#gray pebbles pillows

[julianaspringer]

Vancouver Modern Deck Deck - mid-sized modern side yard deck idea with a roof extension

#gray paneled patio cover #recessed lighting #glass top coffee table #gray pebble concrete hardscape #beige striped throw pillow

[madxyy]

Tender morning

| pairings: steve x reader

| summary: just a rainy tender morning with your boyfriend <3

| warnings: steve being cute, fluff fluff fluff, touching wrists, robin mentioned once, baby and babe used, a lot of warmth, reader also being cute

author's note: ummm....hi

He presses delicate kisses along the hill of your shoulder, pillowy bow-like lips cascading down your back and cherishing the warm doughy flesh while soft affectionate whispers push past his pink lips. His serene breathing was warmly hitting your skin making the goosebumps on your skin pebble up. Honey brown hair gently scratches against your shoulder as he traces the top of your spine with the tip of his nose. The bedsheets crinkle as he presses himself further against you. One arm snaking around your stomach, drawing you in and tangling your limbs underneath the cool duvet. The feeling of his toned and hairy chest brushes against your back, earning a soft chuckle to escape your lips. His lips quirk at the sound and his drowsy hazel eyes glaze over at you. The sound of your chuckle made his heart throbbed in delight. God he swears he wants to hear that noise for the rest of his life.

“I knew you were awake,” he murmurs against your skin.

A smile forms on your lips, “no you didn’t.” 

You can hear shuffling behind you. He moves closer to you, the hand on your stomach moves and places itself in front of it, his palm pressing against the mattress. He lifts himself up while he starts to lean over your shoulder. He greets you with his classy steve harrington smile, this smile—as well as most of his smiles—was one reserved for you and you only. He always welcomed you back into reality with his sleepy and tender lopsided smile. That smile that you will always adore for the rest of your life.

“Let's lie and say I did, okay?” he says playfully, his voice still leaking with tiredness since the hoarseness is still lingering. Despite him being tired, that never stopped him from being affectionate. his eyes were already admiring and taking you in, he thought you were so beautiful in the morning, it always took his breath away. The funny thing is that you were doing the same exact thing. His mused brown hair waving at you as the breeze from the barely cracked window hits it, pink cheeks, hazy hazel eyes that makes your heart skip a beat each time you always see him for the first time since you cracked your eyes open. 

You forgot about his question and also forgot that you were “supposed” to respond with a witty or teasing comment since it was part of your routine each time you woke up next to him. The room filled with white noise of admiration. The only sound that can be heard is the rain pitter pattering against the windows, the overcast cloudy and gray, and the room taking in the musky scent of the outside since the window was cracked open a bit. The small breeze coming into the room breezes against you, not really feeling the breeze since you were basking in the warmth of each other’s presence. It was blissful. The cold breeze had nothing against you both, even that’s not enough to draw you both back into your senses.

He noticed you admiring him as well and he can’t help but tease you. The smile on his lips starts to form into a grin. He playfully rolled his eyes, “y’know if i wanted to be stared at, I could’ve just gone to work today.” He looks back at you, the same grin on his face. His voice snapped you out of your daze and it took you a few short moments to remember what he said before you rolled your eyes back at him and started to turn so you're now facing him, hands pressed underneath your cheek and pillow. Peering up at him with soft eyes and a small amusing smile, “oh, really?” you raise your eyebrows at him. “You only get stared at by robin each time you do anything stupid, babe…and that’s most of the time - according to her.” He scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at the mention of his best friend's name. He starts to sink back down against the cool duvet. The hand that waved slithers back down and around your back, drawing you closer to his chest. “First of all, don’t listen to robin okay? she likes to tell lies and yada, yada, yada…” he says the yada yada yada part with his free hand, opening and closing it like it’s talking while he bounces his head side to side to emphasize his point causing his hair to bounce along with his movement. The small single strand of hair pokes out of his hair after his bouncing, now the lonely strand hangs in front of his forehead. A soft chuckle bubbles in the back of your throat while rolling your eyes again, always loving his dramatics.

“Oh, I'm most certainly going to listen to robin because I know for a fact that she’s right," you said teasingly. It was like you just said the most absurd thing to him because once those words left your lips, his eyes widened and his mouth parted. Oh no, you knew where this was going and you were going to love every second of it. He was feigning being hurt before shaking his head and releasing a scoff. “Wow, just side with her instead of siding with your charming boyfriend, I get it.” he shrugs, pretending to shrug the hurt off. You chuckled and rolled your eyes again at him for the third time, your hands reaching out for him but he dodges away from your soft touch, trying to keep his act up. “no, no, no, i get it…” he murmurs while bouncing his head lightly like he’s just understanding something. You shake your head again, an amusing smile growing on your lips before moving your hands to cup his chin, gently putting a halt to his movements. He stops and looks over at you with warm eyes, biting back his grin.

“When are you going to stop being an idiot, steve harrington?” 

He pretends to ponder. Your hand on his chin restraining him from fully looking to the side (not like he wanted your hand to be anywhere else but touching him) so he settles to wander his eyes to the side with pursed lips. His beautiful and kissable lips. He lets out a considerable “hmmm,” dragging the mmm’s. Meanwhile, your eyes were gazing at him like he was the personification of love. And to you, he was, no matter what anyone says. His gaze lands back to you, making your heart skip a beat. 

Steve shrugs nonchalantly, “Maybe if I get my morning kiss then maybe…I mean I don’t know,” his hand slowly creeps up and moves towards your hand that’s holding his chin. Fingertips gently brush against the inside of your wrist before his warm and rough hands encircle your wrist, his thumb softly stroking the part where the thumb meets your wrist. The touch itself was leaving warm sparks on your skin, smiling at him. He leans closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours making you let out a keen hum from the small but tender affection. “I'll think about it,” he whispers gently. Steve's eyes darted down to your beautiful and tantalizing lips that he has been wanting to kiss since he first woken up and saw you laying down beside him, looking so idyllic, but he’s a gentleman–at times–so he waits for your permission.

His gentle breath fanning against your parted lips. The corners of your mouths tugging up as you start to lean closer to him, brushing your lips against his, “fine” you whisper. “But you better be thinking about it,” the corners of his lips tugs up into a smirk, his eyes diverted from your lips to your eyes. Your eyes that always makes that blossoming warmth boil in his heart and chest. Tender eyes with a tinge of playfulness behind them. The classic Steve Harrington look. The gaze he gives you is so affectionate that it makes your heart feel syrupy. “Oh, cross my heart and hope to die babe,” he whispers back playfully while he gently lets go of your wrist. His hand migrates to the right side of your face, cradling it with his big and warm hands, slowly bringing you closer and closer until his lips are pressed against yours.

Just like always, it’s a flurry of love, respect, adoration, affection, and infatuation. The kiss was unhurried and dawdled. You both wanted this kiss to last because you know it would soon be ephemeral and you would both have to swim out of each other’s affection and breathe in reality once again. You both were deeply enamored with another. Each and every time he kisses you, it always reignites that warmth in the underbelly of your heart. That warmth he promised from day one that he would try his best to keep, and he has never broken that promise. He sighs softly into the kiss like it was a breath of relief to finally kiss you. The pad of his thumb strokes your cheek up and down in a slow and featherlight touch. You sigh back softly into his lips. One of your hands moving to the side of his nape, gently caressing the underside of where his ear and jaw meets. It was his turn to keen into the kiss, making you both smile warmly against pressed lips. This could go on ad infinitum, because both of you kept caressing each other’s lips, meeting overs and overs again, never wanting to leave one another but unfortunately you both were growing breathless and needed to pull away for oxygen. 

The first one to pull away was you followed by Steve chasing your lips, but then his movements stuttered once he realized that he also needed to breathe so he leaned his forehead against yours, noses brushing against one another delicately. His hand stayed on the right side of your face, caressing the doughy skin before his other hand came up and did the same. The caresses made a warmth creep onto your cheeks and both of your chests were swelling with bliss and felicity. Your hand moved away from his face to gently encircle both of his wrists, caressing the inside with the utmost care and gentleness. Both of you bathed quietly into each other’s love and drowned into it. The feeling of being with him and the feeling of being with you was ineffable to you both. No words, poems, movie references, or songs can describe this feeling. You both just know that you love being together and love each other wholeheartedly and that’s all that matters. 

“Never stop being an idiot, Steve harrington,” you whisper.

His lips tug into a warm, gooey smile. He leans closer, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of your nose. 

“Wasn’t planning to, baby.”

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #boyfriend!steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #fluff #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #joe keery #tenderness #sweet

[pleasingforharry]

can you pls write about quiet yn and harrys first time doing something sexual? like their first time or just him eatimg her out for the first time??

Oh hell yeah ;)

-

college!harry x quiet!yn

-

Harry had suggested it while they were making out in his room. They returned from his soccer practice freshly showered and stuffed from eating pizza the boys ordered. It was getting late, but neither of them were tired. They just wanted each other.

First they cuddled on his bed and watched a movie. What movie you ask? They don’t remember. It was forgotten as soon as Harry tugged his girlfriend on his front and connected their lips.

Y/N scooted up to coincidentally land right over Harry’s area. Whether it was on purpose or not, his gravelly groan didn’t go unnoticed.

Harry momentarily broke their lips from each other to stare at his girlfriend. She was breathing heavily to catch her breath.

Even though the girl wasn't a complete professional in the aspects of intimacy, the one thing she learned how to master from Harry was kissing. They did it on a daily basis that it became their second language.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Harry sighed, bringing his plush lips to her neck and sucking softly. If there was one spot he knew about her body the most, it was her neck—every inch of it.

Y/N placed her hands in his hair, running her nails along his scalp before gently pulling at his roots. She moaned gently, whispering his name like it was liquid. Harry's cock—already semi-hard from the presence of his girlfriend alone—grew indefinitely thicker. Y/N could feel it pressing against her clit, causing instant shivers.

Harry sat up, back against the mountain of pillows, bringing Y/N with him. He never parted from her neck, switching to the other side to give equal attention.

His hands reached under her (his) shirt to travel up her spine. She was so soft and warm. "Shirt off, baby," He mumbled. Her arms raised, and Harry quickly slipped the material off of her, before they both gripped each other like magnets.

Harry's mouth drooled at the sight of Y/N's pebbled nipples. They were small and hard as he wrapped his lips around the left one. Y/N pushed the back of his head closer. "Yes. Yes!" she whimpered, causing a sudden spark to her clit.

Y/N hips started to subconsciously move against Harry's boxers, her clit feeling the perfect amount of pressure. The couple haven't been dating for long, and as Y/N was still embarrassed about her low intimacy skills, this was the farthest they've ever gone; dry-humping.

Harry had lifted his hips up to her, grasping her ass and kneading them together. Y/N's head threw back as she gasped. She looked back down at him, before leaning in. "Again. Please," she whispered in his ear. Harry was tempted to come, right then and there.

He had finally left her nipples so he could watch the curve of Y/N's waist rotate. His hands moved to hold each side of her hips to help her go faster.

"Just like that, baby. Fuck. Good girl," his voice dropped. He wanted to roll his eyes back and drown in the pleasure, but the sight of Y/N was enough to keep them trained on her.

Y/N boldly reached down to shift her panties to the side so her bare cunt could wetly ride his cock. Harry moaned at his gray boxers turning dark. The smell of her was so strong now.

He wanted to taste it.

Harry's head lifted up, and his hand grabbed Y/N's chin tightly. When they were met face to face, they both stared for a while. Y/N's brows dropped in confusion.

"Let me taste you," was all Harry said, bucking up his hips. "Baby, I wanna taste your cunt so fucking bad."

Y/N wasn't just wet anymore, she was drenched.

Her head moved on its own, rapidly nodding. Harry's lips curved up into a lazy smile. He bucked his hips one last time, both of them moaning in harmony, before flipping them over.

Harry sat on his knees as Y/N adjusted herself to lay flat on the bed. Her hands were over her head, posing like a fucking goddess. Harry leaned down to plant a kiss on her lips. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. You don't understand." His words were muffled against her lips. But she still blushed and glanced away. He chuckled, before gently kissing her cheek. "Look at me."

Her head turned to face him again with a shy smile. But her hands were anything but as they grabbed her breasts and flicked her own nipples. Harry watched in awe as she arched in pleasure. "Harry. Oh god," she gasped as her thumb circled her nipples.

"What are you doing to me, baby?" he puffed. He knocked her hands away and finished what she started. He pressed and swiveled and pinched. She jumped at each touch, grabbing at his wrist. His name came out in pornographic moans that Harry became suddenly possessive of the sounds. Y/N under him is nothing like the Y/N outside his bedroom. "You're naughty, you know that?"

Y/N giggled softly, batting her eyelashes at him. Harry leaned down and stopped right before their mouthed met. "Open." She complied. A line of spit drooled from his mouth into hers. Y/N eyes widened, but still accepted it. "And swallow." She did. "Good girl, baby." Her teeth dug into her bottom lip from the nickname. And the wet stop on her panties spread.

Harry tugged her lip free with his own teeth, before knotting their mouths into an intense kiss. Tongues fighting one another—his plunging deep into her mouth. They were gasping for air and only had a second to catch their breath before attacking each other again.

Y/N's moans grew loud in his mouth as his fingers moved faster on her nipples. She could come. She wanted to. Her hips bucked in agreement. But Harry didn't want it to happen that way. So, he stopped and smirked smugly at her scoff.

"Asshole," she muttered, slapping at his chest.

"You sure?" he licked at her jaw. He found her ear and moaned. Her cunt clenched around nothing. "You won't be saying that when I'm tongue deep in your cunt, I bet." He backed away to look at her, but she couldn't meet his stare as she was blushing profusely. "Look at me. Now." She didn't, and he yanked her chin to face him.

"Let go," she huffed, pushing at his hand.

"Listen," he barely touched his lips to hers, "when I'm fucking your cunt with my mouth, you will watch. Understand? You will not look away, Y/N. And if you do, I promise, we will be here all night."

Y/N's eyes widened.

"I'm serious, baby. I want you to watch what only I will ever be able to do to my cunt. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay." His smirk grew to his ears.

"Good girl." He kissed her gently. Those kisses moved lower—some ended up being sucked into a dark mark. But as long as it could be easily hidden, Y/N didn't mind.

His lips left a trail between her breasts, down her clenching stomach, to her panties. He kneaded everything with his hands. Y/N whimpered at every touch. She could feel his emotions and desperation. It was overwhelming. Her hands landed on top of his as they moved. Her cunt dripped from the veins that lined his thick fingers.

"You ready for me, baby?" Harry slipped his hands under the sides of her panties. He cocked a brow up, waiting for a response. Y/N looked down at him and bit her lip roughly. She nodded and lifted her hips where his mouth hovered. He kissed the right bone of her hip, then the left.

"Please, dove," She whined, grabbing his shoulders and digging her nails into them. "I want you so bad, Harry. Please."

Just from those words, her panties were stripped away and thrown in the corner. He placed her legs over his shoulders so she couldn't close them. She was at his mercy. Her cunt was bare and dripping, and Harry had the perfect view. But he wanted to wait a little.

He pressed his lips to her inner thighs, giving them kitten licks. Y/N groaned and shifted her leg to push his head closer to her cunt. Harry laughed, looking up at her. "Gotta be patience, baby."

"But I want it now," she sighed. "Please." Her voice got caught up as she watched Harry move closer to where she wanted. But then she let out a huff when he kept going and landed on her other thigh. His teeth bit down and sucked. Y/N still gasped from the pleasurable pain.

Harry's nails dug into her legs and spread them wider. Her other pair of lips opened, and Harry was suffocating in the smell. His eyes rolled back just from that.

"Harry—"

"Yes, baby girl?" He was smirking unabashedly. "Are you rushing me? I should stop, huh?" She shook her head. "Keep going? Even though you were rushing me?"

Asshole. Fucking asshole, she wanted to yell at him. But held her tongue.

Y/N's bottom lip poked out to persuade him. "Please, dovie."

"What? You want my tongue that bad. You wanna know what it'll finally feel like to have me deep inside you?" He tilted his head to the side. "You probably dream about this, don't you baby?"

Harry hovered his lips over her clit. He was so close that Y/N felt his breath against her. All she had to do was lift her hips, but she didn't want to risk him stopping all together.

"Yes, I do. Please, I wanna feel you, Harry. Just lick me," Y/N begged, sitting up on her elbows. Her legs were over his shoulders and her feet touched his back. She dug her heels into him.

"I will, baby. I promise. Remember my one rule, though?" She nodded.

"Don't look away. Ever," she said.

Harry smiled warmly. "Good girl."

Before Y/N could react, Harry captured her clit into his mouth. She yelled out a moan, and her hand grabbed his head. "Oh my god!"

So, this was what it felt like.

Harry sucked his cheeks in as he suckled on her clit. His tongue licked and swirled. His head shook, and Y/N's back arched. Both of his arms circled her thighs to keep her exactly where he wanted her.

"Harry! Fuck. Yes, please."

Harry flattened his tongue on her clit, the warmth of it boiling her insides. He licked long stripes—completely covering her.

"You taste better than I fucking imagined, baby. Oh god," Harry moaned. His eyes stayed on hers as he stuck his tongue out and slowly circled her clit. Y/N let out a silent gasp, before squeaking out the only noise her throat would allow out.

Harry moved down to her folds, licking each lip. He brought his thumb up to her clit to replace his tongue. His head nodded with his tongue, before he plunged inside of her. That earned a tug to his hair.

"F—fuck. Oh fuck. Yes!" Y/N rolled her hips into him. Harry watched her writhed and smiled against her cunt. He drank up her words, her sounds, her fucking begging. "More. Please, more."

"Yeah, you feel good, baby?" He asked. She nodded, tightening her grip in his hair. His thumb circled faster, and so did his tongue. He swiveled it as she rode him.

"So good! It's so good, Harry. Oh—" Y/N cut herself off by a long string of moans. It wasn't on purpose, she couldn't help it. Y/N threw her head back as she pushed his head into her.

She didn't even realized she did it until Harry's tongue and thumb retracted from her.

"Y/N." His voice was so dark that she flinched. Her head lifted, and when she met eyes with him, she realized what happened. "What did I say?"

"I'm sorry. I.. please, keep going. I won't do it again," She begged, her hips still lifting. He stared at her for a long second. "I promise. Please. I'm close."

Harry smiled and shrugged. "I can't say no to that." And his thumb and tongue returned to their original spot. Y/N was caught off guard by the overwhelming return of pleasure that she gasped loudly. Her teeth dug into her lips. But the way Harry furrowed his eyebrows demandingly, she released her lip just as fast.

His tongue licked and flattened and swirled and plunged. He couldn't get enough. Y/N could only moan in response as her mind wouldn't make up any words. She was a moaning, gasping mess.

It was a sight etched into Harry's head.

"Harry, I'm close. Fuck! I'm so close, dove," Y/N whined, pushing at his head. "Stop. I can't."

"I got you, baby. It's okay," Harry said against her cunt. He leaned up to grasp her clit with his lips and sucked.

Her back was arching as far as it could go. She wanted to roll her eyes back so bad, but release was more important. So, her eyes stayed trained on Harry's tongue flicking at her clit. He knew exactly what she needed and how she needed it.

"Gonna come, baby?" She whimpered and nodded. "Good. I want it all over my face. Fucking mine. I want it." Harry was mumbling nonsense as his fingers were now playing with her clit. His tongue licking her cunt faster, ready to take all she gave him.

Y/N elbows wiggled as she was loosing feeling everywhere. She suddenly felt a bubbling pressure. "Yes. Yes. I'm coming. Fuck. Harry."

His name was stretched and screamed out loud as she let go. Her hips continued to roll to ride it out.

Harry moaned and licked deep into her. He collected all of her juices gracefully. His hands tightened around her thighs to make sure she stayed put until he was finished.

Y/N knew she was finally able to close her eyes when Harry did it first. He was drunk from her taste, and focused on the lone sense in his tongue. She dropped from her elbows to flat on the bed. Her arms stretched over her.

Harry's tongue continued to slowly lick her folds. She was finished and clean, but Harry wanted more. His moaning was so low, it was barely audible. His tongue slipped between her folds into her cunt, and he dug his face deeper. His nose nudged Y/N's clit, causing her to jump.

She was breathing heavily, whimpering from the overstimulation. She weakly pushed at Harry's head. "Dovie?" She spoke, her voice hoarse and shaking. "Let me see you, baby."

Her thumb brushed his cheek softly, trying to bring him back. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her. But his tongue didn't stop kitten licking her cunt.

"So good. You did so fucking good, baby. Fuck," he whispered. His eyes were gentle. She smiled at him.

"Come here. Come to me." She outstretched her arms. Harry licked into her one last time, before pulling away and crawling between her legs to her naked chest. She cupped his cheeks and brought them into a passionate kiss.

"See how good you taste?" He said against her lips. She nodded, completely wrapping her arms around his neck.

Harry was hovering over her by his elbows. His cock was near her cunt as he slowly bucked into her. They didn't pull away from their kiss as they moaned together. He was so hard that it hurt, so Y/N reached down to rub him. Harry sucked in a breath, before gasping into her mouth.

"I got you," Y/N said, pulling him out of his boxers. "Just relax."

Harry stuffed his head into Y/N's neck and sighed. He planted his knees on the bed as she wrapped her hand around him—not completely as he was too thick.

Y/N started at a slow pace, sliding her thumb over his tip before pumping to his base. Harry moaned in her ear. He thrusted himself into her hand, fastening his pace with hers.

Y/N's other hand reached for his balls to quicken his release. "Fuck. Yes, baby. Oh," Harry moaned, his thrust harder. He sunk his teeth into her neck. He was close.

His cock was veiny against her palm. She pumped him faster. Pre-come was slowly leaking out of him. "I want it, dove. Please," She whispered. Harry gasped in her ear—his thrust slowed but now sharp.

He only pushed into her hand a few more times, before stiffening. His come shot out and landed on her cunt and inner thighs. Harry sighed, pulling away and panting. Y/N smiled at him.

"Thank you, baby," He said, before kissing her. His fingers picked up some of his come. "Open." She did. He stuck his finger into her mouth, and she sucked harshly. He slipped it out with a pop, before engulfing her in a kiss.

-

i'm ashamed of myself. gonna go take a walk.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles imagine #college!harry #college!harry x quiet!yn #harry styles boyfriend #harrystyles #harry styles x yn #harry styles oneshot #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb

[lewmagoo]

older!bobby coaching you thru riding him for the first time cause he's so big and he knows it 🤭

the subtly condescending praise when you finally take all of him🫠

"i can take it." you spoke with confidence, holding eye contact with bob. there was amusement in those baby blues, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so. "i dunno, baby." his fingers trailed over the fabric of your panties as he hovered over you. "your pussy's so little. could barely take me last night." last night. the very first time you'd slept with him. you were still a little sore from it. it was almost as if you could still feel him inside you, stretching you, filling you in a way that made you feel so whole and complete. you wanted him in you again, but this time, you wanted to be on top.

"please?" you continued, lifting your foot to playfully nudge against his cock, which remained confined within the fabric of his underwear. he faltered slightly, eyelashes fluttering. "don't give me that look, angel," he chided. "what look?" you innocently asked. "those puppy eyes of yours. know i can't resist them," he continued, shaking his head. at that, you pouted. "i wouldn't have to if you'd give me what i want," came your retort. bob couldn't help but smirk at your petulance. "yeah? and what is it that you want?" "to ride your dick." finally, he relented. "have you ever been on top before?" he asked.

"no," you said. he knew you'd only had one sexual encounter before you'd met him, and it had happened back in high school. what you had experienced with bob the night before had been better than anything you could have ever imagined. and now, you felt insatiable. you needed him again. "alright then," he murmured. "let me teach you how to do it." but first, came foreplay. last night, you had learned that bob enjoyed extensive foreplay. he took his time with you, exploring every inch of your body, speaking in hushed tones, filthy words masked behind a gentle, loving tone. this morning was no different.

"let me love on this cute body of yours for a bit." his eyes twinkled as he pulled back the sheets, revealing your bare form. he kissed you languidly, big hands coming up to tend to the softness of your breasts. once your nipples were pebbled beneath his touch, he made his way down your body, kissing, nipping, and licking at every inch. "so pretty," he praised. "taste so sweet." but that sparked curiosity within you. "do i really taste sweet?" you shyly asked. he looked up at you, reaching up to shove his graying hair out of the way, and he smiled. "you do. the way your skin naturally tastes and smells to me...i could just eat you up, baby doll." he laved his tongue over your lower abdomen before he pushed your legs apart.

"could eat this pussy up, too." deft fingers tenderly parted your folds. "oh, just look at her. poor thing's so swollen. i did a number on her last night, didn't i?" he kissed at your puffy cunt, and you shivered, letting your head fall back against the pillows. he left soothing kisses all along your center, and when his tongue lightly swirled around your clit, you whimpered. it wasn't long before you could feel the warmth of arousal beginning to pool there. "mmm," he hummed, "she's starting to get all drippy for me." he lapped at your wetness, eager for a taste, and you couldn't help the moan that left you.

then he worked two fingers inside you, keeping his movements slow and steady. "atta girl," he praised, as he watched your pussy accommodate the digits. "gotta get you ready for me." then, a third finger was tentatively added, and you squealed. he soothed you as you squirmed beneath him. "i'm ready!" you cried, "please, bobby. just want your cock inside me!" he couldn't hide his smile. "okay, okay, gimme a second, honey." he shifted, moving to tug his underwear off, and your eyes immediately flickered down to his cock, hard and heavy between his legs. thick and veiny, with the prettiest pink tip. you hadn't expected every inch of him to be beautiful, but that was exactly what he was. of course he'd have a gorgeous cock.

bob settled with his back against the headboard, and then he guided you to straddle him. as you got settled, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of lube he'd placed there the night before. you bit your lip as you watched the liquid cascade down his dick. he set the bottle aside and stroked his shaft a few time before he let it rest against you. "that's where it's gonna be inside you, honey," he said, and you glanced down, gasping softly at the sight. how did he even fit? he reached up, tilting your chin so you were looking at him. "if you need to stop or take a break, just let me know. don't want you pushing yourself too far," he said, his tone serious. you nodded. "okay," you answered.

he smiled, leaning up to kiss you. when you parted, he drew you in again, big hand resting at the base of your neck. his kisses were languid and deep as he guided your hips up, free hand grasping his cock and aligning it with you. once you felt his tip at your entrance, you sighed against his mouth and slowly began to inch down. he didn't push his hips up to meet you, he simply let you sink down of your own accord. you let your hands rest upon his broad shoulders for leverage, and you squeezed your eyes shut, taking him this morning was a little easier than it was the night before, because you knew what to expect, but you were still a little tender, which had you moving slow.

but bob didn't mind one bit. he'd rather you take it at your own pace than forcing yourself to take too much all at once. you weren't how long it took to finally settle against him, but it was a while. bodies flush with each other, you took a deep breath, relishing in the fullness. his hands settled on your hips, and below you, he spoke, voice gravelly. "take as long as you need," he said. then, "do you want my help, or do you wanna do it yourself?" at which you replied with, "wanna do it myself." so you placed your hands upon his chest and began to rock your hips against him.

it took you a moment, but you soon found a rhythm, and bob praised you. "there ya go, that's it. who's my good girl?" your eyes fluttered open, and you gazed down at him, expression already fucked out. "i-i am." and you were. you wanted to hear that praise endlessly. knowing you were giving this man so much pleasure made you feel like you were on top of the world. he was so much more experienced than you, but he made you feel like you were the only one in the world who'd ever made him feel this good.

but that need for praise drove you to tire yourself out. you quickly began to realize that you couldn't do this for a long period of time. your thighs were beginning to burn and quake. suddenly, you weren't so sure of yourself. "let me take over," bob offered. "n-no," you protested, shaking your head. "wanna make you feel good." he stayed your hips with his hands. "and you are. but i won't have you overexerting yourself for my pleasure. let me take control, baby doll. i'll take good care of you, promise."

finally, you let yourself fall against his chest. he hushed you as he wrapped his big arms around your body, planting his feet against the bed as he began to move. it wasn't long before he had you crying out above him. the feeling of his cock filling you from this angle was unmatched, and you could feel yourself gushing around him. he could feel it, too. "sweet pussy's just drooling all over me. love being so full, don't you?" he coos, but you can't even utter a reply, because you've gone speechless. if you were more coherent, you might've been embarrassed about the fact that your mouth was currently drooling against his chest. but he had you feeling so good that you didn't care.

he carefully fucked into you, cautious not to cause unnecessary harm to your anatomy. he was so dominant and tender all at once. the way he was handling you had you plummeting toward the edge so quickly already. and when his hand snaked between your bodies to rub at your swollen clit, it had you squealing in bliss. "that's it. want you to come whenever you need to. let me feel that pussy squeeze me." it wasn't long before you were right there, whining pathetically, mouthing at his chest as you felt warmth begin to blossom within you. and before you knew it, you were coming, trembling in his arms as he fucked you through it.

"there ya go. give it to me, baby doll." and you did. you soaked him with your release, surely ruining the sheets below, but not finding it in yourself to care. a dumb smile spread across your face as you came down, and in your post orgasm haze, you looked up at him, "i did it, i rode your dick," you said with a giggle. still hard inside you, he couldn't help but laugh along with you. "took it like a champ, honey. i'm so proud of you." you leaned in to kiss him, and then you murmured, "now keep going. wanna feel this dick come inside me again."

#asks #bob musings #bob floyd x reader #older bf bob #bob floyd fanfiction

[elliesgoodgirl]

Tying you to me

(Ellie Williams/Reader)

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On a cold November morning you wake up tired and shivering, but the most enticing sight draws you back into bed ; your girlfriend soundly asleep.

Grateful to spend a few moments hidden away from the rest of the world with each other, you and Ellie bask in each others presence.

(I would lay down my life for this woman and she doesn’t get enough soft things written for her)

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The room was gray, early morning light just barely peeking through the curtains covering the frosted windows. You looked around, taking in the lowly lit room of your girlfriend.

The pile of dirty clothes shoved in the corner, the worn leather couch that seemed to have both of your body imprints perfectly worn into it. Countless posters sloppily hung on the walls, of bands and movies you’d never even seen or heard of, but Ellie swears they’re good. How she could even possibly know is beyond your comprehension.

It’s surprising you’re up this early, several hours before the town of Jackson would even be waking up. After a grueling patrol shift such as your last, it was typical for you to sleep into the late hours of the day. A chill shot through your body, goosebumps pebbling on the exposed skin of your legs.

Your sleep shorts riding up every so slightly, exposing the scars and bruises that had formed over the past few years from many patrol shifts.

A few beams of light come in from above the bed, catching your attention away from the small details of the garage turned apartment. Shining directly onto the face of Ellie, who slept peacefully next to you. One arm outstretched ever so slightly, reaching towards where your upper half one laid down. You could just barely see the ink lines of her tattoo licking up her forearm.

Her eyes closed, eyelashes resting peacefully on her freckled cheeks. Brows furrowed, mouth slightly agape. You could see a small patch of drool on her pillow, usually a sign that she was in deep slumber. The sunbeam catching in her auburn hair, highlighting the many shades of red and brown.

She had fallen asleep with her hair tied half up, normally you scolded her for it as it wasn’t good for her hair, but now you found it endearing. Clearly too exhausted from patrol to change, she slept in nothing but her boxers and the T-shirt from the day prior. A small laugh escapes your mouth as you continue to admire her.

She really was something. All freckles and blushed cheeks. You reach down to brush a strand of hair that was tickling its way into her mouth out of the way, exposing the scar that cut through her eyebrow. You let your hand linger for a moment, knuckles resting against her warm cheek. Ellie gives a content sigh. With how calm she looks now, you’d never be able to guess that she spent half the night kicking you in the side and taking all the blankets.

Another blast of cold air sends a shiver through you. You tear your eyes away from Ellie in an attempt to find where the breeze is coming from. The window near the door catches your eye as the curtains attached blow in the wind.

As carefully as you can, you get up from the bed, not wanting to wake Ellie up. The floor is cold on your bare feet as you tiptoe your way over, being careful to not trip over your backpacks and shoes that are lazily strewn across the room

Finally, you make it to the window and are able to shut it, quietly of course. You breathe a sigh of relief as you feel the draft cut off. The creak of the bed catches your attention,

“Why’d you shut the window?” Ellie’s tired voice interrupts the silence. It’s raspy, coated in sleep.

You turn, greeted to the sight of Ellie sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was evident that she had been sleeping on the same side for a while, her short hair sticking up wildly while the opposite sat semi neatly. Her lips turned slightly downward in a pout.

“I was cold.. it woke me up” you shrug slightly, running your hands over your arms.

Ellie chuckles slightly, green eyes meeting yours.

“Well then come back to bed, I’ll keep you warm” she smiles, laying back down and opening her arms up for you.

“Oh my hero!” You smile back at her, almost skipping back towards her bed.

You lay down, resting comfortably pressed into Ellie’s chest, her arms wrapped around you. She presses a kiss to your forehead as you settle in.

“Sleep good?” She asks while smoothing your hair away from your face. You shrug,

“It was a typical post patrol sleep, feel like I could use at least ten more hours”

Ellie snorts, “man do I feel that one”

“You looked pretty comfy though”, you say as you lightly trace the lines of her tattooed forearm that’s wrapped around you.

“Oh I was, before I was abandoned in my own bed!”, she’s easily the most dramatic girl you’ve ever met.

“-Even saw the drool you left on your pillow”

You hear Ellie scoff, loudly.

“I do not drool!” She throws her arms up defensively.

“Yes you do!”

“No I don’t!”

You both know you’re right, Ellie is just stubborn and thinks it’s funny to rile you up about the little things.

“For your information, I sleep like an angel”

Ellie can’t keep a straight face as she says this, she knows it a blatant lie. She giggles slightly, awaiting your response.

You can only roll your eyes. She does not sleep like an angel. She sleeps like a tornado with legs and makes you impossibly hot at night. But you’d have it no other way.

The way she mumbles in her sleep, never being able to decipher the nonsense that tumbles out her lips. The way she pulls you closer, even when in deep sleep. She was comfort in its truest form.

You look at her briefly, not having a response for her. Her features become more clear as the rising sun pushes its way past the window above the bed. She searches your face, clearly taking in your features.

“What’s on your mind?” You wonder out loud.

Ellie gives you a crooked smile as one of her hands finds your face. She gently brushes her fingers across your cheek, trailing over a healing cut from a previous patrol shift.

“Nothing..” she mumbles, eyes flicking down to your lips briefly.

“Tell me!” You lean back a little, putting some distance between the two of you.

“Really it’s nothing!”

“Ellie!!”

“….can’t we just go back to bed?”

She dodges the question, a slight blush creeping its way onto her cheeks and ears. You give her an annoyed look.

“Alright alright..” she starts, giving a sigh,

“I was just thinking about…” she trails off again, eyes looking back at your lips.

She purses hers together for a moment, the scar on her lip being highlighted as she does so. She’s thinking about something again, you can see the gears in her head turning.

“Fine, fine, don’t tell m-“

Ellie cuts you off. Pressing her lips to yours. It’s by no means the first time she’s kissed you, but it’s sweet. Tender and loving, like a first kiss between children. Her lips are chapped and slightly salty. Most likely from sweating during the night. And despite both of those things, you sigh into her. Your fingers find her nape and play with the slightly tangled pieces of hair that lay there.

Ellie helps you shift so you’re straddling on top of her as the kiss deepens. Both of you rocking in unison. Your hands committing each others bodies to memory. Ellie’s hands finds your hips and she squeezes. Eventually while moving away from her to get some air, your hands find her face.

You trace over the freckles on her face as you memorize her features for the millionth time. You play with her bottom lip for a moment before you speak.

“I guess we can go back to bed now”, a smile crosses your lips. Ellie returns the smile.

“I’d like that a lot”

She helps you lay back down, your head resting on top of her chest and her strong arms wrapped around you. You both lie there for a moment, Ellie using one of her hands to play with your hair and you rubbing small circles on her stomach with your thumb.

The sun fully rises on you two as you both drift back asleep, ready to not wake until late in the afternoon, and the town of Jackson is lively with the hustle and bustle of its residents.

#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #joel and ellie #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #tlou part 2 #tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #ellie williams smut

[iamthecomet]

Kinktober - Day 21 - Intercural Sex (Thigh Fucking)

1.4k words of sleepy morning Cumdrop thigh fucking. That's it, that's the fic.

I almost didn't do Cumdrop for thigh fucking because I was like "no you've already done so much cumdrop" but who can resist Cumulus' thighs? Certainly not Dew (or me). tagging my fellow cumdrop truther @miasmaghoul, because of course. ILY ♥

Dew wakes up slowly. One arm tucked under his pillow, fingers numb and tingly. The other draped over Cumulus’ waist. Hand under her shirt, pressed against her sternum between the soft swell of her breasts. She’s warm, soft against him. Ass pressed against his crotch. Their knees slotted together. Her feet–always cold–tucked between his calves. His face buried in her curls. He inhales deep and smells sun-dried cotton, honey suckle, and the barest hint of woodsmoke. His smell rubbing off on her in the night. 

  He’s still groggy when she starts to move. Pressing back against him. Sleepy, luxurious movements that grind her ass over his already chubby cock. He groans, noses deeper into her hair. Presses on her sternum to pull her tighter to him. Hand sliding to the side to cup her breast. Nipple pebbling against his palm as he kneads. 

“Mornin’” she mumbles. Dew cracks his eyes open. It’s mid-morning judging by the way the sun slants through the window and over her pale gray skin. She’s kicked the blankets off sometime in the night. She’s not wearing anything else besides the oversized Tee. One of Aether’s for sure. So worn and soft it’s nearly threadbare. It’s rucked up over her hips. Dew lets his eyes wander, dragging down the curve in her waist, her exposed hips and thighs. Legs curving toward his. Skin soft and supple.

“Mornin’, Lus.” Dew pulls his head away from her curls. Using his other hand–still mostly asleep–to prop himself up to look at her. She’s gorgeous like this. Sleep warm. Eyes just barely open, face flushed and relaxed. He rolls her nipple between his fingers and she huffs out a laugh. 

“Insatiable,” she admonishes. Dew kisses her in response. Lips sliding together as he hovers half over her. Legs still tangled. His hair cascading down around them like a curtain as he gentles her lips open and licks into her mouth. 

She reaches up, rolling toward him just enough to tangle her fingers in his hair, nails pressing against the back of his skulls she holds him there. Tongues sliding together. It’s slow, sloppy, uncoordinated in the way only early morning kisses can be. 

Dew is painfully hard in seconds. He doesn’t know what it is about her–everything probably–but it never takes long. Half asleep, wide awake, there’s something about Cumulus that sends all the blood rushing south. He makes a pitiful noise in her mouth as he rolls his hips against her ass. The clothed head of his cock dimpling into her ass cheeks. 

She pulls away. Looking up at him, eyes bright, lips pink and spit slicked. 

“Already?” 

“Can’t help it.” He’s blushing, can feel the heat on his face. “So fucking hot. What else am I supposed to do?” 

Cumulus smiles at him. Too sweet to be wholly innocent and Dew knows he’s fucked. Done for. He’s glad for it. Ready for whatever she’s willing to give him. Ready to fall apart for her amusement. 

Cumulus shifts. Rolling over to face him, pulling the plush cushion of her ass away from Dew’s dick. He grabs for her, pulling his hand away from her breast to dig his fingers into her hip to try to get her to stay but it doesn’t work. He doesn’t realize what her game is until she’s reaching down, and tugging the waistband of his boxers down just far enough for his cock to spring free. 

She wraps her fingers around the base and squeezes. Dew melts into her grip. Hips rocking into the warmth of her hand. Eyes fluttering closed. 

She presses her forehead against his as he fucks into her hand. He can feel her breath on his face, cool against his overheated skin. 

“Look at me, Dewdrop.” 

Dew does. It takes effort to open his eyes, but he’ll never deny her–not anything. This close he can see the smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She smiles at him and he wants to dig his teeth into her dimples. Wants to kiss her and never stop. 

Each roll of his hips is languid, like he’s trying to savor her touch, the feel of her. He’s getting into a rhythm now, pleasure evening out into something he can chase instead of overwhelming. He relaxes into it. 

The steady even pleasure doesn’t last long. Cumulus shifts forward and kisses him. Plush lips pressing against his. Tongue slipping between his teeth. Claiming now rather than gentle. She moves, presses her whole body closer to him. Clothed tits pressing tight against his chest. 

Dew wraps one arm around her. Hand gripping in the shirt at the small of her back. The other sliding up to tangle in her curls, hold her close. Let himself be claimed. 

She shifts her thighs, guides his cock between them. He’s not ready for her. Her hand was one thing. Soft and warm, but nothing compared to the velvety plush of her thighs. He groans low, gut punched. Breath knocked from his lungs, he pulls back from the kiss to take gulps of it. 

He can feel the heat of her cunt, an inch or two above where she’s stuck him. She’s slick here–just enough for him to feel it. Enough to ease the slide.

Dew freeze. Gulping down air, eyes pinned closed. He’s afraid that if he moves he’ll blow immediately. Doesn’t want to. Wants to last long enough to press her back into the bed, to spread those luxurious thighs and press himself inside of her. To feel the slick velvety heat of her. But that seems like a distant dream now. 

“Come on, Dew,” Cumulus purrs. “You want to.” 

He nods. Fuck does he. Wants to spend hours here, rolling his hips into the softest parts of her. But that’s the problem. He wants it to last–he knows it won’t. 

“Fuck.” 

“Already?” She brushes hair away from his face. Fingers grazing over the sharp line of his cheekbone. He digs his fangs into his lip. He wants to deny it–but he can’t lie to her. He nods. 

“So soft.”  He gives a test thrust. A cursory slide against her skin. Finds the pressure maddening. The way her body gives way to him. The knowledge that she’s slick down her thighs just for him. It’s too much, but one thrust leads to two, to three. 

And before he knows it he’s fucking into her thighs in decadent rolls of his hips. He can’t keep it slow for long, can’t savor it the way he really wants to. It’s not long before he’s fucking into her thighs with rabbit thrusts. Short and quick.  

He whimpers, each thrust drawing a gasp from him, until Cumulus kisses him to swallow them. Dragging her tongue over his fangs.  He’s pouring pre now. Mixing with her slick to ease the slide and Dew knows he’s going insane. He’s shuddering now. Fingers digging hard into Cumulus’ back. Holding her where he wants her while he takes what he needs. 

She pulls back to look at him. To take in his flushed face. The tips of his ears gone pink. Slack mouth, swollen lips. 

“Fuck–Lus. I’m gonna–gotta–oh no.” 

“Yeah, just like that, Dewy. Get them nice and creamy,” she whispers, lips against the top of his head as she pulls him close. Cushioning his head against her chest. Cradling him in her arms as he goes taut. Pleasure dragging through his veins like lightening. He keens, the sound muffled by her shirt as he cums. Spilling hot and thick over her thighs. Tears pricking at his eyes as he keeps going. Milking himself until overstimulation starts to burn through him. Reluctant to pull away–to stop. 

Cumulus pets over his hair, presses a kiss between his horns. Dew allows himself two minutes to come back to earth, to remember how to breath again. But once it’s up he pulls out of the circle of her arms. He shifts them, pushing her over onto her back and sliding a knee between her coated thighs. 

Cumulus heaves out a sigh, content, as she settles into the pillows. Watching as he moves downward. Pushing her thighs further apart with his shoulders as he lays between them, hands pressed to the side of her knees to hold her open, exposed for him. 

He looks up at her, licks his lips. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#comet writes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ghostober #ghostober 2023 #dewdrop ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cumdrop #cumulus/dewdrop #dewdrop/cumulus #dew/cumulus #cumulus/dew #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfiction #ghost band fanfic

[plethomacademia]

I am still writing modern influencer Maeve being healed via a firefighter named Labrys that belongs to @lamortwrites

Jump for it's a blowjob guys, 1074 words, I did not proofread bc IDK what these are yet!

They have their hand on the base of the cock to keep her focused on its head, but even with that, she is greedy. They put their other hand in her hair and pull her back. She looks up at them standing in front of her, her mouth still open. After a moment, she darts out her tongue.

Labrys shakes their head. “You have to relax.”

She moves her tongue to lick her swollen upper lip. “I feel perfectly relaxed.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word relax.” They grip her hair tighter when she tries to lean forward to take them in her mouth again. “The whole point of this is that you let go.”

She is kneeling naked on the floor, her precious knees padded with every pillow that she could find in her apartment. Her hands are tied behind her back in the simplest way that they could manage. There is a pile of extra rope behind her.

“That’s a lot of rope,” she had said at the time.

“Well,” they had replied, “I was going to try something more interesting, but you won’t sit still.”

They watch now as she tests the knot with a simple flex of her wrists. It holds. Of course it holds.

She smiles. “I thought the point was to fuck me, Labrys.”

They twist their grip in her hair and see her flinch. Her gray eyes sparkle and they wait, but no tears fall. Not yet, anyway.

“I already fuck you,” they say.

They hold her firm in their hand, making sure she has no control over her movement as they bring her back to their cock. Her nostrils flare as she takes in a breath and just for that, they move their hand higher up to give her even less.

“And if you would relax, I can fuck you this way.”

She presses her tongue against the base of them and they shakes his head. “If I have to tell you one more time, I am going to leave you like this.”

She hums but it feels reflexive, a reaction to his words. Her tongue slackens and so they begin to move her head on themselves. It is shallow at first, making sure she doesn’t decide to tap out from being used like this, but when they see her squeeze her thighs together, they move their hand just a little lower, move her head just a little further. Eventually, they are putting enough of their cock in her mouth that they stop moving her and begin to gently thrust, giving her enough time to give the signal with her leg.

They watch her nostrils as she breathes through her nose, as her pink nipples pebble and strain. Most importantly, they feel as her neck begins to lose tension, as her shoulders ease. Her back remains straight, but her spine is not rigid. They let go of her hair, then run their fingernails along her scalp.

“Just like that,” they say. They let go of their length now that she seems less inclined to choke herself.

After all, they are the ones that will do the choking this evening.

“See,” they continue, moving their other hand to her hair. They take up the mass of it again, ready to use it to hold her back if she does something stupid. “You can manage to listen to instructions when you want to.”

They feel her mouth tense on them and her tongue shift, so they withdraw at the same time that they pull her head back. She pulls in a deep breath through her mouth. Apparently her nose breathing had not been enough to keep up and they let her take in a few more, enjoying the sight of her freckled chest heaving just a little. A preview of things to come, if she just keeps listening.

“Did you want to say something?” they say after a while.

She laughs briefly, a few staccato notes to break up the silence. Then she smiles again. Her mascara is just starting to pool along the corners of her eyes from her unshed tears. “I wanted to say that if you call me a good girl, then I will bite your dick off.”

They force her to tilt her head back, then bend down until they are right in front of her face. “I will remember that Maeve,” they say. They ghost their lips over hers and chuckle when she tries to kiss them. “If you ever manage to actually be one.” They kiss her, keeping their grip in her hair so that they control the pressure of it. Every time she tries to lean forward, they pull her back until she finally relaxes again. Only then do they pierce her mouth with their tongue.

When they stand, she is breathing heavily again and they are beginning to cool from the lack of her mouth. “Can you relax more?” they ask as they being to bring her back onto them. “I’m not going to give you more than you can handle.”

She opens her mouth to take them and just before they breach her lips, she says, “Fuck my throat, Labrys.”

They do not, not at first at least. They make her earn back every inch that she had before. Only when they are sure that she has dropped the tension in her body do they first try to push against the resistance in the back of her mouth. They feel her suppress a gag, but she does not give them the signal to stop so they press forward. They hold her like that, watch as a tear finally overflows one of her eyelids and a small track of black goes down the top of her cheek. They see her squeeze her thighs together again and they pull her back hard, giving her hair that sharp tension that they already know she loves.

“Are you sitting in a puddle yet?” they ask as she catches her breath again.

She tries to smiles despite her need to fill her lungs with air. Finally, she manages to make it stick. “I can feel it running down my ankles, Labrys,” she says.

They smile back at her. “Ok then. One more time and we’ll see if you’ve earned me doing anything about that.”

She nods, then begins to lean forward. They have to wait for her to remember herself, to sit up still and relaxed, and then they start the process anew.

#maevebrys #maeve #labrys #modern au

[pillowsickfics]

alright, I'm still not sure of how these characters are, but I'm really excited about them! Please feel free to ignore this ask if its ooc: about Maverick feeling pretty wretched a day, but not sure if he should speak up on this, since its not very manly of him, only to end up getting sick at the most inconvenient time?

introductory (sorta) fic! woo! B, thank you so much for the request. it was completely it character too! this was so fun and i pumped it out so fast bc i was so excited to write it so forgive any spelling errors and such.. hope u enjoy!

﹌﹌﹌

Maverick should have never opened his eyes. He should have never sat up and he definitely should never have gotten out of bed. Alas, the pull of responsibility dragged him out of his paradise of duvet covers and pillows and forced him take the most miserable shower of his life as well as scarf down a nauseating breakfast of Cap’n Crunch and milk that tasted a few days past the expiration date. The day had already been off to a horrible start, and he didn’t anticipate it getting any better.

He should have known something was up when the previous night, he couldn’t stomach his leftover curry and went to bed earlier than normal. Then, he had passed it off as exhaustion from the long day of classes. He was starting to think it was something a bit more sinister.

For starters, his head pounded like it had never before in his life. Goosebumps appeared all along his broad shoulders and arms as he chafed away the odd chill that clung to him. Despite this, he was sweating buckets, evident by the dark gray stains under his arms and around his neck.

The worst of it, though, had to be his stomach.

It churned and roiled like some kind of lava pit from hell. Every slight movement threatened to send him over the edge, and with it the meager breakfast he choked down. It cramped and twisted and he felt more nauseous than he ever remembered feeling.

But he was fine.

He could handle this. He could “be a man.”

He couldn’t uproot every plan he had just because of a stomach ache.

So that is how he ended up in his current predicament. Biking to his schools hockey rink in the pouring rain while feeling like he was going to lose his lunch at the slightest pebble under his tire.

Usually he caught a ride with his teammate Cameron, who swing by to pick up both him and his roommate Laurie up for practice. For some reason or another, Cameron must not have been able to pick them up that day and so Maverick had to resort to his trusty bike he’d had since junior year of high school.

Laurie was long gone when Maverick had woken up, ever the early riser. He vaguely remembered Laurie mentioning something about 6am office hours, but Maverick didn’t have the energy to try and decipher the memory. He was preoccupied with more pressing matters. Like the fact that he felt like he was spinning in a teacup ride despite simply biking along the smooth sidewalk on the university campus.

After a few more minutes, he pulled up to the building and fastened his bike to the bike rack, but the movement of bending down to scramble the keypad on the bike lock irritated his stomach, causing him to press a fist to his mouth and muffle a burp.

Just for a minute, he allowed himself to express his misery. He let out a soft groan of pain as he braced himself in the seat of his bike and doubled over. He wanted nothing more than to just be back home, in his bed, sleeping off whatever this stomach bug from hell was.

He couldn’t do that, though. He needed to tough it out. He’d been doing it since he was young. He needed to be able to get through practice.

He pulled himself together and walked into the ice rink, sighing lightly under his breath.

As he walked in, he was met with a pair of brown eyes and a messy head of red hair waiting for him at the entrance with crossed arms.

“We we’re all waiting for you, Mav. You’re a whole fifteen minutes late. Coach is NOT happy,” Laurie said, clad in his jersey.

“Yeah yeah, I know.. I’m sorry.. I got caught up in the rain,” Maverick mumbled, making his way towards the lockers to grab his helmet and jersey and sticks.

“That, or you just slept in again, and you’re trying to make excuses,” Kurt muttered, throwing a half-hearted glare toward Mav.

Maverick ignored him. In fact, he couldn’t focus on any of them at the moment. His stomach twisted sourly, and he discreetly bent over to try and soothe the ache. He really didn’t feel good. To top things off, he was almost positive he was running a fever now, because despite being soaked from the rain, he felt pulses of sweat and dizziness overtake him. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be home so he could lay down and rest and he couldn’t imagine having to practice for 4 hours straight and he—

“Mav? You okay?” Laurie stood in front of him, apparently trying to snap him out of whatever fevered daze consumed him.

“Yeah.. yeah I’m alright, just uh… I’m still kinda waking up..” He said with a soft laugh. He didn’t meet Laurie’s eyes.

He couldn’t let his teammates see him like this, even if they were his closest friends. What would they think of him if they knew he was this weak, and couldn’t even push past a little illness. He’d be humiliated. They’d all ridicule him. He didn’t want that.

Laurie frowned skeptically, but he decided to leave it alone for the time being.

He absentmindedly changed into his uniform with a new resolve to just get through practice without utterly embarrassing himself. He laced up his skates and grabbed his sticks and made his way to the ice.

The rest of practice was a blur of drills and agility exercises and cardio that made Maverick want to bury himself in a hole and die. He felt horrible. Every sharp and fast movement made him feel like his belly was pushing its way into his throat. He had to stop for more water breaks than usual, but he didn’t even drink any water because he knew putting anything inside of him would end horribly.

It go so bad that at one point, he was so dizzy he nearly fell over trying to rejoin the group after one of his many water breaks.

Cameron was the one who walked over to steady him.

“What’s up with you man? You’re off your game today,” Cameron said half-jokingly, dragging Maverick back to the center of the rink.

Maverick just shrugged and continued the drills with the rest of the team.

To his credit, he managed to get through almost all of practice without incident. Almost.

It was the second to last set of drills Coach was making them do when Maverick felt a wave of nausea more pressing and intense than any he felt earlier in the day.

He faltered in one of the steps, and he skated off to the side as he doubled over and braced himself on his knees. He took in deep breaths through his nose, trying to will away the nausea, but this time it wasn’t budging. He knew he didn’t have much time. Laurie must have figured it out too, but suddenly he was being lead away from the rink and sat on one of the benches on the sidelines.

He let out a pathetic whimper and slapped a hand over his mouth when he felt his body lurch. He really really didn’t want to be sick here. Not in front of all these people. Tears sprung to his eyes and made him feel exponentially worse. Not only was he about to lose his breakfast in front of his team, but now he was crying in front of them too.

“Shh.. it’s alright dude.. Just breathe, okay? If you’re gonna be sick, you’re gonna be sick. No point in fightin’ it..” Laurie murmured beside him.

Maverick shook his head stubbornly, but his body clearly had had enough.

He pitched forward with a heave and at first, nothing came out. After a few seconds, a sickly burp brought up a wave of watery vomit that splattered on the synthetic rubber between his feet.

Maverick whimpered and he coughed up another mouthful of vomit, dangerously falling forward.

He was caught by a hand on his shoulder and a palm to his forehead that dramatically snapped away.

“Maverick! You burning up! Why the hell didn’t you say anything, you could have passed out or something!” Laurie yelped, patting Maverick back.

“I didn’t—“ Maverick muffled a burp into his fist before continuing. “I felt fine.. I can handle it.. it’s all.. it’s fine..”

“Like hell you are. We’re getting you home. Did you drive here?”

Maverick shook his head. “Biked.”

“In this rain?! Jesus christ Mav, no wonder you feel so shitty!”

As if to emphasize the point, Maverick leaned forward with a hiccup and brought up a small amount of puke, but his body had mostly run out of things to expel. The nausea was still relentless though, and. the fever sweats were worsening by the minute.

“Cam! Can I borrow your car? I’m gonna get this idiot back to his dorm. He biked here and I don’t think he has it in him to bike back,” Laurie yelled out towards the rest of the team, who were watching the situation with respectful distance.

Cameron said something, but Maverick wasn’t listening. An ugly feeling was festering deep within him. He didn’t need to be infantilized like this. Why couldn’t he just man up and deal with his problems on his own? He didn’t need to be taken care of like this. He was fine.

Cameron tossed his keys to Laurie, and Laurie slid an arm under Maverick’s shoulder to help him up, but Maverick lightly shoved him off.

“I can walk on my own.. I’m fine Laurie, you don’t need to stick around..” The words seemed mean, but Maverick said them with no venom. He just sounded like a wounded puppy, if anything.

“Mav.. it’s fine.. don’t worry about it so much, alright? You’re sick. You’re miserable. Let someone lighten the load. You’d do the same thing for me.” Laurie said softly, out of earshot of anyone else.

Maverick felt a lump in his throat grow at the sentiment. This was what it felt like to be cared for unconditionally. He could see now that Laurie wasn’t looking for ways to take advantage of his weakness or make fun of him. He genuinely wanted to help. He actually cared about him, and wanted to make things just a little bit easier on him.

He tilted his head down so Laurie wouldn’t catch the tears that slid down his fevered cheeks. The fever had to be getting to him. It had to be.

Laurie pulled Maverick’s arm around his shoulder and lead him to the parking lot outside the rink.

“Alright big guy.. let’s get you home.”

#my ocs <3 #maverick miller #laurie callaghan #emeto #sickfic #fever #writing #i know it might seem otherwise but laurie and maverick are actually not going to be romantically involved #this fic is pure bromance #i love them though #mav is so cute like aww poor little guy #i only proofread it once so again i apologize for typos

[thatseventiesbitch]

I have a fic request that just came to mind: can you make one where Eric kind of spoils Leia and lets her get away with something she wants, just like Red used to do with Laurie? It would be funny to see how Eric kind of became his father at one point haha

Thank you for the ask! I love writing Dad!Eric 😊. If you have a request, you can send it to me here!

"Hey." Donna poked his cheek, rousing him from his slumber. Eric blinked a few times and glanced at his alarm clock blearily. It was only a bit past 8 o' clock. "Pebbles' cage needs to be cleaned."

He gave a sleepy moan and then rolled back over.

"Ohhh no you don't," Donna chuckled. She grabbed his pillow and tugged it gently out from under him. His head bounced unpleasantly onto the mattress. "Come on. She said she'd do it last night."

"A few more hours won't hurt the little guy - " Eric started, reaching for their quilt to tug over his head. But Donna was faster than him, again, and she yanked it down beneath his chin.

"Eric!"

"Fine," he sighed and finally sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, massaging his face with his hands like he was preparing for battle. He was.

"It's about teaching her responsibility."

"I know."

Satisfied that he was finally on his feet, Donna rolled back over and pulled the covers overtop of herself snugly, smirking. "This is why I said no to the bunny, Eric."

"I know."

A few moments later, Eric stood at his 10-year-old's doorframe, watching her sleep. She'd inherited her grandpa Bob's snoring, and even though she was far from tranquil, he stood there for one minute... then two... then almost three, just watching her chest rise and fall with the force of her breath. But the little gray bunny rabbit in the cage next to her bed was awake, and eventually its rustling and chittering drew Eric's focus. He sighed, noticing the matted straw, piles of bunny doo, and the water cannister that was running low.

"Leia," he sat down on the bed next to her and set a hand on her shoulder, gently rousing her. "Hey, bud. Time to wake up. We need to take care of your bunny."

But Leia ignored him, never opening her eyes. She shook his hand off her shoulder and then rolled over onto her other side, to face her bedroom wall.

Eric frowned. "No - Leia. Hey - Leia. Bud, you need to wake up." He tried to shake her shoulder, a little less gently, again.

It was to no avail. The little girl was clearly awake - her snoring had stopped - but she wasn't acknowledging her father or opening her eyes for anything.

He sighed and decided to try a different tactic. "Okay. Then we might have to get rid of Pebbles, Leia, if you won't take care of him..."

"Fine," the little girl mumbled sleepily. "He's boring anyway."

"Wha - " Eric lifted a hand to his chest, genuinely taken aback. "You begged for a bunny! For months!" He shook his head, still reeling. "I thought you loved Pebbles."

She rolled over now to look at him, and made a face. "He stinks."

Eric raised his eyebrows. "Uh, yeah. Because you don't clean his cage."

"I thought bunnies were fun, but they're too much work." She twisted her face into a frown.

Eric sighed. "Yeah, we tried to tell you that, bud." He patted her legs. "But this is how you learn responsibility."

Leia thought for a minute, like she was carefully considering her father's offer. Then she shook her head. "I don't want any of that," she decided, and rolled back over, pulling her covers over her head.

Eric stared at the lump under the covers, and smiled faintly. "I guess I can't blame you for that."

Pebbles made a pointed squeak, and Eric turned around with another sigh. "I guess it's just you and me, pal." He opened the cupboard underneath the bunny's cage and began to take out the various cleaning materials he'd need. Then he shot a glance over his shoulder at the bed, where Leia was still buried underneath the covers. "Don't tell your mom about this, okay kiddo?"

A loud, rumbling snore was his only response.

(@that70sshowgoldencouple, I think your latest story Night Stalker was in my subconscious while I wrote this one ha ha!)

#thanks for the ask! #That 70s Show #That '70s Show #That 90s Show #That '90s Show #fanfic #my fanfic #fanfic writer #that70sshowgoldencouple #Eric and Donna #Eric x Donna #otp: mom and dad #Leia Forman #Eric Forman as a dad #Eric and Leia #Eric Forman #Donna Pinciotti #Donna Forman #The Forman Family #Red Forman #Laurie Forman #Bob Pinciotti #ask #answered #anon

[ohyondermemphis]

The Great War!

Oooh and maybe ‘promise me’ pretty please?

The Great War is eventually going to be part of that don't threaten me with a good time verse. Here's my favorite part so far.

Here. This morning, tomorrow morning, yesterday morning. It all starts the same.

A training session, more than likely held with Hestia, which never usually lasts longer than an hour but feels timeless and no time spent at all in equal reflections. Sometimes she lets Neville heal him immediately after, more often times, like this morning, he is to sit in his shame until dark comes over their temporary camp and he finds a salve or a potion on his threadbare pillow at night.

Before this morning, tomorrow morning, yesterday morning his nights are much the same. 

The routine of his days is oftentimes not thought of until his head hits the pillow. There is a brief thought to his lot in life, to his destiny, to his designation, to prophecies and the pebble that first cracked the glass, and how each day the shard of destruction spreads bit by bit, just one more inch than before. He is tired, this night before, like all the others, he is tired and there is a radiating ache in his joints even though he’s not graced the earth’s presence a quarter of a century.

If he puts on a salve, or is lucky enough for a potion, he likes to watch the effects it has on his body. To see the skin knit back together, to see the burn crackle away to something that looks more like human and less like spit roast, he likes to track the change, watch magic work its way in and over his body, still as desperately enamored with her wonder as he was at eleven.

He will often touch the smooth raised skin on the right side of his forehead, the lines that crackle like lightning under the earth, kissed to his brow. The sharp split between his eyebrow, the last jagged line of his creation ending underneath his eye, the iris forever marked by a curse that cut him down at just one year. It’s a heady feeling to have faced death and not remember it in any kind of minute detail, just a scream, a cry, a hiss. The feel of heat blistering his skin, the jarring sense of loss, never known. A hole he was not born with but has always felt tethered to just the same.

His fingers shake, just a little, never noticeable to anyone but him, as he trails that familiar scar. Healed to a point, closed for the time being, this wound of his. A visible reminder that he had been marked, had been intimately touched by a dark thing, a monstrous thing, a thing terrible but great.

This night before, like all the others, he finally closes his eyes. It soothes the migraine that lies like a faithful dog at the hearth in his head, a familiar companion, like the friends in his cupboard that had always appeared after the door had been sealed shut, brought upon by hunger and ache and some kind of quiet misery. He slips into the darkness, like the moon cuts into the choppy waters of the wine dark sea at night, a flash of light that jerks him back, always the same the first moment peace settles its easy weight on him.

It never lasts for long, this weightlessness, this lull of an easy shoreline, the cottage with a popping fire, the closed door. Always a door, always oak, a strong wood, an alphan wood that is made mighty, tall and without age, no withered cracks in the frame, solid enough that the wind never howls loud enough to be heard from inside.

The door. This night before, and the night before that and the night before that. The door. The scratching that follows, and the warmth from the fire sizzles and pops, all of it slowing, sticky molasses of time crawling to a stop in his dreamscape. The door.

The scratching.

Let me in, little ‘mega. Little ‘mega, let me in, let me in.

The rosy watercolor of his dream drips down, the cottage that isn’t and the drips of water that run down the ceiling, the bookshelves, the hiss of a fire doused in the steady stream of water so dark it could be black, gray lines of ash that kill the color in segments. This night before, his dream self, with his own hands, freckled and calloused, are clenched tight in panic. The dark water laps at his ankles, freezing cold, turning choppy like his house is the sea, and the sea is a storm.

No noise, no rush of water, no drip drip drip of a rainstorm willed to wash him away.

Just the scratching from the shadow outside.

Let me in, let me in.

Now, Promise Me is ... something, I'm trying to be a little tighter with pace and a little more in line with dialogue because I struggle so fruitlessly with it. I think I've already posted this but it's basically all I got - we are going somewhere with Harry in white wielding a knife at some point, trust me.

“He’s but a boy.” Tom arches a brow, arms folded and already bored with the older men’s theatrics. The clash of swords outside, that beautiful melody of steel against steel, reaches longingly into his ears. How long has it been since he pressed blade to blade with Barty, with Bella? How long since he had felt more human than monster? 

The answers aren’t in Dumbledore’s bright blues. Nor are they in the basin, with its blood and gore, where two wide emeralds fade into the bones that rattle in its depths. 

“A boy.” He turns to Gellert, his mentor, one hand holding his cheek and long legs crossed. His smile is all sharp teeth. He knows Tom will say yes, his pet seer isn’t needed for that, at least. 

“Yes, a boy, Tom. Invaluable. Held by bonds that are forged without his consent. Held by the Gryphdaans.” Tom’s red eyes flicker to Albus, who seems to have eyes only for what images that he can still glean from the boy in the basin. His people. 

Tom’s suspicion rises like a snake ready to strike. 

Dumbledore finally raises his head, a thousand sorrows unseen as he looks at Tom, through him, hands twitching in the air, and Tom looks to Gellert, all smugness dropped. 

“My people hold this boy, this prophecy child, this uniter, they hold him in righteousness, and will not see beyond their own eyes. He will be their downfall.” Albus sinks into the chair next to Gellert, lost in his vision. 

“Bring him to us, Thomas.” Gellert caresses Albus’ unbound hair, like rubies in the sun, like blood dripping on the white tunic that covers him, their eyes only on each other. 

Tom is already turning to leave. 

For better or for worse, on just whose downfall, will be determined.

Thank you so much for the ask!

#tomarry #tomarrymort #tom riddle #harry potter #wip

[rhythm-catsandwine]

Rain and Ice

Tw; mentions of death

Klars

Master list

Rain pelted the window almost like the rhythm of drums. They had a few well-needed free days. So when the phone rang. Kirk let out a Humm groan hybrid and covered his head with the blanket they shared. Only a few gray curls lay exposed across the pillow.  Black-painted fingers took the phone from the nightstand and tossed it to his husband. 

"Morning." It was James. After a few minutes of conversation, a foot kicked him in the leg nearly sending him off the edge to the floor. "I gotta go someone woke up grumpy... Kirk stop kicking me!" The phone was put back in its home. "Hungry?" 

"No."

"You feeling okay?"

"No." 

Light panic set in. "Are you sick?" 

"No just cold." Kirk was almost always cold on rainy days that could turn to snow. He was cold to the bone. The only remedy was blankets, a scary movie, and most importantly Lars keeping the worst of the cold away.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

Lars returned to find the other man still completely covered. "I got your coffee. And snacks and a few of your favorite movies. " when he got no response he knew what he had to do. He knew where his Kirki was ticklish. Soon the room was full of laughter. 

"Lars! Lars! Stopp pl please." Kirk kicked him again. This time making contact with this hip. 

"Hey watch the aim!" He handed Kirk the mug of coffee and then fixed his hair. 

“Why do you do that? Mess with my hair?”

“I’m fixing it.” The drumming of rain turned to icy clicks. “Fock. So much for meeting James and Rob tomorrow. “

“Come back to bed. I’m cold.”

“You’re always cold.” Lars crawled over kirk and pulled a blanket around them.

You could have walked around you know. And you’re warm.” Kirk clicked the ring on his finger against the black holding delicious black coffee and chocolate. He hummed as their bodies were pressed together.“You know I never thought we’d grow old together. I love waking up next to you. Did I ever tell you your eyes are really pretty?”

“No, you haven’t told me every day since March  of 86.” Lars stole the liquid gold in a cup and laughed at the face Kirk made. “I love your faces. And why should we stop sharing food?”

Then they were kissing, not sure who kissed who first. Lips were swollen when they finally pulled apart. 

“Kirk.”

“Yeah.”

"When did you know? "

"Remember when i got really sick? Stuff coming out of both ends.  And you stayed with me. Kept me warm. Made me drink water.   A lot of water. So much water. All the water.  I couldn't eat. Then when I could eat. You walked 2 miles through the snow to the nearest place that was vegetarian. Then you had to warm it back up in the microwave and surprised me with hot cocoa."

"I nearly froze my lucky charms off." 

"Your DANish not IRIsh."

"My golden nuggets. Fruity pebbles. Golden apples. Candy corns. Danish delights. Lemon drops. Banana split. Beach balls." A hand over his mouth silenced him. 

"Ewww don't lick my hand. " Kirk held his stomach as the laughter finally died. 

"You like it when I lick you everywhere else though. " Lars rubbed his thumb over Kirk's cheeks taking the tears with them. 

“Your turn.”

“When I came back to our room in that shit hotel” “You were curled up on the floor, at the foot of the bed. Something reminded you of Cliff and crying your eyes out. Grief was hurting me too. But what hurt more was seeing you hurting.” The room seemed to grow cold as the weather outside.

“Can we lay down? Cuddle for a bit?” Those green eyes he loved so much gave the answer. 

#metallica fanfiction #rpf #ashland writes #ash writes #tw mentions of death

[hihimissamericanbi]

The Watcher and the Dancer

Rating: T

Pairing: F/F

Relationship: James/Sirius

Wordcount: 9,857k

Summary: Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

AKA: Dreamy sapphic summer crush fic set in New England in the aughts with a side of sister feels

Notes: Hi! Hello! I am old and don't know how to use Tumblr at all but decided to try to post this here while I wait to join AO3? For context: Wolfstar is OTP but I wrote this with OCs originally (like not as a marauders fic), then decided it could work as Prongsfoot so I made some tweaks and here we are. Fem Siri and Jamie because it's my fic and I said so. Based on my experiences so please be nice? Also kind of my love letter to Maine. Promise to write Wolfstar and Jegulus in the future, as it should be (actually, very big believer in Jegulily, might do that first...)

--

So wear me like a locket around your throat, I’ll weigh you down, I’ll watch you choke, you look so good in bl—

Siri paused her pink iPod mini as she felt the rental car slowly swing off the paved road and decelerate onto a bumpy dirt path, dusty granite crunching beneath tires while low-hanging birch boughs screeched against the windows.

“Alright everyone, electronics away, we are almost there!” Walburga yelled unnaturally loud from the front. Siri winced but didn’t say anything. Leaning against a pillow on the window opposite her, Regina blinked her eyes open and frowned. Red patches flushed high on her pale, nap-creased cheeks as she wiped a bit of dried drool from her chin with the heel of her palm. Siri snorted. Regina flicked her off, holding her hand down low so their mom couldn’t see in the rearview.

Siri rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the window, where the trees were thinning to make way for one of the strangest views she had ever seen.

Life-sized gingerbread cottages, painted pale gumdrop colors and trimmed with lacey eves reminiscent of piped frosting, lined the street one after the other like tin soldiers in an old-fashioned Christmas movie. They stood sentry to welcome the Black family forward, Range Rover groaning as it crested the pebbled hill, Dorothy stepping from her black-and-white world into a sugar-bright alternate universe. Just beyond the houses, the Penobscot Bay shimmered blue and magical; it winked at Siri between each latticed cornice and Victorian spire as the car trundled bravely onward, following the gray-gravel road deeper and deeper into the Azure City.

“Welcome to Bayville, girls. Your father and I trust you both will be on your best behavior, and that you will remember you are young ladies. We are taking you on this very nice, very expensive vacation; we expect you to act accordingly.”

Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

“Do I hear a ‘Yes, ma’am?’”

Siri physically startled at the warning tone in her mother’s voice. She and her sister chorused the required reply automatically.

The car squelched to a halt alongside one of the cookie-cutter dollhouses, patchy green grass muffling under tire treads. Siri took her headphones off and reached for her seatbelt; chipped silver nail polish flashed in the afternoon sun as she unclipped the buckle, and she made a mental note to redo her nails tonight before her mother saw.

She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

And oh, the smell; it wasn’t like anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just briny ocean and wet grass and fallen pine. It wasn’t just heady florals and baked limestone and fecund soil. This scent was far greater than the sum of its parts: stirred up in a summer-sun cauldron and poured out across the coast, it smelled like familiar laughter and promises to be kept.

It filled Siri’s nose and lungs only after it filled her heart.

It would be remembered for the rest of her life.

--

After claiming the upstairs room to the front of the little house, with a window box full of geraniums peeking from behind billowing white curtains, Siri found herself wandering down the main road, away from her father’s loud complaints about a lack of cell service for his Blackberry and her mother’s backhanded comments regarding the cleanliness of the cottage. She wanted to be long gone by the time either of them decided to turn their attention to her.

Regina tagged along. Siri ignored her.

Less than a quarter of a mile later, the knot of strange little cottages leftover from a different century opened into a semicircle, proudly overlooking a sailboat polka-dotted bay where sapphire waters faithfully reflected the cloud-clear sky.

The Black sisters stood on Bayville Beach, such as it was, only about 30 yards wide and covered in rocky pebbles turning to treacherous boulders. Primary-colored canoes and kayaks were tied up along the mouth like obedient Labradors, waiting for their masters to take them for a swim. A dock rose to the right and jutted out into the water; a cerulean-painted covering sat square in the middle of the old wooden planks. To the right of that, a tiny yacht club perched on the cusp of the ocean, triangular emblem flown modestly above the slated roof. Behind the sisters, a sloping center lawn with a few ancient oak trees and wrought-iron park benches guided vacationers down towards the water, verdant arms swept wide, beckoning, those cotton candy cottages lining the edges like flagstones.

With a toss of her dark wavy hair, frizzing fast in the ocean breeze despite the John Frieda serums and mousses with which she had diligently coated the strands, Siri hopped up onto one of the bigger rocks along the beach and picked her way across the shore. She held her arms aloft for balance, paying special care not to slip. Tiny crabs skuttled within sunken tidepools; salted kelp rocked back and forth with the waves. The fabled Maine sun caught on the edges of everything, lighting up the cove like a glittery disco. She could hear Regina whining warnings from the safety of dry land. Siri ignored her.

When Siri got as far as she could before the shoreline sheared off into untamed wilderness, she turned carefully, Rainbow flip flops catching on the occasional barnacle, and made her way back to her little sister. She was almost to the beach before she looked up.

On the path behind Regina, appearing from behind the blue structure in the middle of the dock, were a group of teenagers making their way up the grassy hill. They were in various states of swimwear; boys with baggy trunks and loose tee shirts, dampened in places by saltwater clinging to not-fully-dried skin, girls largely in cutoff jean shorts and bikini tops. All had beach towels around their necks and were laughing loudly.

Regina whipped her head around at the commotion and stared. Siri felt her cheeks flush; she was perched precariously on a boulder several feet from land, suddenly faced with a bunch of unknown peers. From behind Regina’s mop of raven curls, longer and fluffier than her own, Siri locked eyes with the tallest of the pack, a pretty girl who looked about Siri’s age, black hair piled high in a messy bun.

The girl flashed a criminally blinding grin and waved. Siri startled and snapped her eyes away.

The sudden movement caused Siri to lose her footing. She scraped her ankle on the rough granite as she stumbled ungracefully off the rock into the shallow water.

Regina laughed. Siri ignored her.

--

Two days later, and Siri was bored. The rain arrived in Bayville almost as soon as her family had, crowding out the finnicky northern sun with dull clouds and a frustratingly steady drizzle. There was only so much War and Go Fish a rising junior could play with her eighth grade sister before one became a sore loser (eighth grader) and the other got hangry (take a wild guess). So now, Siri was sitting on the front porch, stomach growling, watching the rain muddy up the gravel while pretending to do her summer reading. Huckleberry Finn. It was brutal.

Siri perked up at the tell-tale crunch of a car about to pass slowly in front of their rented cottage; honestly, she was like a dog left home alone, staring out at the street, desperate for any stimulation. The car in question pulled into view from the left, heading in the direction of town. It was a beat-up black SUV, rap music thumping over the drone of the rain. As Siri watched, a pretty face with a mess of black hair and oversized glasses appeared in the front passenger window. The face saw Siri and did a double take, craning her neck to keep Siri in her vision as the car went by.

“Young lady, what do you think you are you doing?” Walburga stuck her immaculately coiffed head out of the screen door. Her pink lipstick shone lurid in the overcast light. “Come inside before your hair is ruined.”

Siri blinked, closed her mouth. “Yes, momma.”

For the next three days, the pretty girl with the wild hair could be seen passing the cottage on a morning run. For the next three days, Siri sat on the porch to eat her breakfast, Huckleberry Finn laying uselessly on the side table.

--

Jamie Potter, Siri would soon learn, was the owner of the pretty face and the blinding smile and the morning runs that happened to take her past the Blacks’ cottage.

Almost a week into their stay, Siri was once again sitting on the front porch, sipping her coffee and pretending to read. The sun had mercifully returned; she and Regina had spent some time exploring, wearing swimsuits underneath shorts and tee shirts, venturing to the beach or the dock or the little corner store out by Route 1, faded sign reading “Cote’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream and Burgers” hung reverently against Nantucket red siding. They had seen the group of teenagers here and there, sunbathing on the dock and flirting shamelessly with the college-aged lifeguard, or gearing up outside the yacht club for a sail, or playing basketball on the courts near the central lawn after dinner. The tall, pretty girl seemed to always be in the very middle, laughing the loudest, touching the most. Like she was the sun their little social circle revolved around. Siri had watched the group hungrily, desperate to be included but far too terrified to make any moves. Regina, meanwhile, was too caught up in having her big sister all to herself to much care about hanging around even more moony high schoolers.

Siri took another gulp of coffee and watched the morning sun catch on the graveled hill, flecks of mica sparkling beneath lingering dew. She imagined a dark ponytail swinging into view from over the crest, followed by long, powerful legs, propelling their body impressively up the incline. Then, she wasn’t imagining it; she was watching it.

Only this time, the powerful legs slowed and the girl trotted to a walk, breathing hard. A hand reached up under the hem of her tee shirt, stopping at the waistband of rolled Soffe shorts to pause the iPod Shuffle clipped there, flashing a sliver of tan skin in the process; her other hand tugged out her headphones.

Siri immediately looked down and picked up her book, not wanting to embarrass herself by inviting any sort of acknowledgement of her existence. She could feel her face turning red and her pulse picking up.

“Hey!”

Siri continued to pretend to read. There was no way this girl was actually calling to Siri.

“Hey!!”

Siri looked up with a start. Fuck. The girl was leaning over the railing of the porch, grinning right at her. It wasn’t entirely innocent, somehow.

“Hey,” Siri choked out. How were this girl’s teeth so white?

“You’re new this year, right?”

Siri’s vision was tunnelling; she was having a hard time processing the girl’s words. She wished she would stop blushing.

“Sorry?”

The girl seemed to smile even more at Siri’s confusion. It made her deep rosy flush from exercise pop beneath her complexion.

“It’s just, we’ve been seeing you around, but no one knows who you are—”

No no no no no people have been noticing her?!

“—and you haven’t come said hi.”

Siri was going to die, simply pass away from embarrassment. “Um, no, yeah, I mean, we haven’t been here before…um, so…” Siri barely remembered to smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

“Exactly!” The girl’s eyes narrowed playfully. They were dark brown and incredibly expressive. “I would definitely remember if I had seen you before.”

Siri wasn’t sure what that meant, but the girl didn’t pause long enough for her to work it out.

“Don’t you want to hang out with us?” The girl craned her neck and leaned farther over the railing, peering into Siri’s lap where her book split open, still on page 10. Siri could pick up the fruity scent of her deodorant. The girl’s eyes flicked back up to Siri’s. “Or do you want to sit and read…"

“…Huckleberry Finn.”

“Yikes.” The girl’s teasing smile was replaced with a look of horror.

“I know.” Siri felt her mouth relax a little, a small quirk of her lips.

The girl shook her head, like a buck huffing in annoyance, bordering aggression. She cracked her knuckles, continued. “…Or do you want to sit and read books by dead white guys on your porch all summer.” It wasn’t said like a question.

“Um. Okay?”

“Okay what?” She was bouncing up and down on her toes, hunched over the porch railing. Sunkissed shoulders poking up from rolled tee shirt sleeves. Deep-sea dark eyes boring into dawning-sky gray.

“I—” This girl was very disorienting. “Sure. Let’s hang out.”

The girl’s face split back into a grin, like that was its natural state. Though her cheeks were made round and even more rosy by the smile, her eyes didn’t crinkle with it the way most people’s do, Siri thought.

“I’m Jamie.”

They stayed sharp and honed.

--

Siri’s summer looked very different after that. Following her introduction, Jamie Potter had promptly asked for Siri’s cell phone number (written on Jamie’s inner forearm with a sharpie Siri found in the little kitchen) and told her “they were having a dock day, after sailing,” whatever that meant. But Siri had agreed to meet outside the yacht club at 1pm that afternoon, promising to bring snacks and a moderately-behaved thirteen-year-old.

“Dock days,” as it turned out, consisted of spreading towels on the far side of the dock, behind the little blue gazebo (every square inch of which, upon closer inspection, was covered in scrawled names, dates, hearts and the like: a living history of summer lovin’), and eating chips and salsa while soaking up temporal sunbeams and wearing as little clothing as possible. Flirting was a prerequisite, Siri had gathered from her week-long observations from afar, but there wasn’t much of anyone she felt the need to devote such attention to. She was thrilled just being included, happy to sit quietly on her hibiscus-printed towel and follow Jamie’s cues, laughing at the right places and inserting a quick one-liner here and there where she felt confident enough to deliver.

The group ranged in age, which gave Regina a few peers to talk to while Siri fell into Jamie’s orbit. Jamie was a year older than Siri and had her childhood best friends Remus and Peter staying with her (“Their families ship them off to Maine with us every summer. They are a pain in my ass—ow! hey—but I love them.”). Then there were the twins, Gillian and Fabian, also a year older than Siri, then Tuney and her little cousin Lucy, who were a couple years younger. Tuney’s older sister, Lily, was away at some competitive chemistry program for the summer, and apparently things were much more subdued this year without her around to get everyone into trouble.

“The definition of chaotic evil,” Jamie had explained with a twinkle in her eye and a faraway grin tugging her lips. Siri was glad Lily wasn’t here this season, but she wasn’t sure why. Probably just because she didn’t like getting into trouble—at least anywhere her mother might find out.

Siri soon learned the ins and outs of the little group that pulsed the beating heart of the magical seaside village. Most had been coming here every summer since they were little, growing up on bowline knots and July sparklers and Gifford’s blueberry ice cream. They had a hearty skepticism for “renters,” as they called them: part-time vacationers who came and went without getting much involved in the community. When Siri had asked why they had befriended her, since she was a “renter,” the boys had looked away sheepishly and Jamie had scoffed. “Please,” she had said, bumping her bare shoulder into Siri’s, “Like my idiot brothers-from-another-mother would ever forgive me if I didn’t introduce you.” Remus and Peter had turned bright red and then shoved a cackling Jamie, whereas Fabian had met Siri’s gaze, unashamed, and smirked. Siri hadn’t known how to react, besides blush furiously. Were they making fun of her? She felt rather exposed. Regina had squeezed her hand protectively. Siri had squeezed it back.

By this point, Siri had already analyzed everyone’s physical shapes and quirks in comparison to her own, a foible of adolescence she couldn’t wait to grow out of. She tanned easily and had a flat stomach, badges of pride for any teenager under the tyranny of Laguna Beach and Abercrombie, but she was self-conscious about her small chest, wide hips and unshapely legs. Jamie was a star athlete back home in Massachusetts, championing in soccer and tennis, and was lean and strong, everywhere. Siri envied the way she filled out her bikini top during the day and her low-rise jeans at night.

Siri’s hair was rather untamable (“Mia Thermopolis hair”, the other cheerleaders called it), especially in the humid sea air, and never dried soft and silky like the most popular girls’ seemed to. Jamie’s hair was a paragon of that effortlessly messy look: never frizzy, but piece-y and wavy, jet-black with shots of caramel laced through from days in the sun, it reached passed her shoulder blades even when pulled into a high ponytail. Siri would discover she loved playing with it, braiding its dampened ends while Jamie lay on her stomach on the dock, water droplets sliding down the soft skin of her back, or gently brushing it out after a day of sailing, working through the knots with careful fingers.

Then there was Siri’s face. People commented on Siri’s face a lot. She generally refused to leave the house without makeup on, and had even packed waterproof formulas for this vacation. None of the other girls in Bayville seemed to wear makeup.

Siri wondered how they still looked so pretty.

She wondered why Fabian was looking at her like that.

--

Dock days turned into movie nights and lunches at Cote’s, which turned into card games on front porches and excursions to the Coffee Pot in town for “Potts” sandwiches, a play on Jamie’s last name that seemed to have existed longer than some of their younger siblings had been alive. Siri couldn’t believe that not only had she been included in this tight-knit group who were so wary of outsiders, but that their central star paid so much attention to her. Jamie, as the leader, was the one who texted Siri when plans for an adventure were being made to ensure sure she didn’t get left out. She always spread her towel next to Siri’s, yellow stripes beside pink and orange flowers, and was the first to whisper jokes and confidences into her ear. She made sure to get an extra side of ketchup in addition to her mayonnaise—“Mayonnaise is white people’s greatest invention, I’m telling you,” she would say, while mixing in pinches of extremely hot spices she kept tucked away in her bag for such occasions—when she ordered fries, in case Siri wanted some, and punched the boys wordlessly when they inevitably crossed the line (which was about seven times a day).

They took Fabian’s battered SUV inland to go blueberry picking, blasting Panic! At the Disco and Kelly Clarkson and singing along with the windows down. Despite their parents’ explicit instructions to collect more than they ate, they spent most of their time horsing around in that green-and-gold field, sated with fruit, laughing freely and dreaming loudly beneath a buttercup sun and bluebird sky.

Predictably, Fabian got bored and started throwing blueberries at Siri. Jamie got irrationally irate every time he did so, eventually turning it into a competition to pelt him with as many blueberries as possible in return. Somehow that turned into an argument over who was taller; Fabian was also athletic and played lacrosse, but was on the shorter side for a guy. Jamie insisted they go back-to-back and demanded Siri be the judge. Siri felt uncomfortable for some reason, but acquiesced. Jamie’s sparked eyes stayed trained on Siri the entire time, something plaintive behind them. When Siri objectively announced Fabian was taller, the plaintive glint hardened sharp and heavy. Neither girl smiled when Fabian whooped with victory.

Siri sat next to Gillian on the ride home.

--

Evenings in Bayville took on a completely different tone, exchanging sun-soaked shimmer and the smell of No-Ad sunscreen for the heliotrope haze of dusk, citronella wafting heavy on the night air. Those summer nights weren’t just dark and twinkling, they were laden with potential energy, the silver ball perched at the top of a physics experiment, a penalty shot lined up against a tied score and less than a minute left.

One navy night, Jamie had taken Siri by the hand, identical sailor knot bracelets scratching against each other’s wrists, and dragged her to her mom’s porch. This was an important ritual in Bayville: hopping from porch to porch after the sun sets to receive parental praise and affection and, if you were lucky, leftover lobster meat or a fresh-baked whoopie pie. This was the first time Siri had been included.

Mrs. Potter was sitting in a rocking chair, reading glasses perched on her nose and a cup of chai on the little table beside her, paperback novel splayed open in her hands. A generous lilac bush off the corner of the cottage steadily pulsed out its sweet perfume, writing itself into Siri’s memory like a madeleine on the tongue.

“Hi Mommy!” Jamie rushed up the steps and then swooped down to give her mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Potter didn’t even have time to respond before Jamie gestured proudly to Siri.

“Mommy, this is Siri!” Jamie stepped back with that Cheshire grin, the one where her eyes stayed sharp, vibrating with excitement as she directed her mother’s gaze.

“My goodness, she is beautiful, isn’t she,” Mrs. Potter commented, surveying calmly. She was smaller than her daughter, with a weather-worn face typical of New England parents, dark hair shot with gray. Siri could tell, however, where Jamie got her eyes: Mrs. Potter’s were piercing and narrowed in an eerily familiar fashion. The breeze picked up; lingering sea-salted air blended dizzyingly with the evening florals and spiced tea.

Siri stammered through her blush. “Oh! Um, thank you… it’s nice to meet you.” She really wasn’t sure what she did to deserve getting double-teamed by the Potter Stare.

“Ugh, Mom, I told the boys to stop being gross about her!” Jamie whined.

“I didn’t hear it from the boys,” Mrs. Potter replied, still calm, still piercing. “There are whoopie pies inside on the counter. Help yourselves, girls.”

For some reason, Jamie flushed almost as deeply as Siri.

--

One rainy afternoon, Jamie and Siri perched across from each other on Siri’s bed, beat-up Vera Bradley toiletries bag sitting between them on top of the multi-colored patchwork quilt. Tuney and Lucy were in town at the movies with their families; Gillian was back home at a women’s lacrosse camp for the week. Regina had whined to be included, but Siri had kicked her out unceremoniously.

The two friends were meticulously stroking colored paint onto their toes: crimson red for Siri and metallic gold for Jamie. Siri’s mother would kill them if she saw they were using nail polish on the bed without a towel, but hey, Siri’s a rebel.

“Can I ask you something?” Jamie ventured without removing her focus from the task at hand—er—foot.

Siri’s breath caught a little at the change in tone. Just moments ago, they had been talking about their respective AP Lit reading lists and decrying the lack of women authors. “Sure,” she replied, keeping her voice light.

Jamie eyed the concealers and eyeliners spilling from Siri’s bag. “Why do you always wear makeup? I mean, it’s Bayville.”

Siri bristled automatically. She got teased a lot back home, either for wearing too much makeup or not enough. Always, it came back to her face, and the expectation Siri accepted unquestioningly that she owed the world perfection, and she better not dare present their judgement-day eyes with anything less than that.

She continued applying the blood-red paint to her toes, not looking up. “I mean, everyone wears makeup in Georgia,” she began defensively. “And I cheer, and I’ve done pageants—"

“Shut up!” Jamie interrupted, jaw dropped, pedicure abandoned, gold bottle of polish eagerly twisted shut and tossed carelessly onto the bed. “You’re a beauty queen?!”

Siri chanced a glance upwards. Jamie looked like Christmas had come early. It was not the reaction Siri usually got from other girls when that bit of information got pried from her.

“I mean… I never won or anything,” Siri shrugged, looking away, out the rain-splattered window. The nail polish brush in her hand hovered precariously over her left foot, threatening to drip red all over her careful paint job. “But yeah, I’ve done some of that, and like, modeling, for like department stores and stuff…” The geraniums bedded in their little window boxes outside were getting absolutely pummeled by the downpour.

“Do you like wearing makeup every day?”

When Siri returned her gaze to the room it caught on Jamie’s fish-hook stare, already angling to snag her. Siri didn’t look away.

“I like feeling pretty.”

Jamie held her gaze. “That’s not the same thing.”

Siri searched Jamie’s face for the inevitable cruelty that always slipped in front of jealousy like a vicious guard dog, brutally defending young girls against the pain of insecurity, the fear of rejection, of abandonment. Siri had wielded it thoughtlessly as much as she had been hurt by it, time and again.

But in Jamie’s brown eyes there was no trace of green, only curiosity, and maybe something a little softer? A little… safer? Jamie blinked, tilted her head and let a tiny smile crease the corner of her marble-carved mouth, encouraging Siri.

Siri sighed and dropped her eyes back down, finally closing the bottle of nail polish. She wouldn’t be able to say this next part if she was looking directly into the face of the prettiest girl she had ever seen. “I don’t like how I look without make-up. Sometimes, it’s… it’s all I can think about. How I look.” Siri had never confessed this to anyone before, this shameful, vain secret. “I wish I could be like you… you don’t need make up.”

The next thing Siri knew, warm, soft hands were gently but firmly holding the sides of her face, tilting her jaw up, making her breath catch with the sudden contact. She kept her gaze downcast until the last second, and when it finally did rise it was swallowed immediately by entire galaxies.

Jamie and her swirling orb eyes were maybe a few inches away from Siri’s, staring intently. She spoke with conviction.

“You don’t owe the world shit.”

--

Siri couldn’t rollerblade. Normally, that wasn’t much of an issue for her. It only became one when Jamie, accomplished athlete with a doe-like grace and the stubbornness of a young buck to match, found out.

So, on a Friday evening around the summer solstice, Siri agreed to let Jamie teach her. In exchange, she had bargained for minimum one hour with Jamie’s stunning face all to herself and her Vera Bradley makeup bag. Siri was chief makeup artist on the cheerleading bus for a reason; it was a creative outlet, painting on shadows and colors and creases to create a work of art you can smile and blink and laugh through. Putting makeup on others allowed Siri to embrace the artistry of it, rather than fight against the compulsivity that overshadowed her own complicated experience.

Jamie had arrived at the Blacks’ cottage around 6pm, just after an early dinner, and followed Siri up to her room where she could work her magic. Siri had been glad her parents were out for the night—she had heard enough off-color comments from her mother about “that Potter family” over the last few weeks and didn’t want to put Jamie at risk of hearing any of it. Regina, the better hairstylist of the two sisters, had been permitted to give Jamie two long French braids that showed off the subtle variations in her thick dark hair, shiny onyx strands rippled with chocolate and auburn.

Now, Siri was starting to regret her actions; the dramatic smokey eye she had indulged in creating electrified Jamie’s laser-beam gaze to the point of distraction.

It made it all the more difficult to stay upright on two thin rows of wheels.

“Jamie!” Siri squealed with a jolt of adrenaline, windmilling her arms out as she lurched forward, gaze ripped from Jamie’s face to the fast-approaching ground. The taller girl cackled but caught her with one hand all the same. Siri clutched at it like a lifeline, heart still pounding.

Their hands stayed clasped. Siri’s heartbeat stayed elevated.

They had found a bit of paved road, out closer to Route 1, and slowly made their way along the empty stretch before them, rolling farther from the safety of the familiar cottages with their slamming screen doors and sneaky garden gates, venturing onwards as the sun sank fast into an approaching dusk.

Both girls were clad in denim miniskirts; Siri’s was dark wash and kept riding up her hips as she maneuvered along the asphalt in a pair of old skates borrowed from Jamie. She had to keep tugging at it from underneath an oversized gray college-branded hoodie, so large it threatened to swallow her petite frame all together. Jamie’s mini was a light wash and fitted tightly to show off her strong thighs and butt. Paired with white and yellow layered tank tops that she filled out so enviously well, Jamie Potter looked like nothing less than Roller Derby Barbie. When Siri had told her so, Jamie had almost skated into a tree.

“We’re close to Cote’s,” Jamie commented after a stretch of not-quite-comfortable silence. Siri was grateful for the interruption; she got along better with Jamie than anyone else in Bayville, but one-on-one hang outs with her were becoming threaded with something unsettling, an uncomfortable crack of buzzed-out current that kept Siri’s body tipped on the edge of fight-or-flight. “Want to get an ice cream?”

There was something in the way she said it that made Siri look over at her friend in the fading twilight. Jamie’s eyes were practically glowing, the whites phosphorescent against her dark irises and the looming forest shadows, but there was still enough light to see her cheeks were darkened. Siri didn’t think she had put that much blush on her; she hadn’t wanted to pull focus from her eye makeup. Furthermore, in a way that didn’t usually accompany casual suggestions of ice cream, Jamie’s eyebrows were oddly drawn together. Siri wanted to reach out and smooth them, trail her fingers down her cheek, maybe hold her jaw tenderly and—

Oh.

Shit.

Siri gulped.

--

When they rolled up to Cote’s, however, the two girls were not alone. Fabian, Remus, Peter, and a couple more boys Siri didn’t recognize were sitting at one of the picnic tables out front, eating burgers and fries and making a general ruckus. It was late enough that a street lamp had flickered on, bathing the scene in artificial light. It made the faces of the boys glow eerily, joker grins and flinted eyes.

Every pair landed on Siri and Jamie and stayed there. Grins growing wider.

“Oh shit, look who it is!” Fabian was the first to crow. Remus groaned, no doubt annoyed by the unwelcomed intrusion of the two girls.

The two new boys made no pretense about continuing to stare openly.

Jamie’s grip on Siri’s hand tightened briefly before dropping.

“I was just teaching Siri how to skate. She’s never tried.” Jamie sounded uncharacteristically defensive. Territorial, even.

“What happened to your face?” Remus deadpanned. Fabian snickered.

Jamie drew herself to her full height, even taller than usual with the roller skates, and looked down her nose at the entire table. “She did my makeup. I love it.”

“It looks like you got punched,” Peter offered.

Fabian chimed in, “Why do you even wear that stuff? Girls look better without makeup, anyway.”

Siri and Jamie let that comment hang in the air for a beat or two. Watched Fabian squirm a bit.

“Gross,” Siri pronounced, once she had determined their point had been made. Jamie cracked her knuckles.

“Anyway, we were just here to get some ice cream. Come on, Siri.” Jamie made to grab her hand again and stomp them both into the tiny store, skates and all, when Fabian grabbed Siri’s other hand.

“No, Siri, stay with us. Potts’ll get your ice cream, right Potts?” He grinned up at Jamie, laying on the charm. A strange, fiery look passed between them before they turned to the girl in question.

Siri, not wanting to draw out—whatever that was—quickly agreed, pulling herself free of their grips. “Yeah, you go, I’ll wait out here.”

But at Siri’s response, Jamie’s face immediately clouded over into something downright murderous. Her eyes flashed as she turned and clomped into the store. A beat passed before Remus hopped up and announced he wanted some ice cream, too, and dragged Peter along with him. Fabian called to get him a cookie dough. Remus flipped him off without turning around or loosening his grip on Peter.

Siri carefully lowered herself to perch on the spot vacated by Remus, next to Fabian. She had her back facing away from the table along with the two random boys and was angled towards the door of the shop. She picked at a hangnail. Fiddled with a coil of long hair, dried curly after a day of dock jumping. Hoped her stupid fucking red cheeks could pass as exertion from roller skating.

She felt Fabian scooch closer. He muscled a tricep into her shoulder blade to get her attention. When she turned to look, he was leaning in, face close.

“Uh, these are my buddies from home, Benji and Caradoc.” Drew gestured to each boy across the table. “Guys, this is Siri.” He was hunched over and not quite making eye contact. He fidgeted with a few cold fries.

The weird energy pushing uncomfortably around them had Siri too agitated to remember to smile, but she did at least adjust her body to face the boys. They were built similarly to Fabian and both sported flowing locks peeking out beneath baseball hats.

Siri was outnumbered three to one by lax bros. She looked around for Satan, wondering why he wasn’t present to welcome her to what was clearly hell itself.

The boys still hadn’t stopped looking at her.

“Shit, dude, you weren’t kidding about this place,” one of the boys—Caradoc, maybe?—smirked cryptically. The other boy snorted, nudged the first.

Fabian’s eyes widened and he threw a soggy fry across the table. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled.

They were all saved by the tinkling of the shop door as Jamie, Remus and Peter returned, ice creams dripping from their hands. Siri scrutinized Jamie for a sign of what might be going on, but the taller girl kept her eyes averted and mouth set in a determined, hard line. Remus appeared frustrated, Peter nervous.

“Thanks, Jamie.” Siri spoke sincerely, trying to catch her friend’s eye, as a cone piled high with fruit-flecked ice cream was deposited emotionlessly into her hand.

“Welcome.” Jamie replied. She grabbed a stool from the outdoor counter, carried it over, placed it across from Siri and Fabian so the three of them formed a triangle of sorts, and threw herself onto it with her legs splayed despite her skirt. Somehow, she held onto her strawberry ice cream effortlessly throughout the process—rollerblades be dammed.

Remus, meanwhile, leaned on the end of the picnic table next to Fabian and handed off the requested cookie dough cone. He began eating his own chocolate ice cream quietly. Peter skulked behind him and slurped a milkshake.

“What flavor did you get?” Fabian asked Siri, low like he was only talking to her.

“Black cherry.” Siri spoke loudly as if it were a group conversation. “Jamie knows it’s my favorite.” She punctuated the statement with a smile in her friend’s direction, rolling over, a submissive flash of soft white tummy.

Siri’s tail went between her legs when it wasn’t returned; Jamie’s stare was trained on Fabian.

“Wanna try mine?” Fabian proffered his cone to Siri. She could hear more snickering from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum behind her.

Siri whipped her head around. “Oh! Uh—”

“Come on, it’s good.” Fabian cracked a shit-eating grin. “My cone needs to be tasted.” All four boys, minus Remus, were snorting heartily.

But before Siri could vocalize the acerbic reply forming in the back of her throat, Jamie suddenly leaned forward off her stool and licked Fabian’s cone herself, tongue wide and pink against the creamy vanilla. Her eyes met Siri’s as she flicked the tip of her tongue up at the crest of the cone, cream dripping down into her mouth, before pulling the clever appendage back behind her teeth, swallowing, and finishing off with a final swipe of her full lips.

Oh.

Shit.

“There.” Jamie concluded, sitting back. Siri’s mind was blank. “Your cone has been tasted. No one else needs to be subjected to it. Besides,” —a cocky wink to Siri, a shrug to the boys— “it could have been bigger.”

Everyone, even Remus, howled with laughter; it was peak “that’s what she said” era.

Everyone except Siri.

--

“Truth.”

Siri and Jamie were laying on a blanket in the grass, flat on their backs, looking up at the stars. After they had finished their ice cream, Fabian had given the girls a lift back to Bayville. He had offered Siri shotgun but Jamie had complained her long legs meant she needed the front seat more. Eager to please and wanting to get back into Jamie’s good graces, unsure why she had even fallen out of them in the first place—must be an only child thing—Siri had acquiesced and sat in the back with the rest of the boys. To her relief, it seemed to have worked. Jamie was back to her usual loud, joking self as soon as Fabian had dropped them off.

They had stopped at the Blacks’ cottage to change out of their skates and grab a blanket—hot-blooded Jamie refusing to borrow a sweatshirt—before wandering down to the central lawn ostensibly to stargaze but really to giggle and gossip. It hadn’t taken long to strike up a round of Truth or Dare; Siri had just selected truth.

“What’s your number?” Jamie asked in the direction of the North Star.

Siri turned her head, traced her eyes over Jamie’s profile outlined in the moonlight. Her nose was elegant, fit perfectly to her face, her top lip pouting prettily just beneath it.

“Zero,” Siri answered after a beat. Unashamed, but also unsure.

Jamie turned her head as well, brow furrowed almost in offense, eyes deep and searching of Siri’s face.

“You can tell me.”

Siri smiled with only half her mouth, derisive. “Trust me, I would.”

Jamie’s gaze refused to let up. Siri could feel heat prickling along her hips, under her arms. “I…yeah, there hasn’t been anyone worth it, I guess.” Her pulse was throbbing harder the longer Jamie looked at her like that.

“What about you?” Siri asked, looking for relief: Jamie’s stare was like an exacting silver needle, threading the two of them together without mercy, sewing them closer and closer.

Jamie made a strange face; a little sad, a little hopeful. “Just one. My ex-boyfriend. Sophomore year.”

Siri took a breath, to work out how she felt about that. “Did you love him?” Siri decided she hoped she loved him. Hoped he loved her, more like. Jamie deserved love, all of it.

That needle-eye stare punctured the night with quiet catching sounds as it stitch, stitch, stitched away, pricking spindled fingers with gift and curse alike as Jamie Potter thought hard before answering.

“In a way, yeah, I think so.” She turned back to the stars, pulling but not snapping the immortal threads. “I definitely thought I did.”

Siri didn’t respond, but redirected her gaze skyward as well. The two girls simply breathed together, laying side by side, woven and watching as the earth turned. Nature was serenading them ardently, crickets and frogs awake and amorous, calling for mates. The gentle lapping of the bay against well-worn rocks and weathered boats and steadfast pilings and rooted banks beat in time to steady stolen hearts; the rustle of oak leaves in the trees above, caught dizzy in a midnight breeze, blew secrets in and out of seashelled ears.

Siri felt like Ariel, floating in a blue lagoon. Just missing a crooning crab.

Then, to the moon: “Was it good?”

“It hurt,” Jamie replied, also to the moon. “But I wanted to do it. I just, haven’t really wanted to… since then.”

The wind picked up and Siri looked over in time to watch Jamie shiver. Goosebumps erupted all down her toned arms and chest, across the gleaming tops of her breasts gently swollen against the moonlight. Siri allowed her eyes to continue trailing downwards, clock the evidence of Jamie’s chill even through her bra and layered tops.

Siri turned and sat up, pulled off her own sweatshirt with crossed arms, pink Abercrombie polo getting caught up a bit in her effort. When her vision reappeared from the tangle of cloth and curls, Jamie was staring at her.

“Here.” Siri tossed the sweatshirt, still warm with her body heat, into Jamie’s lap. Jamie didn’t move. Siri raised her eyebrows. “I know you’re cold, Potts, I just watched you shiver.”

Jamie didn’t smile, but sat up slack-jawed and put on the sweatshirt without protesting. That’s a first, Siri thought.

“Your turn.” Siri said once Jamie was bundled up. She missed the sight of her smooth shoulders, her sculpted clavicle, and okay, yes, her tits in those tank tops, but there was something pleasant about seeing Jamie in Siri’s clothes that made it worth it. Plus, in their new semi-seated positions Jamie had her long legs stretched unendingly in front of her, ankles crossed, as she leaned back on her hands. The top of her shin bone seemed to fucking glow, radioactive in the mirror-blue night. Siri’s legs were curved under her as she sat slightly hunched toward Jamie, close to the bend of her waist. “Truth or dare.”

Jamie surprised Siri by picking truth.

“Ok…” Siri’s eyes flicked to Jamie’s perfect mouth. She took a risk. “What’s the deal between you and Fabian?”

Siri was braced to get told off, or for Jamie to dissolve in girlish denial. Instead, she was serious, considering carefully before replying. “He used to have a crush on me.” She twisted her neck, popping the joints. Looked out towards the water. “Followed me around all last summer, like a lost puppy.”

Siri snorted at the image. “Did you like him back?”

Jamie pulled her mouth to the side, lifted a shoulder. “Not really.”

Siri thought of the boys back home, a few in particular… always lurking around hall corners and by lockers and on sidelines. She could relate.

“So what’s different this year?” Siri pressed, slightly afraid of the answer.

Jamie leveled Siri with a look, ancient amber sparked with starlight. “Well, you’re here.”

Ah, fuck.

Siri sighed, looked away. Forced herself to ask, “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe a little,” Jamie whispered.

Siri’s heart sank like the Heart of the fucking Ocean. She turned her head fully away from Jamie, looking over her shoulder at the dark trees and shadowed cottages in the distance. Most of their lights were out.

“Well I don’t really like him, like that, so,” Siri mumbled into the darkness, giving Jamie the green light. At least now it was out in the open. Maybe now they could go back to being normal friends.

Well, normal-ish, for Siri.

Jamie, however, perked up, excited. “Yeah? You don’t?” She shuffled forward, angling her face to try and catch Siri’s avoidant eye.

To Siri’s horror, she felt heat press into her sinuses, her throat, her eyes shimmering and shaking, threatening to spill at any moment. She really didn’t like Drew, so why did she care so much if Jamie did?

You know why, Inner Siri whispered.

Go to hell, Denial Siri muttered back.

She took a shaky breath in, forced her emotions back down—stomped on them with gusto, really. “It’s your turn to ask. Go.”

“Truth or dare.” The pleased smile in Jamie’s voice carried, although Siri still hadn’t turned back around to face her. Hearing it in this context felt like falling from a stunt; a deeply unpleasant drop in your stomach followed by getting the wind brutally knocked out of you.

Siri sighed again. “Truth.” She had learned long ago never to pick dare. At any rate, she found people fascinating, their secrets, their fears, their dreams: learning those intimacies and sharing them back helped her love deeper, love specific, when she chose to. Like right now, Inner Siri noted, smug. Shut the fuck up, Denial Siri replied, pissed.

“What about just kissing? How many guys have you kissed?”

Siri should have known Jamie wasn’t going to let the general topic go. She groaned and rolled her head back, exasperated, before finally lolling it around to glare at Jamie, whose braids were still holding her thick hair tight away from her face, fine baby hairs whisping in front of her ears and over her brow. Dark eyes rimmed in charcoal smoke glinted with intent: mischief, and something else Siri couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Siri inhaled, nostrils flaring. This one was less fun to talk about.

“None.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped. But her eyes. They positively lit up, bright and keen.

“None?!”

Siri shook her head. Thought, again, of the simpering boys back home, of Fabian and his friends from earlier. Sure, those guys were hot, but the thought of trusting them enough to hold her, touch her. It just didn’t make sense.

“I’ve only kissed two guys,” Jamie quickly offered. There was something unspoken behind her teeth. “My ex, and a random boy at the 8th grade dance.”

That seemed odd to Siri. Jamie was friendly, popular. Confident. Girls like that had no trouble kissing for fun.

“Okay then.” Jamie sounded like she had decided something, God help us all. She angled her body, taking Siri’s silence as some sort of invitation, and gave her an uncommonly brilliant demonstration of the Potter Stare paired with her signature smile.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Siri gaped; blood coursed through her ears. No, no, no this wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t like that—a pity kiss, or, or an experiment or something silly to giggle about—

“It’s not your turn!” Siri sputtered. “And… I didn’t pick dare! I never pick dare.”

Jamie was leaning towards Siri, head tilted down so she could quite literally bat her thick, darkened eyelashes up at her. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” she pouted, smiling. Cheeky. Siri felt a shiver ignite down her helpless spine.

The problem was, Jamie had no idea how badly she did.

Siri was powerfully reminded of the first time they met. “Don’t you want to hang out with us?” She was so sure, so confident. Easy. Everything Siri was not.

Now, Jamie’s face had turned on a dime from flirty to focused. It was a little terrifying.

Because behind that carefree ease and sunlight smile, Siri knew, there was a deep and raw hunger. An ache to be needed. To be seen, and delighted in, just as she tries so hard to see and delight in everyone else around her.

Siri saw Jamie.

“I… I don’t.” Siri swallowed, tore her eyes away. “I don’t want it to be a dare.” She was grateful for the darkness, knowing that for once her berry-red face was getting some camouflage.

Jamie, meanwhile, changed tack. Siri could still feel the intensity of her gaze, but she also felt her sit up a little, square herself, blend her characteristic curiosity into that swirling stare.

“What about not guys?” Jamie asked evenly.

Siri frowned, mirrored Jamie’s body language, met her eyes once again. “What?”

She repeated, patient. Dead serious. “How many not-guys have you kissed?”

Was Jamie asking what Siri thought she was asking? Siri was silent, could only stare, searching her face for clues.

It had gotten closer to her own, somehow.

Stitch, stitch, stitch.

Jamie took a deep breath, eyes locked on Siri. “I’ve kissed… a few not-boys,” she confessed.

Did Siri imagine it, or did Jamie’s eyes flit down to Siri’s mouth when she said it?

Then, slowly, unbelievably, Jamie reached out a warm hand. Siri’s breath hitched and something flipped pleasantly low behind her tailbone as with the backs of her knuckles, Jamie tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Siri’s forehead, fingers turning and tracing down her cheek, so impossibly soft and delicate. Ice and fire whooshed simultaneously along Siri’s face where the tips of Jamie’s nails caressed her skin; Siri’s eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into the touch.

“I don’t want it to be a dare, either,” Jamie whispered, honey-glazed, low. Assured.

Siri’s heart stopped. She opened her eyes.

And Jamie’s were dancing, burning waves of desire, a whirlpool and Siri was drowning. Jamie’s fingers slid from Siri’s cheek to grip deep within her hair, hold her firmly around her jaw and neck.

She was so close now there was hardly any space left between them. Siri’s lips parted with soft pants. She could feel Jamie’s breath on her tongue, creamy and sweet.

“Siri, I—” Jamie murmured against Siri’s open mouth, nosing into her. “I want to.” She gripped the other side of Siri’s face, fierce, desperate. “I want you.”

Siri closed the distance.

And it was… Fireworks? A revelation? Angels singing Handel’s chorus in four-part harmony?

It was so easy. So easy to revel in the feel of Jamie’s lips on her own, to slowly open her mouth for her, willingly, taste her, gently. So fucking soft and warm and wet and sweet, a delightful echo of the ice cream she had so lustfully watched Jamie lick away at earlier, sugared vanilla and tangy fruit, filling up her mouth and tongue.

Jamie expertly maneuvered Siri’s face sideways with knowing hands still holding her neck, sending Siri’s stomach swooping down to her toes (though it felt more like a well-executed tumbling pass than a dropped stunt), and deepened the kiss.

It was incredibly sexy.

Jamie’s tongue was down her throat and butterflies were rioting through her body and congregating between her legs and in her pelvis and Siri pushed in, gripped the front of that damn sweatshirt, wanting more. She felt their teeth bump and their movements fall out of sync, but then Jamie merely giggled into her, the corners of her mouth pulling with her smile and pushing that fucking tongue out of her mouth just that little bit to meet her own outside their lips.

So they did that for a minute. Just took turns carefully, slowly pushing each other’s tongues back and forth, fingers dancing over smooth cheeks and warm necks and warmer waists, peppering in soft licks and nips to bottom lips, growing plumper and redder by the minute. Siri was pretty sure she was remembering to swallow, because nothing felt too sloppy, just really fucking hot.

So hot that she somehow ended up straddled on top of Jamie, skirt hiked up by those confident hands dangerously high on her thighs, rolling her hips hungrily, even aggressively, against Jamie’s body and feeling her so fucking soft underneath her.

She wasn’t sure who came up for air first. It might have been Siri, but only because Jamie tugged deliciously at the roots of Siri’s curls, forcing her head back and making her moan out to the stars and the moon above while Jamie collapsed against her throat.

“Holy fucking shit, Siri.” Jamie panted after a beat, looking up into her face, wild-eyed. Shocked.

“Sorry! Jamie, sorry, I—too much?” Siri struggled to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure how, in the span of twenty minutes, she had gone from never having a first kiss to rutting into the hottest girl alive in a semi-public area. Her underwear felt uncomfortably wet.

She didn’t hate it.

“Jesus Christ, no,” Jamie breathed through a maniacal grin. And Siri saw then that the shock was really pride.

Smug, cocky, balls-a-swinging pride.

And under that, a deep and radiant and joy-filled relief.

Siri figured it was probably reflected incandescently on her own face.

Inner Siri agreed.

--

She was sprawled on her tummy in bed, heart still pleasantly in her throat and head very much still on the lawn under the stars, when the unmistakable feeling of being watched prickled across Siri’s already-sensitive skin. Sure enough, she rolled over to find a familiarly slender shadow quietly darkening the small crack in her bedroom doorway, belied only by the faintest creak of old floorboards beneath socked feet.

“You’re back,” the shadow said.

Shortly after midnight, Jamie had walked Siri home, hand protectively around her shoulders and Siri nuzzled happily into Jamie’s chest, arms encircling her waist like a needy koala, enveloping each other in the smell of hair and skin and laundry soap as they had stumbled up the hill. Siri had taken care not to wake her family when she crept back inside the cottage, parting kisses stolen behind blind-eye hedges after giggled insistences to keep it, I like seeing it on you.

“Obviously,” Siri whispered, waiting.

Wordlessly, Regina pushed Siri’s bedroom door open enough for her to slip inside and pad over to the bed. The wrought iron frame groaned, unnaturally loud in the still of the night, as she wiggled beneath the covers next to her sister.

Regina’s copious curls spilled across the pillow, taking up half the bed with untamable tendrils and tickling Siri’s nose and neck. Siri pushed them away, pressed her icy toes under Regina’s calves.

Their breathing evened as they settled next to each other, Siri on her back, looking up at the moonlight cast in scattered shapes across the ceiling, Regina on her side with her head tucked in like a burrowed kitten.

“How was it?” Regina whispered into the covers.

“Good.” Siri replied, guarded. The butterflies she had been enjoying were flying right up her throat and out her mouth with each exhale, leaving just plain nerves in their wake. She wasn’t sure what Regina would say about, well, everything.

“I talked to Remus, after y’all came back from Cote’s.”

Siri glanced down at her sister. “Oh?” Remus wasn’t particularly intimidating, but he was a boy several years older than Regina, and Siri didn’t think they had had any direct conversations before.

“He said it got a little… awkward,” Regina tried delicately.

Siri sighed. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Regina’s eyes opened and batted up to look at Siri, eyebrows and lashes dark on her pale face. She looked impossibly young, tender, like a fawn waiting patiently for its mother in the wooded thicket. “And that someone likes you.”

Siri thought of Fabian, and Remus, seated next to each other on the picnic bench, their reactions when she had rolled up. Fabian’s immature behavior. She groaned.

“Yeah… I figured.” Honestly why did it always come back to a freaking guy? Was this really what it was always going to be like?

“So… did something happen?” Regina pressed.

Siri never lied to her sister, so she didn’t say anything.

Regina could read her like a book anyway.

“Did you guys kiss?”

Siri breathed out, barely a whisper. “Yes.” Her lips quivered. “But it’s not with… it wasn’t who you think.”

And all the emotions and the overwhelming bigness of just, everything, came crashing back, and the tears Siri had stomped down earlier finally spilled hot down her cheeks.

Regina was calm, steady. Blinked her fawn eyes gently.

“Was it Jamie?” She had always possessed a wisdom beyond her young years.

Siri turned a tear-streaked face to her sister. Cried a little harder. Nodded.

Regina shrugged. “Remus said he and Peter were pretty fed up with how she was acting. Wanted her to just go for it already. He asked me if I thought you liked her back.”

“Really?” Siri smiled, watery, hopeful. “What did you say?”

Despite her sensitivity, Regina was still a sassy little shit. She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

And there, in the soft quiet night with silver moonbeams carrying dreams and desire back and forth across a star-strewn bay, Regina hugged her.

Siri hugged her back.

--

On the easternmost tip of the country, dashing up 95 or lazing along Route 1, over tiny suspension bridges and past sleepy lobstering towns and through fields alive with black-eyed susans and purple clover and Miss Rumphius’s famous lupine,

down dusty country roads that crunch under car tires and kick dust behind sneakers,

between paper-white birch trees and evergreen pine lined with split-rail fences and wild rose bushes hiding monarchs and honeybees,

tucked among rocky, cragged coastline where red quartz cliffs break squally sprays over pebbled stones warmed gray by the sun,

following the call of seagulls and dinghy bells and misplaced rhotic consonants within winter-gruff voices (ayuh),

where the smells of white bar soap and mineral-crusted pipes and salt, salt, salt mingle with those of lilac and bug spray and ozone,

there lies a fairytale village on a wishful blue bay.

And if you make pilgrimage to its venerable wooden dock, last stop before plunging into ocean deep,

and perhaps rest on its cerulean-bright benches, look out in wonder at how blues so blue can exist, and whites so white, and greens so green, and breathe what feels like nothing, the air so crystal clean,

and sigh and turn your head, look north, you might see

written in black sharpie, bubble letters marking permanently chip-worn paint,

the initials JFP + SOB.

And somewhere to the left of that, your curious eyes tracing, find that same sharpie and youthful handwriting among the various inking and carving,

SOB + RAB

#marauders #prongsfoot #sirius x james #twatd #sirius and regulus

[homeimgs]

7 Simple Summer Bedroom Decorating Ideas

1. Summer Bedroom Color Palette Summer Bedroom Decorating Incorporate coastal hues like sandy beige, beach pebble gray, watery blues, and summer whites into a summer color scheme that is lighter than one you might employ in the winter. Design Tip: Use a neutral color base for your furniture and wall color (black, white, gray, or beige) to create a flexible bedroom design plan. Then, add summer accent colors. You may use a summer garden color palette of yellows, greens, pinks, or mauves instead of a coastal sea-inspired palette of blues! To become a better decorator, you should be aware of the color wheel and color schemes. Why not use a light and bright neutral tone rather than a dark paint color when painting your walls? Of course chic white walls are always a winner for a bedroom!

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating - Include a coastal style A coastal design element looks fantastic in a summer bedroom! You may include seaside themes into your bedroom's general traditional, boho, farmhouse, or glam design plan by using bedding, toss pillows, art, and other accessories. I incorporated coastal design into this bedroom by using beachy blue hues and shell decorations. The summer is the ideal time to put my massive collection of starfish and shells on nightstands and dressers!

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating - Mattress Lightweight, breathable cotton blend linens and a quilt should take the place of heavy duvets and flannel sheets. I enjoy utilizing white blankets! Instead of using a duvet on chilly evenings, I place one folded quilt on the bed and a second one at the end of the bed. How to maintain white bedding's white appearance: A reader questioned me about how I keep my white quilts so white; the answer is that I use this laundry white revive and stain removal product on them. It's incredible! I added a scoop to my white quilt and washed it on the cold delicate cycle. A summer-weight duvet can be added if you truly adore them. Add a couple of throw blankets to

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating 4. Accent Pillows Accent pillows are where you can really make a summery statement to your bedroom and bring in layers of  gorgeous color and pattern! For patterns, stripes are perfect for summer! Pin stripes, awning stripes and chunky stripes all work! I love these two chambray blue and white pin striped throw pillows paired with the wider awning stripe lumbar pillow – I picked these pillows up at HomeGoods. Incorporate summertime watery blues, blue-greens and nautical navy to your accent pillows. Accent pillows are essential accessories for a cozy bedroom so make sure you add a few to your bed, bench at the end of your bed and bedroom accent chairs.

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating 5. Baskets Make your bedroom lighter and brighter with baskets made of natural materials like wicker, sisal, and hyacinth grass for a summery feel. Baskets are ideal for a tree like this lovely artificial fiddle leaf fig tree and may be used for storage in the bedroom to keep clutter at bay (important in a small bedroom!). I adore how lush and flexible the leaves are, and how much greenery it gives our bedroom. It is ideal for both small and larger bedrooms because it is only 4 feet tall. I adore this basket since it has a lovely tassel hanging from one of the handles and is perfect for holding my fig tree. So fun! I also adore the white.

Summer Bedroom Decorating 6. Wall Art When it comes to decorating the bedroom most people wonder ‘What can I put above my bed?’ My advice? Hang a juju hat above your bed! I’m OBSESSED with this gorgeous white juju hat! It absolutely ‘makes’ the room and is such a stunning focal point! Hanging a juju hat over a headboard is the easiest way to add that ‘designer’ look! Just fluff it, hang on a nail and you’re done! It’s so so gorgeous – if you buy one you will literally gasp when you hang it! I know I did! The feathery texture just give a cozy vibe to a room too! See my juju hat that I hung over my living room media unit and TV here. I kept the beautiful  Indigo coral framed prints  on the walls – because I’m obsessed with these coral prints and the indigo color!! Plus they fit in perfectly with the white and blue summer look I’m going for. To add another touch of blue and white to the far wall of the bedroom I made some simple DIY piece of artwork. This super quick and easy DIY art project literally took less than 5 minutes to put together! I pulled a large white frame out from storage, took it apart and wrapped a beach sarong in a blue shibori print around the backer board of the frame! I’ve had this beach sarong since I was a teen and still love it today! You could also frame a beautiful scarf. I wanted to reuse my beach sarong later so I didn’t cut the fabric and I found a trick to disguise all the extra fabric too. I simply folded the fabric behind the frame and clipped it using bulldog clips! This tidies up all the loose fabric behind the frame. Read the full article

#Bedroom #HomeDecor #SummerBedroomDecorating

[iamthecomet]

HI COMET ILYYYYY

Also I was wondering if you had any spare words for cumdrop body worship, Dew is so head over heals for her and he desperately needs her to know how damn beautiful she is 👉👈

Rivvverrrr ILYT. You know I always have Cumdrop words to spare. Especially of the body worship variety. Our queen deserves to feel special and Dew is always up to the task. 1.5k of Cumdrop body worship. He is obsessed with her and I don't blame him.

Dew could die happy here. Pillowed between the swell of Cumulus’ tits. Nose pressed between them. Suffocated by soft, supple, perfect flesh. She smells like sun-dried cotton. Like summer. He inhales deep. Turns his head to exhale across one of her pretty pink nipples. Watching intently as it hardens further. Pebbling up so pretty. Adorned with the heart shaped nipple shields she loves so much. He kneads the other one. Drags his thumb over that pert nipple just to listen to the way her breathing changes. His other hand rests on her hip, his tail is curled around her thigh, just under the hem of her silky shorts. 

Cumulus has her hand in his hair, absently stroking along the back of his skull. A cool thumb placed on the ridge of bone where neck meets head. Applying gentle, easy, pressure like she does when he has a headache. He looks up at her, tilting his head just enough so he doesn’t have to be dislodged. 

She takes his breath away. He knows it sounds sappy. He’d die before he said it outloud. He gets made fun of by Swiss enough for the way he watches her from across the room. Moon-eyed and devoted. Dew doesn’t take a lot of stock in divinity. But he gets it when he looks at Lus. He understands why men made sculptures of women. Why they have been immortalized. He find something holy in the way her lips sit, full and parted. The way her eyes dart back and forth over the page as she reads. The faint movement of her tongue as she mouths the words to herself. Absorbed. 

There’s a faint blush, high on her cheeks. Lilac against pale gray. He knows it’s his fault. Either from his own infernal heat or the way he’s touching her, insistent but not distracting. He drags his eyes away and settles back down, ear pressed over her heart. A human thing–he knows. But he can’t help it. He does it with Aether too, compelled to hear the rhythm of them through all this skin and bone. He sighs, bodily. Sinking deeper into where he lays, her knees bracketing him, his bare torso pressed tight to hers. 

“How’s the book?” 

“Slow,” Cumulus says, fingers scratching over his scalp. Dew’s eyes flutter closed. A purr revs to life in his chest. “And do you know how sick I am of the way people write women?” 

Dew lifts his head so he can really look at her. She sets the book down as he does. “How’s that?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Dumb. Never a hair out of place,” she sighs, “skinny. Basically furniture. This one was supposed to be good too–a woman wrote it. You’d think it would make a difference. But this chick is just a hole for the dude to stick is unreasonably sized dick into.” 

“How big is unreasonably sized?” Dew asks, cocking an eyebrow. Cumulus rolls her eyes again and shoves at him playfully, not enough to dislodge him, just enough to make him laugh, and hang on just that much tighter. 

“That isn’t the point.” 

He shifts up a little higher, so they’re nose to nose. “I know. They’re stupid you know. Bad writers. They should write books about you.”

That lilac blush deepens. Dew thumbs over her nipple again and she sighs, heavy. “They don’t.” 

“Their loss.” 

“Dew–”

“Shut up,” he ducks his head, pulls one of those dusky pink nipples into his mouth and rolls it between his teeth. Cool metal against the heat of his tongue. And she gasps. It’s a pretty sound that goes right to his cock. He’s been chubbed up all afternoon. Ever since he’d slid into Lus’ bed with her to read. He hadn’t brought a book, sometimes he does. But today, the only think he’d wanted to study was her. Every gasp he rings out of her makes him throb. Twitching to full hardness, pressed into the soft meat of her thigh. 

Cumulus, to her credit, doesn’t say what Dew knows she was thinking about saying. That no one wants to read books about her. That the badly written smut she indulges in because it’s easy to read and occasionally hot, is better because it isn’t written about women like her. Dew doesn’t care. Doesn’t give two shits about human writers and human preferences, but if it’s true–they’re wrong. 

What he does care about is the taste of her skin on his tongue. The way she arches into him when he bites down just to the left of her nipple. He sucks a bruise into the delicate skin there, then another just below it. 

He switches to the other side when he’s satisfied. Rolling paper thin skin between his teeth. Painting her with deep purple bruises to match the flush on her face. 

Dew doesn’t have to reassure her–knows she hates it. Hates when they see what could be perceived as insecurity and lean into it. Tell her how pretty she is, tell her that those people are stupid for not seeing it. Cumulus knows she’s hot. She knows that Dew and Cirrus would fall to their knees in worship if she so much as thought she wanted it. She’s not human. She’s a hell beast made of ego and sex and strength. So Dew doesn’t open his mouth to compliment her with words that mean nothing. 

He has better ways to put it to use. The words always get hung up anyway. Whatever words he wants to tell her don’t exist in human languages. Not Italian, or Swedish, or Latin or god forbid English. They are beyond him. The way he feels when he looks at her doesn’t have description. He feels like fucking idiot. A kit tumbling head first into love for the first time. 

He is enamored. Obsessed. 

He drags his mouth down her torso, and tastes sweat and the bitter bite of her perfume and he tells her like this because it makes more sense. It all comes together when he kisses the space beneath her belly button. When he noses at the fullness of her belly and slips his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. When she puts both hands in his hair and sighs. It all seems right then–like he is telegraphing it correctly. All the things she does to him. How fucking gorgeous she is. How he has stopped trying to be good or keep his hands off of her for any length of time because he can’t. It’s criminal to do so, unholy and not in the good way. 

She is divinity. He will worship. 

He slips those silky blue shorts off of her. She rises her hips to let him. He drags them all the way down as an excuse to feel the whole of her. To touch each each of her calves and thighs, even as he’s nosing into the tight white curls between them. Inhaling every bit of her and groaning as the smell of her arousal sinks into his bones. 

“Stop teasing and–” her words–whatever they are, are cut off with a sharp fuck as he dips his tongue into her folds. Dragging the point of it up over the head of her clit. Too much too fast. Her fingers tighten in his hair, her breath stutters. 

“Can’t get over how wet you get.” He murmurs against her thigh, gives her a break as he slides his hands back up her thighs and settles in. Nudging her legs until she obliges and settles one over his shoulder. His tail curls around the calf of the other leg, between that and his hand, an anchor on her thigh, he has her held open. Exposed to his reverent gaze. He touches her with his free hand, dragging calloused fingers oh so softly over the place where her thigh meets her body. Then closer, until those deft fingers are dipping into the wet heat of her. 

He sinks one in all the way and watches her. Eyes lidded as her head tips back. He presses up finds the spot that makes her moan. She pulls one hand away from his hair in favor of her own tit. Pinching at a nipple, pulling on the piercing. Breath stuttering out in broken whines as Dew slips another finger in and pets. 

He dips his head and laves at her clit and knows he could cum like this. He probably will. Cock achingly hard and pressed into the plush of her mattress. He’ll cum before she does. Driven there by the noises he pulls from her and the way her body responds to him. The way she clenches down on his fingers when he starts to pull them out–like she can’t bear to let him go. By the sight of her, head tipped back, hair splayed out on her pillow, spine arched and pulled taut. 

Dew sucks her clit into his mouth, presses his tongue up against the underside of it. Surrounded by her, the taste of her, the smell of her, the slick heat of her around his fingers, the sound it makes when he fucks them in and out.. Dew doesn’t need heaven. He’s already there.

#comet writes #ficlet #river #cumdrop #cumulus ghoulette #dewdrop ghoul #cumulus/dewdrop #cumdrop my beloved #wrote most of this at work which was fun! #unedited #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fic #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #dew/cumulus

[lizardtracks]

August

8/1/22: It’s August. Sirius, the Dog Star, has slid out of conjunction with the sun and escapes below the horizon ahead of the afternoon heat. For those of us with no escape, the Dog Days lay over the land like a vaporous malady. The Druids knew this to be a harvest season; the planet has turned a corner into autumn. I am off to harvest a boyhood memory.

To come along, go to the tiny town of Berlin in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. Find a road once called The Old Plank Road. Yes, it was always old. To the highway engineer and the tourist, people who use roads as artlessly as a spinster uses a hammer, it looks like any other stretch of winding macadam two-lane in the Allegheny Mountains. To me, it seems like the footsteps of a small boy running barefoot through the collective memory of the German and Scotch-Irish settlers who lived there.

Pass the Ponfeigh Farm. The standard Herefords and Holsteins will be in the fields. With luck, a gray Percheron will be hanging its wide face over the top of a white board fence like a harvest moon. I ignore the dirt road to the right. It leads to other memories I will gather another time. 

Instead, I follow the Plank Road to an unpainted bus shanty still bearing the imprint of a steel arrowhead. The arrow went through a foggy November morning and a phantom deer on its flight to the shanty. When the wood impeded its flight, the arrow stopped abruptly, quivering in the damp, cold air like a rudely plucked guitar string. A young man still recovering from a skull fracture shot the arrow. He and his motorcycle had learned the three important laws of physics from a deer. From that moment on, with or without cerebral fluid leaking through his skull, he saw deer in places other folks did not.

The small boy later broke off the shaft, sharpened it and shot it from his own handmade bow into his sister’s head. Accidentally. Her hair, until that moment, had been just as tow colored as his. After that moment, it had crimson streaks in it. They matched the crimson welts that soon appeared on the buttocks of the small boy, the regularly appearing stigmata of culpable boys everywhere. The streaks on the buttocks soon disappeared, though the impression they left remained like marks from a pillow on a dreamless night. The crimson streaks in his sister’s hair never went away. The year was 1965. You will sense all this when you see the shanty.

At the shanty, a dirt road leads off to the right. The road is still dirt over half a century after the small boy last scuffed his shoes on it walking home from school in the third grade. The road follows a creek that was once waded by a pair of coverall clad boys, brothers, looking for crawdads. The progeny of the uncaught crawdads still troll the pebbly creek bottom. Driving counter to the creek, I let the dappled sunlight flowing across the windshield —from the birch trees, maple trees, hemlock trees, and blighted chestnut trees—bring on a dream state. I roll down the windows and breath in the wintergreen and the ferns.

The road crosses a culvert above a forlorn looking pond. The pond became forlorn looking by trying to imitate the faces of the cows that once drank from it. I’ll park here. Yes, it’s nothing but a derelict sidehill farm with an overgrown apple orchard. The apple orchard is what I want. You can cut across the orchard if you like. I’ll walk down the drive past the east side of the white clapboard house. As I pass the cistern maybe I’ll glimpse, through the screened window, the small boy’s mother canning peaches. The regulator on the heavy cast iron pressure cooker will be rocking furiously. Peaches are a delicate fruit. You must put them up right away. They go from fresh to ripe to rotten in a fortnight. So the regulator rocks furiously as basket after basket of peaches go into Mason jars for the winter.

Not so our apples. They are a sturdy fruit. You can pluck an apple off the ground and eat it until well after the first frost. Stored in a root cellar, they can add to the festivities and seasonal color of Christmas.

But this memory is not about Christmas. Not in August. Not with the keening of cicadas coming from every tree. I am here for a particular apple. A Sheepnose apple. This orchard has only one tree of that apple. The tree is near where the Model A truck sat. Most of the year it sat, its wheels chocked; its tires dry rotting; its engine drained of water. But once a year, just because, the small boy’s father refilled the radiator from the cistern, cranked the engine over and un-chocked the wheels. The family would clamber aboard the backfiring machine. Away they went, riding up and down the dirt road raising glorious rooster tails of dust. But mostly the truck made a platform for gathering Sheepnose apples.

The truck has long since become elemental, rusted into the ground. I will pick my apple today from on my tiptoes. And with a snap and swish of a branch now it is in my hand. The long conical shape, like a sheep’s nose, is covered in a thin garnet-colored skin flecked with gold. Sometimes they ripen to a deep purple. When I bite into it, it tastes like… Like what? Here the memory fades. I know that it is neither tart nor sweet. And that a bite taken neither snaps away in a juicy spray, nor slowly separates like drier apples. But I cannot recall the exact flavor, or sensation. Since then I have eaten hundreds of Red Delicious, maybe as many Granny Smiths, and dozens of Braeburns, Galas, Fujis, McIntosh’s, and Honeycrisps. But since then, I have never crossed paths with another Sheepnose. Fifty intervening summers have faded the memory, like a Polaroid left in a window sill.

With a sigh, I drop the prize apple on the ground for the field mice and ground hogs. Or the black bear I was sure lived in the abandoned coal mine in the most shadowy nape of the woods. I will harvest only part of a memory today. It was a good one. Though it’s hard to say how much was real and how much was simply snatched from the ether. That’s the problem with memory.

The sun is just touching the crest of the hill at Valhalla, a long gone sugarhouse. Maybe there is still enough daylight to head down the Old Plank Road, the pavement still warm, to someplace more recent and a little closer to home.


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