, only pulling back to hover over you when you were both absolutely out of breath. “If I wanted to make you come so hard you can’t think straight,” he whispered, dark eyes boring into yours. “What’s the best way I could do that right now?”

He watched the coquettish set of your face dissolve into a mixture of surprise from his phrasing and - what he was far more excited by - open, undeniable need. Your teeth grazed your lower lip hard, but he got the feeling that you weren’t having to think about it. No, this seemed more like you were hesitating.

“Try me,” he repeated, more insistant now. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then kissed you properly, coaxing you into something more heated. He lingered until he felt you relax a bit, opening up to him, before he pulled back just enough to speak. “I mean it, anythin’.”

Your guard was down, because he saw your eyes move briefly towards where his hips were resting against yours, your back arching very slightly to rock gently against his hipbone in search of any sort of contact. But they snapped back to his immediately, widening when you must’ve realized you’d given yourself away.

“You a hundred percent do not have to reciprocate,” you blurted, your words tripping off your tongue in your hurry. “Especially not, like, today,” you added with an apologetic wince. “Obviously. I’m not about to ask you to— well.“ You looked askance, embarrassed. “Not our, um. Our first… time, and all.”

Maxi snorted, smiling wryly. “Babydoll. C’mon, now.” He propped himself up on an elbow, cocking his head to look at you. “What, did you think I was gonna try to dodge that every month? Twiddle my thumbs ’til it was over?”

You met his eyes again, yours wide - and Maxi realized he’d tilted his hand, hinting at anything remotely close to a future together this soon. He opened his mouth to backtrack, kicking himself for being so presumptuous - when you looked off to the side again, giving a tiny shrug. “I didn’t want to assume or anything,” you said, smiling shyly. “Some people just aren’t into it.”

He managed to disguise a sigh of relief as a chuckle, realizing you weren’t automatically discouraging the idea of a… repeat engagement. Hell, that you didn’t even seem to be that put off by the thought of him sticking around. “Well. I appreciate your lookin’ out,” he said, tilting his head further to meet your eyes. “But trust me when I say there’s nothin’ about you I’m not into.”

You laughed, disbelieving, but there was a curiosity in your eyes that, when he saw it, he couldn’t look away from. “Define ‘into’ here, babe.”

Maxi sat up a little more, skimming your torso with a rakish glance. “Put it this way,” he drawled, leaning down to kiss just underneath the elastic of your top. “When you do what I do, there isn’t much about the human body you don’t learn to appreciate, in its own way.” He ran the broad swathe of his tongue down the curve of your stomach as he moved lower, causing you to inhale through your teeth and squirm slightly. He trapped your plush hips in his hands, fingers nimbly spreading and adjusting to hold you down against your mattress. His thumbs worked their way under the waist of the pretty sheer underwear you’d worn - for him, he thought with an eager twist of his insides - down over the skin, as though he were unveiling you. “There’s nothin’ I don’t find more beautiful than somethin’ alive just bein’ allowed to be itself.” He kissed your lower abdomen with parted lips, his teeth grazing lightly below your navel just to hear your gentle sound of surprise, to feel you try to move against his palms… and find you couldn’t break his grip. He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at your face, or help the grin that was just a touch too sharp when your eyes were already hazy and huge. “…And it’d be a sin,” he added quietly. “For you to feel like you had anythin’ to be shy about.” He held your gaze as he shifted his hands to your thighs, letting you watch as he pulled them a little wider, his fingers sinking into the plush flesh.

He waited for a response from you - the barest nod, given with only a short dazed lag - before he settled his torso between them, his thumbs tracing the velvet of your skin. He planted an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of each, just adjacent to your cunt, with all the slow measured movements of a ritual. He took the opportunity to adjust his grip again, his right hand shifting slightly upward to mitigate the jolt of your hips, his left staying anchored to your thigh as he continued to rub circles there.

He didn’t know what his eyes were doing when he looked at you a last time, but he could feel the Reaper poised just behind their sockets, unable to resist the proximity of something so vulnerable and precious. He didn’t bother to try to knock it back - it liked this too, too much to ruin it for both of them. 

He’d let it watch, it didn’t matter. 

Pleasing you would be something that would strictly fall to him. He’d make sure of that.

His eyes flicked downwards, seeing you were already visibly wet - something that sent another searing jolt through him - and there, as though a sign, the beginning bloom of red.

When he swiped his tongue brazenly up your slit, pushing into your folds, the moan you let go from your chest hit him at the same time as the unmistakable taste of blood.

He fell on you like a man starved, pulling your thighs even wider to spread you for him. He felt suddenly insatiable, taken in by your heat, the way you shivered on his tongue, and couldn’t help but cant your hips just slightly upwards to allow himself better access. 

You made a sound of surprise that turned into a mewl, your thighs pushing slightly against the side of his face and his palm as though to keep him there, and he felt himself grin wickedly as he continued giving you exactly what he’d wanted to since that first encounter in the cemetery.

In the midst of the familiar human essence, the iron across his palate, there was something that left the vague impression of… sweetness. He chased it, lingering on your clit to lave the flat of his tongue there like a wave. He heard your moan twist into a whine, and he couldn’t resist the urge to echo it, his cheekbone scraping the inside of your thigh as he unashamedly lapped at your core. Your slick spreading across his mouth and further left him wanting, and as his hands clenched at your body with need, yours fell to his hair.

He couldn’t help the moan at the feeling of your nails against his scalp, the way he was sure you didn’t realize just how hard you were pulling. He had to fight to keep his eyes from rolling back as you tugged hard, your hips pushing against his mouth for more. He didn’t know which got him to start rutting lightly against your mattress, the little licks of pain or the way he was tempted to just let you grind against his jaw until you were done with him.

“F-fuck,” you groaned, your first actual word in a while, and it came from somewhere low in your chest. This was beyond the breathy noises of a first time, what people thought the other person wanted to hear or expected. There was a rawness as your groan became something strangled, your voice breaking, and when your heel very lightly came to rest on his back, his nails sank into your skin before he could stop himself.

“Fuck, Maxi, I’m—!” You punctuated that sentence with a keening cry as you came apart, and he held his tongue steady against your clit when your hips spasmed against his face. Your heel dug further into his back, and your hands knotted in his hair as evidence of your orgasm coated his tastebuds. He drove his own hips hard against your bed as you shuddered, already inescapably aware that he wouldn’t know peace again until he could have you making a mess on his cock too.

But this was more than enough, for now. He would’ve been happy to do this until the day he died - and then to be resurrected, at your whim, for this express eternal purpose. His name sounded so much more pleasant from your mouth, especially when you sounded on the verge of tears with sensation, your throbbing cunt indecisive as to whether it wanted more or if it couldn’t take anything else.

He only let up when he felt your fingers go slack in his hair, your foot hitting the mattress with a soft little thud. When he pushed himself up to catch his breath, you were gazing sightlessly at the ceiling, your eyes like a starless night as your own chest heaved.

The blood he could feel congealing around his mouth only exacerbated the sudden overwhelming urge he felt to cage you in his arms and never let you go again, to meet everything else that sought your attention with a murderous glare and hands that itched for cold steel.

“Mine,” the Reaper hissed in the back of his skull, and for once, he had found himself in total agreement.

- Fuck. This wasn’t working. If even open wounds weren’t enough to dull the heat he felt spreading through his veins, he didn’t know what would. “Christ, M’sorry,” he muttered sheepishly to the woman on his table, hastily throwing down the clay knife as it felt like his skin was going to combust inside his protective gear. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I’ll fix everythin’, I swear I’ll make it up to you, I’m—“ He couldn’t even finish the sentence as he pulled the sheet over Mrs. Berthelot-Yang for her dignity’s sake, then bolted out the door of the prep room towards the door to the hearse’s loading bay. 

A full-throated peal of laughter rang out as he left, echoing off the stainless steel on the walls.

He slammed through the exit door, barely noticing the pouring afternoon rain as he scrabbled free of his gloves first, ripping the black latex in the process, before yanking off the splash guard and tossing it over his shoulder and back inside. He was already panting as he ditched the mask underneath, then clawed off the protective coat over his dark scrubs and throwing it behind him as well. Only then did he let himself lean over to put his hands on his knees, letting the somehow still warm rain run through his hair and over his face as he tried to figure out how to deal with the throbbing ache that drove him to literal distraction. If work wouldn’t do it - especially a hard restoration like this one - he wasn’t left with a lot of options.

One tempted him in particular. One he’d been trying to avoid, to be honest. It wasn’t something he liked to do, and it was definitely something he wanted to get in the habit of doing whenever a… similar situation occurred.

But as evening loomed on the edges of the afternoon, he couldn’t see himself with a lot of other options.

If he wasn’t in such a state, he would’ve admitted to himself that it was probably troublesome how he could’ve made the drive to your house blindfolded by now. How it was probably even more troubling that there was starting to be a spot in the bushes in the empty lot just down the street from you where he hid the old Mustang. Or how he’d already had a change of clothes in the back seat for just such an occasion, and he stripped out of his wet scrubs with as little eye contact as possible with the smugly smirking figure of his uncle in the rearview mirror.

He followed the little not-path that was starting to form between the lot and the trees that encircled your house, carefully ducking as needed to avoid any sight lines to the neighbor’s place across the street, avoiding the thorn bushes he’d learned were there the hard way, and carefully stepping around what rodent warrens he’d come across -

And at last, ending up exactly outside your bedroom window.

Your light was on, but your curtains were closed. He checked his phone, scrolling to his last text message from you - before lunch, if he remembered correctly. Amidst a flurry of bad jokes and some random dancing skeleton .gifs, you’d told him you had been feeling kind of gross today, and were planning on taking it easy.

So you were definitely home, then.

He peered through the small crack he could find in your blackout curtains, scanning your room and finding it still charmingly messy, but blessedly empty. Your bedcovers were rumpled, but there was no sign of you.

He hadn’t seen any light from your front windows when he’d driven by, though - so you weren’t watching TV on your couch. But where were you, then, if not here?

Slowly, he cracked the window, listening to what sounds he could catch to see if he could tell: sure enough, he heard strains of music, loud, but distant - further in the house. So no headache then, he thought with a touch of cheer. Good, you always seemed so miserable when you had one of those. You were endlessly restless on your mattress when you were, like you could never get comfortable.

He took the faraway music as his cue to crack the window wide enough to slide in, bending over to fit through in as little space as possible. It was a careful step over the window seat (something he was rather envious of, if he was honest) to your carpeted bedroom floor, and he immediately removed his shoes, not wanting to track dirt around your room. 

From there, he dropped into a crouch to hide behind the silhouette of your bed in the middle of the room, carefully lowering the window as he himself sank to the floor. Once he was sure it was secure, he fell over on his side and rolled in one motion under your bed -

And came to a stop right before he ran face-first into your box of clean bedsheets. Perfect, he noted, you hadn’t moved anything in the few days since he’d been by. He’d carefully arranged everything under your bed so he was concealed from view from the doorway, but gave him enough room to stretch comfortably and avoid a dreaded leg cramp. He even had enough room to stash his shoes down by his feet, safely out of sight and nowhere where they could leave a mess.

He curled into his familiar space, resting his head on the hoodie you’d left down here once the weather had turned warm. He wasn’t even sure if you’d noticed it gradually sliding off your bed - genuinely, without any manipulations on his part - but after multiple nights of being tossed about in your fitful slumber, it had finally hit the floor when you’d rolled over, and he’d snatched it up immediately to repurpose it for himself. It was an old lesson he’d learned early: never waste a good opportunity. Not only did it make lying here easier, it had the lovely bonus of smelling like your soap, too.

…But that scent was a little stronger than usual, if he wasn’t mistaken. He sniffed your hoodie again, confused - it wasn’t like you’d found it to wash it, recently. When that wasn’t it, he kept still, trying to figure out what was happening to create this change. Your room wasn’t a place that changed drastically, and definitely not under your bed, so anything that caught his notice was definitely worth assessing as a potential new hazard.

However, it took him all of a minute to realize the music he’d heard was coming from your bathroom - accompanied by the sound of water rushing through the pipes in your walls. You were just having a shower. Was it cramps, then? Heat might relieve those, or it could just be general exhaustion. Bodies were tricky things when they were alive - he’d just have to wait and see what was ailing you.

He took a moment in the stillness to pull his phone out of his pocket and turn off vibrations along with sound, putting it completely on mute. He couldn’t risk him responding to one of your texts giving him away - wouldn’t that just be awkward.

As he did so, he caught another layer of sound amidst the water and the music, and he froze in place instinctively, trying to identify it. It was a voice, but not unfamiliar - yours, he decided after a moment.

After another moment still, he realized you were singing.

His heart was fit to burst; he’d never heard you sing before. It wasn’t professional, by any means, but it was just so… adorable. Genuine. You were no songbird, but neither was he. And he would’ve listened to this for hours, just to hear you sound so happy and at peace.

The song itself was familiar too, although the instruments weren’t quite right - a cover, maybe? He scooted as close to the far side of your bed as he dared, trying to make out the lyrics through the wall and the water. You’d stopped singing, your part apparently ended, and the voice had changed:

“—Sing once again with me,

Our strange duet.”

Maxi sat bolt upright in his excitement - or tried to, before he smacked his forehead hard into your bed frame. He immediately lay back down, cursing himself quietly and touching the tender spot that he was sure was going to bruise. Pulling his fingertips away, he was grateful not to see any blood, at least. But he was definitely going to have to not slick his hair back for a little bit, lest he attract unwanted attention.

But you’d rather liked it when he did that, he remembered you saying so. He squirmed a little where he lay at the idea of your fingers running through his hair, playing with it, the ache in him only slightly assuaged by being so close to you (after being tempered somewhat by having to walk through the rain in the growing dark, on top of that).

But the song was definitely a Phantom cover - he was surprised it had taken him so long to place it, but he was willing to chalk it up to the water and the less-than-spectacular acoustics of being stuffed under your bed. But it had just gotten to Christine’s part again, and he could hear you trying to keep up as she swept into her grand finale. You were admittedly nowhere near the singer’s range, but it was obvious you were having fun. When her final note sounded, he could hear you laughing at your own attempt to match it that came out more of a squeak at the end, and he thought his heart would melt out his mouth and dribble all over your floor. He couldn’t believe he’d never thought to ask you if you liked the show, when he knew the two of you had discussed the book before. He was already reaching for his phone to google when the next tour would be in town when he heard the water shut off.

He froze even though you were still in the next room, listening hard. You’d turned the music down as well, the playlist having shuffled to something else - another singer he liked, he noticed with glee, making a note to ask you about it later - and he could still hear you faintly through the walls, singing at a much more subdued level to match the quieter melody. 

He heard the clattering of your various skincare products as you moved around, before the music moved as well, leaking into the hall as you opened the door and stepped lightly back into your room. Only wearing a huge t-shirt and (he could barely glimpse them) a pair of underwear, you seemed to move on a cloud of steam and something sweet, the whole room filled with the scent of your favorite products now, and he relished just laying there and drinking it in.

He watched your bare feet as you walked around your room, your nails freshly painted your favorite color, and surmised you must have been trying to treat yourself to a spa day. You had said you’d been feeling less than your best, so this might have been your way of trying to take care of yourself. He had to resist the urge to check the date, make a note for next time - he knew he was weird, sure, but there were lines even he was willing to respect. He’d have to trust you to tell him if you wanted his assistance with… something like this. He could respect your discretion if not, your relationship with your body was your own.

But still. He’d at least make sure to have some extra of your favorite snacks in his kitchen. It wouldn’t stand out too much, he supposed.

At last, you fell over onto your bed, and he heard you sigh contentedly as you relaxed onto your mattress. He resisted the urge to echo it aloud, instead just stretching out as much as he could manage to pretend he was resting alongside you. This wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely better than trying to white-knuckle through things at the Mortuary alone. At least you were here. At least the overwhelming feeling of… everything, had subsided somewhat now that he was with you.

He heard something move from your nightstand, and a moment later, he saw an empty wine glass come into view as you set it on the floor. You stayed leaning off your mattress, opening the door to your nightstand, and he moved backwards as much as he dared, trying to make sure you wouldn’t happen to notice him if you happened to glance underneath your bed. But you seemed fixated on whatever was in the cabinet. He couldn’t help but be a little curious - he hadn’t gotten to see what you’d kept in there, before, and it wasn’t like he had the opportunity to ask when he was here last night.

With an impatient sigh, he heard you moving to the right side of your mattress, then settle your feet back onto the floor. A moment later, his heart - previously melted - resolidified and jumped into his throat as he saw your knees follow suit, and you kneel in front of the cabinet you were still digging through.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. There was no excuse for being under here, especially this early on, and double especially since you didn’t Know. He held his breath without realizing, pulling as slowly into himself as he could manage. It wasn’t like you had a direct line of sight under here, but it also wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him as soon as you bothered to look.

He had no one to pray to for this - the good ones wouldn’t dare grant his request, and the bad ones weren’t worth talking to. So he just held his breath and hoped, watching you rifle through a collection of —

Oh. 

He watched you set what was very definitely a vibrator on your lap, then a second toy: long, made of dark silicone, it looked like. You picked up and held a couple similar ones of different sizes after that, clearly trying to decide something between them.

He knew he would’ve been scarlet if anyone could see him, the ache from earlier returning tenfold in an instant. So that’s what you kept in there. How… educational. 

You were holding the dildo in your hands, and he felt one of his own slide up to cover his mouth, while the other slid… elsewhere. Your fingers were perfect, and once again, he found himself wishing you would touch him, as you had last night.

…In very different circumstances than right now, obviously. But still.

You were tracing the shaft with your thumb, humming thoughtfully to yourself. “Close enough,” you mumbled. “Or close as I’m going to get, anyway.” He heard you laugh to yourself, sounding a little embarrassed. “Yes, wonderful date conversation. ’Hi, Maxi, maybe-strange request, but can I just measure your dick for a sec? …Why? Oh, y’know, just wanted to commission something custom off the internet so I could fuck myself while thinking about you, even though we’ve only been going out for a month, no big deal.’ …God, I’m such a fucking weirdo,“ you muttered, sounding amused yet exasperated with yourself.

Maxi felt his fingers digging into his cheeks as his palm clamped hard over his mouth, barely cognizant of that possibly leaving yet another bruise. His brain felt like it was on fire, his sweats suddenly uncomfortably, impossibly tight. You… what? You what? You were doing what? Regularly enough that you wanted a what?

If he could’ve moved either of his hands, he would’ve pinched himself to make sure this was real, and not some pleasant fever dream from accidentally inhaling embalming chemicals. But one was firmly latched onto his face, determined not to give himself away and ruin this, while the other was already subconsciously desperately rubbing over his cock pressing against the front of his pants.

You pulled out a bottle of lube before you closed the cabinet, stepping back up onto your bed. He listened as you moved like a fox would track a rabbit, aware of every little slip of your skin against fabric, every slight motion of your legs - 

Then the familiar sound of your gasp, soft and fluttering. Unexaggerated, wholly yours. 

You writhed slightly on the mattress over him, and he could tell you were just warming yourself up. His face felt searing to the touch as he heard the growing sound of your wetness, you moaning quietly as you touched yourself, trying to relax.

Slowly, his left hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats, finding a slickness of his own already leaking from his sensitive tip. He bit down slightly on his right hand, determined not to make a sound as he spread it with a painful slowness over his shaft. As much as he dared, he tried to match the pattern of your movements, wishing it was him with you for real - as much as he was deathly curious about the version of him with you in your head.

He heard a quiet, choked sound from you not long at all after - a muffled moan, you biting your lip as you brought yourself to your first orgasm. You let out an unsteady exhale, and he heard you adjust, reaching for something you’d set down on the other side of your bed. 

He had to hold his left hand still as he heard the pop of the plastic cap on the lube, the further hushed sounds of you spreading it along the proxy shaft, before finally you fell back again with a soft ‘thud’.

“Okay,” you murmured quietly to yourself. “Let’s see if I can manage not to totally embarrass myself with another person.”

Maxi was all too aware of his physical body being anchored to the floor as he resisted the urge to climb onto your mattress and kiss those fears away. He could never find you wanting, not in a million years, he could prove it to you right now if you just knew he was there, if it wouldn’t scare you—

But behind his eye sockets, he was aware of something looming, a dark near-arrogance that he couldn’t totally separate from himself. You thought you couldn’t take him. That you might struggle, be shy and flustered if you couldn’t manage it one one go.

The Reaper wanted to see you try, to see the embarrassed tears that might result if you couldn’t, to feel you try to push him back out again because you just couldn’t keep him there.

The part of his brain that was still wholly his wanted to soothe any such tears, reassure you with coos and murmurs about just how good you were, how well you were doing. But there was the tiniest part of him that wanted to lick those tears away, not kiss them, and savor them instead.

His train of thought was entirely interrupted by your sudden gasp, and your quiet groan. “Fuck,” you whimpered, and he could hear you writhing slightly, your feet sliding as you struggled to get comfortable. “Fuck, okay. Okay, it’s fine, I just need…” He heard your head hit the pillow with a sigh, and he felt like his body was one exposed wire.

He couldn’t help but squeeze just a little as he heard you panting softly, making a small, muffled noise as he heard you try to take the toy deeper, accompanied by the occasional slick sound of something moving in you. He felt his cock twitch in his hand at the noise, wishing desperately he could be letting you adjust around him instead.

A breathy whisper of his name sang across his nerves like a bow over strings, followed by a quiet resulting mewl. “I’m trying,” you whispered to the imaginary version of him with you, your voice sounding a little frayed and overwhelmed. “You’re just… a lot.”

Christ, you really were going to kill him. Carefully, painstakingly, he timed the movements of his hand over his cock to what he could make out of yours - his hand hoping to even fractionally capture the way you would squeeze around him, the achingly slow pace of pushing into you and pulling out again, trying to offer you some relief while still trying to satisfy the gnaw of need he could feel building at the base of his spine.

“I can,” you murmured to him and not-him, your voice shaking a little. “I can, I promise, just… I need a minute.” He heard a groan muffled by you biting your lip, trying to push the toy further. “There’s just so much of you, Maxi.”

He bit his own lip so hard it could bleed, trying his damnedest not to react to that out loud. You thought he was a lot. You’d seen him - you’d had him in your mouth, for christ’s sake - so it’s not like you were exaggerating, but still. You were already anticipating not only fucking him, but wanting to take him fully, and in that moment he thought his own anticipation might burn through his skin from the inside out. He wanted to be in you, for real, now.

Then he heard a soft cry, followed by another thud of your head against your pillow, the scrabbling of your feet as your back arched. “There,” you moaned, and his eyes threatened to roll back in his skull yet again. “See? I- oh, fuck, I told you I could.”

And then, slowly, he heard you starting to fuck yourself on it.

He bit fully down onto his own palm, matching your pace now, hoping your own slick sounds and now-desperate whines would cover the sounds of him trying to jerk himself off as quietly as possible. He wanted to be on you, his chest pressed against yours, feeling your sweat and your heart racing under your bones and your warm panting on his neck as he fucked you properly, gave you everything you were begging for just a foot away. He wanted to pin you down and fuck you until you forgot your own name, until he only knew his own from the way it fell off your lips and onto his. He felt your pace pick up in his own grip as you got closer, and the way his whole body tightened, he desperately wanted to fill you with his own release, to feel it slide down your thighs as he stubbornly fucked it back into you, not for anything to take but just to know that you wanted him inside you.

“Please, please, Maxi, don’t stop,” you whined above him, and he tasted his own blood as his teeth finally split the skin of his hand. He wished it was your neck, your shoulder, those wicked little lips of yours - he’d kiss it better in a second, he’d apologize immediately for marking your precious skin, but he was so hungry to feel you with him, for real, that he longed for even the warmth of your wounds on his lips.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore of this, the closest thing to heaven and hell at the same time, he heard you come with a last cracked moan of his name. He shattered immediately, spilling his own load from a day of obsessing over and repressing the memories of you inside his clothes, and utterly ruining them in the process. He flushed even more furiously, the heat spreading down to his chest from both the ecstasy of relief at last, and embarrassment for coming in his pants like a freshman. He fucked into his hand as he heard you coming down until he went fully soft, bordering on the ache of overstimulation but trying to satisfy the gaping hole that came from not actually being able to pull you against him, to descend together in each other’s tangled, sweaty limbs.

For a moment, the two of you just lay there in silence - you still panting softly, him still biting into the flesh of his hand, not trusting himself not to moan the minute he pulled it away. He wanted to kiss you, to tell you that you were perfect, that you took him like you were made for him - or that you would, when the time was right, he was sure of it. But not until you were feeling better, not until you wanted to, until you chose.

“…Holy fuck,” you mumbled above him, sounding somewhat hazy, and he instead had to fight his usual giggle-snort. How were you this cute, he wondered, it wasn’t even fair.

He heard you shift slowly, reaching for something else on your nightstand - he winced as he caught himself secretly hoping it wasn’t the lube again. After a day of agony, he wasn’t sure he could go another round as enthusiastically as you.

But instead, he heard a soft, familiar tapping. In his scattered haze, it took him a minute to place it — until he saw your arm dangling over the side of your mattress, your phone still clutched in your hand as you waited for a text to send.

He caught his name on the screen before you pulled it up again, and hurriedly, he rummaged in his pocket to pull out his own just as the notification of a new message appeared.

<[Thinking of you, handsome <3 Hope work isn’t giving you too much trouble today?]

You wicked little minx. Maxi slowly released his palm from his teeth, bringing up his second hand to write back. 

[Aw, miss you pretty. <3 Work’s been… work haha. Feeling better?]>

That was as close as he could think to summarizing the situation, anyway. And he was reasonably sure ‘hey look down here :)’ wouldn’t be very well received, even if he was starting to become aware of your own more… interesting tendencies. He glanced up at the bottom of your mattress as he waited for his own message to send, pondering this. He knew the two of you were still in the early stages, but he was now deeply curious what other strange urges you were hiding in that sweet little head of yours. Besides apparently liking his dick enough to want a memento of your own - something that, if he wasn’t already still flushed, would’ve made him do so all over again as he thought about it.

He heard your phone buzz, and his heart lept at your quiet little excited noise as you rolled over on your mattress. He was half-tempted to peek and see if you were kicking your feet in the air, for as much as you made him want to do the same, but he kept himself out of sight.

A second of fast typing later, your response appeared:

<[So much better omg. Sorry about work though :/ Do you maybe want to hang out tomorrow? We could watch a bad movie and drink about it.]

‘Yes,’ Maxi sent immediately. He winced at his own eagerness, then quickly added:

[Whenever works for you, if you feel up to it! No pressure if you start feeling bad again.]>

He heard you roll back over onto your back, giggling to yourself. He restrained himself from sighing in relief. At least you thought he was cute, and not desperate.

Another response popped up on his screen:

<[Oh I’m definitely better, no worries. <3 My place, maybe seven-ish if that’s okay?]

And then, as he was typing a confirmation, another:

<[And don’t sweat needing to drive home or anything btw. I have a spare toothbrush and stuff lol. ;)]

Maxi resisted the urge to punch the air, both because it would send his fist straight into your box spring, and because he was far too old to be doing that and not feeling ridiculous about it. But he definitely wanted to, in the moment.

[Haha sure. I’ll see you then angel <3]>

You wouldn’t need to know he was seeing you before.

Or at least, he would tell you later. Much later.

(as always, if you read this far, you’re a saint and I love you! <3)

#SFBF #Blood Fest #Blood Fest 2022 #maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #maxi morvant x reader #maxi morvant x you #slasher oc #slasher oc x reader #necromancer oc #plus size reader #non-binary reader #genderqueer reader #morvant mortuary #monsterkisser fics #mdni

[allylikethecat]

I would absolutely love to read your take on number 21 and 29, Matty and George (obviously) 😍

Yay!! Thank you for sending in these wonderful prompts! I decided to fill them as two separate responses. I hope that's okay! As always, I am having so much fun with these!

I also want to put a disclaimer / warning on #21 just in case. I decided to project my own body image issues onto Fictional!Matty (sorry Fictional!Matty) so, proceed with caution if that is something that any of you lovely people find upsetting 😊

❤️Ally

21. Kiss ... on a place of insecurity.

Matty felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, he started sweating, panicking as he did another little shimmy hop, trying and failing to suck in his stomach. It was no use, there was still a good inch and a half between the button and the hole of his jeans, and no matter how he twisted, or contorted his body, he couldn’t get the pieces of fabric to overlap. Rationally, he knew he had gained weight over the last ten years. He had an arse now, a little bubble butt George liked to tease him while giving it a smack, but he hadn’t realized just how much weight he had gained.

The jeans he wore now,  the fabric clinging to his arse and thighs, unable to be buttoned, and digging into his sides had been too big for him when he left for rehab. His eyes welled with tears and he tried to blink them away. He knew he was being proper ridiculous. He was thirty four years old, he had gotten this particular pair of jeans when he was twenty four years old, a skeletal drug addicted child. Of course his body was going to change, of course they weren’t going to fit now. He took a deep breath. It just had never occurred to him he wouldn’t even be able to button them.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” George called, still sprawled out on the end of the bed, flipping through a music production magazine, right where Matty had left him. 

“Kinda,” Matty called back, wincing at the way his voice cracked. He turned to look at himself in the full length mirror, thankful for his bougie walk in closet, taking in the way the black fabric was stretched tight over the curve of his ass, the way the waistband dug into his sides giving him the appearance of love handles. The fans were going to be disappointed, he thought hysterically. 

He might claim to be off social media, but he had seen the tweets, he had seen the way they wanted him to wear “the jeans” and the Robbers shirt for Reading and Leeds. They were playing their debut album in full, they were using the old band logo to promote the appearance, the band’s social profiles were plastered with photos from that era. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, Matty knew he was a nostalgic fucker. Once he had seen the Tweet, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He wanted to wear the jeans and an old pair of Chelsea boots and while he might not have the Robbers shirt anymore, he still had an endless collection of slutty, gauzy, black button downs. 

He had lost the Robbers shirt ages ago. He was pretty sure he had actually thrown up on it in a parking lot in Arizona and George had left it on the curb, not wanting to bring it with them into the rental car as he tried to maneuver his semi conscious body into the vehicle. But he still had the jeans. They were in a plastic bin in the back of his walk in closet, packed away for safekeeping. It had felt weird to keep them, especially with the changing of times and the evolution of his personal style, but Matty hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with them, lugging them from Shoreditch to Hackney and now Queen’s Park. 

He wished he had donated them when he had the chance. He wished he hadn’t kept them. He wished he had lost the storage bin or left it at his mother’s house. He never would have made the trek up to Manchester for a pair of jeans. He would have ordered another pair online, in his current size, and he would have been none the wiser that the original pair no longer fit him. He wouldn’t be overcome with such an overwhelming wave of self consciousness. 

He still took his shirt off on stage, he still pranced  around with his shirt unbuttoned. Hell, half the time he was shirtless in his own home, they were having a heatwave in London and despite what he paid for his concrete sanctuary, the air was dodgy. His chest felt tight, and he wished he hadn’t left his phone on the bed next to George, tossed there when he announced he was going looking for the perfect outfit for Reading and Leeds. He needed to google what the fans were saying. He needed to check Twitter and Reddit, TikTok and Instagram and Tumblr, he needed to see if they had noticed. He was sure they had noticed, they noticed everything else about him. Of course they would have noticed that he gained weight. He just wondered why no one in his personal life had told him. He hadn’t even realized Patricia had been buying his trousers in a larger size until this particular moment. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” George said, stepping into the closet and leaning against the door frame to give Matty a leer, taking in the juicy curve of his arse. Matty turned away from the mirror and instantly burst into tears, wrapping his arms around himself to hide his stomach and the way he wasn’t able to button the jeans.

“Whoa,” said George, rushing forward, “Whoa, what’s wrong?” 

“Don’t touch me, I’m disgusting,” Matty said with a hiccup and George took a step back, blinking at him in confusion. 

“What?” he asked, bewilderment coloring his voice.

“They don’t fit,” he said, his voice small and wet as he looked up at George. 

“What doesn’t fit?” George asked, not following.

“My fucking jeans! The jeans! The ones the fans want me to wear! For Reading! Because we’re doing Self-Titled! They don’t fit anymore!” Matty said feeling hysterical. “I gained weight and now my fucking jeans don’t fit!”

“Matty,” said George softly, taking a step forward, to pull Matty into his arms. “Matty, love, those jeans are ten years old, I’d be worried if they did fit you still.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Matty asked, his voice muffled by George’s tee shirt, his tears staining the fabric with salt. 

“It means,” said George, pulling back to kiss Matty’s forehead. “That you were two stone underweight when you bought those jeans.” He pressed another kiss to Matty’s chest, in the center of his tattoo. “It means that I thought we were going to lose you in those jeans.” 

“Stop,” Said Matty, trying to squirm away, he didn’t want George to touch his stomach. He didn’t want George to look at it. 

“Nope,” said George, dropping to his knees to bring his lips lower. “It means that you’re healthy now, that you’re hot as fuck, and I can’t believe that out of all the beds in the world, you share one with me.” 

Matty flushed, cheeks and ears burning red as George kissed his stomach, licking along the waistband of the jeans where they were digging into his flesh, mouthing at the V between the two sides that wouldn’t button, nosing along the exposed waistband of his pants and nipping at his We are Kings tattoo. 

He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops and tugged, Matty wanted to die at the way they snagged over his arse, the stiff denim not wanting to yield to the curve, before they caught around his thighs. The discomfort and embarrassment killed the spark of arousal that George had been generating in his stomach. As if sensing that Matty wasn’t in the mood, was still feeling vulnerable, George rocked back onto his heels and looked up at Matty, his own arousal darkening his eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, before leaning forward again to bury his face against Matty’s stomach, and turning his head to kiss along the irritated, red indentation left on his side. Tentatively, Matty ran his fingers through George’s short buzzed hair. 

“I love you too,” he said softly.

29. Kiss…as a promise

It was raining. Because of course it was raining, they lived in London. It was always raining. But of course it was raining when Matty decided to show up on George’s doorstep, soaked to the bone, curls plastered to his forehead. Because despite being born and raised in the UK, despite having lived through more rainy days than sunny ones, Matty was always caught off guard by a rain shower. 

He was always surprised that it was raining. He would look up at the sky in confusion, the droplets sticking to his eye lashes like he couldn’t understand how the weather could possibly betray him in such a way. He had been sick constantly when they were children, always coming down with a cold after being caught in the rain.

It wasn’t that he didn’t own a rain jacket, it wasn’t that he didn’t own an umbrella or rain boots. He just never thought he would need it. He never thought to bring them. Despite his cloudy moods, it was always sunny in Matty’s mind. George wondered what his excuse was today, his justification. It had rained all night, and continued on into the morning. There was no way the rain was a surprise today. 

But it was only fitting then that it was raining now, that it was raining when he showed up on George’s doorstep like the hero out of a romance novel trying to win back the heroine. George wasn’t sure if he counted as a heroine. George wasn’t sure if wanted to be won back. (He wanted to be won back.) 

“What do you want, Matthew?” George asked, purposely keeping his voice flat and monotone, purposely not opening the door wide enough, purposely keeping Matty out in the cold rain, while he stood on the landing in a pair of basketball shorts and socks, the heat from his fireplace warming his back. 

He crossed his arms over his bare chest, watching Matty’s throat work as he swallowed hard, looking up at him from a few steps down. He blinked and shook his head, water dripped from his curls like a dog after a bath. George fought to keep from smiling at the mental image, it was like Matty as a naughty puppy having been caught chewing on his master’s shoe or having pissed on the carpet.

“Any time now,” George said again, he knew he was being an asshole, but he was getting a chill from the open door, and the water was inching closer to his socks. Everyone knew that wet socks were the worst feeling in the world. Matty was shivering, though he didn’t seem to be aware of the fact. The white button down he wore had gone translucent, showing off the distinct dark lines inked into his body. George could see his nipples dark pink and erect. He was sure to have been a sight to see on the tube ride. George wondered if he was here as Matty Healy, George’s oldest and closest friend, or Matty Healy the character on stage. 

George resisted the urge to tap his foot impatiently. If Matty was going to apologize, he needed to get it over with. Rolling his eyes, George went to shut the door, he wasn’t going to play this game anymore. He was tired, it was raining, he wanted to go back to his warm sitting room and continue watching Yellowstone. He was paying extra to stream it now that they were no longer in the states. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty said, his voice low and rough, something about his tone caused George to pause. 

“Excuse me?” he said, opening the door again. He had been waiting for an apology, but he hadn’t expected one.

Matty took a step forward, climbing the first step. “I’m sorry,” he said again as if he was testing the taste of the words on his tongue. “I’ve been a fucking twat and I’m sorry.” 

He ran his fingers through his curls, sending more water droplets flying as he took another step forward. There was only one brick step between them now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I hurt you, I’m sorry that I embarrassed you, that I undermined everything that we stood for. I’m sorry that I’m so fucking selfish that I’m still standing here telling you I’m sorry because I love you more than I love breathing. I’m sorry that I put my foot in my mouth and I don’t think before I speak, and I make everything about me, and that I never learned how to take responsibility for my actions and-”

“Stop,” George said, running his own fingers through what little close cropped hair he had left, a nervous habit that he doubted he would ever break. “Please, just stop.” 

“But George-” Matty said, his voice taking on a breathless, desperate tone, he was crying George realized, he wondered if Matty had been crying the whole time. His saltwater tears mingled with the rain like the sky was crying with him. 

“Just stop.” said George, trying to make sense of the apology, trying to unravel it, trying to get to the bottom of it, trying to understand if that really was, what it was. He was stuck on the three words Matty had said, replaying in his mind like a scratched record on repeat. I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

He stepped out of the doorway, down the step, so that he and Matty were now standing on even footing. It was still raining and his socks were getting wet. I love you.

“I love you too,” he said, surprising even himself with the way his voice cracked on the words. Matty looked up sharply, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I love you too.” George said again, reaching forward tentatively to brush Matty’s soaking hair out of his eyes. 

For someone that was filled with too many words, for once Matty was speechless as George leaned down and gently pressed his lips warm to Matty’s cold ones. It was their first kiss. It felt like a promise.

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #prompt fills #prompt fill #kiss prompts #drabbles #matty healy rpf #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #matty x george #matty x george rpf #gatty #i hope i dont make anyone sad with the insecurity one #it is 100% based on me being upset about a pair of shorts from high school not fitting me #and then realizing those shorts were ten years old #and i have an ass now #and it would be more concerning if they DID fit

[arctic-hands]

I hadn't watered Hortensia since I moved in June because at first I thought jostling her around with dry, somewhat solid soil would be less traumatic than being jostled with wet, soft soil, and then after we moved in we had a horrendous gnat problem and I didn't want them to breed in moist soil. They're mostly gone now, but it's been four months since her last water. But she's a succulent so like. She can survive drought stress.

The real trouble began when I was in the hospital for nine days and no one turned her grow light on daily while I was gone, then like the day after I get home the bulb dies and it was impossible to find a grow bulb at the right wattage for that lamp for cheap so thanks to capitalism breeding waste it was more effecient to just buy a new lamp, which finally came in late yesterday but by then I was too tired to assemble it. And even if it had been sunny lately (it hasn't) and we didn't have the blinds down for privacy, the window doesn't get much light to begin with. So she's been without light for like three and a half weeks now.

Meanwhile like most of her bottom leaves had drooped and bent irreparably, so after I set up the new lamp I had to shear off those leaves and cauterize with what little cinnamon I had on hand, and then water her for the first time in like three months.

Poor thing. When I cut off the bad leaves and set them aside, instead of barely oozing thick clear aloe vera goop they immediately began oozing thin yellow juice. No idea what that means, and I'm hesitant to go to the succulent reddit because if the general site's recent shittiness, but I'm pretty sure it's not a healthy sign. On top of that, the soil was so dried out and compact that it became hydrophobic and the water just sloshed around the top for a few minutes before finally being absorbed, so at the end of the process I had to go around what was left of the bottom leaves with a paper towel to absorb the droplets before they caused rot.

So like. Hortensia's survival is a bit dicey right now 😬 I've been saying after I killed Charlie Vera that if Hortensia dies I'm not getting a new one, but it's been two and a half years of Hortensia and I like having something green in the home, especially in winter time. So idk.

Anyway, the new lamp is super bright. Dunno if that's a great thing in general or in this specific circumstance. I extended it as tall as it would fit in the alcove, but Hortensia's middle leaves are still pretty tall and I'll prolly have to move the setup within the year if she survives. Dunno what I'll do if she gets light/sunburn, as that lamp isn't adjustable in brightness.

Also I'm amazed that baby aloe made it, tho it's barely grown recently. On that note, last time I put Hortensia under drought stress (early on, out of abundance of caution after over watering Charlie to the point of root rot), she spawned like five babies almost immediately so we'll see what happens next.

[Image Description: A decently tall aloe vera plant in a large plastic pot comprised of many neutral faces emerging out of the pot all around it. The aloe, along with the inner leaves standing straight up, has many leaves extending up and out towards the sides. The aloe is lacking leaves on the very bottom, and towards the back the stump of a leaf is visible. The leaves are a vibrant green, but noticeably paler where the leaves meet the center of the plant. In the front of the pot is a baby aloe with a few leaves about three inches high. The pot and aloe rests in a window alcove with the blinds drawn, with cloudy darkness visible between the slats. A table lamp with a flat, rectangular head of many small LEDs is curved over the plant, bathing it in bright light and washing everything else out. To the left in the alcove, a silver tabletop Christmas tree is halfway seen. End I.D.]

#aloe vera #succulents #plant care #plantblr #the hopefully successful succulent story of hortensia vera

[bluestar22x]

Chapter 9

Baby Fever - Chapter 9

Series Summary: It all started with a classic case of baby fever

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!(Wife)Reader

Rating: 18+ Series

Warnings: Fluff and smut, fingering, cockwarming

Word Count: 1,700(ish)

Author's Note: We’re nearing the end of this series. I will miss writing for Marcus very much.

xxx

"Now attach the brackets to the inside of the headboard, long part pointing towards the main part of the crib."

"Long part?" Marcus frowned and glanced up at you from his spot on the floor a few feet away, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Is that what it says in the directions?"

"I'm simplifying it," you explained, narrowing your eyes at him. "Stop questioning my vocabulary and just do it."

He chuckled at your annoyance as he followed your order. "Alright. Alright. I'll stop teasing you. What's next?"

"You need to connect the headboard and footboard with the stationary rail."

It was July five, and you were towards the end of the thirty-fourth week of your pregnancy. Putting together the baby's crib this late into it had not been your plan, but missing parts on the original crib had meant that it had needed to be returned and switched for a new one. The crib had been ordered online and finding the time and the energy to deal with that mess had taken you a while. Being less than a month and a half away from your due date you were starting to get really weighed down by the baby. You could barely climb a flight of stairs without running out of breath and sometime a few weeks back you'd started waddling, to your dismay. You'd started relying on Marcus more for physical tasks, and putting the crib together was one of them. At least you could direct him from the rocking chair.

It was slow going, but eventually the crib was complete, or at least appeared to be.

"Are we supposed to have spare parts?" Marcus quizzed, lifting a tiny plastic zip bag above his head and shaking its contents to get your attention.

There were a few brackets and washers left inside it.

You pressed your lips together and glanced down at the paper directions in your hands to recheck the steps you'd taken. "I don't think so..."

Marcus pushed himself onto his feet and laid a hand on the side railing of the crib to give it a shake. "Seems solid enough."

You stared at him with big eyes. "Marcus! We have to be sure!" you scolded. As far as you were concerned even missing one washer was dangerous. What if it was important to the integrity of the crib and the crib fell apart when the baby was sleeping in it? The image that sprung to your mind was horrifying. Your baby falling to the floor, crying, bruised or worst. Nope. Every piece had to be accounted for.

Marcus must have heard the fear in your voice because he was nothing but serious after, setting to examine every part of the crib that connected, at all angles, to make sure that nothing was loose or out of place.

"Everything looks fine," he assured you eventually. "It's as solid as a rock, honey. The others must be spares."

You sighed heavily. "I wish the directions would've told us that."

"Do you want me to climb in?" he asked, half-serious. "If it can handle my weight it can certainly handle the baby's."

You giggled, imagining him struggling to get into the high crib, only for the railing to crack under his weight as he attempted to clamber over it. "As funny as it would be to see you try, I really don't want to have to buy another crib. Not when I feel like I'm going to pop tomorrow."

"So are we good?" he inquired.

You nodded. "Your thorough inspection convinced me."

"Good." Marcus strolled over to you, touching your shoulder. "Wanna watch a movie?"

You flicked your eyes to the clock on the wall. "It's already almost ten o' clock. I think I'd rather just go to bed early if that's okay?"

He bent at the waist and pressed his lips to your forehead. "Of course."

He helped you to your feet and followed you into your bedroom, flicking on the ceiling fan and quietly switching from his work clothes into nothing but a fresh pair of boxers as you stripped off the plain gray t-shirt and stretch pants you'd worn that day. You'd had the day off, having cut back on your work hours since you passed the thirty week mark, and lately sweats were your go to on days you got to stay home. It was starting to get a little too hot for them though.

You couldn't help but stop in front of your full length mirror on the way to your dresser and examine your naked body critically. You'd put on a lot more weight and had a lot more stretch marks than you'd expected. Your sister hadn't been any tinier than you had been before you got pregnant but her bump had looked so little compared to what yours was at this point in her pregnancy. Maybe you needed to quit the ice cream completely, you thought.

Ever attentive, Marcus noticed you looking at your image and approached you from behind, placing his strong hands under your belly and burying his face into the crook of your neck, kissing over your pulse point as he did so. "Gorgeous," he whispered, his warm breath tickling the skin there.

You huffed. "You got a thing for elephants?"

"I've got a thing for you," he replied before he nipped at your collarbone gently. "I love seeing you this way. Knowing you're carrying our baby. I love seeing how happy you get when you talk about her. You light right up, honey. You don't have to worry about how your body looks, you know that, right? You are always beautiful to me...even in the morning when you first wake up."

You gaped and turned to shove him away in mock outrage over his mere nod at the terrible bed head you tended to get, but the hunger in his eyes stopped you. He cupped your left cheek and stared into yours. "You have no idea how difficult it's been for me to keep my hands to myself lately."

"Just lately?" you asked, more breathless than playful like you'd intended it to be. You hooked your fingers onto his waist band, waiting knowingly.

He shook his head at you, amusement intermingling with his desire for you. "Always."

You leaned in and brushed your lips against his, smiling afterwards. "Well, there's no need to resist now."

Marcus eagerly dove in for another kiss and you skated your hands up his bare back, into his thick hair, as he steered you carefully towards the bed.

He helped you lay down in it on your side, your head resting comfortably on your pillow, and crawled in behind you after removing his boxers. He pressed himself up against your backside and kissed the shoulder that wasn't pinned under your body, ground his hips against your ass, and you could feel how much he wanted you.

"What do you want?" he murmured into your ear after he'd kissed his way up to it.

"All of you," you answered, breath hitching as he sucked on your earlobe. You angled your hips so you could sling a leg over his thighs, opening yourself up to him, and he reached down between your legs with one hand to rub at your aching bud, taking his time to increase your arousal, his talented fingers not stopping until you were slick.

He withdrew them just as the sensation was drawing loud moans from you, just as you felt your high nearing, and you whined a protest at the loss of his touch, frustrated by it.

The emotion was fleeting as it was only a split second before he was burying himself in you, and you whimpered his name as he stretched you out oh so satisfyingly. He began to rut into you at a steady pace, shallower than usual because of the position you were in, but it was enough for you both, evident by the sounds tumbling out of both your mouths. He clung to you tightly as he moved, hands splayed over your chest, open mouth hovering just over the space where your neck and shoulder met, pants of effort drifting over your sensitive skin. You held onto his arms and blissfully listened to his heavy breathing, concentrated on the drag of him between your walls, all while your heart soared at the intimacy of it all. It hadn't made more than a week since you'd last made love, in this exact same position, but your body was reacting like it had been months, the throbbing between your legs intensifying swiftly.

"More," you begged desperately, breaking out into a sweat as you writhed against him in an attempt to get him to hit you deeper. As soon as you were successful a wave of pleasure crashed into you, making you cry out sharply and clamp down on him, blinded your senses to everything but that feeling.

"That's it, honey. I've got you." Marcus growled lowly as you finished, bringing his face closer to yours, and you felt him roll his hips one last time before he was pulsing inside you.

He rested his head against the back of yours after, as he tried to regain control of his breathing, and you reached around to rest your hand at the base of his neck, fingers brushing over the tips of his sweat curled hair, limited in the ways you could touch him. You couldn't wait until the baby was born and you could move normally again.

"I believe you," you told him, referring to his earlier speech about finding you beautiful no matter what.

He chuckled and the shake of his body reverberated in you, making you squirm.

"Do you need more?" he inquired, having noticed your movement.

"I'm still really sensitive right now," you admitted, squeezing your legs together, making him grunt.

"Let me help," he said quietly, dropping his hand back down to swirl his fingers around the bundle of nerves between your thighs once more. He remained inside you as he worked you into another climax by hand, as you shuddered in his arms.

He claimed your mouth afterwards, stealing what little breath you had left. "Better?" he asked as he parted his lips from yours a few beats after, as he finally pulled his softened cock out of you. He nudged the side of your nose with the tip of his and you grinned, loving his affection.

"Much better."

You slept like the dead that night.

xxx

Tagged: @amyispxnk, @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Marcus Pike Fanfic (Mine) #X Reader #Baby Fever Series

[myrandomfandomramblings]

Smells Like Love - A Chenford fanfic

Tim’s morning was shaping up to be just like any other as he patrolled from the driver’s seat of the shop. The familiar streets of LA rolled past his window as Lucy animatedly recounted a story from the passenger side. The radio interrupted periodically with waves of chatter and dispatch calls that sent them to the usual suspects: accidents, drug-dealers and abusers. All easily handled without incident. A textbook shift and yet Tim had spent the entire time on edge.

He couldn’t put his finger on it but as soon as they had pulled out of the garage this morning something had just felt off and as the morning wore on it offered no answers or relief. That is until Lucy leaned over to adjust settings on the console and Tim caught a whiff of something that conjured images of sunny beaches, gas station candy aisles and plastic syringes.

The flurry of images quickly receded with the smell, leaving Tim more confused than ever. He took a beat to process and it hit him - the shop smelled different today.

If you had asked him anytime before now he would have told you the shop didn’t have a smell but as he took another whiff he had to admit something was missing. There was usually a subtle scent that although he had never consciously noticed had still managed to conjure a sense of calm and warmth in him. A sense that had been largely absent today.

“Everything OK?” Lucy asked.

“What? Ah. Ya.” Tim stuttered as he was ripped from his thoughts.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Yes.” Tim replied defensively

Lucy didn’t have to say anything she just fixed him with a look and he got the message: Really? Prove it.

“You want to train Kojo to do a true crime, karaoke song for clip talk?” He guessed.

“Tim!” Lucy squealed as she reached over and gave him a playful shove.

And Tim was immediately hit once again by the peculiar smell. The images were more vivid this time. He saw a bottle of sunscreen, yellow fruit shaped marshmallow candies and liquid antibiotics. Then it clicked and he couldn’t help but blurt out,

“Why do you smell like bananas?”

He watched her expression go from confused to amused to embarrassed and began to wonder if his bewilderment led him to overstep.

“Is it that obvious?”

Tim just nodded.

“I stayed over at Chris’ last night,” she explained.

And Tim was suddenly filled with anger and discomfort that he knew were irrational and instantly regretted bringing it up.

“OK?” he said as he still wasn’t sure where she was going with this or if he even wanted to know.

“I didn’t have time to go back to my place to shower this morning,” she clarified, “I was going to just come to work early and use the the one in the change room but Chris insisted he bought shampoo and stuff specifically for me. So I showered there.” She paused, then. “Turns out it was all banana scented.”

She gave him an awkward shrug and half smile as she finished and a blush crept over her cheeks.

“He bought toiletries specifically for you and chose all banana?” Tim clarified with a snort.

“Yep,” Lucy pops the p before joining in the laughter.

“Why didn’t he just get the stuff you usually use,” Tim asked, “the vanilla-lavender natural one, or whatever?”

And in that moment he realized what had been amiss all morning. Why he had been so tense. His subconscious had picked up on the absence of vanilla and lavender. A smell that at some point had come to mean Lucy was near.

He cut off his line of thought before he could really spiral and noticed Lucy had remained silent.

He turned to see her looking at him, eyes brimming with emotions he couldn’t quite name. Touched? Amused? Scared?

And he worried he said too much. Let slip evidence of emotions he worked so hard to hide. So he did what he needed to. He back peddled, hard.

“Heaven knows you talk about it enough,” he teased, “they should be paying you commission.”

And to his relief Lucy laughed.

“I could use the extra income,” she replied “did I tell you about Smitty’s latest ‘investment opportunity’?”

Then she launched into another story. Hands coming alive as a smile returned to her face.

As he listened Tim found that he could finally relax as if having proved his subconscious worries unfounded a weight had lifted. And although his stomach was no longer in knots, the dull ache in his chest, he’d grown accustomed to over the last few months, was a little more noticeable.

THE END

Note: I only recently discovered banana scented shampoo and conditioner existed and I found it equally enjoyable and weird and I guess inspirational since it spawned this idea.

#Chenford #tim bradford #lucy chen #the rookie