#is held twice a year. and the next time for it would be summer. but the gmv im working on is bg3 and thats not an allowed source material

[perilegs]

spending all my time making silly little edits has finally proven worth it

[bunny-jpeg]

love is a kick to the stomach

max verstappen - sequel to: lust is a loaded hand gun

tags: smut/fluff, pregnancy & kids, falling in love, dad!max, body worship, tenderness, plot, cowgirl position

a/n: this was made possible by the support of over a dozen people asking for a sequel! i hope you enjoy it <3

"are you sure you're going to be fine on your own?" your former teammate charles asked as he helped you pack the last of your suitcases. your apartment in monaco was bare, and for good reason, you were going home.

you replied with a shrug, "i'll be fine. i mean if i could sustain a driving career for as long as i did. i can handle raising a baby." you rubbed your lower back a little bit.

charles said,"i guess so, you know, monaco isn't a terrible place to raise a child." he gestured to himself with raised eyebrows.

"as much as i'd love to." you said, "i think people will start to raise eyebrows when they see max's look-alike running around. plus, i guess it's a way to get away from it. something simpler for my kid."

you hadn't spoken to the father of your son, max didn't know you were pregnant. and it was the best for everyone if he never knew that you had a child with him.

you remember the first time you held nicolas in your arms, it took you close to ten hours for you to deliver him. you had to say, the aches and pains of racing were nothing compared to the rising anxiety and pain of delivering a child. didn't help he was stubborn like this father. you tried not to think about max too much during the moments of lessened pain. part of you wanted him there, while you were determined to raise your child alone. the moments of weakness you felt during delivery made you want to hastily unblock max's number and call him before the next contractions came.

"okay, okay. just you and me, baby, just you and me." you told yourself as you laid in the hospital bed with your belly swollen from the months of carrying your son. you hissed through your teeth as another contraction hit.

in the end, you had nicolas. or nico as you called him. tired, over-heated as you pushed out your baby. the nurse told you it was a boy. wrapped in a blanket as he was placed on your chest. you could only describe it as maternal warmth as you cried. this was your baby. your little nico. "congratulations." the nurse told you as you held onto him gently. when you gave birth to your son, max was in monaco streaming with the rest of the redline team. fully unaware that you just had his child.

you lived a quiet life after that, but sometimes you could still feel the rumble of the track in your soul. it pulled you in, there was no reason for it to come back. there was no way you could, nico needed his mother and you made the choice to start a family of your own.

"nico!" you giggled towards your toddler, nico was now close to three years old! you picked him up from his spot at the coffee table, surrounded by papers and markers. you gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "remember uncle charlie?" you swayed a little with the child in your arms.

the little boy nodded, "uh-huh." charles sent you and nico christmas presents every year. he even visited once or twice during summer break and spent a week with the two of you, he loved the time away from the hustle and bustle of racing. nico knew uncle charlie mostly because of leo, you had to teach him how to be gentle with the dog.

"well, he is inviting us somewhere. we're going to see him race, just like what mama used to do." it was the pre-season testing, it would be nice to see everyone. see how things changed in the three years since you left, "i know you've been asking about the cars." you smiled at the little boy.

nico really was the son of two racers, even now he was colouring pages of cars and he learned some of his colours from the cars in your neighbourhood. his expression light up, "the cars?"

you chuckled and said, "yes! we'll see the cars go really fast." it felt somewhat silly to say that raising a child felt more fulfilling than any of the titles you won.

it was almost more challenging with more rewards. driving was intense and lit an inferno in your stomach. but, you were constantly swarmed by the media with people yelling in your ear at all times. you were both hated and loved by the press, the organization and the fans. and while parenthood was harder in a lot of ways, it was nice. it was quieter. you saw friends, you found interest in painting, you read all the books you bought on your travels as a racer. the best part about having a kid was having a travel buddy. you weren't your stats or your trophies, you were just you.

but driving was a drug, and you also wanted to see the cars go very fast. so within a couple of weeks you were on the track for the pre-season.

"and that nico, is a racing car." you pointed towards the red ferrari car. a similar one to the one you drove. and you watched your young son light up the way you did all those years prior.

-

you knew you were going to see max. it was stupid to think that you could not see him. he had won the previous year's wdc, he was everywhere. so while you spoke to lewis and charles, you caught sight of him. and he caught sight of the toddler in your arms.

charles looked over to where your gaze was and said, "oh shit." then tried to shift over to sort of usher you and nico away from the gaze of max. but you reached out and touched your former teammates shoulder.

"it's fine..." you assured him. the past year, as it felt like nico was growing so much everyday. the feelings about max had resurfaced. while you believed that you and your network of friends and family could raise nico just fine. max didn't know that nico existed. a night of passion was just that in max's mind.

you shifted your toddler in your arms and looked over to max. you smiled and gave him a small wave. and you could see the expression cross max's face.

nico let go of the front of your shirt and made child's grabby-hands towards the man. and max took a bold step forward, and then another, and then another before he was crowded in your space. an expression across his face as he looked down at you and nico.

"hey." you said.

"hi." he replied. he raised his hand for a moment, but stopped himself. he swallowed and asked, "who is this?"

you looked down at the boy who was holding onto your shirt once more. you smiled at max, "nicolas. but everyone calls him nico. he's my son."

our son.

max swallowed and looked at the boy. he patted him on the top of the head and smiled, "well, hello nico. your mama was an amazing driver." he looked at you once more before you were pulled away by charles to see the rest of the ferrari team. max watched you walk away, just as he did all those years prior.

-

"can i watch nico?" charles asked while

"i can watch him just fine. i've been doing it for three years." you chuckled as you grabbed a chip from the bag and ate it.

charles crossed his arms and looked at you, "when was the last time you had a break? plus me and alexandra are thinking about, maybe, having a child once my career winds down." he smiled a little, "want to make sure that i can handle a three year old."

you looked to your son on the carpeted floor playing with the duplo blocks that you had brought with you. you then looked to charles and asked, "so you're probably assuming that if you can handle the son of me and him, you can handle your own child?"

charles nodded, "the child of ferrari's princess and mad max. must be a handful." he laughed a little.

"he's not the son of satan, charles." you playfully shoved your former teammate. and he shrugged. you were thankful in a way that you didn't go with charles' plan for him to father your child. you felt like that would've been more complicated than what you had now, since you liked charles' current partner.

"take the night off or at least a few hours. go do something for yourself." charles gave you a sympathetic glance. and you had no choice to concede.

he was right, since nico's birth you had no time for yourself unless he was asleep. but usually you fell asleep too. in the end you dressed nicely, in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. you had your purse on hand and told charles to text you if there were any issues. and you made nico promise you to be good. you kissed the boy's cheek before you headed out.

you ended up at a bar. it wasn't busy and you blended in with the other patrons. the press didn't bother you too much, you had been out of the spotlight for long that it was mostly making the public aware that you still existed and now you had a kid.

"well, well, well." a man's voice caught your attention. you looked up from your phone to see max by your table, "has ferrari's princess finally come back to her castle."

you swallowed, "hi, max."

"where's the little one?"

"with charles tonight."

max nodded, "i was going to make a joke about him being the father... but i know that's not true." he sat down across from you at the table. he rested his forearms on the table, his watch shined in the low light of the bar, "what happened?"

"nothing happened. i just retired."

"with my son... a son i knew nothing about." his voice was low, "why didn't you tell me? do you think so low of me i wouldn't have tried to help? you ran off back home and blocked me..." there was a look in his eyes.

"i didn't want to burden the world champion." you lied as you took a sip of your stiff drink. you felt tension in your shoulders as you took a sip. your heart rattled in your chest, "i didn't expect you to do anything. i didn't need you to."

max reached across the small table and took a hold of your wrist to bring your closer. then he locked his fingers with yours. he said, "maybe i wanted to... did you never think i wanted to be a father?"

you swallowed, "no." you assumed he didn't. not after everything, you heard enough of his father's berating in your karting career. the angry dutch words followed by insults in english so everyone knew what was being said. and that apprently only scratched the surface of what had been done to him. you thought max was a good fit because he would be so disinterested in being a parent. but as he looked at you, hand in yours. you realized you made a grave error. you said, "being a parent isn't easy."

max chuckled, "i know. i'm not stupid. i thought about that night we shared, it comes back to me. i've never wanted someone the way i wanted you. and to know you carried my child, it only pulls me in more."

you took another sip of your drink with your free hand and said, "and what are you going to do about it, verstappen?" you may be a mother now, but you were ferrari's princess, the temptress on wheels. you'd still go toe-to-toe with any man.

max simply smiled.

-

you ended up in max's hotel room. his hands on you like they were all those years ago. he touched you the way a lover would as the two of you passionately made out. you moaned against his lips and you held onto his strong shoulders.

"i thought about you every day of your retirement. i wanted to know what happened. i thought you were sick." he kissed along your neck, his hands at your waist.

"i mean, i did have quite the stomach bug. took ten hours to get him out." you moaned a little bit as his lips grazed over your pulse point. you could feel a surge of pleasure through you. you had been with anyone intimately since max. you didn't have time for dates let alone hook-ups.

"i should've been there. i would've been there in a heartbeat. you, me, nico... a family." he said as he looked to you once more and you toyed with the material of his shirt, "i always had a fondness for you. you let nothing stop you."

you smiled, "i always thought you wanted a model... not a driver."

he pressed his chest against yours and looked into your eyes, "maybe in another time. i wish i could've seen you pregnant." he swallowed as his hands touched your breasts.

you chuckled lowly, "someone wanted a milf?"

he shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours, "no, no. i wanted to see your body change from what we made. the child we made together."

"but racing..."

he groaned, "fuck it. choose between another trophy taking up space in my apartment... or a home with you and nico. such a hard choice, don't you think?" he chuckled as he held you so close to him. he groped your breasts, "a man who finds more fulfillment in pieces of plastic and metal than having a home to go to is a stupid man."

you chuckled, "i guess i didn't want to be your wag either."

he shook his head, "i don't think you can be a wag if you played the sport. if you are worried about there being expectations placed on you, then don't worry. if you can't drive, then i'll drive twice as hard for us. any ten second gap i have will be twenty seconds, because i know you only expect the best."

you felt warmth in your cheeks. and eventually he led you to the bedroom. you ended up on the bed with max undoing your button up. you giggled, "ah, does someone like mothers?"

he groaned with his nose against your heated skin, "only when they had my kid... nico looked exactly like me." he said as he got the button up off your shoulder.

you moaned, but then yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed. you looked up at him, "i'm on birth control." you licked your lips as you got out of your bra and max took off his t-shirt, "fuck, now i remember why i wanted to have a baby with you."

he put his hands on his hips and smiled. tiny waist, broad shoulders. a certain strength to him, but he didn't look like a dehydrated mess. he was strong in a way that excited you, but you also knew that he loved a good meal. long before he gorged himself on your cunt, he happily ate the meals you cooked. you remember he even said, "you'd make a great wife." which honestly sowed the seed that led to nico.

the night of passion that led to the making of your son. you could feel max's eyes wander across your body and he licked his lips. he said, "you look good. bit more curves than when we last were like this."

"yeah, i had an eight pound baby." you chuckled as you got the rest of your clothes off. max's hungry gaze lingered, "i got a few more curves that a track as carry him for nine months, you know he was three days overdue."

"stubborn." max laughed as he unzipped his jeans, "just like his mama."

you narrowed your eyes, "no, just like his old man." and max was all over you. the kissed became hungry and needy. neither of you had been intimate with another person since the night you made nico. three years ago. you were busy with a baby while max couldn't get you out of his head. he tried to find another woman, he tried to be close to someone. but you always pulled in the back of his mind.

both of you were into the hotel room and max kissed at your breasts. your breasts were roughly average size before you got pregnant. the training and weight guidelines for racing prevented you from having a big chest. but you went up at least a cup and a half during your pregnancy. and max loved kissing the heated skin.

"fuck." you gasped. both naked on the bed, moved against one another. it was like being in a familiar place. you knew max's body just as you did all those years ago. you kissed him and ended up straddled max's waist.

he was up against the pillows and your knees on either side of him. your hands roamed his chest and he shuddered. he looked up at you with those blue eyes, "please, fuck. please, give me a chance. give me a chance to be there for you and nico.."

you swallowed, you never expected that from max. a man on the top like that wouldn't easily quiver at the aspect of being a father. but max wanted it. he wanted the family. he wanted a home. you sighed to yourself, you guessed an apartment full of trophies wasn't enough.

you put a hand on his chest before you sank on his cock, "max. if nico decided not to peruse racing.... would you still love him?" that was a conversation you had to have with yourself. you loved racing, that was your passion for years. but you promised yourself to never be the parent that you saw early in your career. twisting their children to make them conform to the parent's standards. to force them into racing.

he said, those blue eyes gazed up at you, "if nico wanted to race. i'm behind him a hundred percent. if it doesn't, nothing changes... he is still my son. i'm behind him through everything."

you leaned down to kiss max on the lips, "fuck, max." you sank down onto his cock and continued to kiss him. you splayed your hands across his broad chest and continued to move against him.

"shit." he shuddered. he felt a certain euphoria that left him needy for more. never had he had soemthing like this. not since the last time he had you. it was a amazing. to have you so close once more. he wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you. the kisses shared between you two were hot and heavy, it left him feeling tense in a good way. to have you on top of him, close to him was a feeling he wished he could never forget.

even after three years you still occupied his mind in ways that left him shuddering against you. after three years, after all this time, he still wanted to map your body with his tongue. even the changes post-pregnancy. he held onto you and kissed at your heated skin. he wished he was there, seeing the progress of you carrying nico. to be a father. he moved against you, he held you. he loved you, but he had been holding onto that love for some time. unable to properly display it, and to find out you had a child with him only fueled the passion for you. the two of you moved against one another, you both felt the intense pleasure from the heated movements against one another.

this was how you should've been a long time ago. if max had known you wanted a baby, he would've happily had one with you. but he should've been there for every moment of it. even if you couldn't race because of the pregnancy, max would kiss every winning trophy in your honor, he'd race for both of you. and then come to the paddock with you and nico, a family of three. a family he always wanted.

he wanted to kiss you in front of the cameras. even if you were retired, he wanted to make you feel that every winning was for both of you. he kissed at you heated skin and you moaned, he felt the warmth of love in his gut. you two should've been married by now, a house somewhere quiet. it didn't even have to be in monaco. max would happily pack up his racing sim gear and his cats, and move to anywhere you desired. he hoped that you two could be a family.

to come home after a triple header and see you and nico. the boy looked so much like him. those round cheeks, those wide eyes. the excitement on the track and his need to be close to his mother (you). it screamed a young max, but max wanted to be a better father. he wanted to be present, he wanted to be there for his son.

he groaned, "please, please. let me into your little family." he kissed as your larger breasts and moved against you. the pleasure was deep inside of him. to have you once more felt like a dream.

you held onto his short hair for a moment, you groaned a little bit as you felt the immense heat between you two. you leaned down and kissed him on the head with such tenderness. this wasn't the kind of sex you had all that time ago, this was something more softer. more gentle. less like a means to an end, and more like you two were becoming familiar with each other's bodies again.

"you look perfect," he said lowly, "i'm surprised you hadn't picked uo a husband after all the time." he held on a little tighter and worked your body against him. the pleasure shot through the both of you which only spurred you on the move faster.

your bucked your hips against his, you felt the inferno in your belly as you held his face and kissed him once more. if he wanted to be in nico's life then you'd allow it. you'd let max be involved, be the father he wanted to be. you thought his trophies were more important, but seeing him, his eagerness to be in nico's life made you realize that he wanted a family, a home. you kissed him once more as the two of you thrusted against one another.

you knew racing would always pull you back in eventually. it had that effect on people. it was infectious, even tucked away in your domestic life. you still sat on the couch with your rambunctious toddler and watched the races at odd hours.

"why do you want a life with me and nico, you could have any-"

"i don't want to hear it. nico deserves a father and you deserve a loving partner... hell, maybe even a husband." he said with total conviction as he moved against you. the pleasure felt like it was going to boil over soon.

you moved against him, eagerness in your movements. you couldn't think of anymore things to prevent max from being part of your family. your movements staggered and you felt the pleasure bloom into something more. you hissed, "fuck," while you moved against him. you felt the inferno in your soul, the need for him in ways you didn't need any other man.

this was the father of your son, and you carried feelings for him just as you carried nico. the combination of you two, the affection you had for one another in a brief moment. it was something you wanted to expand on. you wanted to love max verstappen.

you held onto the father of your child. you came around his cock and arched your back. you felt the fury of lust through your body as you moved against him. you laid a heavy kiss on his lips as your pussy clenched around his cock, "fuck." you said, words muffled by the kiss. max wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you further. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest areas and it made you toes curl through climax.

he groaned into the kiss and continued to move against you. a few more heavy strokes and he finished inside of you. he practically melted against you and you smiled against his lips with affection. his brain felt swamped with emotion as he said, "i love you."

and without thinking you replied, "i love you too, max." then kissed him once more with total affection for one another.

max swallowed as he held you as you slowed your pace to a stop. he craned his neck to press his cheek against your soft stomach, "don't leave again... please."

"max." you panted and combed your fingers through his hair. he held onto you tighter as if you were going to slip away.

he said, in a tone you never thought you could hear from a world champion, "don't.. don't leave." this was supposed to be simple. max was a means to a child, but he wanted to be in nico's life. he wanted to be a father.

you wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your abdomen. you exhaled deeply and said, "i don't want to pressure you into being a father... if you're going to be in his life, you're going all in. he needs stability."

max lifted his head to look at you. those blue eyes dazzled in the low light of his hotel room. he held onto you a little tighter, not enough to bruise however. he said, "i'm all in. you, me, and nico." like a promise.

maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones or maybe because you became a tad more in touch with your emotions after having a child. but when max said that, you cried.

-

"go nico! go, go!!!" you shouted as your nine year old sailed past the finish line in first place and you broke into a grin. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into a kiss. you laughed into the kiss and said to your husband, "oh man. ow, ow. okay, okay!" you looked down at your swollen middle, "someone isn't happy about the excitement."

"sorry there, little one." max's hand rubbed your swollen middle. his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon light. you were welcoming a son in four months and could already feel the commotion of racing.

you smiled at max for a moment before your son got out of the cart and you were moving as fast as you could to greet him. with his helmet off, you cupped your son's chubby cheeks. he was looking more like max every day, but smashed records the way you did.

you were soon a family of four. you didn't live in your home country and max had moved away from monaco when you got married. max was a good father, as he picked up nico with ease.

"you did amazing, nico. good job!" he beamed at the little boy and the boy beamed back at him. you knew that people shouldn't have children to heal a part of themselves. you learned that when you were pregnant the first time. but when max gave praise to your son, he was giving the young boy the support he never got. that if nico was going to eventually end up in formula one, it wasn't going to be the way that max was brought up.

he'd do it right.

stern when he needed to be. you'd both push nico to be the best, but also give him the love a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked boy needed. and as you leaned down as best as you could to kiss your son on the cheek. you felt like a family. it felt like home.

you were confident that you could've raised both nico and your future son by yourself. but it was an adventure you'd rather share with max. <3

[strawberrykidneystone]

Fresh Out the Slammer I Know Who My First Call Will Be

stanley pines x female reader

summary: stanley needs to be bailed out. again. don't worry, he'll make it up to you! he swears!

a/n: i am not immune to the gravity falls renaissance,,, all 22 fingers iykyk

tags: smut, set the week before the twins come to gravity falls, reader is late 20s-early 30s, reader wears a skirt, pussy eating, cowgirl, spanking (like twice), creampie (wrap it before your tap it)

ao3 version

y/n stood at the counter of the police department once again, her arms crossed as she had to bail stan out.

again.

how many times has she have to do this? she didn't keep track anymore, yet she would still do it every time he called.

"hey sweets..." his sheepish voice would always ring out as he called to her from the small holding cell.

blubs grumbled something about this being a weekly occurrence as stan meekly came out of the cell, knowing he was going to be in the dog house tonight. stan quickly put his signature jewelry back on and rushed out in front of y/n and held the passenger side door of El Diablo open for her, putting on his best smile as she slid into her seat, her arms still crossed.

the ride home was quiet, the windows were rolled down and stanley glanced over every so often at y/n as the wind blew through her hair. god she was so beautiful, he didn't deserve her. she was always there for him, more than his own parents, more than his own brother, and he knew that every time he messed up like this she just got closer to leaving him like everyone else. he knows better, he knows he shouldn't think like this, and she gladly reassured him every time, but times like this in the deafening silence only being broken by the erratic purr of the engine, he couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts.

this time was somewhat of a last hurrah for stanley since he had the twins coming over. he stopped smoking his usual cigars and replaced all his beer with pitt, even giving y/n a small squirt gun to spray him every time he cursed, trying to get out of the habit before the impressionable 12-year-olds arrived for the summer.

when they arrived home, stan ran around el diablo once again and opened up y/n's door. she seemed less peeved than she was when she first arrived at the station, but she still kept quiet as she stepped out and walked into the mystery shack, stan trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

y/n sat at the edge of their shared bed and looked up at stan expectantly, an aura of annoyance surrounding her. she had one leg crossed over the other and arms crossed to match. "awe doll, don't look at me like that, this was the last time i swear!"

"the kids are coming next week stan! how do i know that this was really the last time?"

"let me prove it to you sweets, i promise on my mother that my act will be together for these kids,” he said holding one hand up and placing the other over his heart like an oath.

y/n frowned a little but gave the old man a curt nod, knowing how important their stay was to him and how much he's already been preparing already.

"lemme make it up to you doll," stan purred and got down on his knees with a little bit of exertion, crawling forward on his knees and gently prying her knees apart. he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, pressing kisses to the inside of her knees with an exaggerated "mwah" each time along with his stubble scratching against her skin.

this made y/n crack a smile and reached a hand down to run her fingers through his hair, landing on the side of his face, "and how exactly are you going to do that stanley?"

he loved hearing his name from her mouth, he grinned up at her and tugged her closer by her thighs, causing her to sequel with her back landing on the bed, "oh i might have a few ideas doll."

stan pushed her skirt up around her hips and licked his lips, already seeing a wet spot on her panties, "all this just for me baby? you spoil me."

he leaned forward and licked a stripe up the soiled fabric, mouthing at her clothed pussy and reaching his hands around to grope her ass. he nuzzled his nose against her clit, inhaling her scent deeply and hearing a whine spill out from her, "stan stop teasing."

he muttered something incoherent about patience, but judging by the bulge in his pants, he didn't want to wait much longer either. stan hooked his thumbs through the sides of her underwear and with y/n lifting her hips up, slid them off with ease. he immediately dove in like a man starved, massaging his tongue against her sensitive nub and sucking every so often. moving his mouth down, his nose nudged against her clit, encouraging her to rub herself against it as he thrusted his tongue inside of her. she took the hint and grinded her hips against his nose, moaning at the new stimulation while being partially filled up, feeling his tongue rubbing against her walls.

stan groaned and pulled back panting, her slick all over the bottom half of his face, "can't take it anymore doll, need you to ride me."

she giggled and rolled her eyes, "alright, get on the bed old man."

she turned over on all fours to crawl further up on the bed, stan taking the opportunity to give her ass a playful smack, a small squeak falling from her lips. y/n sat back on her heels and took off her shirt, along with her bra. by the time she turned around, stan was comfortably lying with his back against the headboard, completely naked with his cock standing up high.

y/n shuffled on her knees over to him and straddled his thighs, stan looking up at her light she hung all the stars in the sky causing her to blush deeply. she took his cock into her hand and rubbed the tip in between her lower lips, stan salivating as he watched his precum mix with her own arousal with his hands quickly making their way to her hips. as she finally sank down on his length, both of them let out a sigh of pleasure as her warm walls engulfed him.

she took a moment to adjust to his length, allowing his hands to wander up her waist, squeezing her breasts in his big hands and brushing his thumbs over her nipples every so often. he leaned forward and sucked on her left nipple, teething softly but careful to not bite down too hard, switching to the other a short time later. while he was showing affection to her breasts, she ran her hands over his hairy shoulders and reached towards his upper back, running her nails just hard enough to leave a mark. she gave an experimental bounce, her breath hitching as he finally bottomed out inside of her. stan unlatched from her breasts and leaned back, his gripping her ass with a shit-eating grin, "you ready to ride toots?"

she let out a breathy laugh and put her hands on his beer gut, leaning forward slightly to steady herself, "i'd be more concerned about myself if i were you."

as he was about to respond with something snarky, she lifted herself almost completely off of him before sinking back down quickly. he moaned and leaned his head back, giving her a little support with her movements with his hands. stan smacked her ass as she found a steady rhythm, feeling her squeeze around him. "that's it, that's my good girl."

stan grabbed her hips and kept her in place, thrusting up into her with his feet pushing down into the mattress, watching her breasts bounce with each movement. y/n moaned and arched her back, reaching a hand down to rub her clit for more stimulation, "yes! right there, don't stop stan!"

stan kept with the pace he was at and could feel himself getting close, gritting his teeth, "where do you want it doll?"

"inside, please!"

he nodded and reached one of his calloused hands down to rub her clit, replacing her own hand as he continued to thrust inside of her as she moved with him. with the rough texture of his hand, y/n opened her mouth in a silent scream as she reached her peak with stan not far behind as he released his seed inside of her.

the two sat in a comfortable silence, only their heavy breathing filling the room. y/n looked down at him and smiled sleepily, affectionately tapping his chest, "good job keeping up oldie."

he snorted and put his hand behind his head, "'m sorry doll, it was one last hurrah. am i forgiven?"

y/n pretended to think and tapped her chin with her index finger, "hmm i don't know... yes of course, I'll always be there to bail you out stan, you know that."

a soft smile rested on his face as he took the hand on his chest, kissing each fingertip, "i know you will doll, and I'm damn lucky to have you."

she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, grinning like a cheshire cat suddenly, "i took your bail money from your buried cash box."

"you WHAT-"

a/n: ty for reading!!! also it's my fanfic and i'll write as many run on sentences as i want!!!

[frannyzooey]

Down the Hall

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Tags: Explicit, age gap because you know what I'm about (Frankie is your mom’s boyfriend, he is in his 40s, you are in your mid-20s)

A/N: Yea….so this is dedicated to @intheorangebedroom who inspired this entire idea and to @whatsnewalycat whose beautiful brain and writing inspired me as well. Thank you to @astroboots for cheering me on, to @bageldaddy for the super in depth beta and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who soothed by "does this hit" worries — your minds are golden and I am so happy you support this utter filth. Ily ❤️

He thought that dating someone his own age would ground him, steady him. Not that he ever paid much attention to the age of the women he dated, but he thought with someone who had their own shit figured out, he might be inspired to do the same. 

Unmoored and unattached since he joined the army in his twenties, he was pushing forty now and craved some kind of routine. Living alone gave him too much time for thinking, too many hours spent inside his own head. He knew that living like that for too long could lead to bad decisions and thought he might hold himself to a higher standard when he saw how they held themselves to one. 

He met her at a bar – the most cliche of meeting places, but for good reason. She was out with friends after work and from the start, he was attracted to the way she smiled with her whole mouth. Everything about her seemed sensuous and fun, so inviting that he found himself drawn in and when he asked if he could take the seat next to her, he matched her smile with one of his own. 

When she invited him home that night, he buried himself deep while feasting on that generous mouth. 

He stayed that night, and then one night became twice a week, became three – and before he knew it, his lease was up on his apartment and he moved in. It was nice to come home to someone after work. To know that someone was there, wondering how his day went. To have a warm body curled up next to him in bed. 

She was so independent, so driven. A corporate job that required her to dress in slippery blouses and pretty skirts with heels; the same he loved to strip from her when she came home all stressed out the way she did sometimes. And she had a kid – a daughter – already in college somewhere on the east coast, but that didn’t bother him. Dating in his forties meant people already had their own histories, and he was no exception. 

Sometimes after she fell asleep and he had time alone to think, he still felt something that itched beneath his skin. Something that pulled at him from within, something that remained unsettled. He told himself that it was just an adjustment period after so many years of being unattached, and shoved those feelings deep down inside of him, determined to ignore them until he taught himself a new way to live. 

Her breathing deep and steady beside him, he told himself that she was good for him. 

That was what counted.

He was all for it when she told him her daughter was coming home to stay the summer between semesters. He liked the idea of having another person in the house – another distraction, another responsibility to take him out of his own head. 

He worked odd hours, and during his off days, Frankie took up the task of preparing her daughter’s old room. Light pink walls, a creamy bedspread dotted with delicate flowers: his mind supplied an automatic image of the little girl that lined the hallway in frames. He knew she was older than that now, but the way her mom talked about her, he couldn’t help imagining a little kid. 

Tasked with picking her up from the airport the day she arrived, he had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the doorbell. Frowning, he tugged a shirt over his damp curls, and opened the door.

Jesus Christ. Speechless, he stared at the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. 

“Sorry I didn’t call,” you apologized, tugging a heavy bag higher up on your shoulder. “I got in early and thought an Uber would be faster.”

He stood there for a moment, just staring, his mouth slightly parted in confusion. And then he saw it: the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lush mouth. The resemblance stamped across your delicate features.

“I couldn’t find my key.” You stood there, looking uneasy on your own doorstep. “You must be Frankie. Or is it Francisco? My mom said you’d be here. It’s nice to meet you.”

At the rounded sound of his full name coming from your mouth, his gaze snapped back to meet your eyes while you hung there, clearly waiting for him to say something. His body was slow to catch up with his brain, the little girl his mind supplied was gone, replaced by the vision that stood in front of him. Still young and fresh-faced, but grown nonetheless and so, so fucking beautiful. 

When you gestured towards the house behind him, he finally shook himself from the initial shock.

“Shit,” he apologized, stepping back out of your way. “Yea, it’s Frankie. Nice to meet you.” You gave him a half smile, and when you stepped inside, he reached for your bag. “Here, let me grab that.”

His hand dragging through his curls, he stood in the entryway and watched you make yourself at home: your shoes immediately kicked off on the doormat, your jacket hung neatly next to his own like it had always belonged there. 

“Do you know when my mom gets home?”

He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the length of your legs underneath the hem of your shorts. “Uh, she said probably around six? That’s when she usually gets home.”

You nodded, holding your hand out for your bag and for a split second, he wondered if he should bring it upstairs for you. It would be the polite thing to do, but the idea of entering your room now felt like overstepping. You weren’t a kid, you didn’t need him like that. The boundaries had suddenly blurred and shifted, and he whisked away the image of you settling into your bedroom just as fast as it popped into his head. 

When you grabbed the bag from him, he felt relief. 

It was easy to avoid you for the afternoon while you got settled. Instead, he mowed the lawn, prepared dinner, all the while with his ears attuned to the sound of you walking around above him. He felt on edge, anxious. The excitement he thought he would feel with someone else in the house had turned into unease. 

He made himself an outsider, even more so when your mom came home. Not wanting to intrude on your time together, he stayed in the kitchen to cook dinner for the two of you and delivered it to the living room, placing your plates on the coffee table. 

“Thank you, baby, that’s so nice.” Your mother scooted forward, tilting her chin up towards him in a silent request for a kiss. 

Granting it to her, he felt her familiar hold slip around the back of his neck to keep him in place for a moment, keenly aware of the way you were right there. For a split second while his lips were still on hers, he glanced up at you and it was clear that he caught you watching by the way you hastily looked away the second he met your eyes. 

He fucked her hard that night, his hand over her mouth so you wouldn’t hear. 

She was gone in the morning when he made his way downstairs, and he was pleasantly surprised to find coffee already in the pot. 

“I made extra,” you said, from your perch on the chair at the table. Sleep shorts high on your thighs, an oversized tee shirt covering your top half. The way it engulfed you made you look younger than you were. 

He looked away, busying himself with pouring a cup. 

“I drink a lot, so I made a lot,” you explained with shy self-deprecation. 

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, sitting down at the table. “Got any plans for today? Or for the summer, I guess?” 

Wading the tentative waters of getting to know someone, he watched your fingers play with the edge of the paper. 

“Just relax for a bit, I think? Catch up with some old friends? No plan really. I just didn’t want to hang out on a deserted campus.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.” 

And so began the morning routine you would both share for the next few weeks. Hesitant and quiet around each other in the beginning, sliding into something normal fairly fast. Your mother was early to rise and early to bed, but he had never been and neither were you. 

He joined you in the late morning at the kitchen table, the curve of your soft cheek highlighted in the slant of light through the window. On the couch at night, a different kind of illumination from the light of the TV, yet hitting your cheek just the same. Your things scattered around the living room, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, your clothes mixed with his in the wash. 

Your proximity was what he blamed for the constant thoughts he had about you. 

Every morning he admired how rumpled you looked, how sleepy and soft and inviting. It was endearing, but soon other thoughts edged out the more innocent ones: thoughts about your legs wrapped around his waist, your slender fingers wrapped around something other than a coffee cup. 

The want he felt for you pooled in various places inside him: his brain, his chest, between his thighs. It spilled down the shower drain and spilled hot across his stomach. 

It flooded your mother’s mouth, and she was none the wiser.

Afterwards, she tucked her face into the meat of his shoulder, pressing a kiss against the skin there. Sated and content, she curled herself around him. “Let’s do something this weekend together. Actually make use of that pool we have for once.”

A barbecue. She’d been talking about having one for a while. 

“We’ve been working so hard. I feel like I barely even see you, honey.” 

Something akin to guilt tugged at him, thinking of the shifts he had been picking up in an effort to avoid you. Your eyes, your smile, your stupid sleep shorts.

He hummed his agreement and she kissed him in thanks, her breaths eventually evening out as she fell asleep. 

Frankie lay awake, the image of your closed bedroom door stuck in his mind. 

–

“Jesus Christ,” you murmured as you watched Frankie climb out of the pool. 

Broad, bare shoulders, tanned swathes of skin, cute little dimples just above his ass. Water ran down over his tanned skin, the thin material of his swim shorts stuck to his ass and when he turned around to grab a towel off a nearby chair, you were glad for your sunglasses.

Fuck me. 

The material of his shorts molded to every inch of his thick cock, the shape clearly outlined. Oblivious, he ran the towel over his curls, over his shoulders and arms, down his torso – and when his hand gingerly pulled the material away from his crotch, you memorized the swirl of dark hair that surrounded his navel and led down.  

“Can you help me with the grill, honey?”

Your mom’s voice pulled your attention away from him. 

Her boyfriend, you reminded yourself. Frankie was her boyfriend.

“Yea,” he called back, chucking his towel on the chair. “Be right there. Let me put a shirt on.”

The shirt he shrugged over his head was the same one you folded that morning. The material was threadbare and super soft, the muscles of his back shifting underneath the thin fabric as he sauntered over to the grill. You knew the way it felt in your hands, and at the thought of his body heat through the material, you pressed your thighs together. 

The afternoon sun bathed you in warmth, but it was nothing compared to the heat that pooled inside your bottoms as you continued to watch him from your recline by the pool. His brown curls glinted in the sun, his throat bobbing with a swallow when your mother brought him a beer. 

When his eyes flashed over to you, you finally looked away. 

You saw those deep, doleful brown eyes in your sleep. 

You felt them on you all the time: in the dark living room during family movie time, your mother curled up against his side. In the kitchen after dinner, when you loaded the dishwasher while he put away the food. In the mornings, when you pretended to read the paper while he snuck hooded peeks at you and drank you in. 

Startled by his handsomeness from the very first time you laid eyes on him, your crush only grew with every passing day spent in his company. He was so thoughtful, so attentive and kind, but it was something else buried within his gaze that drew you in. 

A barely restrained want that shone clear on his face every time he looked at you. A need simmering under the surface, you saw the way he fought it. 

You thought about him constantly: imagined him crowding you against the counter in the kitchen, saw him pulling back the shower curtain to join you, pretended your fingers were his in your bed at night. 

Born out of your own need, you pushed him. Played with the limits of his self control, desperate for him to make a move. No action overt enough to be blatant, the way he stared at you made you feel confident, bold. The want pouring off his skin when you hung around him was obvious and thick, filling the space between the two of you until he inevitably excused himself. 

When it’s time to eat, you take a seat next to him on the bench, your thigh pressed hot against his. You waited for him to pull away, but he never did and the intimate sensation of the hair on his leg brushing against your own smoother skin made it hard to eat, though you missed it when he got up. 

Your mother, one margarita too many and giggly and loose, pulled him into a dance under the stars that had just begun to come out. He humored her, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her close, smiling at every murmured secret she slipped into his ear. 

You watched the scene unfold right in front of you with a fond, humoring expression, and his eyes kept finding yours, flashing in the darkness. 

You pretended nonchalance, but the entire time, you wanted. 

He took her to bed while you cleaned up the kitchen. 

You knew he fucked her – you heard it sometimes. They tried to be quiet for your sake but sometimes a whimper would slip down the hall, the deep reverberation of a groan in the dark. 

Climbing into bed that night, your mind lingered on the image of his wet swim trunks. The dark swirl of hair, the heft in the outline. 

You wondered what he fucked like with a cock like that. 

–

“Something’s going on in the Arizona market,” your mom explained, tossing items into her suitcase. A silk blouse spilled over the side, and you tucked it back in with the rest. “I’ll be gone through Thursday, maybe Friday? Hopefully not the weekend, but I’ll let you know.”

“Do you need a ride to the airport?” 

Smiling at you, she stepped forward and cupped your cheek with her hand for a moment. “That’s sweet, honey, but I’m good. Frankie’s got it.”

Apprehension swirled with anticipation, the joint feelings settled low in your gut. You’d been alone with him before, but never for this long. Never truly alone, for days on end. 

The man himself poked his head around the corner of the doorway, the width of his shoulders filling out the frame. He glanced at you, and then his watch. “You about ready, baby?” 

She bustled around the room, tossing things here and there onto the bed and he looked at you again, a slight frown pulling between his brows. 

His expression gave something akin to frustration, and for a split second, you thought it was because of the time your mom was taking. When you felt his dark eyes drop down the length of your body involuntarily and then back up again, you turned away with a small smile, knowing it to be something else. 

–

For the first couple days, he stayed away from the house as much as he could. Kept his distance until he ran out of errands, until he drove down the same stretch of road too many times. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with you, and he hated himself for it. 

Self loathing creeped in every time he thought about the way his jeans tightened even thinking of you alone in the house. His girlfriend’s fucking daughter, half his age. The whole thing was fucked up. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop. 

He felt bad, thinking of you suddenly being all alone after spending so much time with people around, but he told himself that you probably loved having the space to yourself. 

He came in the shower that morning to the thought of your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, and he was unable to look you in the eye when he saw you in the kitchen afterward. Your hopeful expression lingered in his mind all day as he stretched out the hours. 

The sky turned from light blue to dark, and he finally caved. He couldn’t stay away forever. 

The house was quiet when he walked in, tossing his keys on the entryway table. He crept around, looking for any sign of your presence, until he heard the shower running upstairs. Light spilled down the staircase, and heading into the kitchen, he tried to push down the thoughts running rampant in his head. 

He drank a glass of water, listening. 

The shower turning off (your naked body, damp and warm), your footsteps padding down the hall (that smooth skin, hidden under your towel), your bedroom door shutting (the towel dropping onto your floor). 

He stayed downstairs, turning the TV on to distract himself, the air in the house charged with a magnetic pull from your room. He waited until there had been nothing but silence for the better part of a half hour, then dared to venture upstairs. 

He’d just say goodnight, that’s all. Just so you knew you weren’t alone. 

His knuckles rapped against your door, and he pushed it open when he heard you say come in. 

“Hey,” you greeted him, slight surprise on your face. Stretched out in bed, the inviting cloud of your comforter was plush underneath your body. You paused the movie you were watching, and sat up on your elbows. “Haven’t seen you in a couple days.”

“Yea,” he replied, leaning against the frame of your door. His eyes followed a slow path up your bare legs. 

“Work been crazy or something?” you asked.

“Something like that, yea,” he answered. His hand stayed on the knob of your door, an anchor that kept him from crossing a line. “I actually just stopped by to say goodnight. I’m gonna turn in.”

“Already?” you teased. “It’s pretty early, isn’t it? Aren’t you gonna live it up while my mom is gone?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve lived it up enough. I’m an old man, remember? We don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“Forty-five is hardly an old man,” you scolded with a smile. “You wanna watch a movie instead?”

You patted the bed next to you, and his face sobered. You didn’t see it, instead reaching for the lotion on your bedside table to work some into your hands and the image of you jerking his cock with that same lotion flashed across his mind. He frowned. 

“In here?” 

You shrugged, laying back down. “I mean, I’m already all set up in here…”

You left the offer hanging, and even though he knew - he fucking knew he shouldn’t - he found himself nodding. 

You looked surprised at his answer for a split second, and then pleased. 

“Let me go get changed.”

He walked down the hall towards his room, scolding himself the entire time. Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t go back into that fucking room. Don’t think about how smooth her skin is and how much you want to kiss her.  Don’t think about how her sheets smell like her, don’t think about how much you want to lick her cunt. 

The thoughts ran on a loop as he peeled off his work clothes. 

They echoed in his head as he pulled on his sweats. 

They followed him out of his bedroom and all the way down the hall, stopping at your doorway.

You turned your head, looking at him expectantly, looking so fucking lush and innocent, so eager to have him join you. 

He swallowed hard, mouth watering and left his guilt in the hallway, joining you in bed.

–

Pretending to ignore the heavy blanket of tension pulsing between your bodies, you kept your eyes fixed on the screen. 

Stretched out next to you, he kept a respectable distance, but you felt the heat that poured off of his skin. He looked so large in your bed, so much like a man. His long limbs splayed out over your girlish comforter, his masculine scent filled the space and when he crossed his arms, you admired the way the hem of his sleeve stretched around his bicep. 

Lightheaded and trembling with a heady want that ached between your thighs, you made it through the whole movie – until the room descended into darkness, until the credits rolled and the screen went black  

Until it was just the two of you sitting side by side in the dark. 

The sheets rustled when you rolled onto your side to face him. 

“What did you think?” you asked quietly. 

He looked down at you from his slouch on the bed, and your fingers twitched with the need to smooth away the crease that rested permanently between his brows. You would think he was mad if not for his eyes: those always look conflicted more than anything. Constant turmoil, roiling deep within the dark depths. 

Not answering, he stared down at you for a long moment before shrugging. 

“Okay, I guess. Well, have a good night.”

He then started to slide off the bed. 

Disappointment flooded your chest, the tension that you’d been feeling for the last two hours releasing restlessly through your limbs. Already making plans to get your vibrator from your side table to use while burying your face into the sheets he was just sitting on, he stilled. 

Your eyes fixed on his broad back, you could almost see the decision being made and he quickly turned before he could convince himself to stop. 

Bending down, he kissed you. 

It was consuming. The brush of his mustache, the taste of his mouth, the weight of his solid body as he pushed you into the bedding, draping it over yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth to slide against your own, and he swallowed the soft sound that caught in the back of your throat. Pushing himself into the cradle between your thighs, he forced them open wider as he deepened the kiss, and his dry, calloused hand slid underneath the hem of your shirt, wrapping around your hip. 

You knew you should push him away, but your hands only dragged him closer, grabbing everything you could touch: the slip of his curls, the curve of his whiskered jaw, the rounds of his broad shoulders. You dug your fingertips into his sides as he ground his hips against yours and your knees hitched higher around his torso. 

His hand wrapped around the top of your shin, pushing down to hold you in place.  

“Jesus,” he breathed into your mouth between kisses, his fingers tightening in their hold before sliding down to touch everything he can: the meat of your hips, his big hand cupping your ass with a greedy squeeze. Need rolled off of him in waves, his touch betraying just how long he had thought about this and his mouth shifted down to devour the long line of your neck, tasting the sweet hollow of your throat. 

Your pulse beat fast under his tongue, speeding up when he let out a groan against the sensitive skin. 

“Take – take this off–” he sat back on his ankles, his hands fumbling with your shirt.

As soon as you pulled it over your head, his mouth latched onto your nipple. His tongue swirled around it, sliding over the peaked bud with a suck. His beard scraped across your sensitive skin, leaving a wet path that glistened over the plane of your chest as he dragged his mouth to your other breast and his heavy hand reached down to cup you wholly over your sleep shorts. 

His fingers dug into the dip of your entrance and the heel of his hand ground hard against your clit. 

“I can’t stop thinking about this pussy,” he confessed. His fingers rubbed harder, and he groaned hot against your skin. “I can already feel how soaked she is for me. How much she wants it.”

You nodded with a whimper, rolling your hips into his touch. “God yes. Please.”

He pulled back just enough to stare down at your face, his pitch black eyes sliding over your features to settle on your open mouth. “Tell me you want this. Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“Yes. Please, please,” you begged.

“It’s gonna be a lot, baby.” He wetted his bottom lip with his tongue, his hand working, working, working. “She’s gonna need to be wet to take what I need her to take.”

A fresh wave of arousal washed through you, and your sleep shorts clung to your center with every grind of his palm. His thick fingers nudged the fabric to the side, exploring. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, releasing a heavy breath. “Fuck.” 

His eyes fluttered shut with a frown as his touch slid through your soaked seam and kissing you again, he timed the slide of his tongue with the slick stretch of two fingers. 

Your thighs opened wider around his waist, a whine crawling out of your throat when he pushed them deeper and when he started a smooth, audible stroke, you started to ride his hand. 

You’d been watching his fingers for months: wrapped around the steering wheel in the car, loosely cradling the neck of a beer bottle, drumming against his thigh when he watched TV sometimes. You’d imagined them tucked inside you so many times, buried in your mouth or your cunt, and as he worked a third one in, you let out a filthy moan. 

“I gotta work it open, baby,” he soothed, pulling your earlobe between his lips. “It’ll be okay. I know you can take it.”

His hips started to follow the rhythmic roll of his hand and when he seemed satisfied with how much you could take, he slid his fingers out, reaching to tear his shirt off over his head. When he pushed his fingers into his mouth for a moment, his lips wrapping around his knuckles as he sucked your taste off the thick digits, his hooded eyes took in the way you scrambled to take your sleep shorts off. 

Following your lead, he dumped everything onto the floor beside your bed, and it felt like heaven when you felt his bare skin against the inside of your thighs. So broad, so firm and strong, his body pressed you into the mattress and you felt the hot, pulsing heft of his cock pushing against your cunt. You clenched at the teasing sensation of what was to come, and reached down to grasp him, but his hand caught yours and pushed it into the bedding above your head. 

“Let me do it. I wanna watch your face when I put it in,” he confessed, resting his weight on top of you as he reached down with his other hand to guide himself in. 

Sticky slick smeared between the both of you, and when the tip of his cock forced you to bloom around him, his eyes fixed on your face. Greedily, he devoured the sight of your mouth dropping open, a tiny tiny frown appearing between your brows and he thickened inside you, pushing forward.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “It’s so much.” So much more than you ever thought it would be, even with all the months spent imagining it. 

He bottomed out and the air froze in your lungs, your cunt stuffed fuller than it’s ever been. 

“Shhh,” he soothed, staying in place to let you adjust. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re so fucking tight, baby. So tight.”

Squirming underneath him, you hitched your knees higher around his torso and he rocked his hips to slide halfway out before grinding back in with a weighted push. He gave you a minute: a tense minute, a minute thick and full of wanting, a minute where all you could focus on was the stretch of his cock and the heated bulk of his body and the firmness of his chest pressed against yours. 

He brushed his lips against yours, and gently rolled his hips. 

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this? About fucking you, in this bed?” His voice deep and breathless, it sounded overwhelmingly intimate breathed against your cheek. 

You shook your head. 

“I thought I was the only one,” you admitted. “I used to think – oh fuck – I used to think about you coming down the hallway in the night. Crawling into my bed and fucking me just like this. Just like I can hear you fuck her.”

“You listen to me fuck her?” His hips rocked forward a little faster, picking up pace. 

“I can’t help it,” you whined. “The sounds – the sounds you make. I wanted to make you make them. I wanted to be the reason.”

His fingers pushed through the hold of your own, locking your hands together above your head and he dug his knees into the bed for leverage. Your breasts shifted underneath him, bouncing lightly as he fucked into you harder and his eyes dropped down to watch. “You are, baby. You are. I think about you all the time.”

Building steadily underneath him, your head pushed back into the bedding and his mouth found your throat, his teeth scraping against the tender skin. His hips never stopping their filling grind, you pushed your fingers through his curls and when he bit down with a suck, a slurred yes slipped out of your outstretched throat. 

You imagined your mom seeing it, asking you if you went on a date with someone. 

His strokes got harder, harsher, his hips snapping against yours and digging your fingers into the soft globes of his ass, you forced him deeper. When you clenched around his thick length, he looked down at you, wrecked and desperate. 

“I wish I tasted you,” he groaned. “Next time, okay?”

You frantically nodded, unable to focus on anything but the bright, shining edge of your release. 

He could see it, feel it in the squeeze of your soaked cunt and his vision blurred around the edges, his own want building at the base of his spine. 

“You gonna come?”

You are. The sounds he’s making above you and the way he feels inside you and the scent and need rolling off his skin and those fucking pitch black eyes that have been in your dreams for months – 

Slick dripped down the curve of your ass, your hips locking up underneath him and when you came with a silent cry, he groaned deep and loud, fucking you right through it. 

“Tell me I can fucking come inside you. Say it,” he pleaded, fingers gripped on your chin to hold your gaze on his. His words punctuated by the snap of his hips, you nod your head. 

“Do it,” you whined.

Your fingers threaded through his curls, it’s the tug that you give that does it. Coming harder than he had in his fucking life, he filled your tight cunt with thick ropes of his spend. Endless, smeared over the shaft of his thick cock as he continued to pump into you because he couldn’t stop, slipping out to drip onto the delicate sheets below. 

“Christ,” he groaned, his jaw clenched as the veins in his neck strained above you, his hips stuttering. Slowing them into a languid roll against your own, his softening cock was still a thick, filling weight inside and when he looked down at you, you recognized the guilt that already flooded the brown depths. 

You stared right back, holding him tight. 

“Stay,” you murmured, holding him in place when he started to roll off of you. 

You wanted to remember this. The hot press of his skin against yours, tacky and slick with sweat. The warm gust of his breath over your lips, the rapid beat of his pulse under his flushed neck. The wild curls that stuck damply along his hairline, the brush of his fingers as he tenderly thumbed at the curve of your jaw. 

He swallowed and you could see the war in his eyes, something you recognized as being there from the start. His hand curled over the crown of your head, and you pressed a kiss to his throat. 

“You can’t –” he started, eyes fluttering shut at the press of your mouth. “You can’t tell your mom about this, okay. We can’t say anything.”

We. You reveled in the sound of the word, your head nodding underneath him. A secret to share. Something for the two of you alone. 

“I won’t,” you promised. “Just don’t leave, okay?”

You felt small and vulnerable asking, and when he looked down at you, a glimpse of the girl he imagined on that very first day tugged at his memory. Not the age he pictured of course, but the way you needed him. 

The way he wanted you to need him all along. 

His face nuzzled yours, his nose sliding across your cheek. A kiss pressed against the soft, youthful curve of your cheek that he had admired for months, he nodded with your sweet taste still lingering on his tongue. 

“I won’t, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎWildflower꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: pregnancy, angst pairing: peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: an accident leaves you reeling trying to figure out what happens next author’s note: got this one out quick, hope it's good <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Summer was rearing its head once again and the more time passed, the less you were sure what to make of it.

In the pocket of enchantment you'd found yourself in a year ago, this would have been something beautiful. The passing of days was a gift, and each one brought forth something new, something worth cupping in your palms and keeping close to your heart for all eternity.

But it was not a year ago. And you were a different woman now.

It was a hot day, the air thick with temperature. You'd been running errands in town, feet throbbing with every new step. When you spotted a bench a little bit away you motivated yourself to move to it, pace faster until you were finally able to sit. A tiny gasp of relief left you as some of the pressure was relieved. It was to be expected- you were carrying extra weight now after all.

Exhaling through your nose, your gaze lowered to your middle, a hand instantly finding the swell of it. You smoothed your dress over your belly and tried to ignore the pain slithering around your lower back, sinking its fangs in every now and then.

There was no ring on your finger, no unspoken promise to the eyes of strangers that claimed you as a man's. All you had was the child growing within, the one that had been with you for four months, almost five.

Though you held your head high, even the mere notion that you should be ashamed made you feel it. People stared and whispered, wondering how this possibly could have happened. You were tainted now with the stain of bloody rumors, of things you didn't let bother you in public but were the cause of your tears at night. Once or twice you'd even been asked what everyone was wondering outright. Who's the father?

It was a learned skill to smile politely and excuse yourself.

Now you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the cool shaded portion of the brick wall behind you. You wished you'd thought to braid your hair today- it may as well have been a fur coat sticking to your body. Just a few more minutes.

The baby inside you shifted, and you hummed, looking down as if you could see her staring back at you. Quietly you rubbed the curve. "I know. I know, we're almost done," you murmured, fingers lazily trailing up and down. Stretching your legs out, you let your feet roll at the ankle, relieving some of the pain.

There were low voices nearby. You lifted your eyes, spotting the group of men in grey uniforms carrying guns. Straightening a bit, you scanned their faces, shadowed a bit by matching helmets. All solemn, nearly alike to one another. A twinge of sadness marked your mouth as you imagined each of them, some forced into service, some destined for this life endlessly lonely.

The group paused, stationing themselves at different intervals along the street. You lowered your vision when one positioned himself near you, the gap of the nearby alleyway marking the space between you.

He kept his eyes forward and you didn't bother looking up. Time stilled for a moment as a thousand thoughts pierced the bubble of your mind. Some insane. Some worse.

Tension is nearly physical. You could feel it tying around your hands like an invisible rope. Picking up your bag at your feet, you stood and brushed your dress off, ignoring the sticky hot of your hair on your neck.

The rest had done you some good. Now the hurt in your feet was dull, replaced by a different kind in your heart. Where you had once thought that kind of pain made up, now you felt it nearly every day. You inhaled softly, turning to leave.

He was looking at you now. Face stiff, hands firmly grasping his weapon. But his eyes...bluer than the lake on a clear day. A lake you had swum in. A lake that was nearly drowning you.

Now the streets may as well have been empty, dust lapping at your ankles as the gentle breeze danced around the floor. It was eerily quiet in this part of town, any noise wafting from the square by the fountain that had long dried out.

Impulses probed at your hands but you held them down. When your eyes met his, you didn't realize your hand went to touch your belly until he looked down at it.

Emotions were a hurricane. You wanted to thrash and scream and wail and ask why. Why life was so unfair, why so much suffering was thrust upon you, and you were expected to bear it with a smile. Some days were harder than others. You hadn't thought this would be one, but suddenly it was.

Giving the man in front of you one final look, you ducked into the alleyway and walked quickly through the shortcut. Maybe he had turned around to watch you go. You doubted it.

The baby stirred again and you didn't stop to comfort her this time. It was a reminder. One that would fasten itself to you for the rest of your life. There were endless things you should have been thinking right now.

There was only one rising above the chaotic mess. You hoped your child's eyes would be the same blue as his.

The knock at the door came when it was close to sunset. You had just put your feet up, the idea of starting dinner beginning to probe your mind. Shifting so you were sitting up better, you called, "Come in!"

When he entered, boots clomping the wooden floor of your simple home, you smiled tiredly, hand falling from atop your belly. Coriolanus stopped in front of you almost nervously. He'd swapped out his stark grey uniform for his blue civvies and white short sleeved shirt. It was too hot to wear the matching button-down.

You sighed, sleepily reaching out a hand. He took it, indulging you when you pulled him to sit on the sofa at your side. The second he was sitting, you leaned into him, head on his chest, belly touching his thigh. He knew the drill, hand sliding around you to rub your back, touching the lower aches you'd once confessed to him tearfully.

"How are you?" he murmured, turning his head to press his lips to your forehead. The sweet simplicity of the gesture nearly had tears pricking your eyes like beestings. Kindnesses were few and far between these days, and they mostly sprouted from him.

Nuzzling his chest, you said, "Fine." He moved his hand from your back to your belly, still holding you around the waist. His fingers splayed out, touching the edge of it. You settled your palm on his chest, bracing yourself and rubbing the center of it. "I've missed you."

"I'm sorry." Nowadays you felt like that was all you heard from him. Apology after apology for things neither of you could control. But he took it into stride, giving you as much as he could.

It was a soldier's rule: no marriages until five years after arrival to the location. Coriolanus had hardly been here three. Before this, you'd had daydreams about marrying barefoot and young and shining, his sweetheart through and through. And even though he rarely spoke of it, you'd known he wanted it too. Someday was a common word on both your tongues.

All it had taken was one night to ruin it. One night doing something you'd done so many times before, love drunk in his arms and whispering sweet nothings between heated kisses.

It had left you with a burden. Him with a promise he couldn't fulfill before it was carried out. You both with a secret.

And so you carried it all. Grew his child by yourself, the painful loneliness swallowing any joy you may have felt otherwise. He came to you whenever he could, caught brief flashes of your changing body, of something he'd created with you blooming in the shelter of your belly.

You knew he hated it. Hated missing so much and only being able to experience it for hours at a time. You hated it too, how much you needed him when he wasn't there. This had been a far off fantasy but now you were stuck with it.

Now, as he gazed down at you, you could read the hint of guilt tinting his eyes. He carried much of it, your Coryo, for a vast majority of things in his short life. You wished you could sweep it all away with a touch, a kiss, a smile. But all you could do was push it under the rug, later to be uncovered.

He lifted his hand to your face, and you leaned into his warm palm, not breaking your eyes from his. Coriolanus' other hand smoothed up and down your waist. His words were quiet. "You're so beautiful."

You didn't feel beautiful right now. The weight you'd gained, the pain on your insides piercing your sky like lightning in the oceanic turmoil of your heart. It was a mess. But the way he looked at you, you almost believed it.

With a small smile, you clasped his wrist, carefully bringing the hand down to your lips and kissing his knuckles. "I love you."

"I love you." He said it like a promise, a vow. You knew those three words, casual to some, weren't at all for him. Love was a commitment. It was more sacred to him than 'I do'. You knew all this, keeping it in mind whenever you told him.

Shifting, you moved to get up, but he stopped you, bracing a hand over your back. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"I was about to get something to eat," you said, stretching your arms out forward. "Just to keep me going until dinner."

"Let me." He was standing before you could protest, heading into the kitchen. You heard cupboards opening and shutting, the domesticity of the sound making you smile. He was always eager to jump up and help you since your time together was so little. And you never minded because it gave you time to pretend. For a moment you could pretend that this was your life.

You could imagine that whenever he came home, he would stay.

In practically no time he was returning to you with a bowl in hand, one of the pretty china ones with blue patterns on the outside that your mother had left you in her passing. A silver fork stuck out of it, and you peered inside when he brought it to you. Strawberries, neatly sliced and dusted with sugar.

You smiled like sunburst and took the bowl from him, leaning over to kiss his cheek when he sat back down, dutifully rewinding his arm around you. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He was absentmindedly stroking the side of your belly again, soothing the need that hollowed out a space when he wasn't there.

It was a haven of silence as you sat there with him, eating your berries and relaxing into his arms. He took the bowl when you finished, leaning forward to set it on the table. The sun was setting right outside the window and peeking through the thin lace of your curtains. You watched it quietly, dreading every second that passed. The further the sun ran, the closer at hand his departure was.

You could feel it before he began to unknot himself from you, taking his arm away and beginning to stand. But you sucked in a sharp breath, grasping at his arm. "Don't."

In his voice you could practically hear the lines cracking his heart like spiderwebs. "I have to. Sweetheart..." You shook your head, breaths growing quicker. Tears clawed at your throat, and you tried not to let it show.

"Please," you breathed, clasping your hand in his. "Don't leave me. I need you-" A little sob cut you off as you imagined the night ahead, lying by yourself. Fighting the hurt your body radiated all the while missing him and fruitlessly wishing he was here.

Coriolanus knelt in front of you, taking your face in his hands. He thumbed away a tear that slipped from the corner of your eye, his own never leaving yours. You sniffled, holding his wrists. "I can't do this without you-" your voice was high and hitching on every word. It was so much harder to be brave at night.

"Shh, my love." He smoothed your hair away from your face, just taking you in. Your breaths were shivering and shaky, and he let his hands fall to your shoulders, standing up. You looked up at him helplessly as he bent to kiss your forehead, holding you on your cheek. "It's going to be okay. I'll be back when I can."

"Stay," you tried, but he merely shook his head once, pushing your face to his chest. You breathed him in, holding him by his shirt and crying breathily. He stroked your hair gently and kissed the top of it once before his fingers fell from your skin like a leaf in autumn.

"Take care of her. Stay safe," he whispered, bending to press his lips to yours once, fleetingly. Your mouth was turned down, and he brushed two tears from your cheeks.

Reluctantly he pried himself from you and in an instant he was gone, the door shutting punctuated by the lonely sound of his footsteps becoming fainter the further he walked away.

Now it was dark, the shadows of your home swallowing everything. You had a dim idea to light a candle, but it was lost to the pits of your despair. Sometimes you wondered if he should stop coming, so you wouldn't miss him as badly.

The lonely sounds of the night were hollow in your ears. Grass rustled lightly against itself, and the house creaked every now and then as if shifting on its feet. You were perfectly still, feeling as though you were drowning.

For just a moment you wondered if you could just disappear. Let your body wither away into nothingness, or have the earth swallow your house as if it were never there. Your memory would be lost to time eventually and all the hardship you had been through would be nothing. You fantasized endlessly about it being nothing. Because it definitely didn't feel like that right now.

Inside you, the baby moved, and you could almost imagine her stretching. She had been still the entire time her father had been beside you. Your heart stopped at the thought of her meeting him for the first time, reaching up with tiny hands. Of her having his hair, his mouth, his eyes.

Taking in a slow breath, you let your final tear fall, a dot on your dress. Planting your feet on the ground, you stood, carefully making your way into the kitchen to find a candle. One step at a time.

Each step meant he would come back to you sooner.

[talekinesis]

Random Gravity Falls Headcanons

Stan

This guy smokes to help deal with the stress of everything. He picked up the habit after he was kicked out by his father and hasn't quit since. He used to be a chainsmoker but after getting to look after the kids for the summer, he drastically cut back and is actually thinking of quitting altogether because he wants to be around long enough to watch Mabel and Dipper grow up

Actually a pretty decent cook, it's just baking he sucks at. With cooking you can sort of eyeball the ingredients and add more or less depending on your own personal taste, but with how strict baking is with its ingredients, he never really picked it up. He's only baked a cake twice in his life, once for his mom when he was a kid, with the help of Ford, and once for the kids' birthday (it was lopsided and runny and they decided to just go out for pancakes instead)

He can play the guitar really well. He had to teach himself how to play when he was young and homeless, playing for tips. He still has his original guitar and occasionally, on a good day, will get it out and play it. He played it once for Mabel, who, for once in her life, actually sat still and listened

Part of his daily routine is kicking gnomes out of the trash because they keep trying to eat leftovers. He just bats them off with a broom like they're raccoons

He grew up a huge mama's boy since she was the only supportive parent he had. After he got kicked out of the house, he called her from a pay phone a couple times to ask to come back home and to wish her a happy birthday. To this day he still makes it a point to get a cupcake on her birthday since he can't celebrate it with her, and sometimes he'll tell the kids stories about her, like how she would have loved Mabel since Mabel has all these different unique sweaters, and his ma used to collect different, big, unique earrings

Stan coaches Mabel in boxing, and actually helped her discover a passion for it, he attends all of her matches. He even taught her a couple illegal moves that she can't use in the ring but can use in real self defense

Even in his early 60s, he still thinks it's funny to bother Ford as if they were still kids. He'll randomly snatch his glasses off his face (forgetting that he also wears glasses and Ford can retaliate), he'll just start copying Ford and repeat what he says, he once even dressed up as Ford, but it didn't last very long because Ford wears a much smaller size of pants, and Stan has a bit of a gut on him. He changed after about five or ten minutes.

He's a die-hard fan of Chappell Roan

He's actually the more responsible of the Stan-Twins. He breaks laws sure, but he always makes sure everyone is fed and safe. He's like this close 🤏 to putting Ford and Mabel on leashes when they go out because they have a tendency to run off

"I'd like to make an announcement to the store, I lost someone." "Oh, did your kid run off?" "My 60 year old brother, yeah. No he doesn't have a cellphone."

Has a biological kid out there somewhere but the mom cut him off. I just think the scene where he said, "Scary movies are great, the girl cuddles up next to ya... next thing you know you gotta raise a kid.. And your life falls apart.." sounded too much like he was speaking from experience and not as a hypothetical. He wants so badly to be a dad though and regrets not keeping contact. (let me know if I should make an oc for this :] )

Ford

He can't eat doritos or any triangle shaped chip because one time Bill hid inside a chip bag just to startle him

It took him a while to adjust to this dimension's laws of physics. He was frustrated for a while that he couldn't just leave his coffee floating in the air. He broke three mugs and one of them was Stan's.

Despises pickles as if he held a personal grudge against them. He hates them an irrational amount, and even gets irritated with Stan for just having them in the house. He acts like a child about it too, arms crossed and everything. "Here, Poindexter, you want me to take the pickles off your sandwich? Like a child?" "Don't bother, the meal's ruined >:( "

He gets sucked into those soap operas that Stan watches, and will sometimes watch from the doorway or over his shoulder. He won't admit it, but Stan knows.

He lights his face on fire because he saw someone else do it in a different dimension where that was normal

Unlike Stan, he's actually amazing at baking (he likes to follow precise measurements and instructions) But sucks at cooking. Caught a pot of water on fire.

When he first discovered the shape shifter, he kept it as a pet because he found it cute, but ended up letting it go when he found out it had a human-like sentience and could speak. But for a while he raised it the same way Mabel raises Waddles, putting it in little shirts, hats, and just absolutely adoring it

Used to play 'Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons' with a group in college as the DM, and it was the first time he actually had a friend group. The other players loved the way he set things up

Doesn't like alchohol. At least from this dimension, he got used to alternate dimension alchohols that tasted way better, so when he came back to Earth everything tasted way too strong and almost like dirt to him so he just quit

Used to know a little banjo since Fiddleford taught him but forgot it while in other dimensions

Used to babysit Tate on occasion and sucked at it

He also used to babysit Shermie and *also* sucked at it. He'd have to pass him off to Stan if he got fussy or started crying since only Stan and their mom could calm him down

• Used to play David Bowie in his lab and would occasionally lip sync or dance to it. Even when traveling dimensions, he'd introduce David Bowie music to the people, creatures, and beings he met, until he lost the cassette tape and was devastated

Mabel

Allergic to chocolate and makes up for it by eating way too much of other candies. She still tries to eat it though because "Maybe I'm not allergic anymore," but Dipper has to stop her. Stan even makes it a point not to keep chocolate in the Shack when they visit because he knows Mabel is a heathen with little self preservation. It's not epi-pen bad, but it will burn and itch her throat and get her coughing (Ford will use chocolate substitutes when baking for her and Dipper)

She likes to tell people that she and Dipper were originally two of three, and that she ate their triplet in the womb to become stronger. This is not true.

She wants to be a big sister really bad and sometimes that comes out onto Dipper despite him only being 5 minutes younger, much to his dismay and protest

She found a passion for boxing after Stan taught her how, and even asked her parents to let her start doing it as a sport, which she got really into. Coincidentally, after she picked up boxing, Gideon suddenly left her alone completely. Future Headcanon: She grows up to box professionally and one day even faces Grenda in the ring, but there's obviously a mutual respect between them. They agreed ahead of time that if they ever had to face each other, neither of them would hold back and it would be a fair match. Even after there's a winner, they meet up afterward and go out for dinner with Candy, who posts their matches to social media. Waddles is her mascot.

Mabel makes even more friends when she returns home from Gravity Falls because she takes Waddles for walks on a leash and it's a pretty good conversation starter

She is convinced that if she eats all the ingredients for a cake, she'll have successfully made a cake in her stomach. Once again, Dipper has to physically stop her from doing this. Ford does too, the first time he heard her say this (through a mouthful of flour) he went, "That certainly is an interesting theory, Mabel, but no-"

Dipper

Let's get it out of the way, I really like the 'Trans Dipper' headcanon. It just fits really well and I, as a trans person, can relate to him a lot

I think he knows how to dance a little because his mom taught him and used to take him to 'Mother-Son' events

He secretly keeps a tally of how many times Mabel rolls herself out of bed because it always wakes him up but he also kind of thinks it's funny because she just sleeps through it. Even if they don't share rooms back at home, he can always here the distance "thunk" of his sister hitting the floor. The tally isn't a sheet of paper, it's a small notebook with multiple pages filled in

He sometimes gets the courage to try and roughhouse with Stan, who is always on board but purposely takes it easy on the kid because he's like "baby bird" fragile

Dipper was the one to break the news to his Grandpa Shermie that Stanley was still alive and Stanford was actually missing for 30 years with Stan taking his place, almost giving the poor man a heart attack. (Shermie ended up booking a flight to Gravity Falls to yell at his brothers in person because that's not a conversation you can have over the phone)

Dipper was the one to introduce Stan to Chappell Roan by accident, but now they listen to her if they're in the car together

his DD&MD character is a female orc fighter named Yotula and he got very excited to info-dump about her to Ford (who was equally as excited to listen)

Has an odd addiction to chocolate milk. He makes a glass of chocolate milk at least once a day. Twice if it's been a rough day. He actually gets a little upset if he misses his daily cup of chocolate milk, its just routine. Stan one time made an offhand joke that since Mabel's allergic, Dipper has to consume twice as much for the both of them, but Mabel took that seriously and now to her its just the truth.

[shahaddahlan0]

"About some dreams that faded!!"

From the peak of strength to the depths of despair. I once built bodies, now I'm lost, hungry, homeless and searching for a handful of safety… but my spirit still fights. !!

My name is Shahad Dahlan, I am thirty years old, married to the kindest and most beautiful person in the world, my love “Hassan”, and on the twenty-third of next November we will have spent the most beautiful ten years together, full of love, loyalty and sacrifice. I will say that we “used to” live in our small house in a small village called Al-Qarara. This area is located between the city of Khan Yunis and Deir al-Balah, in the middle opposite what is known as the cursed Kissufim checkpoint. But now we are trying to stand firm between its destroyed walls and the surrounding rubble, but it’s okay, we are still alive and there is still hope.

My husband and I had a beautiful love story. We loved each other sincerely, and that always gave me a sense of comfort and security. Finding the right partner for your life is a rare and precious thing. We’re close in age he’s 34, and I’m only a few years younger.

We don’t have children yet, but there’s a story I find strange that happened precisely around this time last year. I shared it with one of the previous updates alone, as it deserves its own story.

Despite our differences in some hobbies, we were very compatible. Even those around us said we looked alike! Haha.

I’m a naturally moody and energetic person, and I love life in all its details. What captivated me most was the morning; I loved it in all seasons. I loved waking up to the sound of birdsong and contemplating the sky when it was blue, dotted with piles of white clouds that looked like pieces of cotton. It made me feel like my day would be full of energy, full of the beautiful things I love, and full of life.

I had a great time, reading, singing sometimes, and playing my simple guitar, which I’d learned to play on YouTube. I wasn’t a professional, but I enjoyed it when I was bored. I also always listened to music, and I loved it loud and clear! I loved pop music, and I had a complete sound system in every corner of the living room. Music, for me, wasn’t just a hobby; it was essential, as if it ran through my blood! Like something administered intravenously! Hahaha.

I spent most of my day alone, which wasn’t a bad thing at all; I saw it as a valuable time to myself. My husband worked in interior design and decoration, which he had always been creative at. I don’t deny his amazing talent.

He would go out every day from 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.

As for me, six years earlier, I had finished my university studies in physical education and sports. My plan that kept coming to mind after university was to go to Egypt and pursue postgraduate studies, perhaps even a PhD in physical education. You never know, maybe I would have achieved something big in the future.

After completing university, as you know, employment opportunities in Gaza are extremely scarce, but I didn’t sit idly by.

I participated in numerous courses in my field, such as gymnastics and karate. I hated only one thing: swimming, to the point that I failed the swimming subject twice. I would pass the theoretical part and fail the practical part, Lol.

I joined various teams: baseball and volleyball. A group of my classmates and I were nominated to the Sports Academy and the Palestinian Volleyball Federation to referee volleyball after participating in specialized refereeing courses. We participated in events and matches held at the schools and universitys levels.

I worked part-time in several clubs and gyms, and I was also employed on a monthly contract within UNRWA programs at children’s summer camps. I also received numerous certificates, awards, medals, and shields.

You may be surprised when I tell you that I worked in a field completely different from my specialty “three years before the war.” I was hired to write content, edit, and publish. Yes, although this wasn’t my specialty, I enrolled in several writing and freelance courses and passed the job test and interview. I knew I had a talent for writing content and expressing myself.

When I received the email informing me that I had been accepted for the job, I felt as if I owned the whole world! It was a precious and unforgettable moment. I worked in this field for more than two years, rotating between writing scientific content, international news, and sports, in addition to editing. I then obtained proofreading and publishing licenses. I felt as if I was advancing step by step, as if I was being promoted!

Although my work was partly in the office, I completed it from home, sitting for hours in front of my personal computer. I never felt bored. I would put on my headphones, turn up the music, and start writing. For me, there is no accomplishment without music. That’s who I am.

This was my favorite job, and the last one I had before the war. I will never forget the office where I worked, or rather belonged to. It was called “palteam.” I had a wonderful time there, learned a lot, and enjoyed the company of my colleagues. It was an enriching job in every sense of the word, in addition to providing me with a good income.

But the war came and changed everything. That world became a thing of the past, perhaps even impossible.

I don’t know, my friend…

Yes, I had many hobbies that I wished to pursue freely, and dreams that I was waiting for to come true, or at least to be fulfilled. But Gaza wasn’t the most suitable place for them. I don’t know if it was the occupation that tries to rob us of even the air we breathe, or the restrictions imposed by customs, traditions, and religion.

I won’t hide the truth: I don’t abide by these restrictions much, especially when it comes to my life and hobbies. I’ve always given myself the right to live as I please, to experience life as I see it, especially since I’m still in the prime of my youth.

I love skating. I learned it from a young age. My mother made sure to provide me and my brother, who is a year younger than me, with skates. It’s been our favorite sport since we were little. I usually love all kinds of sports, anything that involves movement and excitement. Even my mind is full of thoughts. That’s why I think I might suffer from Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) in some way! I love cycling and have participated in many races here in Gaza. They used to organize an annual youth marathon, along with many other events recently, all held on Rashid Street in the port area.

There were a large number of young men and women participating together… We had begun to live, breathe, and dream.

But it seems the occupier doesn’t even want us to breathe. !! 💔

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , ( #502 ) & @bilal-salah0

GAZA 🇵🇸🍉🌿

[pmpmyread]

an exercise in expression

It’s always eluded you, always sat just beyond your reach, so you persuade yourself that the combination of words that accurately conveys what it is like to be loved by Nanami Kento simply doesn’t exist.

You’re firmly convinced now, so you’ve long since abandoned the absolute fool’s errand it was to define a feeling that is as intangible as it is potent.

Only if your life were on the line, would you dare attempt to describe it as a presence characterized by a wonderful tapestry of innate dualities, not unlike the polarity that underlies your union.

To the casual observer, Nanami operates at one speed, belongs to one temperate climate. Gathered over several years of close partnership, your observations are anything but casual.

So a presence then, one that is both safe and untamed, both reserved and passionate.

The only man your heart has ever moved for in earnest carries a cool melancholy, one that betrayed the weight of the heavy, unspoken burdens that still weigh heavily on him, burdens you want to take off and throw away, but not before developing a deep understanding for them as a bridge to understanding their carrier.

Because you do make it your life’s mission to consistently unearth his radiant warmth, manifested in the sun that forms his understated yet unparalleled sense of witty humor, one that has you chuckling days, weeks after you’ve first been exposed to its rays.

There are moments where you see it clear as day, in the depth of his steady gaze: the introspective awareness with which he listens as you rant about something or the other. It is his unique quiet steadiness, carrying the fidelity of a metronome, that keeps you grounded on the days you need it the most.

And yet there also is this dormant, subdued turmoil that occasionally comes roaring to the surface, after a close call or an encounter with a cursed spirit that bears too close a resemblance to an echo from the painful past. There manifests a certain resignation in his tone, a certain air of deference in his posture that paints the complicated relationship between Nanami and the concept of impermanence. They’re the moments where you step up, where you show up as his anchor, your reciprocal calibration to his temper acts as your renewed declaration of love.

Sometimes you close your eyes, and you let your sensations take over, your hand moves, it extends forward, and you imagine Kento holding it. Most times, it’s just this, imagining his touch, how familiar it feels, how effortlessly it brings you home. Sometimes, it’s the memory of the first time he held it, the memory of a scorching summer, of a busy market, of his hand slipping into yours, leading you through a busy crowd. No matter where this maladaptive dream starts, the destination is always the same: safety.

Perhaps the reason why your memory automatically flits to this particular phantom feeling, whenever you feel the early pangs of inadequacy set its roots within you on a random day at work is the same reason why you find yourself making a grab for his hand today, unprompted, as you sit next to him one quiet evening pulling his attention from his computer screen. You squeeze his hand once, and he squeezes it twice, just like you knew he would.

Perhaps this is the closest you come to defining, wordlessly, the feeling of being loved by Nanami Kento.

[dragonmama76]

Beginnings

Part One Interlude Part Two Part Three

As Eddie held the broken bottle against Steve’s neck, Steve was preternaturally calm.  If asked, he would explain that he had been expecting this for years.  Today was the day that Eddie Munson was finally going to kill him.  He had fought monsters human and decidedly not human, but he always knew deep down that Eddie Munson would be the one to finally end it all.

*****************

Eddie Munson was a late bloomer and spent his freshman year scrawny and shy. It didn’t help that he was into all kinds of nerd stuff and got bullied relentlessly.  He fancied himself a keen observer of people, though, and over the summer he plotted out a multi step plan to survive high school like it was one of the Dungeons & Dragons campaigns he loved to create.  

First, he spent the summer getting stronger.  He didn’t work out exactly, but he was able to get a summer job as a house painter and by the end he was hauling paint cans up and down ladders like it was nothing.  It also didn’t hurt that puberty finally kicked in and he grew almost a foot.  

Next, he used his newfound cash to update his wardrobe.  Instead of trying to compete with the preppy jocks who tormented him, he went the other way.  He scoured the thrift shops for as much black as he could find and rounded it out with t-shirts from his favorite metal bands.  Black work boots, chains, and a pocket knife became his standard accessories and when Wayne took him to Indy before the start of school he scored a black leather jacket at a nicer second hand store.  Freshman orientation was coming and it would be time to put the final parts of his plan into motion.

The day the freshman came to tour the high school and get their schedules, Eddie was ready.  He leaned against a tree watching the new kids coming and going.  There were a few he clocked as fellow outcasts and nerds and took note.  He would approach them carefully when school started for real.  But at that moment he was waiting for something special.  And then it happened.  A group of three teens made their way to the gym doors, two boys and a girl, dressed like money grew on trees.  One of the boys was taller, more confident, with impeccably styled hair, and best of all, he carried a basketball like he knew what to do with it.  Target acquired.

Steve Harrington’s stomach was all tied up in knots.  He was nervous to be finally starting high school.  Tommy H. and Carol were chattering away but he couldn’t even hear them over the sound of his racing thoughts.  His dad had made it clear what he expected from Steve’s high school career and what the consequences would be if he didn’t follow through.  He doesn’t know what the hell he is doing, but at least maybe if followed his dad’s plan he would finally be proud of him. So he kept his head held high and imagined himself to be that guy.  Fake it ‘til you make it, right?  As he reached the gym door he felt eyes on him and glanced over to see the prettiest guy he had ever seen watching him.  As their eyes met, the boy scowled at him.  Steve winced and stumbled through the door.  What could he possibly have done to piss that guy off already?  “Not a good start, Steve,” he thought as the trio entered the school.  

Steve’s first few weeks of high school would have been pretty great if it wasn’t for his personal bully.  He landed a spot on the varsity basketball team, his teachers were nice enough to explain things twice if he had a question, and even though Tommy H. and Carol were officially dating now, they still included him in almost everything they did.  But when he was walking by himself in the halls, that older kid was always there either glaring or smirking at him.  He actually outright tripped him twice, once into a row of lockers.  Steve apologized at first, thinking maybe he had been at fault for bumping into him or something, but the guy had laughed at him and made some comment about dumb jocks better watch out.  Steve didn’t want to push back.  No matter what personal philosophy his dad ascribed to, Steve didn’t think violence was the answer.  He quickly figured out that the guy only seemed to target him when he was alone, though, so Steve started asking some of the girls in his classes if he could walk them to their next class.  They seemed to like that, and Steve was getting tired of being a third wheel all the time, so he asked a few out on double dates with his friends.  At least his dad would be happy, Steve was already getting a reputation as a ladies man.

Eddie was having the best year ever. Training this jock to be afraid of him, instead of the other way around, was a treat.  Eddie wasn’t a bad kid.  If anyone had called him out on bullying he would have been shocked.  This was a preemptive strike.  This was the ultimate battle of nerd versus jock.  This was war.  And Eddie was winning.  You didn’t have to be a genius to see that this Steve kid was asking for it.  His attitude, his clothes, his HAIR, and his, not at all surprising to Eddie, wild success with the female population of Hawkins High all confirmed that he needed to be taken down a peg.  And in the meantime, Eddie had gathered a crew of freshman nerds to spend time with and mold in his image.  He only needed one more element to complete his campaign against the jocks of Hawkins: A public confrontation.

Steve was starting to become complacent.  His plan to never be alone was working and while the scary kid following him around continued to make his presence known, at least he wasn’t pushing him anymore.  So he thought.  Except one afternoon in the cafeteria Steve’s luck ran out.  He had been balancing his tray on one hand while escorting his most recent conquest with the other when something slammed into him upending the tray of spaghetti.  Tears filled his eyes as the noise around him dimmed.  Why was this happening to him?  He tried to be nice to everyone.  He didn’t start fights or talk shit about people, even when Carol was at her bitchiest.  Why couldn’t he just fly under the radar?  As he looked up to see all eyes on him, the only noise that registered was the loud cackle from the boy next to him.  “I thought you jocks had better balance than that,” sneered his bully.  All the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head and he tried to stay calm, but when he glanced over and saw Lila covered in sauce something snapped.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Steve shouted.  

“Me?” challenged the boy, “Not my fault you’re as clumsy as all get out.”  

Steve didn’t like to fight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.  He pushed the taller boy and advanced on him fists clenched tight.  When he got close, a low voice rumbled, “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” as the kid opened his jacket to reveal a knife clenched in his other hand.  Steve’s eyes were wide as he backed away.  “You’re a fucking freak, you know that?  Leave me alone! And leave my friends alone!”  Steve was just posturing at this point, but he kept a healthy distance between them since he sure as hell wasn’t getting in a knife fight, even if they were surrounded by spectators.  

“I AM a freak, and don’t any of you forget it!”  the boy shouted, “And you’d better be afraid if you know what’s good for you.”  

Just then the doors opened and the vice principal walked in. 

“Problems?” he demanded sternly.  

“No, sir,” Steve backed down completely.  “No problems here.” 

 “What about you, Munson?” a steely glare was directed at his adversary. 

 “No problemo.  I was just apologizing to King Steve here for bumping into him.”  The boys separated and Steve escorted Lila to their table, offering to grab extra napkins and helping to calm her down.  

“Nice going, King Steve,” Tommy H. cackled as they sat down.  “Have you ever, just once, won a fight?” 

“Shut it, Tommy.” Steve replied, “You didn’t see it.  That freak actually had a knife.  Stay away from him, he’s crazy and I dunno why but he hates me.”  No one commented when his voice broke at those last words.  “I think you were very brave,” whispered Lila and Steve suddenly felt a little better.

While Steve had beat a hasty retreat, Eddie sauntered over to his usual lunch table with his freshman friends and held his head high. He could feel the guarded looks and shot a feral grin to a group of kids who dared make eye contact. It was the best day of Eddie’s life so far.  He had sealed his reputation as a dangerous freak and he intended to own it every day for the rest of high school.  It would keep his little nerds and outcasts safe, even if he had to keep up the act for the next few years.

[lo1k-diamonds]

Unique 💜 Part 2 - Chapter 3

“I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn't pushed you away.”

PAIRING: idol!Namjoon x OFC

SUMMARY: It's a year later when Angie decides to visit Hyejin, both women looking to get away from their problems. But a certain group is just pausing their tour, and old feelings are rekindled when their paths cross.

WORD COUNT: 4.1 k

GENRE: old lovers to ?

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: angst and arguing, but it's Yoongi x another OC

A.N. I'm uploading Part 2 every day as I edit it 💜 The main story is about Namjoon and Angie, but there's a second storyline with Yoongi and Hyejin, who finally confronts him in this chapter 💜 (thank you for the new look, @eerieedits)

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Part | Next Part >

Angie rolled belly up, still asleep, and something came to rest near her shoulder. She could have been dreaming of the fresh, citrus, and woody scent, but not the arm that covered her stomach and pulled her close, so she smiled. Instantly, sleeping wasn’t half as interesting as waking up and seeing him. Namjoon had his eyes closed, face cheeky and puffy as he breathed slowly.

She looked at him for a moment, letting the ease and comfort slip in. They had woken up twice like that, but it had been a year already. Frankly, she never expected it to happen again, and now that it had, she smiled. There was a warmth she only ever found in his arms, and it was soothing to feel again.

She wasn’t surprised when he pulled her closer, eyes barely open but falling on hers instantly. That was all she needed to know that he felt the same way as her, and she leaned in to touch foreheads. That moment was so slow and tender, and she never wanted it to end.

He tangled their legs and nuzzled her nose in what felt like a good morning, and she smiled and held him too. For a long while, she thought they would doze off like that, holding each other and breathing close with their foreheads connected. But she was thirsty, and the spark of excitement inside her chest made it hard for her to sleep, so she got up slowly and quietly. She got comfortable, drinking water and brushing her teeth calmly before nearing the bed again.

The summer weather made it so she didn’t bother to put clothes back on. As soon as she placed a knee on the bed, he instantly raised a hand for her to take, inviting her back into his arms. She didn’t have to think twice, especially when she noticed he was sulking a little.

She cuddled up to him, and he sighed. “Thought I was dreaming.”

She smiled and brushed the hair out of his face in sweet caresses. “All real.”

She could see in his dark brown eyes, astutely waking up and observing her, that he believed her. He looked contemplative, with perfectly smooth skin and no traces or lines of doubt. Meanwhile, she couldn’t stop smiling, happy in their little cocoon.

When he brushed her blonde hair aside, she leaned in closer, and he naturally guided her to his lips. He needed that kiss as soon as possible. Not because they were in a hurry, but because he had realized that time was fickle. One week sounded like a lot, but it would pass in the blink of an eye, and all he would have would be memories. He had better make many, many more, then.

Kissing him always filled her heart and left her adrift in amazing ways. She was happy and cuddly, falling deeper and closer as their skins touched and sparked up. Her hands kept tracing his shoulders and chest happily, but he dared to go lower and further. She gasped in their kiss when his hand ventured between her legs, but he only held her gaze and suckled on her lower lip. He was focused and determined, and she smiled right before his touch had her closing her eyes. He knew instantly how to touch her, thumb drawing slow yet rough circles around her clit so good her fingers gripped his shoulders for support.

She was starting to squirm, eyes looking at him through her eyelashes with nothing but growing desire, when a ring echoed in the room. She frowned slightly, and he instantly closed his eyes with a huff overflowing with exasperation.

She could see in him no willingness to stop what they were doing to get that call if only by his fingers still moving between her legs, but she pursed her lips. It was as though their bubble had burst, and now she couldn’t erase the thought that he was expected elsewhere.

He could read her thoughts through her expression, but his mind was made up — he kissed her, making her close her eyes and focus on them. When the call timed out, he was proud of his plan, but the person called again. He stopped their kiss and heaved a deep breath. He got up and searched for his phone on the table next to the empty glasses of whiskey and the melted ice cubes in a stainless steel cup.

He picked up the phone in a hoarse voice, and she held her breath but couldn’t understand anything. Both the silences and the moments he spoke were fruitless, so she looked at the ceiling and waited. It was probably important if they insisted.

But his tone of voice suggested frustration, so her eyebrows rose and stayed raised even after he hung up and crawled back into bed to hold her again. His pulling and gripping his hair during the call must have caused it to be all over his eyes again, and she gently brushed the strands away.

“I have to go to the studio. I forgot I had things to do, and it doesn’t seem like I can get rid of them.”

“That’s okay,” her tone was as gentle as her touch, and he hugged her closer.

“I don’t want to go.”

“But you have to.”

He only took a deep breath and looked down for a moment. He wasn’t happy about it, but he couldn’t just leave everyone hanging last minute. “I do.”

“Go on, get ready first,” she suggested, sitting up. She couldn’t recall where her phone was. “I have to call Hyejin too.”

He rubbed his face before he threw the sheets away and got up. “Yeah, I should, too. I hope everything is okay with her dad.” He was putting his clothes back on while she cleared the notifications that had accumulated on her phone. “What’s the plan for today?”

“It was a spa day, but…” She pursed her lips, seeing no news from Hyejin. “I don’t know if it’s still happening, seeing Hyejin’s family needs her.”

“Yeah, maybe.” 

He was already dressed, and she reached for her t-shirt and pajama shorts to put them on. 

His phone buzzed, and he opened the message quickly, just for a sigh to exit his lips. “Right, I forgot I had to shoot— Damn, right.” He put his phone away and looked at her. “I totally forgot about today.”

She smiled though her arms crossed her chest. “It happens.”

“Today will be impossible, but you said a week, so…”

He stopped near the door and turned to her. She looked up at him and leaned on the nearby wall. “Yeah. Well, you know where I’ll be, so.”

He focused on her expression and only nodded briefly while she smiled, opening her arms to ask for a hug. He instantly held her, raising her from the floor a little before kissing her slowly and long, making sure nothing was left unsaid.

When he pulled away, she had to force herself to open her eyes and exit the Namjoon-induced haze. He brushed her cheek once and left, and she felt something at the bottom of her stomach.

She reentered the bedroom, stopping by the bed, and saw the bottle of whiskey but it wasn’t that. She was hungry for sure, but when she faced the rumpled sheets, her stomach twisted, and she understood. She was uneasy. She liked being in control and when the lines of communication were clear, but that wasn’t the case. They had no form of communication, and Namjoon knowing where she was staying was not enough. It was one-sided, told her nothing about the future, and she hated the idea of just sitting around and waiting.

No, there was no way she was doing that. That vacation was for her, not to wait around for someone. She grabbed her phone and dialed Hyejin — whatever the case, she wasn’t staying in that hotel room for long.

“Thank you, my daughter. I need a minute.”

Hyejin bowed at her dad with a small smile, then at the other man, who she knew to be an important board member, before leaving quietly. The smile stayed on her lips as she made her way to the nearby break room to get a coffee for herself. Thankfully, things worked out in the end. 

She checked her phone; first, she sent a simple message to Yoongi.

[18 ☕]

Then, she answered Angie with the latest developments. They had talked earlier in the morning, and Hyejin knew Angie understood the situation well. Now that everything was on the way to being resolved, they could finally spend time together — maybe tomorrow.

She entered the empty break room and started her search for coffee pods. 

When she heard steps behind her, her lips curved. “Do you want one too?”

“No.” Yoongi’s voice was quiet but echoed in the room at ease. She got just one cup from the cupboard and started preparing her coffee. “How was it?”

“It was good.” Her smile was more genuine now. “Father asked for an emergency board meeting and asked to be reinstated, and everyone unanimously agreed.”

Yoongi nodded as he observed her adding sugar and cream to her coffee. That morning, before that meeting, he briefly spoke with Bang PD alongside Namjoon and clarified his stance on the matter. The others agreed, too, and as their representative, Bang PD voted for them accordingly.

She turned to him, and he was relieved. Despite the circles around her eyes, her lines were gentle. He much preferred seeing her a bit more at ease; it warmed his chest.

“You're not surprised,” she commented. 

“No one thought it was his burden to bear.”

“He thought this would ruin his reputation.”

“Not after everything he has done for all of us,” he insisted, firm eyes that conveyed the ease of truth.

She smiled. “You say it so well. I wish you had gone inside yesterday to put him at ease. He would have listened to you.”

“He listened to you.”

“I had to pull the ‘I'm asking you, dad, please’ daughter card.” She chuckled, mimicking the tone she had done the night before. Minus the anguish and crying. “He respects your opinion and would have believed you in a heartbeat.”

He pressed his lips and looked at the floor for a moment. “It's not my place.”

Her smile faltered with a line between her eyebrows. “You said that yesterday, too.” She paused, musing over her words while he just looked at her. “My parents asked about you,” she decided to tell him. “They were disappointed you didn't come inside.”

“It's a difficult family moment.”

“You are family,” she insisted, the line sinking in a bit more.

“I'm not.” He shifted his weight on his feet and looked at his hand, which was taking support on the kitchen counter. “You just feel that way.”

Her eyes were glistening. “I just feel that way? First of all, my parents asked about you.”

“They're too kind.”

“Second.” Her gaze hardened, and she ignored him. “My father would have listened to you. Third, my mother would have certainly appreciated you mediating me trying to put some sense into my stupid brother's head.” She scowled briefly but continued. “Fourth, I'm pretty certain Taesun would have preferred if you were there to hold me back instead of being kicked in the balls.”

“You kicked him?”

“Should have kicked harder,” she grumbled, admonishing herself in annoyance. Then her eyes focused on Yoongi again, “And finally, I would have preferred to have your strength through it all. It’s hell holding everything together,” she confessed, rubbing her face. “Who the hell holds me?”

“Where was Nomin?”

She chuckled bitterly. “I don't know. At home, maybe? Or here? Maybe inspiration stroke. Or better, he believed working on the album was a better use of his time.”

“Have you called him?”

“You think I have time or the mind to fucking call him?” Anger was surfacing, but he kept looking at her calmly.

“It's his family—”

“Clearly he doesn't think so! And neither do you, so I don't know why I'm wasting my breath.”

The hurt was all over her face as she grabbed her coffee cup and walked to pass right by him, but he couldn’t let her go like this.

“Stop, Hyejin.”

As he stepped in front of her, his voice and gaze were firm, and she clenched her jaw. He never liked confrontations or being loud, but she was well beyond pleasantries.

“Stop what? Pointing out the truth?” He didn’t answer, and she didn’t waste a second. “You don’t consider yourself family, even when I explain point by point how much your absence is felt. You don’t care.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and he sighed. “Might as well stop pretending. I’m reaching my limit with this type of nonsense.”

“Listen to yourself,” he asked quietly, looking down at her arms before facing her again.

“Why? Did I say anything that isn’t true?”

“What do you think?” His tone had a sting of annoyance, and she just shook her head.

“When did it happen? When did you drift so far away? Did I do something to—”

“You didn’t do anything,” he sounded exasperated as he looked away.

“Fucking lie better, Yoongi.” She scoffed. “I must have done something. All of this, everything must be my fault. I don’t know where I made a mistake, but everything is falling apart. Even the people I thought would be by my side forever act like strangers now.”

His gaze was harsh now. “Nothing is your fault, especially what isn’t even happening.”

She stepped forward, coffee so tight in her hand that her fingers were white. “Just because you don’t fucking care or see a difference, it doesn’t mean I don’t! Stop dismissing me!”

“I’m not.”

She almost screamed, but instead, her eyes just flooded. Her anger turned to sadness in a heartbeat; it was just someone else she loved leaving her. And now, facing him, her heart could only weep.

She teared up and didn’t care about hiding it. “Was this happening before the tour?”

He visibly bristled, and she looked down.

“You left a year ago, and I have barely seen you since. We stopped talking. You don’t consider yourself family, you don’t tell me what you think, you—” Her voice broke down, and her eyes stayed low. “Was it me?” 

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Then it was you,” she concluded, raising her teary eyes. It hurt unbearably. “Or maybe it’s just life. Right? Just—” 

She looked away; she didn’t think it would hurt this much. She couldn’t breathe. She was so angry at everyone and everything, including him, yet now it just crushed her chest. 

But then she smiled despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. Selfishly, she never thought she’d lose him.

“Hyejin,” he called, and she trembled. “Listen—”

“No,” She wiped her tears roughly with the back of her free hand. “I don’t want to hear anything anymore.”

She tried going around him to leave, but he turned and grabbed her arm. “Stop and listen.”

She pivoted, but he was too close, and the coffee spilled on his stomach. He instantly recoiled, and she gasped, pulling his shirt from gluing to his skin and putting the cup down on the counter.

“Shit! Did I burn you?!”

She raised his shirt to examine his skin, and before he could say anything, she touched him. He flinched back, and she followed him with anxious eyes, pressing and lightly feeling his reddened skin.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s okay.”

“Don’t play fucking strong with me.”

“It wasn’t that hot anymore. " His tone hinted at no pain, and his skin was intact. Big, wide, dark eyes looked at him, and he couldn’t help the curve on his lips. Those eyes were the exact same, even ten years later.

She reached for paper towels and pulled some to dry his skin and see better, and he couldn’t abandon that thought. His heart was dead and buried, but he couldn’t let her suffer for something that wasn’t true.

“You sent me a message, and I was here instantly,” he said quietly while she pressed his skin gently again to evaluate it. He could see how focused she was and guessed she looked like that every time she evaluated someone’s skin before surgery. He had butterflies under every inch she touched. “What does that tell you?”

“I don’t know.” She let his shirt fall over his stomach again and started trying to clean the coffee from the black fabric.

“Come on,” he asked, tone calling for attention, an effort.

Inside, she just wanted to cry. She hurt him and lost him, and couldn’t seem to do anything right. But he was asking, so she wanted to try.

She thought about how fast he got there. “You didn’t want a coffee. Though I gave you one anyway.”

His lips twitched at her attempt at humor, and he stopped her agitated cleaning. “So, why am I here?”

“Are you trying to say that you care?”

“Oh, I care. You know I do.”

Her eyes welled up as they faced each other. “Maybe you never cared. You didn’t then, and surely don’t now.”

“How can you even think that?”

His tone was quiet and hurt as he let go of her hands, and she put the dirty paper towels to the side on the kitchen counter. “Ten years later, and still… This reminds me of that day,” she admitted. “I'd ask you not to push me away this time, but you already have.”

His eyes followed her as she turned around to clean the mess she had made, pouring the rest of the coffee away and washing the cup to leave everything perfectly as it was before. The seconds seemed to drag by, and it was bittersweet: sweet because he got to see her just a second more, but bitter because it was that exact feeling again. She gave him that look, and now she would disappear. She had done it before. Ten years and that feeling was exactly the same — he was losing her again.

It seemed inevitable, and he thought he was ready to let it happen again. But then his thoughts slipped out his mouth, “I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn't.” She turned back to face him with a frown. “Pushed you away.”

She turned away to get a towel and dry the cup. “Why would you wonder about that?”

“I find that it’s okay to reminisce sometimes.”

She turned to face him again with a frown, but he stayed put. His hurt wouldn’t surface so easily, he had spent years hiding it. Although, looking at hers, he regretted letting anything pass his mouth. He didn’t want to hurt her or to make it worse. He was suffering by himself, and that was how it should be.

She silently placed the cup in the cupboard while she tried sorting her thoughts. She compared that situation to the past, but she was at a loss. They never spoke of it; they pretended it never happened.

“You’re talking… about ten years ago?” she asked, and he nodded. “You reminisce about that?” Another nod. “Why would you?”

His lips twitched to hide a smile, but then he looked around, finding words. “You never wonder about decisions you’ve made?”

“Only the ones I regret.”

Her expression was harsh, and he smiled at the accusation in her eyes.

“Why? Why did you do it?” she asked.

“I wanted you to be happy.”

Her coldness morphed into pain and confusion as her eyes stayed on him. He didn’t have the guts to brave it, he never did. But maybe because his heart was latching onto the only chance it ever had to speak up, he added something.

“You’ll always be… a unique person to me.”

Her hands instantly gripped one another to hide her shiver, but she couldn’t hide her glistening eyes. Her chest burned, and she wasn’t sure it was pain; it felt like something else. She didn’t know what it was, but she couldn’t stop. Not now. “What are you saying right now?”

The eagerness in her beautiful eyes made him suddenly realize what was happening — he was a breath away from saying something that would make everything fall apart. Ten years before or now, it didn’t matter. He had lost his chance. 

“Never mind,” he muttered, reaching for more paper towels to clean himself absentmindedly. He’d do anything to stay in her life, even as an estranged friend.

“No, answer me,” she asked firmly. Yet at his lack of reply, agitation started shaking her. “What are you saying right now? What does that mean?” 

Her voice wavered, but he just finished what he was doing and threw all the paper towels away. 

The thought of everything breaking apart again made her snap. “Fuck, Yoongi, am I even anything to you?! There you go, pushing me away again!”

She was going to grab his hands so he’d stop right there in front of her, but he dodged them by holding her head firmly. She gasped mutely and finally faced him head-on — his eyes were wet and red, and his chin quivered as he spoke quietly.

“You’re everything to me. Don’t say shit like that.”

She gripped his hands with revolt all over her reddening expression. “What shit?! I need to scream and get mad at you to get a response! Why do you push me away like this? How am I everything to you when you don’t even talk to me?”

Tears instantly overflowed as her emotions shook everything out of her. His chest hurt. His thumbs brushed her cheeks softly. “I do. I do talk to you. Please, don’t cry.”

She tried hiding and looking away, but he didn’t let her. He couldn’t see her crying; it wounded his already bruised heart. But if she had to cry, he would face it.

She sobbed, unable to wipe her tears. “Why do you push me away?”

“I don’t,” he said gently. “I’m right here.”

Her nails sank into the skin of his hands. “You’ll disappear again.” 

He shook his head. “I won’t.”

She leaned forward, tears falling like a waterfall. “You just hate me now.”

“I don’t.”

“I did something, and you won't tell me what.”

Her forehead was so close that he couldn’t resist pressing his lips to it. “You didn’t do anything, I promise.”

“I don’t understand you,” she cried, pressing his hands flush to her cheeks.

“I know,” he whispered, lips glued to her forehead.

Until she sniffled and moved away to face him. “If I’m everything, then—”

The question didn’t leave her mouth, it didn’t need to. They were so close she could see the lights in his eyes and the soft lines full of tenderness. Her chest was hurting and drowning, yet instantly it felt scorching again in their proximity. And it wasn’t pain, she knew it wasn’t. Something else was drying her cry, watering her mouth, and wobbling her legs.

She was the first to look at his lips, her twitching in anticipation. When she looked back up, his eyes were still stuck on her mouth. They lingered for a moment longer, so long that her heart was about to explode. When he finally looked back into her eyes, she had no doubts about what that burning was. Everything inside her was a disgruntled turmoil, yet her want was absolutely clear.

His dark eyes stayed on her, thumbs caressing her drying cheeks as if he didn’t want to move away. 

She sucked a breath between trembling lips. “I’m not that kind of person.”

“I know.” His eyes roamed her face once more before setting on the gaze of the woman he had been in love with since always. “Always knew.”

After one last brush over her cheeks, he lowered his hands. Then he stepped back, losing her grip and gaze as she understood what his withdrawing meant. He waited for her to gain the courage to face him again so he could give her a reassuring nod before leaving the room.

His chest was torn, and his emotions went in every direction, but he took a deep breath as he walked to his studio room. He knew how it was before and after she got married. He knew, and he accepted it — he always had. How could he not accept her decision to be happy? He was the one who pushed her away.

Next part >

[munsonsmixtapes]

Fulfill My Fantasy

Based on this poll, it looks like rockstar!Eddie has won!

rockstar!Eddie x plus size!groupie!reader

summary: you jump at the chance to finally hook up with your celebrity crush in a porta potty at a music festival

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) reader calls Eddie a good boy

If you were being honest, you had been convinced that you were put on this earth for the sole reason to fuck rockstars. You had been in the pants of the most famous names out there, each one being surprisingly easier than the last. They were always so eager to get into anyone’s pants and you always left them wanting more even though you never slept with the same person twice.

Your most recent target was Eddie Munson, even though you weren’t sure you would have been able to get to him because he was always already with someone. You almost had him in Texas, but saw him enter his dressing room with another girl so you took the loss and tried again in Missouri only for the same thing to happen.

You felt a little stupid for trying so hard if it wasn’t going to work out, so you just decided that you’d give up and stopped following Corroded Coffin on tour. You then settled for men who you weren’t interested in, completely forgetting about Eddie altogether since you knew that wouldn’t happen. It was all just a pipe dream, it seemed.

You found yourself at yet another music festival, on the prowl for yet another celebrity to add to your list, but weren’t finding anyone who you felt was worth your time. They were all either creeps or just weren’t interested in you. But then, as if the universe had listened, your eyes locked on Beckett Brooks, the guitarist of one of your favorite bands, who was purchasing a beer from one of stalls.

You made a beeline for him and stood behind him to act like you were in line. You didn’t know why you were nervous since you had done the same thing more times that you could count. Maybe it was because you had looked up to him for so many years.

You tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, giving you a bright smile once he caught sight of you. You watched his eyes rake down your body and you were eating it up, hoping he was liking what he saw.

“Hi,” he greeted and your smile matched his as he put his hand out for you to shake. “I’m Beckett,” he introduced himself and you shook his hand briefly before letting yours fall back by your side.

“Y/n,” you replied and he nodded and he turned to grab the beer he had purchased that was sitting on the counter of the stall and twisted off the cap before taking a swig of the drink.

“Can I buy you a drink?” There was no way you were drinking with no one around to take care of you, but you’d definitely take a soda or water because it was so hot in the summer heat.

“I’ll take a water.” You really needed to hydrate, especially with what the two of you were going to get up to if you played your card right.

“Sure,” he nodded and ordered you a water while you tried to amp up the flirting to really get the ball rolling.

“I saw you on stage earlier,” you told him as he handed you the bottle of water and he looked at you in interest, as if he was intrigued by what you were saying.

“Oh yeah?” He titled his head to the side and pushed some of his blond hair out of the way. You thought the long hair suited him and wondered what it felt like. It looked soft and shiny in the sunlight.

“Mhm,” you nodded, taking a sip from your water.

“What’d you think?” They were great as always, but you couldn’t help but notice that they were pitchy in a few spots.

“You guys were really good,” you told him, putting on the excited face that men always ate up. “Especially you.” You stepped closer to him and wanted to push some hair behind his ear when you felt an arm drape over your shoulder.

You turned your head and held in a gasp as you saw that Eddie Munson was standing next to you. He was dressed in a mesh top that showed off his tattoos and nipple piercings off so nicely. The top was paired with a very short pair of black shorts and you had to stop yourself from drooling at how hot he looked. Honestly, it should have been illegal.

He turned to you with his signature mega watt smile and you tried to figure out what he was up to. You had had maybe a couple of conversations with him over the years and honestly didn’t think that he even knew who you were. Especially not enough to have his arm draped over your shoulders as if you were old friends.

“Sorry I’m late, hon,” he smiled and you furrowed your eyebrows, unsure as to what he was up to. You barely knew each other and now he was acting as if you were super close despite the face that you had only had a few conversations that had only consisted of small talk.

“Eddie, man, so good to see you,” Beckett greeted him, but Eddie couldn’t have given less of a fuck, keeping his gaze on you. You looked into his eyes and the sun reflected off of them, making them a warm honey color that was just so pretty.

“Hey, Beck,” he gave him a wave, still keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I think Millie, you know, your girlfriend, was looking for you.” Eddie finally turned to the guitarist and gave him a look that told him to get lost and Beckett was quick to make himself scarce.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I should go find her. It was nice to meet you, y/n.” This wasn’t the first time that you found out that one of them had a significant other, but at least you had found out before sleeping with one them this time.

You pushed Eddie’s arm off of you and turned to face him, wondering what he was playing at. You had a feeling that this little game was for his own personal gain and that he wasn’t just trying to protect you like he may have wanted you to believe.

He just smiled at you and you hated that you almost wanted to melt looking into his stupid, pretty brown eyes. It was almost as if he was looking at you on purpose and you had a feeling that look got him out of so much trouble.

“What the fuck was that?” You yelled, ignoring the eyes that were now on you. Eddie just crossed his arms over your chest and blinked at you as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, y/n,” he shrugged and that made you even more angry. He wasn’t going to get away with what he did and you were going to make sure of it.

“Bullshit.” You stepped closer to him and he mimicked your actions, a grin breaking out on his face.

“Oh, she’s getting angry.” You were falling right into his trap and you didn’t even care. He deserved to be yelled at.

“Of course I’m angry. You drove Beckett away while I was just about to get him.” You weren’t even close to getting him, but you could have been having him in that moment if Eddie hadn’t ruined it for reasons you were still unsure of.

“I think that was an exaggeration,” he laughed. “But I honestly think you dodged a bullet. I mean, he has a girlfriend and honestly, he’s not that great in bed.” He grimaced as if he had been speaking from experience and that didn’t surprise you since Eddie was openly bisexual and seemed to get around just as much or maybe even more than you did.

“Right, of course you’d know.” You crossed your arms over your chest and smirked as Eddie’s face twisted into a look of anger.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He glared and you just stepped closer to him so you were toe to toe.

“We both know what to means. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find a hook up since you ran mine off.” You turned on your heel and searched around for another person as Eddie followed you, not wanting to lose you in any of the crowds. He has already been looking for you all day and wasn’t going to have all of that time go to waste.

Little did you know that he had wanted to hook up with you just as much as you wanted to hook up with him. He had wanted you the moment he saw you, but he was just so intimidated by your beauty that his mouth went dry when he tried to talk to you. So, he settled for another girl and let you slip through his fingers twice.

Today was the day, though. He was desperate for you and really needed to know how his dick felt inside you and it was driving him mad thinking about you. Maybe interrupting your conversation with Beckett was wrong, but he thought you deserved to know the truth about him even if the reason why he did it was selfish.

“Hey, wait up!” He grabbed your arm and pulled you back, turning you around to face him. “Why don’t you hook up with me?”

“After what you just pulled? Fuck no!” You laughed and even though it was at him, Eddie still loved the sound and wondered what he could do to make you do it again.

“Listen,” he licked his lips. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you in Atlanta, okay?” You figured he hadn’t been lying since he remembered the exact city he first saw you. And even though you believed him, he was not off the hook.

“I saw you backstage and ran into a wall because I was staring at you.” You didn’t believe that, though. Unless he had some sort of proof, you were convinced that he was lying. If he wanted to have you, he was going to try harder. He was going to have to beg. On his knees. With tears.

“Right. So that’s why you passed on me twice?” You had a point there. That definitely didn’t make him look good.

“I was nervous. You’re just so pretty that I was intimidated.” You laughed again and wondered how stupid he thought you were. This definitely wasn’t your first time hearing that and it wouldn’t be the last.

“This may work on new groupies, but I’ve been around long enough to have heard that line more times than I can count. You know, for an alleged casanova, you’re doing really bad at this.”

“What do you want me to do, y/n? Beg?” Exactly. He was finally getting it and you didn’t even have to spell it out for him.

“Right on the money, Munson. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“I can beg,” he nodded furiously.

At that, Eddie dropped to his knees and grabbed onto your hips while he looked at you. You loved seeing him so small and pathetic and were eating up the way his eyebrows pinched together as if he was in pain.

“Please forgive me,” he begged, his voice coming out like a whine and you felt yourself getting wet at the sound of it.

“Gonna need a little more.” Your hands moved to his hair, giving his head a scratch.

“Please,” he said again, his words somehow coming out even more whiny. “I promise I’ll be a good boy.” Your pussy was become a sopping mess and you desperately needed him inside you.

“Alright, I forgive you,” you nodded, giving his head another scratch and he hummed at the sound. “Now c’mon.” You pulled him to his feet and took him by hand to lead him to the only private place you could think of.

“Where are we going?” He asked and you just ignored him, pulling him across the grass as fast as you could without breaking out into a full on sprint.

You finally got to the porta potties and Eddie nodded, finally understanding what you were getting at. You pulled him to the only vacant one at the far end and he opened the door, letting you in first. You both squeezed inside, the space very tight and your lips were on his in an instant, not wanting to waste any time since the place wasn’t somewhere anyone wanted to be for longer than necessary.

You liked into his mouth and he let out a whimper as his hands moved to your waist, his hands dipping into the waist band of your skirt as your tongues swirled around each other, the two of your letting out moans as you did so.

“Take off my skirt,” you instructed and he was quick to oblige.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

“Good boy,” you patted his head and it drove him wild to hear you call him that, practically creaming his pants at hearing it.

Eddie removed your skirt in record speed before taking off his shorts and underwear. He reached into the pockets of his shorts and pulled out a condom before opening it and rolling the thing onto his cock then thrusting into you, both of you letting out moans as he did so.

He thrusted in and out of you slowly so the movement wouldn’t rock the porta potty even though you both always wanted it fast and hard. You grabbed onto his shoulders and dug your fingers into them, pressing little crescent shapes into the skin as you did so.

“Fuck, so good,” you moaned and Eddie continued, testing the waters by moving a little faster and harder and you moaned even louder, digging your nails further into his skin. He responded by grabbing onto the backs of your thighs and you jumped, knowing that he would be able to catch you even though you were bigger than him. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you buried your face into his neck as he fit all of himself inside of you, both of you letting out loud moans as he did so.

“Taking me so well, hon,” he breathed. “Look so good wrapped around me too. Like, fuck. You’re even hotter than I imagined.” He continued to pump in and out of your cunt and his fingers dug into your ass as he tried to keep putting all of himself inside of you, your moans getting louder as he did so.

“Same goes for you. You’re much bigger than I anticipated.” That was exactly what he liked to hear and in response, he pumped the hardest and fastest he could, nor even caring if it made the whole thing too over.

“Sh-shit, Eddie. Oh my god.” Your head tilted back as your eyes closed and Eddie wished he had a camera to photograph just how fucking hot you looked in that moment.

Just as you both reached your climaxes, the porta potty did in fact tip over and it was needless to say that the both of you had been asked to leave and were told that you were never allowed to return to the event ever again.

But neither of you cared and you laughed your entire way to your car to continue where you left off, finding it hilarious that you really thought you could get away with fucking in a porta potty. Well, at least you both had a great story to tell to tell people how you officially met.

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Rose Thorn Blues | p. 1

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: The other Daily Bugle intern has been a thorn in your side all summer. But if you wanted the job, you'd have to work with him. And you'd do anything to get it.

Word count: ~7k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Banter. Criminal activity. Swearing. A bit of angst but not really. J. Jonah Jameson lol.

A/n: I think this'll end up being around 3 parts, but we'll see. This has been tumblin' through my mind since last year, so I'm glad to finally let it out lol. Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading <3

You used to enjoy the clear sky on a sunny day, the vibrating blue that stretched until it curved around the horizon. Used to love the way the lapping waves of the Atlantic shimmered for miles, its ripples echoing the sky’s image. The blue of the world before the sun came up, or the indigo quiet of a rainy day.

You even used to love how red the rusted bricks outlining your apartment building looked, tracing the tips of your fingers along them as you walked by, scarlet pebbles breaking off into your palm. The cherry glow of a late-night diner’s “Open” sign made the beats of your heart stutter, its lights reflecting off the glass and illuminating puddles littering the sidewalk. Even with the occasional rose you passed on your way to work, the red petals surrounded by thorns and overgrown weeds, you still leaned your nose in to smell its sweet crimson scent. 

But that was before your internship at The Daily Bugle, before you had to write countless stories on Spider-Man all the time, and before you knew Peter, the other intern. Now, every cloudless day or trip to the ocean, hell, even the plump blueberries in the grocery store or a swirling glass of Merlot, an obnoxious red stoplight, or the tiniest cut exposing a drop of blood turned your stomach. You knew people could change you, but you’d never expected to hate the shades of red and blue — until you stared at it every day while standing in Parker’s shadow.

You’d shake your head, shove your fingernails into your palm, blink so hard your vision turned bright just to erase those colors from your mind and him from your thoughts. But you would have no such luck as you weaved your way through New York’s sidewalks under the summer sun, a barely-there breeze passing alongside the traffic. Your hand clutched your phone tight in its grasp.

On it held a photo of Spider-Man you’d just taken earlier that morning. He stopped a robbery, and you captured the moment he’d ripped off a car door to use as cover — a story that J. Jonah Jameson would love to spin into something ridiculous. You had nothing against the superhero, but it was what your boss wanted. The boss that would decide which intern would receive a full-time position at the end of the summer, and you wouldn’t go down without a fight against Parker.

He always had clearer photos and more information on Spider-Man — always seemed to get on the scene before you. You wouldn’t have been that upset if Parker actually was a better reporter than you, but that smug, chronically late asshole certainly wasn’t better than you. Not when you worked twice as hard just to watch him successfully stumble his way through this internship. 

And that stupid shrug he gave you when Jameson chose his story over yours! He’d mutter, “Better luck next time,” as if you weren’t covering for his ass half the time. You weren’t sure why you did it anymore. Maybe you didn’t want to watch him get fired since this wasn’t an easy opportunity to get, but you definitely wouldn’t mind sitting back and enjoying him get chewed out by Jameson.

But that was unimportant now as you made your way into The Daily Bugle’s building, savoring the air conditioning as your breath tumbled from your mouth. This picture and the eyewitness statements you took would create a story Jameson wouldn’t think twice about choosing, especially when Parker always came in late in the mornings.

Walking through your floor’s doors, photo pulled up on your phone, you quickly dropped your bag at your desk before making your way to pitch the idea to Jameson. You’d mentally written the first half of it on your walk here already.

Your steps faltered though as you neared the office, hearing your boss’s voice echoing through the office.

“Good work, Parker. Finish it by noon, and we’ll publish it today.”

He was already here? Silently, you gritted your teeth, peering into the room. And of course, out walked Parker, one hand holding papers and the other shoved in his pocket.

“The one day you’re on time… I can’t believe this,” you quietly muttered, feeling a weight sink into your stomach. His shoulders hung casually while yours raised up and down with your breaths. His half-smile made you stare daggers into him.

He just raised an eyebrow at you. “Good morning to you too, sunshine. Most people happen to love my presence.”

You silently ignored his nickname for you as you said, “Then most people must be lying to you. What story did you give him?” You pointed your head toward the office, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“So you can go in and try to one-up me?” He scoffed, his eyes annoyingly bright and warm. “No thanks.”

As he made to walk away, you grabbed his arm despite your aversion to being near him. Even the heat of his skin made you too warm, just another reason to stay away from Parker. “I lied to Jameson last week while you were off doing who-knows-what when you should’ve been working. Now what was the goddamn story?”

The sound of other employees talking and making coffee filled the background. If you could just beat him, you’d be part of them one day. So you didn’t let up, waiting for him to answer as he looked between your hand and your eyes. He shook off your touch after a moment.

You watched his jaw tick, his eyes roll to the back of his empty head. “Fine. And because I don’t think I could handle the second-hand embarrassment. I’ll tell you that if your story’s about whatever Spider-Man was up to this morning, you might want to skip telling Jameson.”

The grip on your phone loosened a bit, along with the hope you’d put into this — into trying to prove that you were a good reporter too. But, of course, you were always stuck finding stories on Spider-Man, and too late with them anyway. Anything else wasn’t important news, not at this company.

You tried, and failed, to keep your frustration from your voice as you asked, “And how did you get here before me with that story? You’re literally never here on time and just always have some bullshit idea that’s barely a story.”

Parker just gave a short laugh, smirking at you. “And yet… I still beat you. Kinda stings, huh?”

You gave a grumbled “Piss off” before letting him walk past you this time. You filled up your water bottle, headed to the bathroom, made small talk with some woman you’d immediately forgotten the name of — all distractions so you didn’t have to go back to the desk that sat much too close to Parker, especially while he worked on the story that should’ve been yours.

When you finally returned, you refused to look at a particular person across from you — the two intern desks only separated by a half wall. You just fished out your headphones at the cheap desk with no air conditioning under the city’s hot summer.  

A much-needed break from Spider-Man you gave to yourself, you continued working on a story you started researching last week. You’d gathered some statements and data about new unsafe water conditions in certain parts of the city. The story wouldn’t star on the front page of the website, or even the second. Third, if you were lucky.

The morning passed with minimal shouting coming from Jameson’s office and just a few “friendly” follow-up emails with sources you hadn’t heard back from. In the brief moments of silence between the end of one song and the beginning of another, you listened to traffic flowing through the streets below and the droning sounds of keyboards and the printer.

Only once you finished up the first draft of your article and turned to grab your notebook from a drawer did you notice a sticky note plastered on the edge of your desk. In messy handwriting, it said, “You type like a child bangs their fists on a piano” followed by a doodle of the sun, with sunglasses.

It wasn’t difficult to tell whose horrible scribbling this was. So after writing “Eat shit <3” on the back, you crumpled it up. You tossed it right at Parker’s face as you stood up, going to a meeting with one of the full-time writers here. Instead of knowing he caught it like always, you pretended it hit him right in the eye and gave him a papercut.

You didn’t look back as you approached Alice’s desk, the lead writer of the office. Her black curls bounced as she lifted her head, smiling at you. “Ready?”

“Yes, and thank you again for meeting with me,” you said, nodding with your notebook under your arm. She stood up, motioning you toward an empty office for the informational interview — mostly just asking her about her career in hopes it could help yours.

Sitting across from one another, you took notes as she spoke about herself and answered your many questions. Your writing filled one page after another, your wrist becoming sore but ignored under the weight of knowing this information could be important. When you asked what advice she would give to someone just starting out as a reporter, the silence that followed made you finally lift your head.

Alice looked at you with a soft smile while your pen stalled. “I would tell them that it’s not an easy career. And that it’s not for those without passion. You have to want this — and show it. The stories out there you want to tell… you can’t be afraid to search out the truth. ‘Leaving well enough alone’ has never been in my vocabulary.”

Your unfocused stare stayed on her while you processed those words… and the worry that you weren’t cut out for this work. There were stories you wanted to tell, but you couldn’t find the place to tell them. A cynical part of your mind shouted that maybe Parker did deserve the job at the end of this internship more than you.

The thoughts must have been evident on your face because Alice spoke again, her voice calm but stern. “Don’t worry. I see the passion in you. The best advice is to not let Jameson or anyone else stop you. ‘Kay?”

You nodded, unable to stop the smile on your face. So caught up in her words, you wrote down a condensed version of her answer: Follow your heart. Your thumb rubbed over the dried ink of the page, feeling the ridges of each letter. “Thank you, Alice. I’ll keep trying,” you said, and meant it. 

She let out a light laugh, the sound loosening the tight muscles in your shoulders. “You better. I’ve been rooting for you to get the job,” she whispered, giving a wink that had you laughing too.

“Well I can’t let you down then, can I?” Letting your smile fall just a little, the curve of it no longer touching your eyes, you silently hoped that you wouldn’t disappoint her. Thanking Alice again, you made your way back to your desk with too many thoughts running through your head.

Slow moments passed as you returned to your chair, the cheap thing squeaking underneath you with each movement. Still, you closed your eyes for a second, just feeling the cushion beneath you, the armrests under your hands, the backrest keeping you from collapsing. A breath filled your lungs, chest rising inch by inch. You would not wait for anyone’s permission to change the world — even if that just meant ignoring your lying thoughts to change your own little world.

Slowly, you went back through your notes, adding bits here and there that you missed while Alice had spoken. At the bottom, you just underlined her final advice… letting the words bleed into your body as you promised to keep them at the center of your stories.

It kept you focused on your article surrounding unsafe water quality in the city. Thankfully, the hours passed quickly, and you got the article up on the site by the end of the day. All with minimal interruptions from Parker — despite another sticky note that said “Thanks for the granola bar ;)” on it. And sure enough, the granola bar you had on your desk was no longer there, but you silently tossed the note in the garbage without letting him know he got to you.

Though, with no snack, your stomach was definitely grumbling as you packed up. So you made the trek to a cafe with your backpack on, one headphone in, and a middle finger aimed toward Parker when he tried talking to you, a smirk plastered on his face that told you he had nothing important or nice to say.

The summer heat hit you as you exited the building, making you strip off your office-appropriate blazer. Still, you didn’t mind the sunlight after spending all day inside. Your music drifted into your ear, the beat of it matching your steps. You turned the volume down once making it into the bakery with the best after-work treat, the pink sign outside painted with cursive words: “Pat’s Pastries.”

Baked bread and sweet chocolate filled your nose, the smell helping you forget about work for a minute. You ordered your favorite cookie, pointing to the biggest one behind the glass. Silently, you ignored the whole tray of Spider-Man themed cookies they’d begun selling after the superhero saved the store from a robbery.

Instead, you just left the shop with a bite of the cookie already in your mouth. It practically melted on your tongue, tasting better than any granola bar Parker could steal from you. The cookie lasted you all the way home, filling you with a pleasant warmth.

In your apartment, you stood in the entryway for a moment. With slow movements, you removed your shoes, setting down all of your things. You’d only been collapsed on your couch for a few minutes before your phone vibrated. Part of you thought to ignore it and let the weight of your heavy eyelids drag you into a nap, but you knew it could be work. A groan came from your throat as you saw that it was work — a comment left on your article already.

People that commented on these pieces often had few nice things to say, so you braced yourself upon opening the site. Your thumb slid across the screen until you reached the bottom. Left by some guest user, the comment simply read: “What’s new? Beaumont fumbles again…”

Beaumont. Ellis Beaumont, the current city manager. He’d certainly faced as much backlash as any other official since he’d taken over five years ago, but you hadn’t considered him all that much when researching for this article. Did he have to do with poor water conditions in the city?

Before you could stop yourself, your hands went to your laptop. Your fingers typed across the keyboard, searching for relations between him and other issues the city faced recently. What came up most often was Beaumont’s press releases after most of them. His salt and pepper hair sat tightly cut to his head, no specks of dust visible on his expensive-looking suits. In each one, he stated how he and his team would work on fixing the problem — from unaffordable housing to upgrading technology throughout the city.

It wasn’t new to see a leader promise to do something and not follow through, but something kept sticking with you while you researched. At some point, between the sun falling behind the city skyline and ordering takeout to be delivered, you found yourself with dozens of open tabs and tired eyes.

Raking a hand down your face, you let out a long sigh. You finished reading another speech where he promised to fix something, crumbling infrastructure this time — “if only we had the funds!” And cue the part where he asked for donations to his nonprofit organization or proposed a government plan that would cost the citizens in tax money. Yet… hadn’t he raised the money? The last you’d checked, the street he’d mentioned repairing still had its potholes and unusable sidewalks.

A knocking on your door brought you to it, your eyes never leaving your computer screen. You just grabbed your food and paid the deliverer with a mumbled “thanks” before walking back to the laptop.

As quickly as you could, you yanked out your notebook from your bag and wrote down everything about Ellis Beaumont — before your food got cold. Your wrist ached again as you flipped the page, continuing to fill the lines with his career, his promises, and his letdowns.

Each of his projects toward bettering the city came with asking for money — money that didn’t show back up in the work. He’d made no updates as to how much he had raised or how he was going to use it. At the end of your notes, you wrote down in heavy ink: “Where is Ellis Beaumont’s money going??”

And even as you ate, trying to watch the comfort show you’d put on, your mind kept working in the background. Had others not also wondered this? Or if they had, did he have them in his pocket already? Sleep fought you that night, making you toss and turn in bed. But you had a story.

–

Walking into The Daily Bugle, you ‘clocked in’ (let Jameson see you in the office) and dropped off your bag. With just your notes, a pen, and a granola bar so no one would steal it, you made your way back out of the building.

Right before you made it from the office, though, a mop of dark hair appeared at the door. A small part of you wanted to somehow hide, the other part unable to resist the draw of him for whatever reason. But Parker chose for you, his eyes lighting up when they caught on your form. Your following scowl was enough to make him laugh.

“There she is, our lovely sunshine,” he said, leaning against the door frame. You ignored the sarcasm dripping through his words.

Instead, you raised your eyebrows and told him, “If Jameson asks, I’m out researching a story. Got it?” 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Parker pushed off the frame. His smirk was enough to set you off, but then he held out a hand to block you from passing. Behind your unyielding glare, you secretly hoped he tripped over his untied shoelaces or smashed his hand in the office printer. As he came closer to you, he asked, “Where are you off to? I haven’t seen any sightings of Spider-Man.”

“That’s a shame,” you said, uninterested. Grabbing his forearm, accidentally feeling the hard muscle underneath, you moved it out of your way. “Have fun getting him coffee!” You shouted it over your shoulder, leaving him standing there while you ignored the heat on your palm from touching his skin. 

You shook your hand out, waving away the memory as you took the subway over to City Hall. It had to be as good as any place to start researching where the city’s money went after Ellis Beaumont flashed a white smile and pocketed it. He probably wouldn’t talk with you, but anything to get you closer would be worth it.

Emerging from the subway station, your eyes squinted against the brightness. Still morning, the heat hadn’t settled in yet — just leaving you with a sunny walk and a nice breeze.

The building’s intimidating size rose high toward the sky. A statue of justice, a woman holding scales and a sword, stood atop City Hall — staring down at each person as you entered the front doors. The ornate architecture and grand staircase inside didn’t help settle the daunting feeling crawling in your stomach.

Still, you walked up to the man sitting behind the front desk there, trying to look as friendly as possible. Smoothing out your outfit and putting a smile on, you said, “Hi.”

He looked up with a classic customer service grin to greet you. “Hello, how can I help you?” he asked, leaning toward you slightly.

You kept your shoulders back, mustering some sort of confidence in your investigation. How would Alice do this?

With a clear voice, you directly asked, “If I was looking for records of donations for a government-related nonprofit, would they be here? I couldn’t seem to find them online.” You gave him an unassuming look.

“Typically, but what nonprofit were you looking at?” he asked, typing something into his computer. You took out your notebook low enough that he couldn’t see past the desk.

Pretending to rack your brain for the name, you said, “I think it’s called Stronger Together. I love being able to see where my donation goes — it helps make me feel closer to the community, you know?”

Your hand ready to write fell limp when his mouth pressed tight, his eyes leaving the screen to meet yours. “Ah,” he said, “Well Mr. Beaumont is not always able to update that information, as he has many responsibilities to maintain.”

“Of course, I understand. Though, I also noticed that the recent infrastructure project has yet to be enacted. Is there an update on that?” You willed your voice to stay steady, to be unwavering under the impatient gaze of this man.

A muscle seemed to twitch in his jaw. “I don’t believe the organization has given one, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been working on it. He is a very busy man.”

“Busy enough that I wouldn’t be able to speak with him directly?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, shaking his head, but he didn’t seem too sorry at all. “We could take your number for him to call you when he’s available, but…”

“He’s very busy,” you finished, giving a smile as you bit back a pained sigh. “That’ll be okay, I’m happy to have helped the cause.”

“Yes, and we’re very thankful for your donation.” The tight grin he gave looked like it hurt his cheeks to make.

“Well, thank you for the information,” you said. Just as you were about to leave, beginning to leave with nothing to show for the story, you turned back. “I know this is quite specific, but would you know what Mr. Beaumont’s next project is?”

Another flicker of impatience flashed across the man’s face, his hands clasping together. “No, I wouldn’t, but I’m sure it will be a great help to the city whatever it is. I think there may be a nonprofit fundraiser this weekend… but those are typically closed events — for investors and friends,” he said, his smile turning less warm by the minute. “You can donate online anytime.”

“Great, thank you,” you muttered before turning around, frantically jotting the little information you received down in your notes while walking away. You swore you could feel the man’s eyes on you until you slipped out the doors. 

The entire ride back to the office, this story ate away at you. Everyone seemed to be keeping information on Beaumont’s money close to their chests, even about what his supposed nonprofit was really doing.

‘Stronger Together.’ You rolled your eyes, beginning to feel like he was the only one getting stronger. And he was having another fundraiser so soon? Probably for something like conservation this time — his team would likely make a whole show of planting a couple trees and get praised for it. 

As soon as you got back to The Daily Bugle, you ignored everything as you dropped into your chair and opened your computer. Your fingers flew over the keyboard to type up the notes, both for decoding your scribbled words and ensuring you kept the information in multiple places. You tried tuning out the background chatter and the gnawing worry that this whole story would lead to a dead end, but you couldn’t ignore everything…

“Whatcha typin’ there?” Parker said as he swiveled his chair around the desks to look at you. Glancing for a moment at him, you saw the shit-eating smile pointed your way.

Your face flashed a fake grin. “Your resignation letter, Parker.” You continued typing, not responding to his quiet scoff. But then he stood up, his steps gentle against the floor. He towered over you as he came around to look at your screen.

Before he could even reach your desk, you switched tabs to a blank page. Without glancing up at him, you silently waited for him to stop watching you. It worked well enough at first, your mind happily turning blank instead of entertaining him. 

But he put his hand on the edge of your desk, his body now much too close to yours. The warm scent of him washing over you had your skin prickling, your fingernails pressing into your palm.

Barely heard above the blood rushing past your ears, his voice came out quieter than you’d expected. “So secretive. You won’t even share with me?”

Ignoring the glint of smugness on his face, you turned to look up at him. “So you can try to one-up me? No thanks,” you repeated, using his words from yesterday. 

“But given my track record for front-page stories, I’m sure you could definitely use my help.” Parker shoved a hand in his pocket, winking at you with those stupid dark eyes. In that moment, you wondered whether you could somehow frame him for helping Spider-Man and get Jameson to tackle him. 

So caught up in that happy fantasy, you didn’t catch Parker’s other hand creeping across the desk until he’d already snatched your notebook. And before you could even stand to grab it back, his leg came up and pushed on one of your desk chair’s armrests, sending it spinning.

While your legs tried stopping the chair, you heard him say, “How are you even able to read this? Okay, I won’t tell Jameson, but you’ve gotta be honest with me: do you know how to write? Or read, for that matter.”

“I was walking while taking notes– whatever, Parker. I don’t need to explain myself to your dumbass,” you whisper yelled at him, stalking over to his side of the desks. But he moved the notebook away, cocking his head to the side.

With a grin that told you just how much fun he was having, he said, “Huh, I didn’t know your pretty little head knew how to multi-task.”

You opened your mouth for a second, processing that he called you pretty, before rolling your eyes. “Must be hard to imagine anything with your smooth brain. Now give me my notebook back.” 

In the background, you heard Jameson screaming to some poor soul on the phone. You hoped it at least covered up your bickering with Parker. But it wouldn’t be able to drown out the sound of you strangling him, which you were now seriously considering as he held up a finger to you. 

In a calmer voice, he asked, “Are you really doing a piece on Ellis Beaumont?”

Scoffing, you reached over and grabbed your notebook from his grasp. He didn’t seem to put up much of a fight, hopefully mentally perceiving the threats running through your mind. As you returned to your desk, you glanced once more at him — and got caught on something in the look he gave you.

“Yes,” you told him before sitting down, leaving Parker and any distractions on that side of the half-wall. The last thing you heard was a sigh before you put your headphones in.

For the rest of the day, you finished writing up your notes and your other assigned work. In between projects, you secretly continued researching everything you could about Beaumont and where those donations went. Site after site returned empty, most of them just filled with propaganda for his non-profit.

With weary eyes and a fuzzy mind, you finally found something as everyone in the office began to finish up. You wiped a hand down your face, a weight lifting from your shoulders when you discovered an address.

Searching through countless websites, some of which you probably shouldn’t have been using your work computer for, you combed through records of donations to Stronger Together. Most listed City Hall or Beaumont’s address in their donation. But one other address continued popping up more than a few times — somewhere in upper Manhattan, far from where the organization would operate from.

If you were listening to Alice’s advice to follow your heart, you would’ve stayed home. Your pounding pulse yelled at you that going to check out this address after sunset was the worst idea you’d ever had.

On your walk home and all through dinner, you pushed back against the trickling fear down your spine — caused by the ice-cold voice in the corners of your mind filled with every worst-case scenario. It only grew louder as you neared the address. 

You hadn’t done much field work before, or any that hadn’t just involved taking blurry pictures of Spider-Man and making New Yorkers talk to you. As you walked along the sidewalk with your shoes tapping against the cracked concrete, following the directions on your phone, you wondered whether you were cut out for this. You kept your head on a swivel and senses alert, but did you have any clue what you were going to do once you reached the building? No, not really.

You had come after dark, so breaking in certainly didn’t seem out of the question. And as much as you disliked thinking about him, knowing that Parker wouldn’t back away from this if he were here kept your legs moving. 

Before long, with a warm breeze at your back, you came up to a large warehouse. It sat in a pretty empty area — one with few people around that you could see. A few street lamps illuminated the space around it, the light stretching down a small alleyway next to the building. Craning your neck, you began walking down it, seeing whether you could peer in anywhere.

Your fingers brushed along the building’s side as you passed by several dark windows. Unable to spot anything through them, you crept toward the back. No workers, or anyone really, seemed to be there. Nothing except for a metal fire escape. It seemed to lead up to a door with more windows lining either side. Fluorescent lighting shone from inside. 

Swallowing hard, you forced your body to walk toward it. Each step you took up went slowly, trying to keep your feet silent as you climbed the stairs. Under the weight of the stars and night sky, even with the sounds of traffic passing by, each breath felt too loud.

Silently wishing to anyone that’d listen, you hoped no one stood on the other side as you slowly looked in. But you only found boxes — not all that surprising, but disappointment mingled with the relief coursing through your muscles. 

Hundreds of boxes sat throughout the warehouse, lining countless shelves. You made a guess that they probably weren’t storing any tools for fixing the infrastructure like Beaumont promised. But you wouldn’t be able to find out what they held without breaking in, something you didn’t think your nerves could take.

Though… someone else could show you what’s inside. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw a brief movement along the floor of the building. Someone moved into view, dressed in a black uniform and holding a clipboard in their hands. They walked to a shelf you could just barely see and opened up one of the boxes. They set the clipboard aside to pull out something… long and metal. At the end appeared to be a claw of some sort–

Internally, you winced, instantly able to recognize it from all your articles. It was one of Doc Ock’s arms. The other side was full of fraying wires, no doubt ripped apart from a fight with Spider-Man. God, why did everything always have to come back to Spider-Man? 

And, in that moment, you must’ve pissed off some god of fate to deserve this irony. As you were about to pull out your phone to capture the evidence, your thought alone summoned the man. A web attached to the worker, the other end coming from the red and blue superhero crouched on a support beam. Within a second, he pulled them up to the ceiling and cocooned them in webbing to dangle there — the scene forcing an involuntary gasp escape your lips.

Spider-Man had jumped down with supernatural grace and looked like he was going to investigate the box further, but whipped his head toward you at your gasp. Your heart crawled into your throat, your hand snapping up to cover your mouth.

Racing down the fire escape, your scrambled thoughts tumbling around your head, you hurried back to the street away from what you’d witnessed. But before you could leave the alleyway, a flash of those dreaded shades of red and blue dropped down in front of you — your feet stumbling backward as you barely kept a startled scream from coming out.

“Hey, hey. Not here to hurt you. I do the opposite actually,” Spider-Man said, his hands up to show you he meant no harm. His voice sounded unnaturally deep, but blood rushed past your ears, clouding your senses. You shook your head slightly, trying to focus on getting out of there.

“But uh…” he continued, cautiously taking a single step closer, “I don’t think you live at this address. Is that right?”

You absentmindedly chewed on the inside of your cheek, debating on how much to tell him. He’d caught you sneaking around, but was that technically even a crime? Most likely. But clearly, you both were after some pretty similar things. So, while nodding your head toward the warehouse, you quietly asked, “What’s in there?”

His head tilted to the side as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Some no-no things. Which is probably why I should handle it, right?”

“Handle it how? By handing it over to the police?” you asked, a small jolt of panic rising in your chest. “What if it connects to something larger?” Your questions assumed that he didn’t exactly know where this warehouse came from and how it connected to Beaumont, but maybe not. Still, you couldn’t risk cutting this whole thing off early and breaking the investigation apart… and the story.

“Does it connect to something larger?” he asked, his gaze never seeming to leave you. You couldn’t tell much behind his mask, but the weight of those white eyes stayed focused on your face. They watched every microexpression crossing your face, despite the urge to hide from them.

Knowing you needed him on your side, or at least to not cover you in webs, you gave him a little more. Nodding, you said “Yeah, I think it does. I’m not sure how it all fits, but…”

“But?”

Pursing your lips, you let a breath pass before answering him. Jameson would kill you if he knew you were having this whole conversation without taking ‘photographic evidence’ and helping out Spider-Man. But that man was a prick anyway.

Letting out a long sigh, you said, “Check out Ellis Beaumont’s non-profit. I don’t think the donations are going where he says they are.”

He just cocked his head, but you moved around him, ready to leave this place and those watchful eyes. Your gaze avoided his as he let you pass toward the street, though he yelled out, “Do you need me to walk you home?” You just waved him off, your pace picking up. Still, he shouted a “Thank you!” for the information as you made the journey back to your apartment.

Unable to calm your body back to normal just yet, you found yourself jumping at every noise around you until your apartment door locked behind you. What you’d seen ran through your head again and again. 

What did Beaumont want with Spider-Man? Or was he working with the villains to get rid of Spider-Man? His money couldn’t just be going toward costume dress-up storage, but breaking into that warehouse alone was out of the question for you. Leave it to the superhero rather than risk your neck.

Your brain racked itself for answers, working to figure out what interest Spider-Man had in showing up at that warehouse anyway. Even into the next morning, these thoughts plagued your mind. It left you in a haze as you entered The Daily Bugle — the noise of the coffee machine and Jameson’s muffled yelling more distracting than usual.

Even more offputting was that sat at your desks was Parker, the second time he’d ever beaten you into the office. Immediately, his eyes found yours, but you didn’t have the energy to give him a sneer or a smart-ass comment. You just started up your computer, planning to type up your notes again. Your hand rubbed down your face as you waited for it to turn on, already anticipating the inevitable interruption.

Sure enough, Parker stuck his head over the half-wall, leaning his forearms along the top of it. His chin rested on them as he said, “You look rough.”

Without raising your eyes to him, you let out a long sigh. “Wow… Thanks,” you said, letting an unimpressed look take over your face. You opened your notebook, turning to the pages where you wrote every piece of information you could remember after the events last night.

Parker raised his hands up in surrender, as if he hadn’t insulted your appearance. “Jus’ saying, you seem a bit stressed. Need any help, sunshine?”

At that, you finally raised your gaze to meet his — his ruffled hair dipping over his forehead while waiting for your response. 

You squinted your eyes at him, your eyebrows furrowing at his words. “...I’m not letting you take this story from me, Parker.”

“Hey, I could merely co-author this story with you,” he offered with that smirk of his. “And I’m sick of writing about Spider-Man’s favorite restaurants to order from. C’mon.” He dragged out the word, practically begging you.

Crossing your arms across your chest, you considered him for a moment and his offer. His mouth tightened, drawing your gaze down to his lips and the sharpness of his jaw. Not the time.

“You really want to help me?” When he nodded, you still didn’t believe him. With a scoff, you asked, “Are you going soft on me?”

A sharp laugh escaped his mouth. “Don’t get used to it. This would cost you a week’s worth of granola bars.”

“Aren’t you the one asking to join?” you questioned with a smile you couldn’t hide. When he didn’t budge despite his ridiculous demand, you just muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

The long groan he gave as he sat back down told you how he felt about your answer, but it was easier to ignore now that he wasn’t staring at you. Why he was so interested in this story made no sense to you — not that you thought about it long as you finally typed up your notes. 

Instead, you tried to figure out where to go next, where this warehouse might lead you. But a growing fear told you that it wouldn’t lead anywhere, your research online not giving you someone to question or even contact information for Beaumont. This politician seemed to keep things annoyingly tight under wraps. 

As minutes slipped away while you ran into dead end after dead end in your searching, you internally debated whether to accept Parker’s help. Waves crashed in your stomach, the tide receding far away as if in anticipation of a tsunami — one threatening to destroy you. Letting him in meant risking your story, and risking the chance that he could get all the credit for your work.

As much as you hated the idea of sharing this with him, part of you thought you might’ve been in over your head. Especially after the run-in last night. And Parker certainly knew his stuff… sometimes. Not that you’d tell him that.

It was only once your search about Beaumont and that warehouse frustratingly turned up blank once more that you let out a sigh. It seemed it’d be a story with him or no story at all.

“Parker?” you called across the desks. 

The sound of his chair shifting joined his raspy, “Yeah?” You bit back a grin as you realized you’d woken him up from one of his frequent work naps. When he swiveled into view, the red spot on his cheek from where he must’ve laid it on his arms confirmed your suspicions. 

Still, you had to clear your tight throat before telling him, “You can help. But only if my name goes first, got it?” Before he could respond, you followed with, “And I take the lead on things, okay?” Your stare pierced his eyes, silently begging him to not take this from you.

The small laugh he gave loosened your tense shoulders just a bit, made your fists unclench. “Whatever you say goes…” he said, nodding with the most honest look you’d seen from him. “With some exceptions though. Cause you have a lot of bad ideas I’d like to veto.”

You wondered whether asking for Peter Parker’s help was one of those terrible, idiotic ideas. You hoped not.

@reidslovely

[rimarkka]

black brothers, some letters, 698 words

Dear Brother,

I’m not angry and I don’t blame you. I’m glad that one of us is free. They would never let us both go, but as long as they have me, you shouldn’t worry about anything.

When you left, you did not take your pajamas. Mother did not touch your room, I helped. We could meet in secret, I would give you your pajamas and then bring you other things that you need.

It’s probably logical that Potter bought you new clothes and stuff. I noticed the new hair clips. They’re cool. You look great with long hair. Glad you don’t need anything.

Slytherin don’t talk about you anymore. I know you’d want me to rip out their tongues. But it’s a delicate situation. And I was careful. It wasn’t that hard. They will no longer whisper about your escape.

Congratulations on winning the game. I am looking forward to the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. As a child you liked to teach me flying. It was fun playing with you. You’ll look at me on the Quidditch field, won’t you?

I didn’t bother your friends, okay? I know you don’t believe me, but I really happened to be there. I know you like them for some reason. So I usually avoid them. I don’t know how I got involved in this argument, but I didn’t do anything. I’m sorry.

You know, we could celebrate Christmas together. Here. At Hogwarts. I could send a letter to mother that I have an educational project and she would let me go. You might not go to Potter this time. Your James can stay too if you want.

The holidays were boring as always. But I’m sure you’ll be amused by the story of how our cousin told us about her engagement. Her fiancé is terrible. I held back laughter all evening. If you were there, I’m sure you’d laugh awfully loud

I don’t sleep well at night. It’s convenient to be the prefect and leave the room so late and look for the stars, looking for you and me. And on the last full moon I saw you after  the break. Do you also sleep badly? Do we have the same nightmares?

I heard you successfully created your patronus. Congratulations. I tried too. What memories did you use? I was thinking about you and me as children. But it didn’t work out. Our childhood really wasn’t happy, was it?

I saw you with that boy. Lupin, right? That’s great. You look happy. I’m glad you’re loved. It would be nice to give him something from the House of Black. Mother would be angry. And your boy would be happy. And you’ll be twice as excited. You know, I could steal something for you.

Mother is planning something with our cousin. I think we both know what and who I’m supposed to meet. I don’t want to come home for the summer, but I know I have to. If I could, I wouldn’t do what I would. I’d like to believe that you won’t hate me for this mark.

I know about your hero’s club of light power. You always had so much energy in you. Don’t be distracted, be careful. These are not ordinary DADA classes. This is the real world. There are many useful books in our house. If you only asked, I would let you study them.

Congratulations on graduating. Your grades are... okay. I won’t see you next year. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. Perhaps it would be better if I never saw you again. You should live free and happy. I hope so.

I know you burn all the letters. And I know you’ll never read it. So I know that I can write and tell you at least what I’m going to do. I would like you to be proud of me, but at the same time I know that your ignorance is for the best. There’s nothing to be proud of. Today I am consciously going to die. I regret nothing, except that I never really said goodbye to you. So I do it now.

Best regards,

Your Regulus

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-one] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, smut (mdni)

word count: 2.3k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

additional smut warnings: edging, orgasm denial, spanking, protected sex

It was in fact, not the last time you would sleep with Minho. Despite saying so, you continued to sneak into his room every night after Jisung fell asleep. You’d fuck, sometimes twice, and then go back to the room you shared with your best friend like nothing happened. To say that the guilt was eating you alive would be an understatement. But for whatever reason, you didn’t stop. 

All it would take was a single look from Minho, a glimpse of him shirtless in the pool, a smirk directed at you, and you’d decide you needed him. You were so weak when it came to him. It was pathetic.

Minho always let you do the initiating when it came to sex. He never pushed, but he didn’t exactly try to deter you either. At first, you convinced yourself that it was just because he was like every other twenty-something-year-old guy: always horny. Never one to turn down getting laid when the opportunity presented itself. But every time you hooked up, you’d notice things that seemed to suggest otherwise. 

Like how he always put your pleasure first. That could simply be attributed to him being a good lover, but it felt different. It wasn’t like he was trying to get you to cum as fast as possible so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it when it was his turn. No, he took his time with it, wanted to make it last because he genuinely enjoyed making you feel good. It seemed like each time you had sex he was trying to make you cum more times than the last. And then afterward, when you were both still catching your breath, he’d hold your hand, play with your hair, coax you into staying five extra minutes, things that friends with benefits don’t do. 

You’d be a fool to fall for him. But it was far too late for that. You had wanted him before you ever slept together. Before he kissed you for the first time. And now that you’d had him, you didn’t want to go back. 

You can tell Minho feels guilty too. You see it in the way he looks at Jisung when his back is turned. He’s less vocal about it than you but you know it’s there. 

-

The second to last day in Bali is spent hiking. Your foot had mostly healed by then, but the news was still devastating to you. 

“Do you ever read the itinerary?” Jisung groaned upon hearing your complaints. 

“I like being surprised.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” he said, calling your bluff. “You’re just lazy.”

You gasped and held your hand to your heart, feigning offense. Jisung rolled his eyes at you. 

“Come on, get up, get dressed. It’s matching t-shirt day.”

“Nooo, I forgot about that.”

“You only have to do it one more time after this,” he reminded you. 

Only one more time. That’s right... there was only one more stop on the trip before you all flew back to Seoul and spent the last two weeks of summer there. You expected to feel relief but you were filled with anxiety instead. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason as to why but you suspected it had to do with the whole fucking your best friend’s brother behind his back thing. 

“You still with me?” Jisung asked. “Did you zone out?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright. We better start getting ready, though.”

You nodded absentmindedly and made your way over to your suitcase to grab a change of clothes. You were moving on autopilot, not even aware of what you were doing until suddenly you were fully dressed and ready, sitting between Felix and Minho at the kitchen bar as Jisung blended up a smoothie for the four of you. 

You couldn’t remember brushing your teeth or putting on sunscreen but your mouth tasted minty and your skin was sticky from the lotion. 

Minho nudged your elbow. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Fine.”

Jisung glanced at his older brother and then you, sliding your smoothies across the counter wordlessly. 

“Thank you,” you practically whispered as you accepted yours.

Did he know? No, if he knew he certainly wouldn’t be speaking to either of you. But did he suspect? It wasn’t like you and Minho were being that careful... he could have easily picked up on what was going on. 

You tried taking a sip of your smoothie but it wasn’t melted enough to go through the straw. 

“Here,” Jisung said, leaning over the bar to stick a spoon in your cup. 

“Thanks, babe.”

He winked at you. “No problem.”

Okay, so maybe he didn’t know and was just annoyed with Minho. That could also be an explanation. 

Jisung’s parents assured you that the hike was an easy one but you were still skeptical. Hiking in general was an activity you preferred not to partake in, regardless of the level of difficulty. 

You liked getting out and going places... that were inside.. with air conditioning. Hiking, kayaking, cycling, all on the list of no’s for you. You were simply not an outdoorsy person. You’d much rather go to a tasting at a local brewery or sit through a play in a language you didn’t understand. To be fair, the trip had a good balance of both, so you couldn’t complain too much. The Hans, on the other hand, were outdoorsy people so you should have seen it coming anyway.

Getting to Campuhan Ridge required a short bus ride over to the site for the walk. You sat on Jisung’s lap since it was so crowded, listening to him argue with Felix about fruit. 

“They are good for you!” Jisung cried in exasperation.

“All I’m saying is that that much sugar can’t be healthy.”

“It’s naturally made sugar- I’m the one in culinary school here! I know what I’m talking about!”

The hike turned out to be relatively easy, as Nikki and Dom had claimed it to be. It wasn’t too high up either. Views of rice terraces and forests stretched on for miles in each direction, greenery as far as the eye can see. 

The only downfall was how hot it was. You were sweating not even ten minutes in and the baseball cap you were wearing did nothing to block out the sun. 

You stopped somewhere in the middle of the walk to take some pictures. It had been Nikki’s idea since she’d brought her Nikon along with her, but Jisung also asked Minho to take a couple pictures of just the two of you while Felix did the same thing for their parents. 

You wrapped both of your arms around Jisung and smiled as wide as you could manage. Jisung smiled too, squeezing your hip. 

“Okay, now do something different,” Minho directed. “The smiling is boring.”

You shrugged and raised yourself on your tiptoes to kiss Jisung’s cheek. “O-okay that’s good too,” Minho muttered. 

Jisung chuckled quietly, his body vibrating beneath your lips. It made you lose your balance but your best friend caught you before you could stumble.

“Woah, you alright there, y/n?” Dom called as he, Nikki, and Felix rejoined the three of you. 

You clung to Jisung and laughed. “Yes, thanks to him!”

“It seems like I’m always catching her,” he sighed. “Where would you be without me?”

“Dead, probably.”

His mother smiled fondly at your little display and you patted yourself on the back internally. You still had a role to play, after all. 

The sun had drained everyone so you headed back to the resort early. Felix and Minho went to pick up some take-out food while the rest of you showered off the day and waited for them to return. 

After dinner, you ended up in Minho’s bed again. It was routine at this point. Pretend like you’re going to bed with everyone else, wait for Jisung to fall asleep, wait fifteen more minutes to make sure he’s really out, and then sneak off to Minho’s room. His room was all the way on the other side of the treehouse thing you were staying in which was both fortunate and unfortunate. It was fortunate because it wasn’t close to Jisung where you might accidentally wake him up, but it was unfortunate because it meant you had to walk through the entire place in the dark to get to it. 

“Took you long enough,” Minho had grumbled when you showed up. 

“Aw did you miss me that much?” you teased. 

Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood to take his time with you because in a matter of minutes he had you pressed face down on the mattress as he fucked you from behind, holding on to your hips so tightly you thought he might leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints. 

It was a position the two of you hadn’t tried together yet but you were already loving it. Minho could go faster and deeper than when he was fucking you in missionary and it had you on the edge in record time. Except he wasn’t letting you cum.  

For whatever reason, every time you warned him that you were close, he would slow down or come to a complete stop, waiting until the feeling had passed to start again. He even held you in place so that you couldn’t fuck yourself back on his cock and finish yourself off- he’d learned to do that after you’d tried to do it the first time he denied your orgasm. 

“You’re so mean!” you sobbed, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He’d stopped again, ironically rubbing your back soothingly as the pleasure ebbed away for the umpteenth time.  

Minho just laughed and pulled you up by your hair so that he could look at your face. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are! I need to cum and you won’t let me!”

“That’s your fault for telling me you like to be edged.”

God damn your big mouth. You didn’t even remember telling him that but you didn’t doubt that you had because it was true. You did like being edged but this was torture. 

“Don’t listen to past me! Listen to present me!” you begged. 

“Nice try.”

“Fuck!” 

He started moving again but slowly. It wasn’t enough to make you cum but it did make you even needier. You gripped the bed sheets as he thrust into you over and over again, trying in vain to get him to go faster.

“Always so fucking wet for me,” Minho hissed, slapping your ass lightly. You yelped in surprise. “Shh, baby.”

“I’m trying!” you whispered.

“Try. Harder. Then.”

You wanted to quip back but the words died on your lips as you felt the coil in your stomach tightening again. You didn’t tell Minho this time, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. He did, of course. Your pussy was fluttering like crazy around him and you weren’t able to control it. 

Minho stopped completely, this time snaking an arm under your body so that he could pull you up on his lap. You cursed under your breath at the change in angle. 

“You were about to cum without saying anything, weren’t you? Fucking brat.”

“I forgot?” you mumbled. 

He scoffed in disbelief. “You’re really testing my patience, you know that?”

“I guess it’s a good thing it turns you on then.”

Minho let out a sound of annoyance and brought his free hand down to your cunt so that he could rub your clit. The smirk fell from your face immediately. 

And then he started moving his hips, just enough so that your g-spot and your clit were being stimulated at the same time. 

You whimpered out that you were close when you felt your orgasm approaching again, which seemed to please Minho. But he wasn’t going to let you off that easy. 

“You want to cum? Beg for it.”

“Please, Minho! Please let me cum, I’ll be good, I promise!”

You didn’t hear what he said next because your ears were ringing from the intensity of your climax. You were vaguely aware of him cumming right after you but you didn’t register much aside from his body going tense underneath yours. You rode out your orgasm until the spots in your vision subsided and your legs stopped shaking, flopping onto the bed like a ragdoll. 

Minho was quick to lay down beside you, having recovered from his orgasm much faster than you had. 

“That wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shook your head. “It was perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life. Not even by myself.”

You probably shouldn’t be feeding into his ego so much, but considering how good he was in bed it was at least a little deserved. 

He grinned proudly and rolled onto his side to kiss you. “I’m glad.”

-

You took another shower before going back to bed. That had become another part of your routine since you started sleeping with Minho regularly. You’d take a shower before dinner for the sake of appearances, and then you’d take a second shower after messing around with Minho. There was no way you could just hop back into bed with Jisung all sweaty and gross. It would be a dead giveaway, not to mention disgusting. 

The second shower always made you feel dirtier than it did clean. It felt like you were washing off the evidence not only literally, but figuratively too. You supposed that was to be expected, though. What wasn’t to be expected, however, was your best friend waiting outside of the bathroom for you when you got out of the shower. 

You jumped when you heard his voice, nearly knocking your head against the wall. Your eyes had yet to adjust so it was hard to see him but he was there, arms crossed over his chest defensively. You already knew what he was going to say before he said it but the question made your blood run cold nonetheless. 

“Is there something going on between you and Minho?”

sorry for skipping out on the taglist again- I'm babysitting tn so I'm posting from my laptop (lmk what you think though i always appreciate feedback!!)

add yourself to the taglist here!

[fang-and-feather]

Ikemen Vampire - Mozart x Reader

Written for Day 2 of Visions of Temptation by @xxsycamore

Prompt: Handjobs

NSFW

Words: 899

I finally finished one. Not sure about the ending of this but... And yeah, i recycled last year's banner...

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“I still can’t believe you agreed to this one.” You told your boyfriend as he helped you into the carriage. “We have quite a trip ahead. Are you sure you will be okay?”

“With you by my side, I will manage.” Wolf kissed the back of your hand before climbing after you.

You smiled. It was sweet that he felt so safe with you, but you were still worried. Even you weren’t sure how you would hold up.

It was a hot summer evening and you would be locked up in this “box” for at least an hour. Twice.

Most of his performances had been in town or close to it. Usually a fifteen to twenty minute ride. This one was… In the next town? You weren’t even sure. But it probably was an extraordinary opportunity if your boyfriend agreed to it despite his fear of carriages.

Or maybe Comte just bribed him again.

Whatever the reason, the start of the trip was like any other. Wolf started off a little nervous, but you held his hand and his attention went entirely to you. You talked about a lot of things, but by now that conversation had died out.

At first the silence was comforting, and you just sat side by side, in as much contact as possible, but after a moment when the carriage jerked violently.

Wolf’s hold on your hand tightened, but his attention was outside in a vain attempt to watch the road.

Sincerely, not even you knew where you were at this point and if the roads were safe, but you had to reassure your boyfriend somehow. You didn’t think something would happen, anyway.

So you also tightened your hold on his hand, and when that didn’t even make him look at you, you kissed his neck, making him jump and finally turn around.

“What was that?”

“Does it bother you?” You asked with a smirk, pulling his hand up and kissing it.

“No. But why?”

“I’m bored, and you need a distraction. And we still have a while here… alone. Well, mostly.” You leaned in and brushed your lips against his, feeling him tense for a moment, then relax.

He started to chase after you when you pulled away, but stopped himself.

“You will ruin your makeup.” He warned.

“This one won’t get out so easily. And even if it did, I could always reapply it.” You kissed him again.

This time, his free hand slipped yo your neck, careful not to mess your hair, and he deepened the kiss.

Your free hand moved to his pants, gently squeezing him through it, feeling how he was starting to come to life already.

“Does the situation please you, or do I really arouse you that easily?” You asked in a whisper.

“You know the answer to that, Meine Liebe.” He replied, stubbornly. “Is your method of distraction just attempting to tease me?”

“Why?” You rubbed him, gaining a low groan. “Did you expect more? In here?” But even as you said that, you put more pressure to your movements and he was hardening under your touch. “Do you think you can stay quiet enough?”

You didn’t wait for an answer, though. His tone was enough approval, and you moved to unbuckle his belt. He helped you remove his pants, refusing to let go of your hand.

“I could always bite you if I feel like I can’t.” Wolf grinned, finally answering you. “That won’t mess up your dress.”

He gulped and his smirk vanished as you wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. He wasn’t fully hard yet, so you lightly dragged your hand up until you could reach to tub your thumb over the head.

His groan was slighter louder, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Someone is very sensitive today.” You whispered in his ear. “I wish we were somewhere private, so I could show you what I really can do.”

He grunted back as you gave him a light squeeze, before sliding your hand back down with a light touch, and kept that soft pressure in your following movements.

His hand on your neck pulled you closer again, and he kissed you, muffling a moan.

“How can a sweet lamb like you have so much power over me?”

“Because you belong to me, Wolf. Just like I belong to you.”

You kissed him back, tightening your hold on him and building a new, faster pace, and his hold on you tightened back.

“I never thought not being able to touch you properly would be so difficult. If we were on our way home…”

His words were lost in another groan as you focused your efforts on the leaking head of his cock, rubbing it with the palm of your hand.

“If we were on our way home, I know neither of us would be holding back, except from making more noise.”

Wolf chuckled and kissed your neck.

“If you could keep yourself from making noise.”

“Me?” You gave him a light squeeze. “Are you confident you would fare better if I wasn’t holding back?”

“That depends on what you have to give, Meine Liebe.” His fangs teased your skin.

You mentally cursed this party that had both of you holding back so much, but you tried to focus back. You had a task literally at hand right now.

Tag List:

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[elmaxlys]

New Place, New Life : A freely rewritten F2RX - Prologue

hello hello english speaking fandom, here is the beginning of my rewrite! don't hesitate to tell me what y'all think 🙈 this is an intimidating endeavor

reminder that this fic is based off the f2rx pilot and freely adapted from f2rx in general: we'll meet some characters while the context will differ

A new place, a new life.

Tag remained in the van his father had rented, sitting in the passenger seat like a rock sitting still in the flood of activity growing around it. Belt undone, head down, he kept his gaze on his hands and the deflating ball they held weakly. His knee was throbbing.

He spun the ball, once, twice.

The need to give it a good kick kept poking him, to send it flying throughout the city, the ideal setting for a life-sized flipper game. Nothing like a good run after a wild ball to discover a neighborhood. He held the ball tighter between his arm and let his head fall on the dashboard.

The movers worked tirelessly, the new neighbors came to give a hand, and Pablo, in the eye of the storm, kept everyone together through the power of his warm smile.

Tag knew. He could feel the sidelong glances, could hear the snide remarks about youth these days and teenage crises. Yet he couldn't move. He had a churning stomach, a knot in his throat, and a sharp throbbing in the knee.

Tag knew. He understood why they had to leave it all behind and start again elsewhere. Again. He hated it, but he understood. Coming back to France was far from a dream come true - it was a desertion, a void, an anxiety, just when stability had begun to establish itself in his life over there.

Tag knew. All the science in the world, all the common sense came together in agreement. Three weeks of rest, the doctor said, before the next check. The city's air was like an itch, the asphalt calling for him, the old cracking leather of his eternal ball. He breathed in its familiar scent and found some comfort in it.

His knee was throbbing.

He got his phone out. The thing was far from new but it held. Stickers on the case, the lockscreen were reminders of the team that helped reconstructing him after the harshest times, over there. Two years. He entered his pin.

Pablo had gotten him a French SIM card, to avoid useless spending from overseas fees. Always trying to please his son, he'd even gotten him a plan with limitless data. A smile crept on Tag's lips as he remembered his father's embarrassed enthusiasm as he presented it to Tag. The care he put in keeping Tag's spirit up really touched the boy deep inside him, spreading a sweet warmth in his chest.

He logged in and scrolled aimlessly in the street football forum. He saw his Argentinian team's post to recruit a new player to fill the vacancy he left behind. He read the patch notes and updates uploaded by Shark, saved the planning for the summer that was just beginning. Even online, this was home.

Two knocks on the window. Tag turned: it was his father.

"We finished the big part, you can come if you want."

Tag nodded. He opened the door. Pablo smiled, a smile that crinkled his eyes, and gestured to Tag who threw him the ball. Hands now free, Tag grabbed his crutches and got out of the van.

"We're going to order pizza before starting the next part with a smaller crowd," Pablo announced.

The next part in question, Tag could take part in it. Unwrap the essentials, put things in place here and there, put the sheets on the bed and pillows - that he could do, even with a nonfunctional leg.

They had arrived in France a few days earlier, bringing with them only a suitcase of essentials. The rest of it had been sent by plane and, before it got there, Tag and his father had stayed in a hotel. That had been for the best because the jetlag had kicked his ass and a move in these conditions would have been... Tag would rather not think about it, actually. Not that he could have helped much, anyway, but that sure wouldn't have helped his already dubious mood.

Pablo opened the door for him and Tag greeted everyone with a "hello" that barely escaped his lips. Pablo apologized silently on behalf of his son but no one paid any mind to the teenager's attitude. Pablo put the ball with the rest of his son's stuff and gestured for him to sit beside him on the couch. The house was rented furnished.

Some pizza, intensive unpacking and a strategic retreat of remaining packages in the corners later, Tag and Pablo stood alone in their new palace. This was too big a word for such an unimpressive little house, especially for Tag who had known the Riffler mansion - but next to the towers in nearing neighborhoods, this sure came off as a little cozy palace.

Tag rubbed his thigh mindlessly, in the vain hope that this would help with the pain. He grabbed his painkillers from his bag and swallowed a pill. His knee was throbbing.

"Good!" Pablo exclaimed, hands on his hips, contemplating with satisfaction how far they had come. "For everything else, we'll go slow and progressively. Things will be peaceful from now on."

That sure would be a relative peace, Tag thought. They'd have to sign him up for high-school in a hurry before they all closed for the summer, there was his dad's new job beginning soon, and last but not least, they'd have to find a doctor still accepting new patients for Tag's knee's counter-visit. Fucking hassling paperwork. But Pablo was so enthusiastic that Tag could only agree with a smile. He had so wanted this diplomatic job in France!

Tag grabbed his phone and sent - via an online messaging app to avoid spending more than needed - a picture of him, his father in the background, in their new living room still obscured with packages.

Tag- Officially done with the move 👍

He knew none of them would see his text before the end of the afternoon - they were never online before then.

This felt weird, counting the hours backwards from what he was used to.

Then he sent an MMS to Gabriel, joining the same picture.

Tag- Guess where I'm at

Of course, Gabriel didn't answer either. Despite the end of the school year, he must have been studying his ass off or helping out his parents's association.

Welcome home.... But well, there was only Port-Marie, in France, he really considered home. This close to the capital city, this might as well have been yet another foreign country. Gabriel's nearby presence did nothing to help, what with how free to chat he was.

His knee was throbbing, despite the painkiller. He sent a message to Shark.

Tag- sup brother, i'm back in France

Shark- sup Tag, it's nice hearing from you. in what part of it?

Tag couldn't help a smile, big and frank this time. There were still people he could count on, huh?

Tag- Mère-Sainte-Yvette, near Paris

Shark- 👍

Shark: there're bunch of teams there, you'll find one for you in no time

Shark- counting on ya to be here in august

Tag- thanks

Tag- i'll do everything i can

And at the moment, all he could was three weeks of rest, juggling in their small garden with his one functional leg. As soon as the doc would give him the okay, nothing would be able hold him back anymore.