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fishnets-fingers · 1 year

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Six Months - Part Twenty Two

Summary - Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together?

PAIRING - camboy!harry x indian!oc

a/n - i’d like to apologise for the impromptu two month break. work was hectic and my bosses are grade a pricks. things are slowly starting to wind down. this part took a long time to write with all the angst but i hope it’s readable. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 11.5 k

Warnings - angst cental, fluff, allusions to smut.

Masterpost (find previous parts here)

Layla does not know how long she can go on like this. She is currently behind Earl’s stall at the farmer’s market, where he’s selling his produce and flowers. The slanting rays of the afternoon light, permeate through the thin petals of the dahlias, making the pointed edges seem luminous. It was unusually busy, the marketplace, almost all of Earl’s produce were sold out. Her eyes were fixed on the task at hand - wrapping a sheet of newspaper around a bouquet of aster and dahlias. But her body is hyper aware of the boy standing at the other end of the stall, longing for him to glance her way but he was busy counting money to give to the man for whom she was putting the flowers together.

“Here you go,” Layla smiles, handing him the bouquet.

The man thanks her and heads on and she shoots a quick glance in Harry’s direction. She’s met with the broad expanse of his back clad in a black t-shirt, hair tousled with a pair of glasses tucked behind his ear, and black skinny jeans. He’s talking to Earl, pointing to something on his phone. She sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears, grateful for her Aunt who insisted on getting her a pair of fleece lined tights. The crisp autumn air does not make her quiver, like it used to. She’s still getting used to layering for the cold, but she thought she did a great job with her outfit. Much better than the one she sleepily pulled together this morning for golf, an outfit that made her uncle howl at the green.

She was even looking forward to the compliment when she walked out the door. She was wearing her white tennis skirt, with the fleece lined tights, doc marten loafers, her thrifted jumper and a faux leather jacket that she flicked from Abi’s closet. But Harry had stepped out with a surly look in his eyes, doing nothing but giving her a curt nod and he’d remained like that till now. She chalked it up to a bad day. Everyone had those days, even if he was chipper that morning. Hoping to lighten his mood Layla jabbered about what happened in golf and the nosey question a student asked about the two of them; she received nothing but apathetic nods and muted hums.

That’s how it started then it snowballed into completely pretending like she doesn’t exist until now. He didn’t meet her eyes and went out of his way to put space between the two of them. Gone was the warm touchy, kissy boyfriend and in his place stood this lanky frigid boy - who looked like he didn’t want anything to do with her. It was someone pressed a button that bought a sledgehammer that shattered Harry’s lavender haze.

Maybe he realised loving you way too much of a burden, she shakes her head, trying to dispel her thoughts.

“Hey,um, I’m gonna go pick up some stuff and head over to yours to get a head start on dinner,” Layla informs the two who were transfixed at something on Harry’s phone, hiking her bag up her shoulder. THe gang was congregating at Earl’s for dinner today.

“You’re sure? We’ll be done in a few more hours,” Earl tells, looking at her through the rim of his glasses; she was picking away at a fray thread on her tote bag.

“Positive.” She smiles at him.

“Here, take this then,” Earl hands over the keys to his car. “I don’t want you lugging over that cast iron all the way home.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, putting the key in her pocket, shuffling over to the other side. It doesn't go unnoticed that Harry immediately steps away from her when she brushes past the two, making her frown. Since when does he pass up the opportunity?

////

Layla had managed to make quite a spread. A creole potato salad, sweet chilli halloumi with cashew slaw, and Ribollita . Her Uncle and Aunty were setting up the dining room, Anne and Earl were somewhere in the house and Harry was busy fiddling with Earl’s record player in the living room. Layla’s slumped behind the kitchen island waiting for the stuffed butternut squash to finish in the oven, while lazily flicking through Earl’s wife’s recipe book. There were so many pages that were blank towards the end. She wonders what she would have filled them with had she had more time.

The ding of the oven, pulls her attention and not before long, she’s slipping on some mitts to take out the pan, to pull out the butternut squash she picked out in the farmer’s market. She notices Harry’s wallet peeking out from his tote - abandoned on the kitchen island - as she sets the hot utensil down.

Maybe if I put the tickets in there? Maybe the surprise would make him perk up and stop being surly, she ponders. She looks up at him, sitting on the floor hunched over the turntable with his hair pushed back with the red silk bandana she got him from New Orleans. He was fixated on the red light that was on the side of the circular spinning table, as he was tuning something to help adjust the pitch. She takes it as an opportunity to quickly pull out the black Gucci wallet and flip it open.

The image in his photo pocket makes her want to run over and tackle him in a giant hug. He’d put a picture of her in his wallet. He went out of his way to print a wallet sized picture and slotted it in there. Important enough for his wallet, it makes her smile. It was the picture he took on the day of Abi’s flower braiding ceremony - the two of them on her bed smiling into the kiss, dimples on display, her hands cupped around his face, lips pouring affection into each other. She runs her fingers on the laminate that protected the image inside, almost like she was checking to see if it would disintegrate, like she needed to make sure that the boy who was currently icy towards her all day was the same one who did this. She notices him move from the corner of her eye, making her swiftly dig into the pocket of her black faux leather jacket, slot the two fall carnival tickets she bought at the market behind his dollar bills and discretely slip it inside the tote.

She pretends to look for something in the cabinets as he stalks towards the kitchen, as he swings open the door of the refrigerator.

“Harry,” she turns to face him, fighting the urge to control the simper that stretches across her face. “I made ribollita.”

The corners of her mouth droops when he barely looks at her, staring pointedly at the glass as he pours in the pineapple watermelon big boy soda Earl has stocked up.

Despite not being acknowledged, she continues, “I remember you telling me about your final night in Tuscany where you, Mitch, and Sarah were so drunk and how you all stumbled into this dodgy looking place run by an elderly couple at midnight. And how that ribollita was the best you’ve ever had.” He even told her that if he ever got a chance to take her anywhere in the world, he’d fly her out to Anghiari and trudge up the steps of the town, wine drunk with interlinked hands under the starry Italian skies. “I found this recipe on YouTube by some nonna. Took a while to make it; hope it tastes -”

“Whatever,” he says quietly, shrugging his shoulders, walking over to the dining room with the glass of green liquid on one hand and the squash on the other with the dish towel.

“Prick,” she mutters, shooting daggers on his back.

////

Hushed voices float from the end of the hall, it had to be Anne and Earl. Layla walks quietly towards the partially closed door.

“I would not recommend it, Earl,” Anne says, looking at a report.

“You’re being overly cautious,” he chuckles, adjusting the rim of his glasses, so they sit higher up the bridge of his nose.

Layla tiptoes, hoping the wood of the floor does not creak, closer to the door. Angling herself so most of her body is hidden behind the white door.

“Everyone has headaches,” he says, popping an ibuprofen in his mouth.

“Not everyone had a stent placed on their heart three years ago. You’re feeling faint often, yeah?”

“It happened a couple of times,” Earl answers.

“Any fevers? Chills? Body pain?” Anne enquires.

Earl shakes his head. “I think you’re being overly cautious, Anne.”

“I still want you to come into the hospital. I think it’s best to do a cardiac cath, and run some bloodwork. I think Dr. Siegelbaum would also agree,” she states firmly.

Layla knocks - in hopes that she could join in her conversation so she can convince him to visit the hospital. Slowly creaking the door open, popping her head in, “Hey, dinner’s all set. Just waiting for you two,” she tells them in her best chirpy voice.

“Give us a minute, sweetheart,” Anne says, putting back the papers in a folder.

“We can talk later.” Earl tells her. “I have something very special planned for dinner,” he smiles, opening a drawer from his bedside table, pulling out a manila envelope.

Layla sits next to her Uncle, putting as much distance as she could with Harry. Earl walks in and sits next to her, handing her the envelope.

“What’s this?” She asks, eyebrow arched, as she takes a sip of water.

“Open it,” he smiles.

She pries the tab open to find red coloured rectangular papers inside, she shuffles them out and five ticket stubs fall out. There’s a picture of Mickey and right underneath it it says ‘THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH.’ The other end of the tick stub is perforated, and it says ‘ADMIT ONE.’ “No fucking way!” She squeals. “You got tickets to Disney World!”

Earl gleefully cackles. “Yes. I did. All five of you are hopping on a plane for a four day trip to Orlando,” he announces.

The table chuckles at Layla. “Wait, you were all in on this?” She asks.

Anne nods. “He coordinated with us for dates.”

“We’re going during the Thanksgiving break. It will be crowded but we all didn’t have similar holiday windows, so we settled for this,” Abi says.

“And before you protest. You have to accept it. We’ve been planning this for over two months now.”

“But it’s so expensive - “

“Hush,” Earl shuts Layla down. “You and Harry have worked in my shop and helped me with so many orders. Think of this as your wage.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” She tells him, kissing him on the cheek as she throws her arms around his shoulders.

“You’re very welcome,” he says, giving her a warm squeeze.

“ Why aren’t you coming with us, Earl?” Vasanth asks.

“I’ve been there multiple times with my grandkids. Plus, I’m heading to Florida in the new year to stay with my son for a few weeks.”

“Did you make these tickets yourself?” Layla asks, passing them around.

“All the tickets are emailed. I’ve already forwarded them to everyone. It’s a shame that you kids don’t have ticket stubs anymore for keepsakes. Harry made this on Photoshop. He even got it printed, so you all can have a tactile reminder.”

“Thank you,” Layla smiles at Hary who’s scooping up the Ribollita.

He doesn’t say anything, but gives her a tightlipped smile in return as she spoons some salad on her plate.

////

“You’ve been driving?!?” Vasanth screams, looking at Layla who’s burrowing behind Anne on the couch. He quickly walks away from where he was in conversation with Earl to his niece, who he believes Shiva put on his Earth to turn every hair on his head grey. “I see you!” He steps in front of her, arms folded up, stance upright.

“What?” She muffles over a mouthful of leftover creole salad. Earl had specially requested Layla to make it and she spent over an hour trying to meticulously follow his wife’s recipes hoping the elimination of thick cut bacon won’t affect the taste as much.

“Answer the question, kutti.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I’m talking about what Earl told me just now. Like you, manoeuvring his Prius from where it was parallel parked.”

“So it seems,” she shrugs.

“உன்னை அடிக்க வைக்காதே(don’t make me whack you), Layla. I’m being deadly serious. You could end up in trouble with the cops.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad of a driver.”

“I know that. Your Indian licence is valid in this state for only three months. You came here in August, meaning, you are not legally allowed to drive now. Don’t - Do you not care about how that infraction would look when you’re applying for a student visa?!?”

“Calm down, சித்தப்பா! Look,” she shuffles through her tote and whips out her licence from her wallet.

He examines it closely. “When did you-”

“தாத்தா ஒரு நாள் என்னை அழைத்துச் சென்றார் (Grandad, took me one day).” She winks.”You’re crazy to think I would do anything that would jeopardise my shot at a PhD.”

“If you have an international driver’s licence, then why do you insist on me driving you to the Indian store?”

“Because,” she blushes, knowing Anne’s right there. “I don’t get to spend much time with you,” she says quietly. “Aunty works remote on certain days but you always go out the door at nine and get back home after six. Then you have things around the house to take care of and I know this is really selfish of me to say this but I don’t know how to share you with someone as needy as me.”

“Are you talking about the -”

She nods. “I’m just selfishly trying to bank on Layla Vasanth time before you run out of that because you have an infant to cater to. And I know that’s how it it should be but -”

“நீ என் பயிற்சி சக்கரங்களாக இருந்தீர்கள். அப்பாவாக இருப்பதில். (You are my training wheels. For being a dad.)” He sniffles, pinching her cheek. “Besides we both know the minute you’re gonna start studying here, you’re gonna be my pain in the ass full time.”

She laughs. “Shut up!”

“How about we go golfing every weekend and head to Dominos for lunch? Just the two of us.”

“No golf. It’s really cold. I much prefer playing back home where it’s sweaty.”

“Bowling then? I can teach you how to,” Vasanth proposes. “We can even go see a movie while we’re there.”

“It’s a date.” Layla smiles.

////

Layla raps against the cherry wood door, before poking her head into the master bedroom. She finds her Aunt propped up against the headboard, legs outstretched on the fluffy olive green duvet, bump in the way - giving an ample distance between Abi and the Macbook bolstered on the wooden bed desk. One of the many advantages of working from home was getting to be the most comfortable - with a rapidly growing five month bump - while working a humdrum nine to five. That and being in your sleep clothes; Abi’s is in one of her tattered wrap around skirts, and a tank top.

“Hi, kutti,” she smiles at her niece, who makes her way meekly to the cushioned bench at the end of the bed.

“Am I interrupting?” She asks, nodding towards the laptop.

“I’ve got a couple of minutes. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to talk,” she plays with the end of the tie of her kimono style robe.

“I’d love to talk but I have a hop into Zoom for a meeting in ten,” she informs, reaching out to take a sip of coconut water. “But we can talk after.”

“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair then. Have a pleasant meeting.”

“Can you get my blazer on your way out please?” Abi requests.

Layla heads into the walk-in closet to pull out a latte coloured blazer and she hands it to her Aunt, who is now sat straight up on the bed.

“நன்றி (thanks), kutti.” She shrugs on the coat, and pulls out the banana clip that was holding her hair from her face. Her shiny raven locks cascade down her shoulders and curl at the ends, where it sat atop of her belly. Unfair, Layla thinks as she watches Abi muss up the hair at the scalp to give it that oompf. Layla would kill to look that effortlessly gorgeous.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” Layla informs. “Do you want the door open or shut?”

“Open, please. Harry’s coming with?”

“He’s not exactly speaking to me at the moment. Don’t know why but nevermind, you finish your meeting.”

“Don’t forget to take your phone with you then,” Abi tells her.

“It’s already in my pocket!””

With that Layla heads to her room to throw on her Panic! At The Disco t-shirt and throws Abi’s faux leather jacket over her shoulder. The black paper bag from Fink’s catches her eye. She sighs, as she pockets the long black box with the gold foil lettering. It's one of the things she loves about her high waisted blue denim boyfriend jeans she’d picked up at a factory outlet sale back home. The jeans did not flatter her pear shaped body the least bit, it was loose around her waist - she’d often need a belt to stop it from riding down, tight around the tops of her thighs, digging into her guts whenever she sat down, but the redeeming factor were the pockets. They were as deep as the mines in Moria; Layla was akin to greedy dwarves throwing it into the shopping cart, when the pocket swallowed half her forearm.

She locks the door, punches the button to arm the security device but instead of heading over to the house next door, she crosses the road and bimbles her way to the playground in the park and settles herself in an unoccupied swing. Best thing about coming to the playground at three in the afternoon was that there were no snot filled cretins running around wreaking havoc. She pushes her heel on the grimy green and orange chequered rubber foam floor, making herself oscillate to and fro. It’s funny that she’s going to her Aunty for advice when ten years ago, her mother and grandmother swore that she will end up miserable when Vasanth gets married. And as much as she believed that it would happen - it was only logical to her - with stories multiple relatives told her about absolutely losing her shit as a child when her Uncle would pick up another kid to endlessly fixating on some potential ‘fault’ with the other with the marriage proposals that came their way; disliking Abi was one thing that never happened.

Layla didn’t even get to meet Abi in person until the engagement and wedding dates were fixed. Her grandparents came across her profile and breathed a sigh of relief when they found out that she was tall; it was a right pain to find someone for Vasanths’s towering six foot two. Their families got along well, and much to everyone’s delight Abi and Vasanth got along well over FaceTimes, calls and texts. It didn’t take very long before both the families went to the nearest temple and to fix up wedding dates. Layla had only got a chance to meet Abi’s parents and siblings before the dates were fixed. In hindsight, she suspects it was her mum and her grandmum’s doing to keep her away until she had no option but to be a cavalier. The day she met Abi was one filled with a constant stream of advice from her mum and grandmum since this was someone her Uncle fancied - she was told to be kind, respectful, welcoming, and most importantly to not run her smart mouth. Her grandad had taken her to the shops to get some sweets, and had told Layla that she should get something for her future Aunt. So, she used up some emergency snack money she’d set aside in her wallet and got her a set of these dragonfly pearl earrings and a matching pendant. It wasn’t made of real pearls or gold, it wasn’t the fanciest choice either, she’d bought it in a small fancy store - a small shop that often sold bangles, bindis, kaajal, and some cheap imitation jewellery - but Abi’s reaction indicated that it was the most precious thing that she’d ever received. Layla’s heart warmed when she caught sight of the tarnished, worn out dragonfly pearl necklace in Abi’s jewellery drawer yesterday, when she raided Abi’s closet for the faux leather jacket.

Things only blossomed to fruition after that initial reaction, she can’t recall what they talked about but the conversation flowed. Layla was surprised about how much Abi already knew about her; she was privy to some hilarious antics she’d been up to with Vasanth. Layla had managed to convince Abi to try pineapple on pizza and even told her loads of things that would fetch her brownie points with her Uncle. And by the time her granddad came to pick Layla up several hours later, they’d already planned another meetup but this time at a beach.

Layla's phone buzzes with and a picture of her father fills the screen. It was a picture from Vasanth and Abi’s wedding reception, his phone in hand staring to the side trying to flag off one of the venue managers. One where her father refused to buy a suit and bought a suede jacket, paired it with a sky blue button up and some dark wash jeans - he’d insisted to her and her mum that it was something that James Bond wore in a movie, making the two crack up in response.

“Aren’t you up late?” Layla speaks.

“Amma and I came back from a movie half an hour ago,” he answers.

“What movie?”

“Ponniyin Selvan. Did you all watch it?”

“No. How was it?”

“It’s certainly a spectacle but Amma understood it a lot better than me. I think I need to watch it one more time.”

“Book படித்தது உதவியாக இருக்கும் (reading those novel would have helped).”

“Yes. How did your classes go? Are you finding it easy with the time zone and all?”

“நன்றாக சென்றது (they went really well)! Time zones aren’t bad actually, but it’s only been two days. So I can’t say for sure.”

“Good. பேராசிரியர் உங்களுக்கு கருத்து தெரிவித்தாரா (did the professor give you any feedback)?” Her dad inquires.

“இதுவரை இல்லை (not yet). அநேகமாக professor வார இறுதியில் feedback கொடுப்பார் (she’ll probably will at the end of the week).”

“You do exactly what she says, okay? Incorporate whatever she says. That’s how you show her that you’re a good hire. Kutti, listen, do you remember my friend’s house we went to in Bangalore?”

“Yes. The house with two dobermans,” Layla recalls.

“இன்று அவனிடம் பேசினேன். ஒரு ஐபாட் வாங்க முடியுமா என்று கேட்டார் - (I talked to him today and he asked if you could get him an iPad -)”

“Appa! Do I look like an Apple mule to you all?”

“It’s cheaper there, kutti. And there’s nothing wrong in helping.”

“I’m already carrying five apple products with me. One homepod thing for you, iPad mini for Amma, AirPods for அத்தை (Aunty), and the new phone for my cousin.”

“That’s only four, Layla.”

“You do realise I have to bring my own phone too, right?”

“Oh. Then what’s one more product going to do?”

“Fine, I’ll get your friend the iPad. But if I get detained by the TSA for looking too suspicious with this many Apple products in my carry on. You’re gonna pay.”

Her dad guffaws on the other end. “உன் முகம் கடத்தல்காரன் மாதிரி இல்லை (Your face doesn’t scream smuggler).”

“To you maybe, நான் எப்படி மற்றவைகள் இ��ுக்கிறேன் என்று யாருக்குத் தெரியும் (who knows what I look like to others)?” She laughs.

“சாப்பிட்டாயா (have you eaten)?” He asks.

“Yes. Had gobi fried rice from the microwave. சித்தப்பா made it before he left for work.”

“You are helping them out around the house, right? Remember that they are both busy with jobs. I know that they’ll never say this but you make sure to not burden them, especially now with a baby on the way.”

“I am helping. Reorganised the garage and all yesterday. I make sure to cook at least a meal everyday. Clean the house.” She exhales. “That’s more than what I do back home.”

Her dad lets out a laugh. “Now, Amma will hold you to the same standard when you get back. Listen, பாட்டி (grandmum) wants me to remind you to buy Ziplock-”

“Already bought three boxes of her precious ziplock bags.”

“Good. Okay, kutti. I’m gonna head to bed. You take care okay?”

“Will do. Tell Amma I said hi. Bye.”

She hangs up the call, and jumps off the swing; slowly making her way to Harry’s. The pit of the stomach seemed to bubble with nervousness. Hopefully his pisssy mood had lightened since dinner at Earl’s yesterday. She could punch in the security code but the boulder in her stomach only weighs heavier. Decking not to somehow piss him off by walking in, she rings the doorbell. Her feet tap against the white porch, waiting for him, mind racing. Usually he would have opened the door by now. She steps aside to peer into the window and spots no one. No signs of a tall lanky boy making it across the foyer. She presses the doorbell again and holds it down for a few extra seconds for good measure, craning her head to see if his Range Rover is parked in the driveway. The door swings open as she makes a fist to try knocking on it and there he was - clad in one of his muscle tank top that had darkened patchily with sweat, blue shorts, hair pushed back with the blue bandana she’d got, lips and eyebrows pursed in a grimace.

“Oh god, are you okay?!?” Layla exclaims, zeroing in on the frozen bag of peas he had pressed up against the slope of his shoulder.

“What do you want?” He grits his teeth, as he looks down at her - a result of the trapezius bundle protesting.

“I just stopped by to - did you hurt yourself working out?”

“I’m fine,” he winces.

“You clearly are not, earth boy. Let me help,” she states, taking a step forward into the house but finds her boy fixed in place, blocking her. “Harry,” she says firmly, looking into his forest green orbs.

“Did mum ask you to drop something off?” He asks.

“Well no,” she takes in a huge breath, she slides her hand into her pocket, fingers curling around the box. “I’m actually here to see you.”

“I don’t want anyone’s company.”

“Well -” the door shuts on her face, and she feels her heart drop. “I’m not anyone,” she mumbles dejectedly at the wooden door, tears prick the corner of her eyes and she makes her way back to her room. Tossing the gift box on her bedside table. Tearing off a page from her notebook, she scrawls with tears beading her waterline.

I don’t know what’s happened

Just tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?

She blinks back the film blurring the words on the page, wiping away the tears that landed on the paper. She uses the back of her hand to wipe her cheeks, breathing out slowly. She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her t-shirt.

I understand needing space. But the door slam to my face hurt

That’s all she manages to jot down before her mother’s voice echoes in her head, “சில நேரங்களில் உன்னை விரும்புவது கடினம் (It’s hard to love you sometimes).”

She crushes the paper with the note she was trying to write. It can’t be. Harry himself said the opposite. She abandons the crumpled ball, as she trudges her way up to the home theatre to fire up her PlayStation. All she needs for the next few hours is to mindlessly kill some Valkyries in God of War. She’d finished playing the game’s story days ago and the open world game gave her the opportunity to kill all eight of the valkyries. But she’d soon found out that killing them was tricky business. What other perfect way is there to channel gamer rage other than using the bubbling anger directed at her boyfriend to kill the remaining two warrior women with wings.

////

“Wait, you actually wanted to get married?” Layla asks, sitting up straighter, tilting her head from side to side until an audible crack is heard.

“Hmm…” Abi smiles at the huff her niece lets out. She had trailed upstairs - after her meeting - to the sounds of Layla shouting ‘சாவு, பன்றி, சாவு (die, pig, die)’ at the projector screen armed with one of her video game controllers.

“You were the perfect daughter weren’t you, Aunty?”

Abi laughs. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have to negotiate.”

“Go on,” Layla motions with her hand, as she reaches for her water bottle.

“My relatives zeroed in on my parents the minute I graduated from engineering. They initially didn’t give it much thought but then matches actually came home through Aunties and Uncles we knew. They sat me down and asked me if I was seeing someone -”

“Wait! Your parents were okay with a love match?”

“Yup. As long as the boy was Hindu and from our caste,” Abi answers.

“Of course. It came with terms and conditions,” Layla giggles. “As long as they were from the same caste. Could you imagine going around and asking people what caste they belong to when you’re out on a date.”

“I know right! Hella awkward.” She joins in with Layla, giggling away feeling her baby move in accordance. “But I guess it really didn’t matter because I wasn’t opposed to the idea of an arranged marriage. I told them I wasn’t in love with anyone but I also asked them to give me three years to get some work experience. I knew I wanted to do an MBA in the US. My parents weren’t on board with my moving abroad alone. They wanted me to have ‘protection’” she explains, making air quotes for the last work.

“Ech,” Layla reacts. “Why are all parents the same? When Vasanth told everyone that he’s gonna prep for his GRE and move to the US for his Masters my grandparents were over the moon. I bet they never even considered his ‘protection.’ Fucking double standards.”

“It enraged me too but I realised it was that or not doing my MBA in the States. I pulled up some of the prerequisites and my parents got to know that the degree needed students to have work experience. After many fights, they finally relented and gave me three years and started looking for matches while I was working.”

“Didn’t that throw you off? Knowing that time was ticking?”

“It did. It made me feel guilty, knowing I needed to have all of these experiences before I got tied down but it melted away when my friends and coworkers started settling down and starting families. They still had the experiences just married and sometimes having those experiences with their significant other; life didn’t stop. It took four years of searching before Vasanth.”

“Four years?!?”

“Yeah,” Abi chuckles. “I didn’t make it easy for my parents either. I had given them a zillion expectations that they needed to meet. I rejected many. Plus, they had to find someone taller than me.”

Layla laughs. “It’s the same thing that happened with Uncle. Finding someone tall enough for him, தாத்தா பாட்டி (grandad and grandmum) almost pulled out their hairs trying to find someone tall.”

Abi laughs. “My dad made so much fun of me on the days leading up to our engagement, because I was running around trying to find heels to try and match his height. I only owned flats prior to your Uncle.”

“How did you know சித்தப்பா (uncle) was the one?”

“There was no one moment. We got along well. He seemed genuinely interested in knowing what I envision my future to look like. Others I talked to often talked about the future in terms of their goals or a collective familial goal. Your uncle asked me what I wanted, rather than ask me what I want as one half of a couple. He was supportive with my MBA plans and work goals too. Seemed open to moving closer to whatever college I got in. That’s how we moved to North Carolina from San Francisco; I got into Kenan-Flagler. I haven’t told him this but when he readily put his notice in and moved to Charlotte with me - before he found himself a job here - he just became so much hotter.” Abi uses one of her hands and fans herself.

“Eww,” Layla grimaces. “Don’t call him hot.”

“Is it a crime to find my husband hot?” She laughs.

“When the husband is my Uncle, yes.” She shivers in disgust.

“Oh- லேலா உன் கையை கொடு (Layla, give me your hand),” she says urgently, grabbing her palm and pressing it to the side of her ever growing tummy. The baby rewards the two with a jerky roll. “Never gets old,” Abi whispers with a smile blooming. “I initially thought the kick would be like a ping but it’s like a jelly rolling around with her. Getting more active by the day this one.”

“Even Laya agrees with me,” Layla says. Bending down to the active baby, “Don’t worry. I find it weird that she thinks he’s hot too.” She whispers, making Abi laugh at their private conversation.

“You two are gonna team up and make fun of us, aren’t you?” She manages to get out in between fits of laughter.

“Obviously.” Layla’s eyes flicks up to her Aunt’s with the most earnest expression on her face. She settles back into the recliner and lets out an audible sigh. “So is that all it is… I can’t possibly get out of this arranged marriage thing and the best I can do is negotiate.”

“I never said you can’t get out of it, kutti. It will just be an arduous journey to get there but knowing your mum and knowing you're the only girl child - I think the best course of action is to negotiate like I did. If you say no marriage and stand your ground now, what’s to say your mum won’t also resist and force you with that intensity of your refusal. So, don’t say anything, stay out of it. This way your PhD won’t be affected by it.”

“What do you mean PhD not being affected?” Layla sits up, tucking her feet under her thighs.

“I mean, your அம்மா (mum) might just put her foot down and refuse to send you to school -”

“But she can’t do that,’ Layla shakes her head. “I’m an adult and it’s not like I will be financially dependent on them. The colleges that I’ve shortlisted are the ones that are the most likely to give me financial aid.”

“That’s all true,” Abi agrees, taking Layla’s hand. “You were also an adult and financially independent for the Singapore trip, weren’t you? Look what happened. You ended up coming here.”

“So you’re asking me to let things be?” Layla says quietly.

“I’m asking you to consider playing it smart. Don’t worry about all this marriage nonsense. You have your eye on your goal - PhD, don’t get distracted. The time to fight this battle is not now. It took me four years to find a match. Who knows how long it’ll take for you? Maybe you can get your doctorate by that time. If not, don’t worry; one of the perks of an arranged marriage is that it’s democratic. Everyone - or at least most of them - in the family should agree. Vasanth and I are on your team no matter what. And as for அப்பா, பாட்டி, and தாத்தா (dad, grandmum and grandad), you can always convince them to join your side. We will not let you discontinue your studies, kutti. I promise. You have no idea how proud we all are that you’re so bloody smart.”

“I’m not that smart and all,” Layla mumbles.

“Hush,” Abi shushes her. “Plus, if you do change your mind on marriage, we all be here to make sure that you are on board with the match. We will not force you to marry someone you do not like. For now let it go. They won’t bother you much until they have matches shortlisted and that itself could take a long while. And we will cross that bridge when we get to it, for now you worry about your PhD applications. ”

“Okay. What you’re saying makes sense. Besides, the application deadlines are on the first of December; it’s not very smart of me to keep fighting this and get distracted. Need to have my eyes on the bigger picture.”

“Are you applying for Chapel-Hill?”

“It’s on the maybe list. Why?”

“Vasanth has been wanting to sit down with you this weekend, to look at the places before you start applying. Get your safety and reach colleges and all in order. He’s been secretly hoping you have UNC at the top of the list, so you can live with us while you study.”

Layla chuckles. “Do you reckon he’s gonna convince me to move Chapel-Hill from the maybe list to the yes list?”

“I’m sure, he’ll try bribing you with all sorts of things,” Abi answers, warmly squeezing Layla’s freezing fingers. “Kutti?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m just saying because I think it’ll be best for you to figure out what you want in terms of a relationship. Especially now that you have Harry to consider too. I heard you tell him the other day that you’re gonna marry him when you were eating the focaccia he baked. And I know it’s not my place to say this but I get that you meant it as a term of expression but sometimes it necessarily might mean the same for him. Have a talk with each other. The sooner the better. I know he means the world to you and I know you mean the same to him.”

“I didn’t think of it that way… I never thought that I’d feel all these things for him. I just thought it’ll be a fun hookup but I guess you’re right. I think he knows that I don’t mean it like that. Whenever we talk about things we know our priorities - colleges. We always talk about the future like it’s distant. I think the hardest thing about January rolling around soon is him. I don’t want to leave,” Layla bites down on her wobbly lower lip. It only makes the angry flames in her chest spark up again because Harry’s being an utter asshole to her. All she wants to do is cosy up to him and drum her fingers down his back as he presses wet kisses on her pulse.

“Maybe I’m overstepping my bounds but do you ever see yourself getting married or are you just saying no because of what happened between your mum and dad?”

“Oh um,” Layla worries her bottom lip, trying to think things through and lets out a long sigh.

“Bit of both, I think. As much as I respect the sanctity of marriage, I’ve seen it go right and wrong. Sometimes I think I’ll end up just like அம்மா (mum) - you know how everyone says we often butt heads because we have similar personalities - and that means I’d have to go through the same things she did. As much as I do and villanise her sometimes, I honestly don’t think I have an ounce of the strength and determination she does. We lived alone for almost a year and she single handedly took care of all of the finances and even now, she works and does so much work at home too. அப்பா (dad) is not like Uncle, he never does things around the house, except groceries; and on most of the days, I don’t either. But I don’t think I need to get married either, as long as I’m in a long term relationship with someone I trust. It’s just a piece of paper, right? I don’t see it happening for a long long time.”

“Marriage is more than a piece of paper, Layla.”

“Easy for you to say, you and சித்தப்பா (uncle) have the breeziest of marriages,” Layla comments.

“That’s not true, kutti. We hit a rough patch during my final year of my MBA. We even talked about separating,” Abi explains.

“What?” Layla can’t help but gape at her. They were the perfect love birds in her eyes.

“I don’t know what it’s like universally but with arranged marriages, it’s more companionate, the relationship. You go into it with a stranger, you become friends and then start loving the other. Yes there is passion in there too but it’s more so a companion type thing. We went months leading our own lives, devoid of the other in it. Vasanth was busy working two jobs, and I would be busy with schoolwork and friends. All of the little free time we had went to chores. We went weeks without talking to each other, and didn't even acknowledge each other. It was like two strangers living in a hotel. Every time we’d open our mouths, we’d snap at each other and both thought that things weren't working out because we’d grown apart.”

“Wait, is that when your parents and தாத்தா, பாட்டி (granddad, grandmum) all flew over and stayed in shifts with the two of you for like three months?”

Abi nods. “We’d told our parents that we didn’t see a point in being married and they’d all immediately created an intervention of sorts. They asked us to give it one last try - wholeheartedly - and that they’d take care of things around the house. We signed up for marriage counselling and went to multiple sessions. Since we had our parents taking care of everything else - the minute we came back home after work and school - we would spend time with each other; getting to know each other again from scratch. Marriage is not easy. They don’t just work. You make it work. It’s very easy, at least, with arranged marriages to drift off to your separate paths - be strangers - and it takes work to meet in the middle again. And it needs to be done because you’re growing as your own individual too. That’s how we make it work - we’re not the same Vasanth and Abi who’d agreed to marry each other. We set aside time for ourselves. We talk. Go out on dates. Take holidays. We make each other a priority. It’s work. We are at this point because we put in the work to get here and we will need to put in the work after the baby too.”

“Isn’t it exhausting though? Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Everything in life requires work, Layla. But it's not exhausting with Vasanth. It’s easy to put in the work with him. Because it doesn’t feel like work with him,” she smiles.

“I guess it makes sense. This was a great talk. I should come to you often,” Layla tells her.

“Oh yeah? Finally realised that Abi is like that tortoise from Kung Fu Panda,” her Aunty jokes around.

“Yeah. An old tortoise,” Layla snickers.

“Are you calling me old?” Abi pinches her cheek.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Layla tries to say it earnestly but her giggles give her away. She shuffles closer to her, throwing her hands around her shoulders, slotting her body to the side, mindful of Laya’s residence. “By the way, you didn’t overstep your bounds at all. I’m glad it took you four years to find Uncle because there’s no one else I’d rather have as my Aunty.”

////

Harry can hear Layla’s voice faintly drifting from the floor above - wrapping up her class - as he makes his way up the stairs to her room. It’s twenty past one in the morning and every time Harry shut his eyes, he couldn’t help but shake the image of her walking back home dejectedly when he slammed the door. When he silently creeks open her bedroom door, he’s hit with a mixture of baby soap and Charlie Red that makes his shoulders slump in relief. Her room is neat - like it always is; there was freshly washed load of laundry that she hadn’t gotten around to folding stacked in an opened suitcase pushed to the corner of her room. What catches his eye was the crumpled ball of paper lying limply at the foot of the bed.

He grinds his teeth at the pain shooting from his shoulder, bending down to pick it up, and his heart falls to his stomach when he reads what she’s scrawled in cursive. Fuck, he shakes his head, plopping down on the mattress.

Layla walks into her room rubbing her eyes, clad in her embroidered Winnie the Pooh t-shirt dress and the kimono robe loosely tied around her waist. “ஹம்மாடி (whew),” she exhales out, looking forward to cosying up in her duvet. Harry can’t help the way the corners of his mouth tug upward - she always grunts out that word when she’s finished with whatever exhausting activity she was engaged in. “Oh,” she mumbles, stopping in her tracks at the sight of him holding on to the letter she wrote.

“Layla, I-” Harry starts.

“No!” She says, voice louder than either of them anticipated, stalking further into the room. “Leave,” she seethes, chest heaving as she rapidly takes in shallow breaths, clicking the door close to not wake Vasanth and Abi. “I don’t care. Just go.”

Harry gets up. “Baby, please listen to me.”

Layla steps back - out of his reach - shooting him a warning glare that told him to not get closer to her. “I don’t know what’s up, but you’ve done nothing but be an asshole to me -”

“I’m sorry that I’ve hurt yo-”

Layla chuckles. “The hurt ship has sailed. I’m fucking livid!” She blinks back the angry tears that begin to prick her eyes. “Please just leave! I’ve had a long day and I’d like to go to bed.”

Harry’s eyes blur as a thin film beads at his waterline, and he’s quick to blink them away before they have the chance to trickle down. The last thing he wants to do is upset her further, so he sighs and mutters, “Okay. I’ll go.” He makes his way to the door with his head hung dejectedly.

“Wait,” Layla calls out, quickly rummaging through her bedside table to find the long black box. “This is why I came over in the afternoon before you so kindly slammed the door on my face,” she says, voice dropping an octave lower. “Take it and fucking go,” she throws the suede box in his direction.

Harry’s hands lift up to catch it in reflex but the second the box lands on his palm, he lets out a loud grunt, face twisting in pain from the muscles of his shoulder. “Christ,” he bites, as the other hand - one that’s not holding the box - cups over the spot of affliction.

Layla’s eyes soften, instinctively stepping closer to him. “Shit. Your shoulder still hurts?” She enquires, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he gives her a weak nod. “Go wait downstairs in the kitchen… I’ll be right behind you,” she exhales.

“But…” he trails off, not knowing what exactly to say when she’d just asked him to leave a few seconds ago. When he blinks his eyes open to examine her face, she’s already stalked off to the bathroom when he can hear her meddling with her stuff. He takes a deep breath in, hoping it quells the pain, and calls out to her. “Okay.”

He sits on the bar stools, gently placing the black box on the kitchen island, as she walks in. He watches her beeline towards the microwave, taking a small bowl from the cabinet, Harry examines the two glass containers she’d placed on the island. A hexagonal glass jar with a copper lid that reads Tiger Balm and a green cylindrical container that reads Monison’s.

“Can you take off your hoodie for me?” Layla asks, as she spoons some of the brown and green balm into the bowl.

Harry slowly slips off his grey hoodie, watching her punch in thirty seconds on the panel and shuts the door. Layla steps over to the pantry, coming out with a tiny blue chequered cotton kitchen towel. She takes the melted mixture from the microwave when it beeps, using the spoon to stir it together. She dips her pinky in to check if the liquid is not scalding, and proceeds to sink her fingers in the murky looking concoction.

The room is filled with scents of herbs, camphor and eucalyptus as she slowly lets the liquid drip down from her fingertips onto his defined shoulder blade. “Sorry about the smell,” she tells him quietly as she kneads his muscles in circles - easing the taunt muscles under.

Harry’s speechless as she works her way down his shoulder and back, letting the warm liquid trickle down and later gently rubbing it all over. He doesn’t deserve this from her, especially with the way he’s treated her the past two days. But here she is carefully working the knots in his shoulder, even after asking him to leave her sight. He feels his heart weigh heavy in his throat, and he closes his eyes to succumb to the emotions his girlfriend’s tender act stirs up in his chest.

“Once in basketball practice, these huge fifth graders tripped and two of them managed to fall right on my arm. I was in so much pain that I thought it was fractured but it wasn’t. And Amma (mum) did this for me and I swear the pain subsided the next day, which I know is not possible but I barely felt it after. I mean it’s just pain gate theory, right?” She waffles on hoping to distract him from the pain she might be causing him as she massages the last of the liquid on the expanse of his shoulder. When she’s done she quickly washes her hands before she takes the clean towel and presses the button on the sink tap for hot water. Once it’s dripping wet she wrings the excess liquid out; opening it up and flapping it twice for good measure, when she’s satisfied she drapes the toasty damp towel over his clavicle and smooths it down his shoulders. “Sometimes I think I’ll perish if I don’t have a jar of Tiger Ba-” she stops where she hears a sniffle, followed by a shaky inhale and feels his frame tremble under her palm.

“Harry? Shit.” Layla rounds the corner to stand in front of him. “Hey,” she coos, gently tilting his chin up using her thumb and pointer finger. Moss green eyes gleam up at her under the buttery overhead lamp, a broken shudder follows as tears trickle down his face, and Layla realises that he’s hurting. He’s been hurting the past two days and that he wasn’t apathetic and detached.

“Oh honey,” Layla says soothingly, thumbs coming to wipe away the hot tears that stream down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - Sorry,” he blubbers, pulling her close to him, burying his face in her midsection as his arms hold her in place.

Layla wraps her arms around his head, one hand caressing his scalp and the other tracing circle on his cheek, “Shh. Har, you’re okay.” She presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m -,” he hiccups, a fresh wave of tears halting him and all he could do was nuzzle into her warmth as he bawls.

“We’re okay. You’re okay. Let it out. I’m sorry too, babe,” she whispers, mollifying him as she rocks him to and fro, letting him cry it out.

Harry pulls back, with broken shudders, sniffling, blinking at the dark patch on her t-shirt dress from his tears. “I - I uh - came -,” he breathes out between empty sobs. “I saw the tickets for the carnival,” he says with a weak smile.

“Yeah? You wanna go?” She asks, sitting down on the stool next to him, slotting her knees between his and scooting closer to the edge to weave their hands together.

He nods, looking up at her shyly through wet lashes. “I’m sorry.” He says, rapidly blinking down another fresh set of tears.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, hand coming to caress his cheek.

“Why?” He chuckles. “I’m the one in the wrong.”

“It wasn’t very nice of me to ask you to leave and throw that at you,” she points to the forgotten black box on the counter.

“You were angry.” He shrugs. “When did you manage to slip the tickets in my wallet?”

“When you were busy fiddling with the record player at Earl’s.” Layla worries her bottom lip, not knowing how to phrase her next question. “Why were you so cold to me?”

The question only makes Harry tilt his head to the side, as he tries to weigh the answer in his mind. “I uh - I was jealous,” he replies, cheeks reddening in response.

Layla snorts out a laugh at the ridiculousness of the words that had stumbled out of the messy beheaded boy’s slightly pouty mouth. She slaps down on his wrist as she guffaws, driving her emphasis further. “Harry,” she gets out. “Be seriou- oh!” She stops in her tracks when she’s met with his earnest gaze. “Jealous of what though?”

“Ashwin,” he admits, feeling the blood rush to the tips of his ears as he hangs his head.

“Why would you be jealous of Ashwin?” She asks.

“It’s just - It’s like - Like you getting into his car this morning and just driving away,” he explains.

“You make it sound weird. You know we were meeting up with the others at the golf course.” She swallows. “Do you not trust me?”

It doesn’t escape Harry that she’s now leaning away from him, and the hands that were holding him, now were crossed protectively over her chest. “I do! It’s a me thing. Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t understand. How am I not supposed to take it personally?” She barks offensively, eyebrows arching. “Harry, I’ve met the girl you were hooking up with! Do you see me getting jealous and throwing a fit whenever you take me to the lookout point in Chapel Hill? No, because it was before us and I trust you. Ashwin is literally an acquaintance and you throw a hissy fit for days because I hitched a ride to him to the golf course. That’s fucking stupid!”

“Hissy fit,” Harry chuckles, and it only makes Layla shoot daggers as she glances up at him.

“I cannot believe it. Fucking jealous,” she continues and she isn’t sure if the last past was directed at herself. “Your mum told me that you tend to latch on to people but I didn’t expect you to be possessive. I don’t know if I’m okay with that.” She shakes her head, hand coming to frustratedly rub at her forehead. “How are we gonna work through this? What are you gonna say next? ‘Let me mark my territory when you hang out with others, like how a dog would do?!?’” She shuts her eyes, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths through her nose so she would raise her voice and wake her Aunty and Uncle. She knows she’s spiralling and spewing out ridiculous things but she can’t help but feel hurt by his admission.

“Have I -” she says softly looking up at him, “did I do something to make you feel that way?”

“No, baby. No. It’s not you!” He sits up cupping her face cursing himself for making her doubt herself. “It’s just,” his voice breaks as the tears well up in his jade irises, “every time I see you two hanging out, it makes me insecure and I didn’t like feeling like the second best again.”

“Again?”

“It’s stupid,” he sniffles.

“It’s clearly not stupid if it’s hurting you,” she reminds him.

“I’m just scared that you’ll realise he’ll give you something I can’t.” He confesses. “Like you don’t need to check if a Tamil movie has subtitles at the cinema to watch with him, he gets all the references you make, you don’t have to translate things in your head or explain why you’re doing certain things - like the other day when you accidentally stepped on my book and you’d stopped talking to bend down to touch it and bring your fingers to your eyes and you’d spent the next twenty minutes explaining why for me. And it’s scary to think that one day you’ll realise that I’m not worth it and leave.”

“Babe,” Layla frowns. “I don’t think that at all. If anything, all those instances only makes me endeared that you’re curious about where I come from, plus, you actively participate in them. It works both ways too. You taught me so much about your home too. I didn’t know what a chip butty was before I met you,” she jokes weakly. Harry doesn’t laugh - or even smile - instead he looks crestfallen, Layla leans over and stamps a soft kiss on his pink lips and his splotchy cheeks. “I’ll never not think you’re not worth it. Ever. You mean the world to me. You make me feel safe and you make me feel loved. And that is something I will not take very lightly. Ever. I have nothing like that with Ashwin. I hitched a ride with him the other day because everyone else was gonna shower at the country club and head straight for work. Ashwin had a day off and obliged to drive me to Raleigh to pick something up for you,” she tells him, nodding towards the black box. “Besides, he acts like he’s from the hood sometimes - I guess most brown boys do that when they come here; pretend to be an African American rapper. It just does not get my motor running like you in a pair of fishnets.”

There’s a lingering undercurrent of teasing in her voice towards the end that makes Harry smile - the ones where he flashes his teeth and it makes the dimples carve out in his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have been cold to you. That was wrong of me. I should have come and talked it out with you. I cannot apologise enough for that,” he resolutely tells her.

“It was,” Layla agrees. “I did not deserve to be treated that way. I thought you were mad at me or that you needed space which is very unlike you. Because I’m the one that pushes you away-”

“Not in the way that I did. You always told me that you need some time to yourself before you share but I just pushed you away.”

“True,” Layla sighs. “Would inviting you along help whenever I go out with that gang? I’m not gonna stop hanging out with them because I feel like I’m hanging out with my cousins. And I’m trying to make the best out of that because they’re gonna fly out as soon as the wedding is over.”

“That’ll be nice. I sorta felt left out when you went to watch that movie without telling me because I’m really used to being your number one go-to person for everything,” he admits.

“I understand that you felt left out but I didn’t invite you because the movie didn’t have subtitles and I didn’t want you to be bored because of me. It would have helped if you told me earlier. We could have gone to the cinema - just us - and made a date night out of it.”

“I didn’t want to seem clingy I guess.”

“Can I ask you something?” Layla questions and Harry nods. “You said earlier about not wanting to feel second best again. Has it got something to do with your dad? I mean you don’t talk about it and I’m just theorising but feel free to tell me to back off if I’m crossing a line.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if he chose us. He was a good dad, Layla. He was everything I wanted to be when I grew up. But I guess, I was not enough for him with anything I did,” his lower lip wobbles. “He’d had another family and I guess in the end my step-siblings - god, it’s so weird to call them that - had something that I didn’t and when he figured it out he’d just left mum and me.”

“Harry,” Layla whispers, arms wrapping around his torso to pull him into an embrace. Harry nuzzles his face into the crook of her shoulder, chest shuddering as he takes in his favourite scent. It made sense to Layla now - his icy behaviour was not to attack her but to protect him, his inner child. She had the power to make him feel the things he once felt, and the second Harry realised that she held the power; when he felt ‘not enough,’ he’d cut her off so she wouldn’t put him through that - like a hedgehog balling themselves up and straightening out it’s quills when it senses his predators were nearby. “Babe, I’m so sorry you went through that. Those choices were your fathers - an adult. You in no way played a role in the shitty choices he made. You were a child, babe, and it’s not your job to make yourself the best option for your parents. Remember when you told me love is not a burden?” She can feel him nod against her neck. “Love shouldn’t be earned either. It’s not conditional - especially from a parent.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out, crying again, but this time it’s tears of relief. “You know,” he chuckles, pulling back to wipe his eyes. “Earl said something along the same lines.”

“He’s a wise man,” Layla says. “How’s your shoulder? Is the warm towel and தைலம் (pain balm) helping?”

“It is. Thank you.”

“No need for thank yous. I’d take care of you anytime,” she shrugs.

“So you made Ashwin drive to Raleigh to get me something?” He questions, stretching out to grab the black velvet box.

“Uh huh.” She smiles. “I got a commission from this woman. She wants three still life oil portraits of her favourite food for her kitchen. She’s paying me three fifty dollars for each. So, I’d figured I’d treat you with something.” She nods to the box. “Open it.”

Harry’s fingers trace the gold foiled lettering - Fink’s - against the soft material. He flips the box open to find a dainty gold chain and a thin cross pendant hanging from it of the same metal. It looked identical to the silver one he’d have around his neck - he’d go on a limb and say this one looked even more beautiful. He immediately looks into her homey raven eyes, bottom lip trapped with her teeth, as she looks at him expectantly.

“I know I ripped it off your neck that day,” her face flushes with heat thinking back to their lecherous activity upstairs in the swing room in front of his giant ornate mirror. “I’ve been feeling bad since. I’ve never ever seen you take it off and when I got the deposit money for the commissions, it was the first thing I thought of. I wanted to get you an exact replica but I just couldn’t bring myself to get it in silver, so I called Fink’s and had them make it gold. You kept complaining that the clasp on the old one was too tiny, so I asked them to use a circular clasp, so it’s easier for you.” She rambles. “They said they couldn’t make the chain dainty in 22 karats, something about them not able to get the metal to bend, so it’s only 18 kara-”

Harry cuts her off with a passionate kiss, hands clutching her cheeks holding her close, as he pours his devotion. His tongue melds with hers and it makes her breathe out a quiet moan, as she sinks his fingernails into his bicep. He breaks apart, pressing his forehead to hers as they both catch their breath from the dizzying ordeal. “I love it! Put it on for me?” He asks her, thumb caressing her bottom lip, making her smile.

////

Bright blue powdery skies can be deceiving, especially in North Carolina. While Layla usually dressed up in her lightest cotton clothes with skies like this, today she’s tugging the drawstring around the hood of Harry’s hoodie to protect herself from the nippy breeze that blows through. Once she’s done securing the hood in place by knotting it under her chin, so the frigid air caused by a hurricane in Florida won’t freeze her ears off.

She kicks up the basketball that was at her feet, dribbling it up the driveway towards the garage door where her Uncle had screwed in a hoop. She jogs to it, gasping for a breath of air as she spins, tossing the ball above her head towards the net when she faces the street. She turns around expectantly to watch the ball kiss the rim as it tumbles into the basket but huffs when it bounces off the ring towards the hydrangea bushes.

“Ugh,” she groans, trudging behind it and when she’s picking it up she feels a sharp swat to her ass. “Hey! Not nice!” She squeals at Harry, turning around to face him.

“Not so nice when someone spanks you now, is it?” He laughs, clutching a pair of headphones in his hands. He’s dressed in his workout gear - brown trousers with a spatter of gold paint he’d managed to get when he helped her paint the ornate frame of his mirror. It cuts off at his knees, exposing his si no and oui and non tattoos. It baffles her that he’s not freezing while she’s been having goosebumps wearing sweatpants. He’s in one of his full arm length muscle hugging athletic t-shirts, with a hoodie tied around his waist.

“I don’t do it hard,” she replies.

“Well my stinging ass cheek would beg to differ.”

Layla rolls her eyes at his dramatic flair. “What are you doing up so early? I thought you were not gonna work out until your shoulder is better.”

“My better is better but I’m not gonna work out for the rest of the week and fuck up my muscles. Just going out on a walk. What are you doing up at seven in the morning?” He asks.

“Had a review meeting with my department head at four about my first week. Couldn’t go back to sleep after,” she shrugs. “I was scrolling on Instagram and I came across this trick shot on this basketball page where people run up to the net, do a spin and throw it in. Been trying to do that for an hour now and I’m nowhere close to nailing it,” she frowns, nodding to the ball she’s stationed against her hip.

“I could just lift you up and spin you around,” he suggests.

Layla laughs. “Cute that you think you can lift- aaah!” She shrieks as Harry quickly squats down, to grab the junction where her bum and thighs meet, hoisting her up.

“You were saying?” He arches his eyebrow up at her.

“Put me down,” she demands as he makes his way to the hoop.

“Nope. Make this backwards basket and come on a walk with me around the pond.”

He positions her right in front of the hoop and she’s hoisted up high up that the end of the net touches the top of her head. “I’m not supposed to face the net, you idiot,” she giggles.

“Alright then,” he turns them both around towards the street and marches down to the end of their driveway. Layla spots Nandhini Aunty right away, standing right in front of her open garage door, staring at the two with a cardboard box in her hand.

Layla tosses the ball and Harry turns them around to watch it perfectly go into the net, making him hoot and spin her around in celebration. They both laugh as Harry loosens his arms around her thighs making Layla slide down his torso. She doesn’t stop giggling as she wraps her around his neck, fingers massaging the baby curls at the nape of his neck, as she rubs her nose against his - feet still dangling above the ground as he holds her in place. “I like this trick shot so much better,” she whispers.

“Nandhini’s watching,” he mumbles, reminding her of her PDA rule around brown aunties, as she angles her head.

“Fuck her,” whispers with a smirk as her eyelids flutter close and she closes the distance between their lips.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

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damgaardclemensen72 · 3 days

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Using Those Business Cards

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valenzuela89juarez · 2 years

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How To Rent Your Unit In A Competitive Market

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crimeronan · 3 years

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Ok so I’m into the dreamer trilogy and haven’t read the Raven cycle...what is Declan’s characterisation/journey there?

THIS MIGHT BE THE BEST ASK I’VE EVER RECEIVED. IMAGINE I’M STANDING WITH MY ARMS SPREAD USING DIFFERENT VOICES AND HAND GESTURES TO REENACT THIS STORY FOR A RESENTFUL CAPTIVE AUDIENCE

also declan’s TRC storyline is like. equal parts horribly fucking sad and unbelievably fucking hilarious so. i will try to strike a Balance

FIRST OFF. there is exactly one (1) declan POV chapter in the entire series. it happens toward the end of the last book. up until then, everything we know about him comes from the observations and narration of others.

he is also a very minor character. his importance grows throughout the series, but almost all of his actions happen offscreen. it’s not until the last book that we know exactly how much he’s been dealing with the whole time.

when he’s introduced in the first book, he appears as a plot device. here is a two-dimensional horrible controlling hardass who doesn’t give a shit about anything but his future political career. look at his fake, smug fucking grin. how did someone like ronan end up with a brother like him?? doesn’t matter. it’s a convenient excuse for ronan to live with his best friend in a drafty warehouse, which means more room for YA hijinks!

declan’s introduction scene is Embroiled in Capital-D Douchebaggery. according to the narration (from gansey and adam), he loves to fuck women and then never call them back, cozy up to powerful people, and bitch about how ronan’s ruining his life by being sad about their dead parents. SOME people can just get over their dead parents, ronan!

this intro scene is also Extremely Funny i 100% recommend reading it even if u don’t read the actual series. ronan makes a nasty comment, declan goes “why are you the way that you are” and tries to salvage his date, gansey utters the phrase “man whore”

then later that night things go like. actually bad.

declan shows up at the same pizza place where ronan is with his friends. this scene is gansey pov. gansey runs out to the parking lot to find the two of them Very Literally Trying To Kill Each Other. you don’t see that violence in cdth - there’s only the TINIEST shadow of it when declan confronts ronan over matthew - so i Cannot Express Enough that someone is going to end up hospitalized at BEST. ronan’s already slammed declan’s head on the car, declan’s already grabbed ronan and beaten the shit out of his face, like.

you do not get good old-fashioned Declan Lynch At His Actual Worst in cdth. u might be thinking, THAT guy???? doing THIS????

oh yeah. things are real bad between declan and ronan.

after gansey breaks up the fight (and gets punched in the face for his trouble, albeit accidentally), declan tells ronan that their dad would be fucking ashamed to see him now & that he’s washing his hands of it & basically if ronan wants to go off and fucking die, he can.

this is like. just a couple months after the magical suicide attempt referenced in cdth

in the aftermath of that scene it becomes clear that ronan absolutely unequivocally 100% will kill himself if he has to live with declan. hence. why he’s living with gansey instead. gansey spends that whole night petrified that the declan altercation will lead to another attempt, and for Good Reason

so like, that’s how we first meet declan. he’s an uncaring wannabe corporate asshole who does not give a fuck and who only exists to exacerbate ronan’s mental health issues.

but then the opening of book 2 gets real interesting.

book 2 is where we start learning more about the lynch family. we learn that ronan’s father was a dreamer who sold his creations on the black market, we learn that that’s why he was murdered. we learn that ronan’s a dreamer too. we learn that there are very powerful people looking for the greywaren, an artifact that takes objects from dreams. those powerful people just don’t realize it’s a person, yet.

so here’s the assassin who killed niall lynch.

he goes to declan’s dorm.

with everything we know about declan, the kid should be completely unprepared. he can box, but the assassin knows that, so there’s no real advantage. he’s alone, and he doesn’t have an escape route.

declan pulls out a gun.

this is an unexpected turn of events.

unfortunately he ends up getting beaten half to death with the butt of said gun, because he loses the ensuing physical struggle for the weapon. the assassin is like, i need the greywaren. declan is like, i know it exists but i don’t know what it is. i’ll find it for you. i’ll get it to you. then you’ll leave me the fuck alone

now with everything we know of declan at this point - his attitude toward ronan, his general demeanor, and this new knowledge that he knew about the black market - there’s one obvious question.

will declan sell ronan out if he finds out about the dreaming.

and like, okay. their relationship is antagonistic in cdth but it is NOT what it is in trc. believe me when i tell you that at that point, when you’re reading, you can pretty reasonably go, “oh, god. oh god. oh god please no one ever tell declan what the greywaren is. oh god.”

declan has some other interactions with ronan and the gang throughout the book, mostly where he’s just a hardass who tells ronan to stop causing trouble. adam’s the only one who notices that declan is scared. like bone-deep shaking to the core petrified. about Something.

probably getting beaten to within an inch of his life by the man who murdered his father. that’s the reasonable reader conclusion.

so imagine how everything changes when you find out that declan already knows. that declan’s known about ronan’s dreaming for longer than ronan has. that declan knew exactly what and who the greywaren was, and he lied to a man who was ready to torture him for information, and he got away with it.

suddenly a lot of things recontextualize.

“keep your head down and stop making trouble”? people are gonna NOTICE your magic bullshit, ronan, we do not have time for this!

“stop hanging with that loser druggie friend of yours”? you mean the loser druggie friend who sells on the magic black market and doesn’t care about protecting himself or anyone else?

“i got super weird for no reason about ronan sleeping close to adam”? i don’t have fucking TIME to be homophobic i’m busy with your POTENTIAL TO MANIFEST NIGHT TERRORS IN FRONT OF WITNESSES IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

“i’ll find out what the greywaren is and bring it to you”? i’ll die. i’m making a bargain to die. i’m never giving you the greywaren and i know you’re going to kill me about it and that’s fine as long as my brothers are safe

ronan doesn’t know that he dreamed matthew. declan knows. he’s known the whole time. declan tells ronan in book 3. and then things recontextualize even further, because ronan’s death is also matthew’s, and matthew IS close to declan in trc.

but declan never tells the goddamn truth unless it’s his last option. he doesn’t tell ronan that he knows about the dreaming and he doesn’t tell ronan what specifically wants to hurt him and the lack of communication fucking destroys both of them.

in the last book, ronan realizes declan loves him.

more than that, he realizes declan’s loved him the whole time.

this is when declan finally tells the truth. things are getting bad, plot-wise, and declan is scared, so he comes clean. he tells ronan that niall specifically tasked declan with protecting ronan from the market. he begs ronan to run from the danger. “let’s pour gasoline on everything dad left and start over.”

this is also when ronan realizes that declan’s childhood was very different from ronan’s own. and that niall and aurora lynch were not the same people to declan that they were to ronan. and that their father’s decisions are what’s driven the wedge between him and declan all this time

(he’s still struggling with the cognitive dissonance of this in cdth. i don’t think he knows how to adjust his perception of declan to fit this new information.)

aaaaand the final scene with declan makes me cry every time i read it so instead of summarizing, here’s the important part:

Ronan delivered a sharp tap to the object, and a small cloud of fiery orbs sprayed up with a sparkling hiss.

“Jesus, Ronan!” Declan jerked his chin away.

“Please. Did you think I’d blow your face off?”

He demonstrated it again, that quick tap, that burst of brilliant orbs. He tipped it into Declan’s hand, and before Declan could say anything, jabbed it to activate it once more.

Orbs gasped up into the air. For a moment, he saw how his brother was caught inside them, watching them soar furiously around his face, each gold sun firing gold and white, and when he saw the spacious longing in Declan’s face, he realized how much Declan had missed by growing up neither dreamer nor dreamt. This had never been his home. The Lynches had never tried to make it Declan’s home.

“Declan?” Ronan asked.

Declan’s face cleared. “This is the most useful thing you’ve ever dreamt. You should name it.”

“I have. ORBMASTER. All caps.”

“Technically you’re the orbmaster though, right? And that’s just an orb.”

“Anyone who holds it becomes an ORBMASTER. You’re an ORBMASTER right now. There, keep it, put it in your pocket. D.C. ORBMASTER.”

Declan reached out and scuffed Ronan’s shaved head. “You’re such a little asshole.”

The last time they’d stood on this roof together, their parents had both been alive, and the cattle in these fields had been slowly grazing, and the world had been a smaller place. That time was gone, but for once, it was all right.

The brothers both looked back over the place that had made them, and then they climbed down from the roof together.

#long post #REALLY long post #i haven't reread this so excuse any incoherence #trc #trc meta #not really but??#suicide /#declan lynch #i love my idiot son #replies #Anonymous

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askaalaska-vdeppressed · 3 years

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Seeing Stars and Stripes

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

This is just porn, I have no excuse for it other than I need the practice

Here you go babes

You were sure that many would see the upturned lip, the finale of the cacophony of scars that marred his face as off-putting. They’d see the way the injured skin forced his lip up into a permanent snarl as a warning. Yet as you stared at him from across the room you couldn’t help up imagine what it would be like to run your tongue across it. Letting the tip slide quickly over the before quickly jumping back and smirking. Would he grow at you? Call you a minx? Drag your head back to do it again? Put you over his shoulder and take you away to have his way with you? You hoped a version of all three.

So engrossed in your daydreaming you completely forgot where you were or whom you were with till one of your friends—Alma-- cleared her throat.

“Y/n?..... Y/N?” She playfully slapped your shoulder getting your attention. You turned to her, still clearing your head of the vision.

“Are you going to continue to make eyes at strangers or are you going to take your turn?” Your other friend at the table Jordie chimed in.

“Are you saying I have a choice?” you replied. As they both laughed you reached out to grab the dice that were in front of you on the table.

“I say you just go for it” Jordie said looking down at the scores for the game and then back up at your roll,

“Damn Y/n, 650 you gonna take it?”

“What’s my score again?” You asked coyly. Jordie looked down at the board with the scores and back up at you.

“Plenty high” She said not giving you a proper answer. You had been ahead of both the girls for quite some time. Poor Alma having only just gotten on the board about three rounds ago.

“I’ll take it” you answered passing the dice to Jordie.

“I’m with her on this one” Alma stated splitting her attention between you and Jordie’s rolls “You never go after men on our girls’ nights, if this stranger’s got something that’s getting you going I say chase after it”

Jordie let out a small curse as the dice went cold for her. You waved a server down to refill your drink as you contemplated Alma’s words.

It was true you never were one to go get lost in a man’s arms. It wasn’t that you were prudish or that you lacked offers. It really boiled down to two factors. The first being that your town was small. And any news, especially who slept with whom was bound to get spread as soon as your legs were. The second being that all the men and near all the women for that matter lacked depth. There lives were firmly planted in this village. They were born in this land, they grew in this land, they will die in this land and they will eventually become this land. Every thought in there heads was of this land. Even your friends were not immune to this. Sleeping with men here felt more akin to sleeping with a very polished rock.

Your mother blamed your wanderlust on all the reading you did. Your family was the only completely literate one in the whole village. You and your mother being two out the three women that knew how to read. The third being Jordie. Together you were trying to teach Alma, though she insisted it was a wasted endeavor.

Altogether the village was simple, routine and safe. You had given up years ago of trying to force yourself to be complacent with it. You soothed your wanders heart by travel for business. From a family of farmers you took up soap making to cure your boredom. During the summer months you would travel to different markets to sell your wares and see the different villages and cities. But one woman can only travel so far on her own, and summer can only last so many months. And then it was back to this. Back to the cage of a home set in stone.

Yet looking at the traveler he seemed to ooze an aura complexity. You imagined he had seen many places, fought many fights and tasted many flavors. For a brief moment when you first saw him you contemplated asking him to tell you of his travel rather than anything untoward.

Then he’d rolled his neck, thrown down his pack with a clamor, and with a voice of gravel ordered a meal, a bed and an ale.

And it was all over for you.

Alma smiled as she rolled a cool thousand points in one role and surpassed Jordie on the board when you put your hands on the table and forced yourself up. Both girls gave you a wink as you passed the server from before grabbing the pitcher he had brought to refill your drink. You sauntered over to the man in the red striped jacket. He was looking absentmindedly at the wall when you approached—the sound of the pitcher landing on the table breaking him out of his daze.

He looked up to meet your gaze and his golden amber eyes hypnotized you for a moment.

“Can I help you lass?” The low tone of his voice mixed with the roughness of it made you weak at the knees. You got control of your legs and broke the spell his eye had cast on you and fixed a smile on your face.

“You looked like you could use some company” You grabbed your skirts and swished them to the side in order to sit on the chair cattycorner to him. He turned his body to you, his eyebrows held high on his head in a face of skepticism. He looked around the room before addressing you.

“It looks like this place is filled with men that are much more suited for you company” He gave a half hearted gesture to the lively bar.

You gave a snort and rolled your eyes.

“Oh believe me I’ve tried but the whole lot of them is either boorish or simple” You scooted your chair closer to him not touching shoulder. You pointed at a blonde gentleman in a green vest.

“That’s Karlson, he is completely convinced that boiled beaver testicles are curing his wife’s monthly pains” The man pulled a face and your let out a snort.

“She replaces them with boiled eggs when he’s not looking. The real thing helping her is the whiskey she mixes in her tea.” The strangers hand shot up to cover his mouth as he struggled not to laugh.

You turned a bit and pointed at another gentleman. This time a balding man in a shirt much to small for him.

“The man one bend over from busting a seam is Magnus. He once lectured me for two hours on the science behind putting grooves in your teeth to make you a better warrior.”

The man scoffed looking up. His hair fell from his face falling behind his ears in a motion like water.

“Humans will try anything to be more than they are” You fixed him with a look.

“You say that as if you aren’t one” He turned to you perplexed.

“I’m not”

You made a big gesture out of looking him up and down. Inspecting his eyes and hair. You stuck your hand out and poked his arm—careful to avoid the spikes that poked out of his shoulders.

“You seem pretty human to me” You looked over to him smiling from ear to ear. Your cheeks forcing your eyes to squint. He broke your gaze as a small smile crept onto his face for a moment.

“Your too cute for you own good….”

“Y/N” you filled in for him

“Y/n” He parroted back.

“And I don’t know…”

“Eskel” he provided.

“I don’t know Eskel” you started “I think I balance on the perfect ratio of sweet timid kitten and sexy goddess” You waited until he was posed to take a drink to continue. “After all I came over here too see if you wanted to fuck my brains out”

Your timing had been perfect and Eskel’s hand shot up again to his mouth to try and stop the spray that was currently coming out of his mouth from the shock of your statement. He wiped his hand with his mouth and gave a harsh swallow.

“Your funny Y/n.” he choked out. You put your arm on the table and placed your head in your hand.

“True, I am masterful in whit” your gaze lingered on his lips, a small amount of ale his hand had missed dripped down his chin. You moved fluidly reaching one hand to wipe his chin and the other to rest on his thigh. You leaned in close as your thumb moved from his chin to his bottom lip.

“But I was being quite sincere with that request” His eyes seemed to take you in for a moment. In his irises he seemed to be fighting something. For a split second he looked like he might start crying before his gaze turned hungry. He leered down your top then back up to the pout of your lips, slightly ajar.

“Eskel” you regarded him, the name low in your voice.

“Y/n” he returned. The combination of his gaze and his voice sent a shiver down your spine and caused your cunt to clench. You caught your breath for a moment, ever so slightly rubbing your legs together.

“You have a room upstairs?”

“Indeed I do” he smirked at you. That damned notch in his lip driving you even crazier. You lifted yourself up going to grab your bag from your friends quickly. You three had planned on staying with Jordie that night since her husband was away.

You were sure she’d understand.

As you passed they both smiled and winked at you again. Eskel—having gathered his own belongings—met you at the entrance to the stairs. He stuck out his arm, making you giggle. You hooked your hand into it as you made your way up. You looked more like a pair of nobles ready to meet a monarch than you did strangers on their way to hook up in a backwater inn. He lead you too one of the inn’s three rooms. You made your way across the threshold, heading to place your bag in a chair in the corner. When you turned around Eskel had set his belongings down and was anxiously shifting on his feet. A hand behind his head playing with the skin of his neck.

The moment was awkward. Back in the crowded bar you had both been in high confidence. Safety in numbers giving you courage to speak boldly. When the doors were closed and it was just the two of alone it was a different story.

Fearing he may be getting cold feet you strode across the room. A woman on a mission. At the very least you were going to fulfill the fantasy from earlier. Coming this far you were not about to walk away with nothing.

When you reached him your hands sought either side of his face. Pulling him towards you. Your lips met tenderly. The plushness of his lips not being lost on you. Eskel became more and more receptive to the kiss, the two of you now beginning to push against the other. Your thumbs caressed the bones of his cheeks. The sun ravaged skin providing just the slightest bit of drag against your finger pads. He stepped into you deepening the kiss and your hands migrated so that your arms were hung on his shoulders. You rubbed your core against the leg that was nestled there, releasing a small moan at the friction. You broke apart for air for a split second before diving back in. His mouth much more open this time. It was now or never

You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip first. Then migrated up. In a split second you ran your tongue into the divot in his upper lip. Sliding it back and forth before pulling away. You looked at him through your lashes, biting your lip to try and control the giddiness inside you.

Eskel looked wild. His mouth was still agape and his breath was ragged. His brain seemed to need a second to catch up. With a jolt he fixed you with a stare. His pupils blown out and his lips in a snarl. Eskel grabbed your waist and lifted you with no effort. Instinctively you wrapped you legs around his torso as he all but slammed you against the wall. The force of the impact causing a tapestry to fall from it’s place on the wall.

Ravaged against a wall… You were so close.

Eskel pinned you again the wall with his hips. The pressure of it causing you to whimper. With his hands free he violently wrung the jacket from his torso, dropping the leather to the floor unceremoniously. The blue undershirt underneath open and loose on him. You reached out push open the center. Running your hand down the firm muscles of his neck and into the coarse field of hair on his chest. The muscle underneath was firm and the heartbeat usually slow.

Eskel leaned into you, his mouth making its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder. He nipped at the spot, forcing a breath out of your lungs. You brought your hands up to tangle into his hair and bring him closer. Pushing him into you. As Eskel began littering your chest with bruises he started to grind you into the wall. You whimpered at the friction, griding back with enthusiasm.

Eskel had made his way to the tops of your breasts, giving one a playful bite as he looked up at you through his lashes. You felt his hand grab your ass lifting you with his arms. He slid down to his knees as you yanked up your skirts to see what he was doing. Eskel fixed your plush thighs on his shoulders, moving his hands up to play with the band of your undergarments.

“You’ve had your dinner, am I dessert?” you asked, quickly scolding yourself for never being able to stop your mouth. Eskel laughed, the puffs of air cooling the damp fabric surrounding your pussy.

“Do you want to be?” he smirked, giving your waistband a quick snap. You let out a high pitched “mmhmm” and it was all the confirmation he needed. HIs large and calloused hand peeling the garment down, flinging it behind him with no regard for where is landed. He moved in closer, at first nuzzling your thigh and placing languid open mouth kisses on it.

You fisted the skirts in your hands, trying desperately to be patient. However as he continued to tease you, you started to inch your cunt closer and close to him, using the wall as leverage. Eskel caught on to what you were doing and gave out a tisk before pushing the pair of you closer to the wall. Using the same momentum he dove head first into you. Flattening his tongue and lapping at the excitement that was dripping from you. You pulled the skirts up higher in your clenched fists as he ate you out like a man starved. Alternating between long broad stokes and precise attacks using the tip of his tongue on your clit.

Eskel shifted on his knees. One hand coming to press your sternum to the wall. And the other coming to join him at your pussy. He suctioned his lips around your clit and gave a hard suck as he thrust two fingers into you. The double assault caused you to convulse. Moaning out his name, glad that his room was upstairs and not closer to the crowded bar downstairs. You switched to hold your skirts with one hand, tangling the other into his hair. Your pleasure becoming tug of war as he fought to push against the wall and you fought to push away from the wall to get even closer to him.

As the pumping of Eskel’s fingers continued he added a third finger to the mix, causing you to hit your head against the wall as you panted up towards the ceiling. Just as you were starting to look down again he curled his fingers inside you, hitting that soft spot in you head on. The intense pleasure sending your hear careening once again with the wall. Eskel began to hit your g-spot full on increasing the pressure and speed. It only took a minute at this speed before your legs were clamming on his head and you were coating his face in release.

Eskel worked you through your release, stopping as you dismounted your legs to try and stand. He stood up backing up to give you room. The first step was rocky but it didn’t take long for you to reach him and slam up into him in a kiss. You felt the very need to consume him as you tasted yourself on his tongue. Your hands forcefully yanked his shirt from where it was tucking into his breeches. He broke the kiss to toss the shirt over his head to join your undergarments somewhere in the room.

Your hand reached out to him, nails dragging over the chords of muscle and scars. Eskel’s hand traveled over your waist to the back of your dress, unlacing it. As the fabric dropped to the floor his hands stayed in there position beginning to unlace your corset. However after the dress he seemed impatient, because all you heard was a growl and a quick “fuck it’ before a second hand joined its brother and pulled the corset open. The laces violently popping out of the weaving. It would be a pain to relace in the morning, but right now your mind was elseward. Mainly on trying to get him to join you in being naked.

Your hand fumbled with the belt and Eskel granted you mercy in helping you take it off. Once rid of it you took hold of his pants and underwear and pulled them down in one fell swoop. Caught off guard by it Eskel stumbled back, landing with a bounce on the bed. You knelt down, finalizing your mission in making him naked. You looked up at him and he looked as if his mouth had gone dry. You moved your hands over his thighs, his breath hitching up as if the gentle touch had scared him.

Lifting up even more you threw your arms over his thighs his cock coming into your direct eyesight. Thick was the first word that came to mind. It was thick, the head starting to turn purple as it leaked onto his stomach. You moved you hands up over his stomach you brought your mouth closer. You followed the prominent vein on the underside with the tip of your tongue as you made your way up.

You readjusted his cock with your hand and placed you mouth just so over the tip. You looked up at him and gave him a smile.

“You will have to forgive me Eskel” you started, “I’m quite starved” and that was all the warning you gave as you sunk your lips down over the tip. Eskel let out a groan, bending over slightly as he twisted a hand into your hair. You played with his tip a bit. Giving it a hard suck using your tongue to play with the slit. Trying not to tease him to much you sunk down quickly, using your hand to stimulate what your couldn’t reach.

Eskel seemed to struggle holding back as you sucked his cock. With each pass of your tongue over his head or hard suck on his shaft the string seemed to fray more and more. Eskel moved you off of him, urging you up and onto the bed. He pressed you down onto your stomach with an almost shocking tenderness. As he mounted you he pressed a languid kiss over the back of your neck, breath coming up to tease the shell of your ear.

You felt him spread your lips pressing his head in through the first ring of muscle. Being so close to your ear you cloud hear each and every delicious sound as it escaped his mouth. The gravel of it only deepened as he pushed further into you. The thick cock pushing your further apart and your walls clenched around him. He fully seated himself and pressed his chest into your back. As if Eskel was trying to get as much skin to touch as possible.

Slowly he pulled out, the tip just barely in as he slammed back home, causing your to shriek out in pleasure. He set a brutal pace. Simultaneously sweet and sinister at the same time. His hands gentle as he toyed with you, roaming over your sides. Yet his thrusts were brutal and punishing. His mouth was ajar and pressed into your shoulder.

Eskel’s thrust began to get erratic and your legs began to shake. The sounds he was making into your shoulder going up in tone. He slithered a hand to play with your clit and your body gave a jolt. Bucking up into him his paced increased even more. Suddenly his thighs began to shake and he gave a few hard thrusts before spilling into you. His bottom lip between his teeth as he pressed a far into you as possible. The fingers on your clit continued to speed up and combined with the feeling of his release inside you, you clenched down onto him in your second organism of the night.

Eskel stayed on top of you for a few moments before heaving himself off and onto the other side of the bed. His chest still driving up and down. You crawled your way over to him, grabbing the blanket that lay on the end of the bed with you. You halfheartedly draped the fabric over the two of you as you rested your head on his chest. As the fuzziness of sleep began to over take you, you reminded yourself of one thing.

To ask him if he would be interested in a traveling partner.

#eskel x reader #eskel is a pussy eating god and your can't change my mind #smut #lemon #yes i will use the old tagging system #pwp #not plot to be found #eskel smut

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the-bjd-community-confess · 3 years

Text

Valuate Yourselves Fuckers Responding directly to this. Man I remember seeing an artist spend days sculpting and making just the jewelry for a doll. The whole doll was a fuckhuge masterpiece that I even showed non-doll friends because of the craftsmanship. If I had the money, I'd have bought his fullset the day it went up for pre-order -- I still want that doll. $1700 dollars and worth every goddamn red cent because look at it, and I mean really LOOK.

Hello. Do you see the intricate beadwork on that thing? Done by hand. I watched it go down over the course of a week on my instagram feed- I didn't even KNOW this creator before I stumbled over their work in #bjdsales -- you wanna say this shit isn't worth $400 dollars? Buddy, there's $400 dollars in just the goddamn accessories, let alone the materials cost of the whole doll (which is absurdly large!) And time+materials is just scratching the SURFACE of how much to price your work! (Seriously if anyone got this and changed their mind and doesn't mind an absurdly long layaway I will make you a modestly richer motherfucker.)

I'm gonna be upfront here -- $400 is n o t h i n g for professional work. At min wage -- specifically, $7.25/hr -- that is roughly 55 hours of work. That works for some things! Does not work for sculpting a whole-ass intricate sculpture that fuckening moves! Never mind that this is just valuation for time- not experience, certainly not materials, not the cost of casting and shipping and handling the logistics of getting your work from point A to point B -- because even if you've made some dolls, have you handled selling them to a global market? It is a NIGHTMARE and and guess what? Your payment goes into all that work, too. The only reason dolls are as affordable as they are -- and yeah, affordable, I said it -- is because of the number that are sold. If these were one-offs they'd be significantly more expensive to offset the costs incurred with the labor that goes into making them.

And I'm not wealthy. I'm not rich. I'm not even well-off. I mean, most of us aren't, let's be real, welcome to the 'buying things I can't afford and budgeting to the cent each month because nothing matters anymore' club -- but I'm not saying this from a place of bootstrapped privilege. I can't afford a $400 doll without a layaway, let alone the glorious motherfucker above. Yet despite that, I'm here to say that $400 is hardly outrageous for one of these dolls. Basic pricing structure in most industries -- and it varies, this is an oversimplification, but hear me out- is to price things x3 your investment. Base price is the materials invested, doubled once for your time and effort, and again for what we call overhead, or 'the cost of doing business' -- and those with employees likely go x4 instead to cover their wages. That's not outrageous or excessive, that's literally just sustaining your business to keep creating down the road- and you want to turn to someone trying to make a living outside of the corporate hellscape we call society and say they aren't worth the bare fuckin' minimum?

Nah. Charge more. Valuate yourselves, fuckers. If you're selling a handcrafted good, you aren't selling the materials. You're selling your knowledge, experience, and craftsmanship, as well as the materials, and the cost of shit like the electricity to run your 3D modeling program or turn on the lights so you can see your worktable. You are worth so much more than minimum wage -- we all are.

$400 isn't too much for a doll, friend. We just internalize the message that we -- as people -- do not add value to the work we create, and charge accordingly, and why not? When everyone is struggling because no one has been paid enough for literal decades and there's no societal safety net to help anyone out of the fetid wastes of the American Nightmare (hello everyone outside of the US, I deeply envy your access to healthcare) it's easy to feel like asking for more than the bare minimum is selfish. But it's not.

So valuate yourselves, because no one else is gonna do it for you -- and you're worth it. (And this applies to whatever it is you do, dolls or not.)

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #BJD Confessions #TrueBJDConfessions #BJD Sculpting #BJD Crafting #BJD Artists

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tefilovesreading · 3 years

Text

It’s a Match! Part. 3

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem!Reader.

Word count: +2,9k

Warnings: A few swearing words but nothing else!

A/N: It’s a Match is finally back!! Let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist!

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 2

The soft melody Charlie was playing on his guitar made her look at the propped-up iPad while she cut some veggies and her heart skipped a beat with the intense look he was giving her. If that’s how he made her feel through a screen she knew she was bound to collapse under his gaze once they met in person.

“What are you playing?” Y/N asked with one last look, before setting her attention on the cutting board. If she ended up with a missing finger because of him and his tempting smile, she was going to block him.

“Traverser l’hiver” he answered, and Y/N raised her eyebrows in surprise, she definitely wasn’t expecting him to answer her in French, “I’ve been listening to that song on repeat the last couple of days, and now I’m trying to learn it.”

“What does it mean?” she questioned, putting down the knife for a bit, so she could focus on his explanation.

“Making it through winter,” Charlie replied, plucking the guitar strings softly, “the song talks about how his relationships never last and that he’s glad that they made it through the winter because he can’t get enough of her.”

“Send me the song later,” she mentioned with a smile. That sounded like a good song, and she wanted to know what his music style was like.

Calling each other on FaceTime while they did their own stuff quickly became their thing since they matched on the app two weeks ago, just enjoying the company and asking questions once in a while. Normally it was just her doing stuff like cleaning her desk or cooking while Charlie sat there playing the guitar or reading a script.

“It’s in French,” he warned her, and even if she wasn’t looking at the screen, she already knew he was giving her That smile, the one that made her stomach flutter with excitement.

“Music is a universal language, Charlie,” she chuckled.

“I thought that was love,” the boy pointed out playfully, “I’m gonna send it as soon as we hang up. Promise.”

“Good, because I’m not sure if I’d be able to find it.”

Y/N saw him throw his head back as he laughed, the movement loosening his man bun. She inhaled deeply, before looking away from the screen. She wanted to know if his hair was as soft as it looked.

“What are you cooking anyway?” Charlie questioned when his laughter died down, and he stopped playing with the guitar strings.

“I’m meal prepping actually,” Y/N admitted with a grin.

“No way,” he gasped, and she felt her cheeks blushing.

“This is the first time I’m trying so don’t make fun of me,” she begged as a joke.

“Never, I’m actually impressed with your commitment because that takes a lot of time,” he mentioned with a soft smile.

She smiled at him and bit her lip. Fuck it, she was gonna ask him to meet up. There was no way she could wait one more week, her assignments could wait.

“Y/N,” Charlie called her, and she tilted her head just a little to let him know she was listening, “let me take you on a date. You get to choose the place.”

She tried to hide her smile without much success, just knowing that Charlie was thinking about the same thing she was thinking made her feel so happy and excited about going out with him.

Two weeks ago, she’d have never thought about developing such a strong connection with him or that she’d get so happy whenever a new text from Charlie appeared on her phone. The thought of their connection made her relax, she could feel it on her heart that this wasn’t gonna end in another ghosting experience for her.

“Can I tell you something before I answer?” Y/N asked with a grin.

“If you tell me you’re married, I think I can share,” he joked but nodded giving her the green light to ask him whatever she had on her mind.

“I was about to ask you the same thing before you asked me out,” she confessed and the look in Charlie’s face made her whole body tingle. He was too good with eye contact for his own good.

“In that case, I’m glad I asked first,” Charlie mentioned winking at her, and she knew her cheeks were blushing with that simple gesture.

When Jo came back home, she found Y/N smiling at her phone while French music played through the speakers. There was no doubt about who was responsible for putting that smile on her friend’s face.

“What got you so happy?” Jo asked even if she knew the answer to her question.

“I’m going on a date with Charlie, in two days,” she responded holding back the excited squeal that was threatening to escape from her mouth.

“Dude, finally!” Jo scoffed but smiled at her excitement. Y/N deserved to have fun and go on dates. Her friend deserved to feel something for a guy again.

“Oh shut up!” Y/N laughed and put her head on her friend’s shoulder, “I’m so scared of how I feel about all this and I haven’t met him yet.”

“It’ll be okay,” Jo promised, resting her head on top of Y/N’s, “and if it doesn’t, we can always watch sappy movies and have ice cream for dinner.”

Two days later Jo followed the anxious girl pace in their living room, babbling about not knowing what to wear for her date or hypotheticals scenarios where Charlie would kidnap her and sell her organs on the black market.

“Y/N,” Jo said and the girl ignored her, “Y/N!” this time her friend stopped and looked at her with regret, “if you don’t wanna go then tell him.”

“But I do wanna go,” she grumbled as she sat beside Jo on the couch, “I’m just nervous about the date.”

“Where are you going?” Jo questioned.

“I told him we could go to Salt and Straw, ‘cause he has never been there,” Y/N responded biting her nails, “and then I think he said something about going to Vista Hermosa, but we’re not sure.”

“That sounds like a good plan, just make sure you go somewhere where you can talk and get to know each other.”

“Yeah, I know,” she mumbled, “I should probably start getting ready.”

She pressed her lips together in front of the mirror before throwing the lip gloss on her bag and making sure she had everything.

“Keys, Kleenex, mints, wallet and…,” she whispered and her friend’s hand appeared in front of her, “I don’t need condoms, Jo. It’s our first date, I’m not gonna have sex with him.”

“Honey, you never know,” Jo claimed with a knowing look on her face, “take them, just in case.”

“You’re a nightmare,” the girl huffed but took them and put them in her bag.

“I’m just making sure you have protection in case you need it,” her friend laughed and Y/N rolled her eyes trying to hide her smile.

Her phone chimed with a new text and her heart started racing in her chest.

Charlie: i’m outside.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered and looked at Jo with panic in her eyes, “he’s here. What do I do?”

“Tell him to come upstairs, I’ll open the door, so he knows you have someone waiting for you to come back,” Jo ushered her to send her a text back.

Y/N: almost ready!! can you come upstairs?? i’ll buzz you in Charlie: sure!! no problem Charlie: what apartment??

Just a few minutes later she heard a knock on her door and Jo walked out of her room to go and open the door. She took off one earring as she heard her friend’s voice letting Charlie inside their apartment. As soon as Y/N heard his voice, she felt the butterflies go mad in her stomach.

She grabbed her bag and made her way to the living room, putting on her earring again to pretend she wasn’t ready.

“Hey,” she let out and held back her breath when their eyes met.

“Hi,” Charlie said standing up from his seat.

If Jo felt the electricity that filled the room while they were looking at each other, she didn’t mention it. But Y/N felt her whole body tingle with excitement at the sight of the boy right in front of her.

She lifted her right hand nervously, not sure if she should go for a handshake or not, but her hand got trapped between her body and Charlie’s as he went for a hug. It wasn’t long, just really soft and kinda comforting.

“Sorry,” they both said at the same time when he noticed Y/N went for a handshake instead.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said giving him a reassuring smile and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

“Ready to go?” Charlie asked pointing with his thumb to the front door. With a soft nod, she followed him to the front door, giving her best friend one last glance, Jo winked her eye at her and gave her the thumbs up.

“I parked the car around the corner,” Charlie mentioned once they were out of the apartment building.

“You found a parking spot nearby?” Y/N questioned in surprise and when he nodded eagerly she let out a laugh, “lucky guy.”

Hearing him laugh at her comment right next to her made the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. He took the car keys out of his pocket and unlocked the orange Subaru close to them.

“Thank you,” Y/N smiled at him when Charlie opened the door for her.

“No problem.”

“Get it together, Y/N,” she muttered before the boy opened his door. The nervousness coursing through her body made it feel like her tongue was tied, and she didn’t know how to put into words how glad she was to be there with him by her side.

“So which Salt and Straw are we going to?” Charlie asked, starting the car and getting out of the parking spot.

“We should go to the one near Little Tokyo, that one is closer to Vista Hermosa,” she replied and furrowed her eyebrows, trying to recall if it was actually close or not.

“Can you,” Charlie started, trying to get his phone out of his pocket, “type in the address? I’ve been living here for years, but I still need the GPS.” He handed her his phone after he unlocked it.

“When did you move here?” Y/N asked, taking the opportunity to start a small conversation

and getting to know him a little better.

“I moved to Toronto right after high school and then moved to L.A. a few months after,” he bit his lip, probably trying to do the math on his mind, “About 3 years now?”

“I’m gonna let the GPS pass just because you are brave enough to drive here,” she joked and Charlie shot her a grin that screamed trouble. And she loved it.

The fifteen minutes ride from her apartment to the ice cream shop went by in a blink of an eye, between questions, jokes, and the occasional humming coming from Charlie whenever the radio played a song he liked or knew.

“What flavor should we get?” Charlie questioned, placing his hand on her shoulder to keep her by his side in the busy shop. She glanced at the hand over her shoulder and her heart started racing.

“What if we get the flight?” Y/N hinted, pointing at the option on the board, “that way we can pick four flavors.”

“Good idea, then I want Brown Ale and Bacon, and the Double-fold Vanilla,” Charlie said with an excited smile on his face to the guy behind the counter, “and you?”

“Strawberry Tres Leches and Chocolate Gooey Brownie,” Y/N responded after a few seconds of thinking which flavor could match better with Charlie’s choices.

“You realize we still got chocolate and vanilla ice cream, right?” Charlie chuckled and Y/N rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile forming on her lips, “next time we only pick the monthly flavors, deal?”

Y/N looked up at him and nodded in response, knowing very well that meant he was considering going on a second date with her while the first one just started.

“They’re not gonna last till we get to the park, Charlie,” she warned as they made their way back to the car.

“That’s why I bought cookies,” he smiled as he tried to balance his car keys and the box with ice cream in one hand, “C’mon hurry up,” he ushered her, grabbing her hand with his free hand and guiding her through the surrounding people.

It wasn’t like he laced their finger together or something like that, he just grabbed her hand to make sure he wouldn’t lose her in the crowd, but the touch made her wish he would never let go of her. Of course, it wasn’t the first time he touched her, but the small amount of time she got to spend with him in person was enough to feel drawn to him in such a magnetic way, she never imagined possible.

“Oh that one is fucking delicious,” Charlie gasped after Y/N’s hand moved away with the now empty little spoon, his eyes still focused on the road ahead of them, “which one it was?”

“That was Strawberry Tres Leches,” she replied with a hint of pride laced on her voice, “your pick isn’t bad, you know?”

Charlie raked a hand through his hair and turned around just a few seconds to show her a bright smile.

“I have good taste,” he observed in a tone that let her know he wasn’t just talking about ice cream flavors.

Y/N opened her mouth, but the words never came out, shaking her head in pure amusement she dipped the tiny spoon in another flavor and offered it to him. What was she supposed to say?

“Why did we think we’d get there with ice cream?” Y/N questioned when Charlie opened the car door for her.

“No idea, but we have a plan b,” he added, giving her the bag with cookies and opening the back door to search for something, “there we go.”

“I want that one,” Y/N said, taking the orange and mango-flavored Capri Sun out of his hand with the biggest smile on her face.

“I’m gonna give it to you just this time because that’s my favorite,” Charlie scoffed, but the smile that seemed to be permanent on his face gave him away.

He made her feel so relaxed but his energy was so contagious, she felt like she could do anything if she wanted to.

“Would you go on a hike with me?” he asked her before taking a sip of his Capri Sun. The juice pouch looked ridiculous tiny in his hands.

“You’d have to take it easy on me,” she commented and closed her eyes to feel the sun on her face with delight.

“So that’s a yes,” Charlie stated and the excitement in his voice made her open her eyes, so she could look at the boy sitting next to her on the grass.

“Sure,” she giggled and turned her focus to the impressive view. The overlook of Downtown Los Angeles always took her breath away, reminding her how little she really was.

When they left the park, just minutes before it closed, both of them wanting the date to last a bit longer.

“Do you mind if we stop for a coffee?” Y/N asked, her voice just loud enough for him to hear her above the music playing, her hands fidgeting on her lap.

“I was gonna ask you the same,” he replied, “we can always drive all the way to the beach if you’re up to that.”

“Are you serious?” Charlie’s beaming smile was the only answer she needed, “let’s go then.”

Being stuck in traffic with Charlie wasn’t bad at all, that meant more time together and a jamming session for them. Y/N knew he could sing, she heard him humming on their previous video calls but getting to listen to him really sing without a care in the world was amazing.

“Stop bragging, I get it, you can sing,” she teased him.

“Don’t be shy, I know you can sing too,” Charlie said as he parked the car. And there it was, the weakness that meant seeing him backing up the car with just one hand.

“Right,” she said clearing her throat and unbuckling her seatbelt after he fully stopped the car, suddenly the car felt too hot for her.

“Don’t you think you’re gonna get cold without a jacket, Y/N?” Charlie questioned, grabbing two hoodies from the back seat.

“I was counting on borrowing yours,” she admitted with a shrug.

“Let’s go before we miss the sunset,” the corners of his mouth turned up glad she was finally flirting back. Not that she didn’t do it before, but it was nice to hear she was as interested as him.

Their arms were brushing, bodies as close as possible while they faced the ocean and the sky changing colors as the sunset on the horizon. The breeze sent shivers down her spine and she pulled the sleeves to hide her hands to keep them warm. Charlie looked at her and put his arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“I guess my hoodie won’t be enough uh.”

tagged: @cordeliascrown @crybabyddl @phantompogues @the-romanian-is-bae @doaspeggy-says @thatsmyfavoritewhiteboy @samanthawilliamspring @searchingunderthestars @luke-patt @moneybagmgk @angisbr @happinessinthedarkesttimes @knitsessed @teti-menchon0604 @randomstuff7 @warmness0ul @merceret @headheartbellarke @caitsymichelle13

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie fic #charlie gillespie fanfic #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie #jatp cast imagine

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gogglor · 3 years

Text

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely. Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear. “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel. I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN. They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern? Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09. You look like shit. They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way. Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy. Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered. Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram you sent. Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

#capimrecweek #tony stark #Steve Rogers #stony #fanfiction #MCU #ficrec

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fieldbears · 3 years

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It seems like you know a lot about skin care. I'm 28 now and honestly dont really bother with it (except to take off make up and using sunscreen). I'm 28 now and feel like my skin's fine but wonder if there's stuff it actually needs. With skincare being such a huge industry it's hard to understand what ingredients skin actually needs bc I feel companies (& influencers) try to sell you a lot of shit you don't need and maybe even makes your skin worse. Any tips where to start? Thank u

Hey friend! I love helping newbies. I absolutely do have tips. And a two-product two-step regimen. You can get it for under $40 and it should last you 6 months or more.

First off, there is ABSOLUTELY a ton of shit you don’t need. That is a good instinct. You can always pay more for a product and you can always add more steps to your routine, but that doesn’t mean that you’re actually getting more out of it. The first thing you should ask yourself is, what do you want out of your skincare?

SUNSCREEN: For someone who isn’t sure what they want or what they should do, my first question is how much time you spend in the sun. The one thing you can do to really permanently damage your skin is to spend a lot of time in the sun without any sunscreen. Basically: blah blah rays of sun blah blah destroys the collagen, aka squishy bouncy bonds between cells, blah blah, destroyed collagen means the skin sags more, meaning wrinkles.

(It is also, I hope I don’t need to say, dangerous for Cancer Reasons to get a ton of non-screened sun exposure. But I’m assuming that’s a given here.)

Like I said in the last post, southeast Asian sunscreen options are a huge improvement on what you find on the shelves here in the States because they have more stringent laws on what chemicals are okay to put in a product. But if you stick with what you can grab at CVS, that’s fine too - just make sure you google the brand and type and make sure the SPF is for real. (Some products marketed at, say, SPF 45 are actually proven to only be SPF 15. It’s like the olive oil bullshit all over again!)

There are also a lot of moisturizers available with SPF protection in them.

WHICH LEADS ME TO MY AMAZING TWO-STEP SYSTEMMMMM...

CLEANSE AND MOISTURIZE: There are seven-step processes out there, but what you really need to start with, and will get a ton out of if you aren’t doing anything right now, is cleansing and moisturizing.

The science explanation for doing this: blah blah your skin generates oils from your pores in order to create a protective barrier between your flesh and the elements, but said oils can get gunky once they’ve accumulated all the particulates from the air, and there can even be backups and miscommunications and over-oilage if you have dead skin cells sitting on top of your new skin, or stuff gets all the way into your pores, blocking the system, causing breakouts. So skincare is about removing everything on top of your skin, maybe adding fancy stuff in the middle, but absolutely creating a new barrier for your skin at the end, to replace the one you took off. I liken it to varnish on a painting - it’s meant to sit on top, collect all the dust, and get removed and replaced over time. But don’t just wash your face every 20-80 years. The metaphor only goes so far. Anyway.

Here is how to get into my absolutely bare minimum regimen:

PICK A CLEANSER: If you wear/remove makeup a lot, and/or have a very oily complexion, pick an oil-based cleanser. Oil-based means it’s good at removing makeuppy things and your natural oil. Otherwise, pick a water-based cleanser. CeraVe cleansers are available at Walgreens and they are affordable. It is available, affordable, clinically gentle on various skin types, and by god, it does indeed wash all the shit off your face.I have tried a lot of expensive water-based cleansers and I still come back to this one. That $16 pump bottle will last you a long time, too.

PICK A MOISTURIZER: I’m back on my CeraVe shit here because if you’re overwhelmed and don’t know what to pick, I’m gonna push you to the easy-to-pay-for, easy-to-find product that won’t make you break out. And it’s got SPF! If you want to get fancier, check out some options here. I currently use Laneige moisturizers, which are at Sephora and... other places. Idk. (And to repeat my last post: if you can’t stand having things sitting on your skin, even a moisturizer that will absorb over a minute or so, Laneige Cream Skin Toner & Moisturizer essentially feels like water.)

SHOWER STEP: You have both your products. Now. Put your cleanser in your shower. When you shower, use it to wash your face. In the shower, you can splash and splash to your heart’s content. Get your neck, your cleavage, any extra places you feel have an oiliness problem. But remember them for later, because you want to moisturize all spots you cleansed. (Also, if you’ve been using soap or anything else to wash your face up until now... stop that. Cleanser is much better.)

AFTER SHOWER STEP: Dry off and pat on that moisturizer. Make sure you apply it with clean hands. Rub it in gently and make sure all cleansed areas are now moisturized.

That’s it.

No, really, that’s my advice for beginners. Two products, one done in the shower. You have to do them in order. That’s it.

If you have the spoons to do this routine twice a day, around when you get up and right before bed, you’ll get even better results. But if you’re just starting out and get anxious about new routines, don’t sweat it. Your face’s cells turn over every 30 days or so, so if you keep this up every day for about two weeks, you’ll start seeing improvements by then.

Bonus newb tips:

About once a week, use a COMPLETELY CLEAN terrycloth washcloth to apply your cleanser. Get your (gentle) scrub on. Mechanical exfoliation basically means you’re using a brush, a cloth, something physical to remove everything from your face, including things like dead skin, which gentle cleansing may not have gotten. Doing it too often isn’t helpful, as you can only build up so much stuff to remove over time, and scrubbing too hard or too frequently can lead to frightening your skin, causing redness. So once a week is likely plenty. If you like the battery-operated brushes, go for it, but they cost way more than the clean washcloth.

You will see options for chemical exfoliation too. If you identify as a newb, I don’t recommend this. Chemical exfoliations aren’t bad per se, but are one of the few skincare things that can be done wrong, and in a way that can really upset your skin. Washcloth!

Are you replacing your pillowcases on a regular basis? I try to do once a week but I probably end up with closer to two weeks. Nobody’s perfect. But remembering to do this is a very easy way to help your skin out.

If you get your cleanse-and-moisturize routine down pat, 2x a day, and you want the next step, look into toners. They help your skin absorb the moisturizer more efficiently... science reasons. The toner goes on before the moisturizer, but again, your skin should be dry before you start.

There are ampoules, essences, treatments, and other fancy names for... very specific shit. Basically, if you have a specific problem, especially in a specific area of your face, chances are there is a specific tiny expensive bottle you can integrate into the middle of your routine to help with that. But there is a lot of snake oil out there and I don’t want anybody buying these solutions if they aren’t already managing the daily wash-and-protect, because you’d be surprised how many things that can fix.

If you have problems with breakouts or other bad reactions to some skin products, do your best to only introduce one new product at a time. That way if you start having a reaction, you don’t have to guess what caused it.

No matter what is or isn’t going on with your skin, your worth is not affected one iota. Whether I have three pimples and incredible redness around my cheekbone and nose area, making me look like a character mug of a drunken sailor, or whether or my skin is the cool, poreless ivory of Grecian marble, I am still the exact same perfect bitch. And so are you.

#Anonymous #skincare

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gb-patch · 3 years

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Ask Answers: December 11th, 2020

How old are terri, miranda, lee, shiloh and jeremy? Are they all the same age as the mc?

Step 1: MC is 8 and Shiloh is 7

Step 2: MC and Lee are 13 and Jeremy is 12

Step 3: MC, Lee, and Terri are 18, Miranda is 19 (though she just barely turned that age)

How many different personalities are there for Jamie? Does picking one color of dialogue option mark down the personality or is it the choices and actions themselves?

There’s not really any set amount of personalities. You can mix and match traits in different ways and different levels, it’s really up to you. The colored options just give an idea of the tone of what you’re doing (whether it’s serious or more lighthearted or more emotional, that sort of thing).

Hey! Sorry to bother, but I was just curious. Why does MC and Cove react the way they do in the errands moment? It just sorta seems like they overreacted to being left alone in the farmers market.

I’m a little confused on what you mean. You can choose not to care or to have a good time, your MC doesn’t have to be upset. There are more choices that lead to upset feelings, but that’s because there’s really only one way to say you’re really okay and multiple ways to feel upset (sad, angry, scared, etc). And if someone is upset, there’s nothing wrong with that. Feeling fine is okay too.

As for Cove, he’s just like that. Cove is a sensitive guy and he is especially bothered by parents pulling stunts without talking to their kid ahead of time. If you wanna annoy Cove, that exact thing they did is one of the fastest ways to do it, ahah. And he’s not gonna let it slide just because it was the MC’s parents doing it to them rather than one of his own parents doing it to him.

so if I were to become a one time patreon pledger, would I still have access to the things from that tier after the month is over (such as 18+ pics or access to a demo/beta)?

If you join Patreon for one month you’ll get everything released that month and have access to all our past posts, and you can save the stuff to your own computer to keep it forever. But you won’t get access to things that come out after your subscription has ended. So if you want to join for a specific piece of content, just make sure you wait until that content has already come out and then subscribe.

Why did Noelani and Pamela decide to adopt within the USA when they had previously adopted abroad?

Because we wanted to highlight more than one type of adoption. Both are valid.

At what age was MC adopted in our life?

Only around a year old, but it’s flexible based on what the player wants for their story.

If Pamela is estranged from her family and Noelani doesn't really talk to her's, where did Lee come from?

Lee is a backer created character, she wasn’t originally part of the cast. Because our main supporter wanted her to be related to the MC’s family, we gave Pam one sibling she still talks to and that sibling has a daughter, Lee. The game was still in pretty early development way back then when we first mentioned the family situation. It’s just kind of inevitable that during the game making process some things ended up changing, aha.

In the relationship DLC’s for Derek and Baxter will there be options for polyamory to include Cove?

I’m afraid not. The way Our Life: Beginnings & Always works doesn’t support developing a poly relationship well, it’d very quickly build up too many alterations to manage. But we do hope to feature polyamory options in future games.

Will it be possible to confess to Cove (or vice versa) in Step 4, if it hasn't been done already?

Yeah!

are you going to put the credits song on youtube or spotify? i really like it and want to play it for my friends 🙏🥺 ty

I’m so glad you like it! We have rights to use the song in our game and for our game to be the only game it’s ever used in, but the rights to sell/upload the song belong to the actual creators of the music. We’re happy to let them decide where they’re comfortable posting the track.

Quick question, do you plan on continuing to use MC we can custom? I liked all your games but being able to customize Our Life's MC was awesome

I can’t say if every game we ever make from now on will have a super customizable MC, but we are planning other projects with that feature. Our Life: Beginnings & Always won’t be the only one. It’s nice to hear you appreciated the effort to add that.

Can I just express my disappointment that you only get a 'makeout session' in Step 3 if your MC is outgoing? My shy MCs miss out on grabbing the Cove booty... xP

Whether or not you can make out with Cove and how intense it can get depends on how long you’ve been a couple. If your shy MC takes longer to get with Cove, he’ll need more time before he’s ready to do that sort of stuff. And if your confident MC has been with him for years already, then he’s at a point where he can go that far with them. I’m afraid patience is required when it comes to romancing that boy, haha.

If we played in 1.0 and we updates to 1.1 do we have to start over? Or do save files transfer? I hit the "ignore" not sure if I should have for the game to work properly

1.0 save files should work with version 1.1. If you’re getting error reports can you send us more details about what the error is saying?

Bug report: At the end of the 'Mall' DLC moment in Step 2, there's a point where Cove says the MC's name, but it's said in his Step 1 voice instead of his Step 2 voice. I don't know if it happens with ALL names, but it happened with my most recent game using the name Devin.

As a follow-up to my earlier bug report about the voiced names (or at least Devin) in the Mall moment, I had the same issue in the Soiree moment as well (with the same name - again, it might just be that one).

Thank you for the report! Can you let me know when you downloaded the DLC files? I think that should be fixed in the most recent version of them.

Dear gb-patch, I'm one of the OL Kickstarter backers (and I had and still have a great time with your updates, it's great to see the project grow and you are great in communicating with your fans 💕).

I want to wait until all steps are complete until I play, I know I'll enjoy it even more if I can experience it all together. Because of that I didn't open the game myself but I just saw your post with the screenshot of the voiced names and noticed that the name that I submitted to you isn't on the list. The name is Mai (or May), will it be available later?

Thank you for supporting us! Mai is one of the names that we’re still working on. It accidentally had a tone missed.

And thank you for all of these asks <3

—————————————————————— We released a new FAQ! It answers common questions and we’ll keep adding more to it. Please check there before sending an ask. FAQ Also, if you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Blog

#our life #ourlifeba #Our Life Beginnings & Always #ask #asked #gb patch #gb patch games

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ratmonky · 4 years

Text

Stairway to Devotion

I’m quite certain that if a character is very like me, I just write them ooc and turn it into vanilla self indulgent fic.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: none

The abandoned warehouse was quiet for the most part. Demons were lurking in the shadows and in the forest, ready to attack unassuming humans and that was why this small town had been declared as dangerous. Humans didn’t come here to avoid being killed. Yet for a stray like Denji, it was welcoming enough to call home.

Denji had been to many places but he liked this warehouse the best. It provided him the security he desperately needed to sleep at night and most importantly, the electricity was still working. He had gathered many simple kitchen gadgets and a small heater thanks to the people who had thrown them away despite them functioning properly. But that was life, he thought. He would be thrown away by Yakuza soon if he didn’t make enough money. No matter the fact if he was giving results or not, just like the electronic junk he kept finding in the dumpsters.

With the little money he had, his dinners consisted of a slice of bread and very rarely the leftovers he found in the trash behind a restaurant if he was lucky enough.

He ate when there was enough and slept when there wasn’t. But even in his desperate state, he made sure to feed his demon dog, Pochita.

Pochita ate almost anything, even go as far as nibbling on Denji’s arms when he was sleeping at times but sometimes even he, a demon, gave his single slice of bread to Denji out of pity.

In the last years, Denji had sold his body parts to the black market. He had thought he had made quite some money out of his kidney and eye that he sold but he had no idea how they paid him only the half amount of money.

And now, he was trying his best to live for another day with Pochita. Chop woods, kill demons and sell more of his body parts to pay his debt to the Yakuza.

His paycheck wasn’t great and that debt collector of his was a douche but he never complained. Even if his paycheck only allowed him to buy bread and nothing else.

Because at the end of the day, when it was nighttime, he always found peace in the small store he bought bread from. Not because the prices were so low that he sometimes managed to buy two loaves of bread or how they let the customers read the magazines before buying and although he never bought the magazines, he liked to entertain himself and sometimes check the newest porn star’s spread open legs so he could go back to the warehouse and wrap his hand around his cock as he closed his eyes to remember what that looked like-

Ahem…

No, Denji liked this store because of the cashier.

Someone so sweet, someone so kind, someone so loving and someone so beautiful-

“Hii, Denji! You’re late today!” you smiled as the boy entered the store. Stopping sweeping the floor for a moment, you crouched down and gently petted the small dog that had run up to you. “Aww, Pochita, I missed you too!”

Pochita happily whimpered and leaned into your touch as his tail kept hitting the floor out of joy.

“Came to buy bread?” you asked, looking up to the young man. He nodded sheepishly and crouched next to you to pet his dog. “Well, it’s good that I was waiting for you two just in case then.”

“Oh, sorry…” Denji lowered his head. “We were too deep in the forest so coming back to the city took a while. Don’t wait for us if ya gotta close the store.”

“It’s alright, I kinda memorized how often you came to buy bread so I guessed you’d be here. And where would you buy bread from if I had closed the store, huh?”

Denji couldn’t answer.

“Exactly!” you giggled, scratching under Pochita’s chin. “Ahh, he’s so friendly today. Didn’t you feed him?”

“I did! He ate my share too! He started running down the damn street when he realized we were gonna buy bread,” Denji said. “He just likes ya better than me.”

“That’s because I always have this in my pocket!!” you giggled as you pulled out a beef jerky from your pocket.

Pochita started wiggling his tail rapidly and barked excitedly. You tore the packaging open and let the demon dog nibble on the snack before standing back up again.

Your eyes met Denji’s while he was pouting. A soft smile spread across your face, “What?”

“I told ya, didn’t I? If ya keep feeding those he’s gonna leave me for ya!” Denji slowly rose up to his feet, completely unfazed by your puppy eyes.

“Admit it, you’re just jealous,” you said, playfully hitting his chest.

Denji blushed slightly, “I ain’t jealous!”

“Yeah, sure!” You walked behind the counter after picking up the small broom. The lights flickered as you crouched to put the broom away and disappeared from his view for a second.

Denji’s eye landed on Pochita who was still munching on the beef jerky and then back to the counter before he went to grab a loaf of bread.

He wondered how much longer you would be waiting for them if Denji hadn’t taken the bus. His paycheck was almost finished. That bus ride hadn’t been cheap and he would have to sleep instead of eating dinner for a couple of nights, Denji wouldn’t hesitate to take the bus here again. It was outrageous for a nobody like him to make you wait. Although he knew you were doing this because you had a soft spot for his dog but Denji couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed having someone greet him with a smile and talk to him as if he was their friend. It all made him feel welcomed.

With you, he felt like this world wasn’t just rotten.

When he put the loaf of bread on the counter, there was a large plastic bag full of food next to it. You were smiling at him with the biggest smile he had ever seen.

He wanted to flash you a smile matching yours but remembering how yellow his teeth were, he resisted the urge. “What are ya smiling at?”

You shrugged. “Is that all?” You put the loaf of bread in a plastic bag.

“Do ya even have to ask?” Denji scoffed, taking out the thin envelope that had the rest of his paycheck money in it. He reluctantly took out a bill and gave it to you.

“You never know!” You gave him his change. “Maybe you’d wanna spice things up and buy hot coffee or something!”

“Heh, if I could I’d buy meat buns and beer.” Denji shook his head. By the time he took his bread, Pochita was done eating. He was about to turn around and leave the store when you called out to him.

Whipping his head around, Denji’s eye landed on your nervously fidgeting figure holding the large plastic bag of food.

“What is it?” he asked.

You took a deep breath and held the plastic bag out for him. “Please accept this.”

He stared at the bag for a moment longer than the normal. “What’s in that?”

“Meat buns, beef jerky, beef, and everything I knew you’d want.”

Denji gently grabbed the bag from your small hands and felt his chest tighten. “I don’t have enough money for all-”

“It’s a present from me!” you said.

“For what?” He couldn’t believe the amount of food a plastic bag could carry. There was enough food to feast on for months if not weeks.

“For being a loyal customer!” you chirped and put your hands on his shoulders to start leading him out of the store. “So don’t you ever stop shopping here! There’ll be a bigger present next time!”

Denji’s lips curled up into a smile. “I may be stupid but I’m not an idiot. We can’t accept this.”

Pochita growled at his owner in irritation.

“Stop that,” Denji told his dog. He then turned to you. “Thank you but ya really should return these.”

You weren’t going to give up that easily.

“I can’t! We have a no return policy, I already paid for them.”

“Haa? Why would ya buy shit for me with yer own money?” Denji didn’t sound upset even one bit. Only surprised. “Ugh, nevermind!” He put the plastic bag down and picked Pochita up. “We’ll be going home, ya should take that to your place if yer unable to return it.”

“Can you at least help me carry it back to my place?”

Denji was going to say no but seeing the way your lower lip quivered, he was unable to.

“Alright but I’m doing it because it’s too heavy!”

~~~

“Please! Next time… rent a place with an elevator or… on the first floor!” Denji wheezed when he finally reached to your apartment.

You giggled and let Pochita down, “You’ll get used to it.”

“What does that supposed to mean?” He caught up to you with his wobbly legs as you opened the door.

“Have you two had dinner yet?” you asked, ignoring his question.

“Ah...” Denji rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and avoided answering your question but his growling stomach gave him away.

With another friendly smile, you opened your door wider, gesturing them to enter. “I should at least thank you two for walking me home, right?”

“We should really head back- ack! Pochita!” Denji shouted after Pochita who ran inside of your apartment. “You bastard,” he mumbled.

“At least one of you are honest.” You took off your shoes and watched Denji huff in defeat before taking his own shoes off.

~~~

You stole a quick glance in his direction and snorted when you saw him still stuffing food in his mouth.

Pochita had already passed out from overeating and you wondered how long would it take until Denji joined him on the couch.

“You’re still going?” you giggled as you placed a can of beer in front of him.

“Of course!” Denji chirped in between bites. “It’s soo tasty!”

You blushed at the compliment, “I’m glad you liked it. I have some leftovers if you’d want them.”

He nodded rapidly and continued wiping his plate clean.

Once he was done eating, he cracked his beer open, holding it towards you. “Thank you for the food!”

You clinked your beer can with his, “My pleasure.” Momentarily you looked at Pochita and snickered. “He’s out cold already.”

“Pathetic, he should’ve eaten until his stomach started bloating. He’s never gonna get this much food again.”

“Dogs have a smaller stomach, Denji,” you giggled. “He probably ate as much as his little body allowed him to.”

“Do you live alone?” he asked suddenly, it was clear that he was only curious but from the moment he stepped into your apartment he had been looking at the framed pictures or any decoration you had in the living room to figure out what kind of a person you were.

“Y-yeah,” you said softly. “What about you? Where do you live?”

“I live in some abandoned warehouse next to the forest with Pochita.”

You would have laughed thinking it was a joke if it wasn’t the pained tone he said it in.

“Thank you,” he said weakly, his voice didn’t come out as confident as he thought, “I’ve never felt this way before.”

Stunned, you looked at him with a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “D-Denji? W-what are you talking about?”

“You’re the only person who makes me feel welcomed in this world.” Denji smiled sadly. “I… I know it’s pathetic but I have feelings for you.” Denji could never willingly let you be involved with him completely. If he did, you would be involved in deep trouble. You didn’t deserve him, you didn’t deserve human trash like him.

Your eyes widened and you stumbled on your words. “Oh… I don’t know what to say-”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Denji sighed. “I wanted to let you know, that’s it.”

“That’s not it!” you protested, your voice trembling. “Don’t think so lowly of your feelings, idiot!v Why do you think I care for you? Why do you think I started working night shifts?”

“(Name)...”

“It’s because I like you!”

It was quiet.

The kind of quiet right before a storm.

Denji’s cheeks flushed bright red and he looked unsure of what to do or say. He was prepared in case you rejected him but you had gone and accepted him right away.

You looked up at him with your cheeks tinted with a faint red, “I like you,” you admitted meekly again.

Another moment of silence passed.

You couldn’t stop blushing. It wasn’t your plan to confess your feelings to Denji tonight but you had done it. There was no going back now. You had to say something else, you had to do something because that damn idiot looked like he stopped functioning.

“Do you want to have sex?” you dared to ask.

He started to tremble, then his eye widened. He stared at you and he looked so utterly confused. “With who?”

You blushed even harder and pointed at him then at yourself.

Denji pointed a finger at himself and then at you before he looked at you for affirmation.

You nodded slowly.

Everything happened within a minute.

You got up from your seat and offered a hand to him. He gently held your hand, intertwining your fingers as he followed you into your bedroom and closed the door.

Both of you were blushing and didn’t know where to start.

He wanted to touch you everywhere, your face, your neck, your breasts, your stomach, your waist, your thighs and your… your-

The image of the pornstar spreading her legs to reveal her pussy flashed before his eyes.

Whether it be the years of sexual frustration suddenly exploding or his crush trembling in lust and need, Denji’s body moved on its own. He could already feel himself lose control.

Denji put a hand on your shoulder awkwardly, his eye locked on yours. You were looking at him with anticipation, waiting for him to make a move… no you were desperate for him to make a move.

Oh, he wanted to do so many things to you but he didn’t know where to start.

He gave you a shaky smirk to cover his own embarrassment. You looked at him as if you knew what he was thinking and beamed at him, making his already hard cock twitch impatiently.

With the way you looked at him, he could see the attraction you felt towards him.

He cupped your cheek in his hand and you leaned into his touch, rubbing your cheek into his palm.

Audibly, Denji gulped. He leaned in to press his lips on yours. You moved your lips softly against his, encouraging him to open his mouth and when he did, you gingerly snaked your tongue into his mouth.

Denji, as someone who had only seen people kissing in pictures, followed your lead.

The kiss was short, tongues timid and teeth clashing. Nonetheless, it left you breathless. But when Denji leaned forward for a second kiss, that changed everything.

This time, he wasn’t shy, his mouth moved hard against yours as he savored your taste. His hands started moving on their own, his fingers went under your shirt and up to feel your clothed breasts. He moaned into the kiss when he finally groped your tits, they were softer than he had imagined, he wanted to touch them without your bra on. He needed to feel them completely.

His clothed erection was poking at your stomach You moved a hand up to his hair and stroked his cock over his pants with your free hand.

A gasp left Denji’s lips, he broke the kiss and stared between your bodies.

You were touching his dick.

You really were touching him.

“Should we go to bed?” Your voice was as soft as your touch.

Numbly, Denji nodded but he couldn’t move a muscle when your finger very slightly brushed against his bulge, he buried his face in the crook of your neck instead.

You huffed as if you were disappointed but then with a giggle, you removed your hand from his cock and dropped onto your knees.

Denji squealed in surprise and covered his mouth in shock. “(Name)... w-what are you doing?”

“What does it look like to you?” You fumbled with his belt and when it came undone, you hastily pulled his pants down along with his boxer briefs, making his cock bounce free.

“It’s weird...” he whispered, about to take a step away.

You licked your hand to coat it generously with your spit, ignoring his cry. You wrapped a hand around his cock and looked up at him after noticing why he had been so insecure. “It’s fine,” you said reassuringly, pumping his cock.

Slapping a hand over his mouth, Denji held his voice back. Your fingers stroked his cock gently as you ran your tongue up following a vein before kissing the sensitive pink tip. No matter how good it felt, he couldn’t help but move his hips, begging for you to take him into your mouth.

Denji placed a hand on the back of your head and you smiled, stroking him harder. His legs started to shake. Deciding that you might have been teasing him too much, you kissed the tip of his cock once again but this time you sucked his cock into your mouth.

He groaned loudly against his hand. His cock throbbed, nearly cumming because of your hot mouth closing around it. You put a hand on his thigh and bobbed your head slowly.

“Ahh.” He bit his lip. “Your mouth feels so good.”

You chuckled, the vibrations coming from your throat made him shiver in pleasure, almost making his knees unbuckle.

All of Denji's remaining self-control disappeared at that moment.

His hand that was on the back of your head shoved you onto his cock until he could graze the back of your throat. Your eyes teared up as you resisted the urge to gag, instead, you tried to push him away with your hand on his thigh.

Denji’s hips started moving, he thrust forward and moved you to meet his thrust halfway until your nose brushed on his pubes. He kept you there as long as he could to enjoy the view.

Your cheeks bright red, eyes filled with tears and his cock buried deep in your throat.

He had only imagined what it would look like in his dreams but now that he had seen the real thing, he wanted to see more of you. Like how you would look under him.

Decidedly, Denji pulled you away from him, the strands connecting your lips to his cock broke as you inhaled deeply. You opened your mouth to scold him for carelessly forcing his cock down your throat, he picked you up and threw you onto your bed.

Your body bounced against the mattress and you watched him climb on top of you, just like a predator stalking its prey.

His unkempt hair was sticking to his forehead, his clothes were a mess, his eyepatch had slipped slightly and his breathing was uneven. It made you wet seeing Denji look so… messy.

Though you were about to undress, Denji moved quicker. He hoisted your skirt up and tore your pantyhose to reach your now soaking wet cunt.

Quickly, Denji undressed.

“Can you?” Denji leaned forward, his fingers gripping the hem of your shirt.

Biting your lip, you nodded. You sat up and with one swift move, took off your shirt and moved to remove your skirt along with your now ripped pantyhose with your panties. Finally, you reached back to unclasp your bra. As you slid your bra down your shoulders, Denji’s eye didn’t look away from your tits even for a second.

You folded your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your breasts.

“Don’t hide yourself,” he pleaded. His hands gently unwrapping your arms.

A moan left your lips when he squished your tits together, mesmerized by them. He stopped moving for a second and blushed. He kneaded the soft flesh slowly until he heard you moan again.

“Do you want me to stop?” he took a staggered breath as you laid on your back.

“No,” you stammered. There was no way you could deny how aroused you were. Not when your juices were leaking out from your pussy and soaking your thighs. “P-please be gentle.”

“I don’t think I can.” Denji’s words left you petrified. “I can’t hold back, sorry.”

“Denji,” you softly sighed, nodding sheepishly. “Do as you like.”

Pausing for a second, he looked at you and swiped his thumb across your lower lip, he pressed it on the corner of your lip and gently pulled it down to slightly part your lips. Then he lowered himself over your face, pressing his chest against yours until his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft and warm, only a distraction as he was lining himself up at your entrance. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning softly while he ran his cock between your folds, coating it with your juices.

To let him know that you were at your limit, you spread your legs wider, welcoming him completely.

Denji broked the kiss and abruptly pushed himself in. He froze inside you, his cock twitched in pleasure as the gummy flesh of your walls wrapped around it.

This felt so different. It was nothing like your mouth.

He took a moment to steady himself, he wasn’t sure if he could last longer than a minute.

You let out a whimper, your lips parted and you moved your hips, begging him to move.

“Gimme a second,” he choked out.

You didn’t listen.

Moving your hips, you tried to slam yourself onto his cock.

With a loud growl, Denji grabbed you by your hips and snapped forward, forcing a moan out of you. He had finally pushed himself balls deep into your pussy, filling you up to the brim so perfectly.

Another moan left you as he tentatively pulled back and slammed himself back into your twitching pussy. And again and again-

Each thrust of his hips was deep and penetrating enough to make your toes curl and wrap your arms tighter around his neck. His cock was stretching you so well, you had never felt like this before.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and your fingers twirled around his long straight hair, moaning quietly into his neck each time he hit a sensitive spot. Denji’s thrusts became stronger and more animalistic each time you screamed or whimpered.

Denji’s lips clumsily found yours to muffle some of your noises. He sloppily kissed you, sucking your tongue in his mouth while he humped your cunt like a desperate dog in heat.

He grabbed your hips even tightly, his nails digging into your skin as he mercilessly began pounding in your pussy. Your legs started shaking in pleasure, your hips kept moving to meet his and your walls tightened around him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders when the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix, you dragged them down, leaving red streaks on his back.

“Denji,” you whimpered. “I’m close.”

He nodded knowingly, his eye rolling up as your walls tightened around his twitching cock and pushed inside of you for the last time. Your walls pulsated against his dick and sucked him in deep as Denji spilled his seed inside your unprotected fertile pussy with a loud growl. You moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist with no intention of letting him go as the warmth of his seed completely filled your belly.

Right after sliding out of you, Denji lazily fell onto the bed next to you, exhausted and breathless.

It took him a few minutes to collect himself and as he was about to open his mouth to say something awkward, you pressed your lips onto his for a short kiss, taking his breath away.

He pulled you into his arms as soon as you finished the kiss. His hand cupped your tit and his nose nuzzled into your hair to inhale your delicious smell. He moved closer to you while you were busy trying to pull the blanket over the two of you.

Once you managed to get under the blanket, Denji gave you a chaste kiss against your hair before you drifted into slumber.

~~~

“I told ya, didn’t I? You made him into a softie! He can’t even cut as sharp as before! His chainsaw broke!”

“It’s your fault for not feeding him well,” you said, hugging Pochita tighter. “Besides everyone needs a little embrace sometimes to work harder.” The dog licked your cheek in response.

Denji wheezed out for air as he reached on top of the stairs, nearly dropping the groceries.

You laughed and put Pochita down, “Geez, you’ve soaked your shirt in sweat!”

“Because it’s too damn hot!” Denji furrowed his brows as he tried to catch his breath.

The weather was too hot compared to any other summer months. Although it was nearing the end of September, the sun was still blazing hot.

Denji faintly remembered how you had told them that here the weather was always warm.

He liked the warm weather, he liked this place too but the damn stairs… they were going to be the death of him. He didn’t even know why he climbed them so hurriedly each time.

Leaning down, you planted a kiss on Denji’s cheek, “You’ll get used to it.”

Dumbfounded, he stared at you and when he saw you smiling at him so brightly he remembered why. “Ya keep saying that!”

#oof this is so embarrassing gaddamn so self indulgent #ugh and i am the first person to post reader insert for denji omg ughhhhh #people are gonna point at me and laugh #ugh i am sorry i just love him so much fuckk #denji x reader

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