#Sweet Pea - Parker

[blac-ivy]

Why do fic writers never actually explore abortion as an option. Like the mc doesn't want a child, isn't ready for it and the father is basically a stranger but they just think about abortion in passing but then mc puts her hand to her stomach and imagines the feeling of the fluttering of new life beginning (7 hours pregnant) like whomp whomp. I find it so annoying. It's not even that abortion demonised in the writing, but keeping a child you don't want, in the WORST circumstances, is so overly romanticized, I think abortion being considered for like 3 seconds is just a front too, it's a copout. I know people have their own beliefs but instead of making the mc an annoying willing to be a single mom girl boss how about challenging yourselves and writing about abortion, the mental battle, the recovery, the relationship between two people after something like that happens. Idk I'm just kinda annoyed and people can write and believe whatever they want I just feel how I feel.

[i-trust-in-love]

♪ — [parker] and [coop] listen to spooky music while they decorate

Coop knew it was past Halloween and the effects of the maze were still lingering, but as it hadn't even been Thanksgiving yet, he couldn't bring himself to start playing Christmas music yet. Seeing Parker coming down the street made his heart leap with relief. He didn't know if she would remember him or not, but he couldn't let this moment pass by. "Hey, could I bother you for a moment to help me with this leaf garland? Don't know if you remember me or not but..." @lcngliive

[ad7red]

Hey!! Can I have Peter and his gf who's not rlly smart but catches a mistake Peter made in his hw and teases him but he doesn't mind? Thanks xx!

smarty pants | peter parker.

bf!peter parker x reader

this has been sitting in my inbox for a WHILEE i am sorry!

not proofread, no warnings

-

you had just bombed your math quiz and you could not feel any worse. math just wasn’t your thing, ela or history? sure, but math and you were never getting along. and that was a fact.

the only person who might’ve been able to raise your spirits was your one and only genius vigilante boyfriend, peter. which led to you vigorously knocking on his apartment door like you did many times, expecting to be greeted by a familiar peter, instead being met with his aunt may.

“hey, there sweet pea! peter won’t be home for a while, but would you like to come in and wait in his room for him?” you nodded while thanking her, being in his room would help remind you of him.

she walked you to his room, though being here so many times you know the place like the back of your hand.

when you walked into his room you were welcomed with messy algebra homework as well as half-done history homework scattered all over his desk.

you hopped down onto his undone bed and patiently waited for peter to come back to tell him all about how math was the worst subject known to man.

-

after what felt like forever you finally heard the bedroom door creek open, with the curly head following.

“hey, sunshine? how are you?” he said while placing a kiss on top of your forehead. you pouted before responding, and that’s when peter knew he was in for a doozy.

“terrible! peter, i failed my math quiz!” flapping your arms up and down for emphasis. peter patted your shoulder, his way of saying ��i’m sorry’.

“c'mon, it can’t be that bad” peter was sorely mistaken. it was that bad.

“i got a 25%.” he made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, as though it physically hurt him to hear that grade.

“i mean, whose bright idea was it to come up with trigonometric functions? when will i ever use that in my entire life?” you began to rant. the grade was irritating you considering you’ve never gotten lower than a c in math.

“okay, come show me what you need trouble with.” peter said while pulling you up from his bed and leading you to his untidy desk.

you told him what was confusing you and he thoroughly explained it, but you couldn't seem to focus with that history homework on his desk.

“it's italy.”

“what..?”

“which country did the renaissance begin in? you said germany but it's italy.” he quickly scanned over the question again, skimming over the small paragraph before it.

“you got me, good job smarty pants!” he wasn’t sour or bitter about it all. if anything, he was happy, he knew how much it would mean to you if you corrected the smartest person you knew.

“i am a bit of smarty pants aren’t i?” and with that both you and peter started to explode in a fit of giggles.

-

[bloodwrittenballad]

Bobby’s Got It Goin’ On | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: When Jake takes it too far, you step in

Warnings: Smut, oral (reader receiving, bc in my mind, bob is a pussy eating king!) fingering, consensual groping, blowjob in a car (0/10, do not recommend doing this) protected sex because!!! it’s a must!!! swearing, lil tad bit of angst, sexism? Hangman being, well, himself. Also, I suck at titles and summaries 🙃 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. And please, let me know what you thought! Reblogs and comments are so very appreciated and help us fic writers <3 Xoxo, Parker

If there was one thing you knew for certain about Jake Seresin, it was that he had a loud fuckin mouth. And quite the talent at opening it at the wrong fuckin times. Like now, for instance. You and the crew were all at The Hard Deck, hanging out and celebrating getting through another long work week. Things were going well, you found yourself perched next to Bob, as the two of you made easy conversation.

You liked Bob, a lot. How could you not? He was sweet, smart, handsome as ever loving hell… Only issue, was he probably didn’t feel even the slightest bit same for you. That was okay though! Because in the end, you’d rather have a friendship with him than ruin it by telling him how you felt only to be rejected.

It was better this way, regardless of how bad it hurt or how much pestering you’d get from the other squadron members to just confess you feelings.

Pushing back the slightly depressing thoughts, you continued your focus on Bob, who was getting rather animated as he told you a stories from his childhood and teen years. Head thrown back in laughter, you couldn’t help but to gently slap his arm, a habit you had developed over the years and could never quite shake. Most people would have found it annoying, but not Bob. Never him. He found it endearing, plus… he couldn’t deny that the skin to skin contact was nice. You were so soft and warm, so, so… perfect.

Bob continued to blush while you giggled, “wow, Bobby, I never would’ve taken you for such a bad boy!” If his cheeks weren’t already as red as a stop sign, they certainly were now. “I wasn’t! Really! Just a… ya know, had a bit of teen angst, I guess.” Bob muttered, not being able to handle how goddamn beautiful that smile of yours was. “Well, teen angst aside, I think some trouble looks good on you. Kinda rouged. Chicks dig that, ya know.” You spoke with a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you thought of him with any other woman than you.

Bob wore his usual lopsided smile as you said that, his skin feeling even warmer now. Jesus, you were so perfect. This moment was so perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Hangman, being the ever present thorn in your side, just had to go and ruin it. “Y’all wanna know what else chicks dig?” He spoke with a shit-eating grin as he plopped down beside you, making himself more than comfortable but not at all welcome. “Not really,” you huffed out through gritted teeth. A devilish smirk blossomed even wider on the blonds face, “chicks dig a man who’s tough and confident, unafraid to take charge and get shit done. Like me, sweet pea.” Jake ended with a wink, something that shouldn’t have pissed you off so much. But it did. He always managed to get under your skin in a way no one else could. He just had that effect on people. Obnoxious.

“Well, maybe some women aren’t into that,” you shot back. “Maybe some of us like a quiet, down to earth, gentleman who doesn’t boast about how supposedly great he is.” Jake barked out a laugh, his eyebrows shooting high up and almost into his hairline. “Damn, girl.” Jake whistled, “ya got fire in you, f’sure. Gotta find the right to manage that. Some prissy, sissy of a man ain’t gonna be able to tame it. Like Bob!” Said person looked up at you sheepishly for the first time since Hangman had crashed your little party. “Bobby here wouldn’t know what t’do with all that you got goin’ on, he uh, he just ain’t built for it.” Okay, so now you weren’t just pissed. You were fucking livid.

“And what the fuck do you know about anything, Bagman? Huh? What’re your qualifications to be making such claims? In fact, when’s the last time any of this macho bullshit actually worked on a woman? Cause ya wanna know what I think? I think you’re just an insecure little boy who acts like he’s gods fuckin’ gift to this world, like he’s got it all goin’ on for him. But you don’t! You can sure as hell act like it, but we all know you don’t. You wanna know who does, though? Bob. Yeah, that’s right. Bobby’s got it goin’ on!” By this point, you had stood up from your seated position so you could feel like you had a bit more of an upper ground, as you glared down at Jake.

Bob, who still hadn’t uttered a peep since Hangman’s interruption, saw how close you were to hitting the man and gently decided it was time to divert from the situation and led you outside. His hand, strong but gentle on the small of your back, guided you throughout The Hard Deck until you both found yourselves under the pale moonlight. “God!” you groaned angrily. “I mean, who the hell does he think he is? Such a prick! Like, I get it, you haven’t been laid in a while but fuck don’t take it out on people who don’t deserve it! It’s just so, so, so fucking frustrating. Aren’t you frustrated? I’m frustrated! No, I’m pissed! Oooh, I’m so pissed. I could go in there right now and punch him right in his stupid f-,” You stopped short in your rant, the pacing you started somewhere along the line coming to a halt.

Bob was just standing there, head bowed, not saying a word. “Bobby?” You whispered gently, mentally cursing yourself for your tangent now when you should’ve been making sure he was okay. Opening your mouth to speak again, Bob cut you off. “Did… did you meant it? W-what you said. I-in there? Or was that just to get Hangman off my back?” The shake in his voice made your heart crack in two, but what truly broke it was the look on his face. So unsure, so pained, so scared that it was all just a big fat lie.

“Bobby, I-” you started, but was once again cut off. “It’s fine, I-I uh, I get it. I do. No hard feelings. But, um, thanks for taking care of Hangman.” Bob went to pass out, presumably to his car so he could get the hell out of there and save himself any further embarrassment for tonight. Before he could make it far, you grabbed his arm, tugging him back towards you and pushing your lips to his. Bob left out a soft whine, immediately melting into the feeling of you.

The kiss was soft, warm, delicate and messy all at once. It was everything you ever dreamed of, it just sucked that the events of tonight were what led up to it. Pulling away, your hands went up to cup his face, locking eyes with his in the compassionate embrace. “I meant every single word, Robby. All that, and so much more.” Bob broke out in a smile, with you following not far behind, before he surged forward and connected your lips once more. This time in a much more needy and demanding kiss, with his and your hands roaming each others bodies.

A soft moan left your lips in a tiny squeak, Bob pulling away with a satisfied grin. “Maybe we should take this somewhere a little more private? Don’t really feel like sharing those noises with anyone else.” You gasped and gently hit his arm, like how you had earlier. “Bobby! You dirty dog! I cant believe you… but yes. Yes. Let’s go, now. Please.” Bob couldn’t help to laugh at the display of utter desperation from you, as he led you to his car. The second you were inside, a full makeout session ensued. You ended up on his lap, albeit with some struggle because his car was tiny, but you made do. Grinding on his growing bulge, you moaned widely, his tongue darting into your mouth. “Fuck, Bobby, take me home. Want you to take me home and fuck me so bad. Will you, please?” You whined and begged, and what kind of man would he be to leave you so needy like this.

After you were safe and secure in the passenger seat, Bob wasted no time on stepping on the gas as he made his way back to his rental. After the mission, many, if not most, of the original crew got a transfer. Yourself included, though unlike Bob, you’re place wasn’t as nice. That didn’t matter though, it was all small details in the end. Because now you not only had the best of friends, but you finally got the guy. And said guy was taking you home to fuck you.

The drive wasn’t long, but damn, did it make you needier. You weren’t sly in the slightest, as you snuck your hand slowly up Bobs thigh, climbing higher and higher, stopping just below where you so desperately wanted to touch. Bob gave you a look, eyebrow quirked, lips in a smirk. “This okay?” you whispered, just to be sure. “More than okay, darling.” He confirmed, and that was more than enough for you to launch your attack. Unbuttoning his pants, you make quick work of pushing down his boxers as far as they would go before his hard and ready cock popped out. Your mouth went agap at the sight, suddenly feeling drool looking at the edges of you lips as you took in the length and size of him. He was huge! “Holy shit, Bobby, you really do got it goin’ on.” And with that, you took him into your mouth.

He couldn’t reach all the way in, so you made due by streaking the rest of him. Occasionally groping his balls, which earned the heavenly sound of his moans. You continued bobbing your head up and down, savoring the taste of him and the way he swore. “F-fuck! Yeah, yeah, just like that. Taking it so well, j-just like a good girl.” You moaned at the praise, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second. Then, before you knew it, the car came to an abrupt stop and so did the blowjob, as Bob gently grabbed your cheeks and lifted your head. “As much as I’d love to come in your throat, sweet thing, I’d much rather continue this inside. Where I can really treat you good,” he said with a wink. Oh, god, he was so fucking hot.

The two of you managed to stumble inside, hands never leaving each others bodies as you nipped and sucked at any possible exposed skin, groping and grinding and messy as he led you to his bed and practically tossed you on to it. By the time you made it to his bedroom, both of you were almost fully nude, aside from the underwear you wore. Which were fully soaked now, by the way. And damn, did Bob enjoy the sit. Sinking down to his knees on the floor, Bob grabbed your legs and scooted you forward so your ass hung over the bed almost completely. “Fuck, s’wet f’me,” he mumbled against the skin of your thighs, your ankles now hanging over his shoulders.

He worked his way up, pressing kisses to the soft skin, loving the way you moaned and begged for me. “You want my mouth or my fingers, darling?” He asked, and the smirk he wore when you screamed, “both!” only widened. “If it’s both you want, baby, then it’s both you’ll get.” And with that, your panties were gone in a flash as he tore them off and dove right in. “FUCK!” you moaned loudly, your hands frantically clutching the bedsheets. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, right there! Fuck yes!” He’d barely begun, still only using his tongue, as he lapped at you like a man starved. It was heavenly, the warmth of his tongue and the speed at which it tortured you with bliss.

Minutes, maybe even hours, fuck who knows how long went by with him in between your thighs, just licking and sucking and slurping at what you had to offer before he asked if you wanted his fingers yet. Of course you had screamed yes again, but it was all garbled and mumbled from the pleasure you felt. Bob chucked between you, the vibration a heavenly feeling on your clit. The added sensation of not just one, but two fingers prodding at your sensitive hole had your mind swimming in pure ecstasy. You knew you were close, and his fingers speeding in and out of you mixed with his tongue on your clit only brought on that freeing feeling. Bob must’ve felt the way you clenched around him, the way your thighs shook, and masterfully continued his work. Drilling his fingers inside of you and bringing your clit to rest in between his puckered lips had you exploding into a dazzling glow of orgasm you’ve never felt before.

Bob stayed between your thighs, fingers slowing down as he coaxed you through your orgasm. Once he knew you were good, he gently pulled his fingers out and tapped your thigh in a way of telling you “good job”. Climbing back onto the bed, he smiled down at your fucked out figure. The way your eyes were glazed over, your naked chest rising and falling. It was a beautiful sight to behold, and he was so lucky he got to be the one to do it. You smiled back at him, before slowly getting up so you sat on your knees with him on the bed, hands stroking up and down his arms. “As good as that was, and trust me, it was really good, I want you to fuck me for real now.”

Bob didn’t need to be told again, he bolted towards his bedside table, almost ripping the drawer out as he searched inside the messy compartment. “Aha!” He said victoriously, holding up a condom. You smiled softly at the man, who despite being a literal sex god a minute ago, still had the capability to be the goofy dork you’ve had feelings for forever now.

“You ready?” he asked earnestly once he got the condom on, you’ve never been more ready for anything in your life. “Just hurry up and fuck me, Floyd.” you said breathlessly, and that was more than enough for him to pounce on you like his life depended on it. His lips met yours in a flurry once more that night, the taste of you not gone from his mouth as he all but attacked yours. The tip of his cock met your folds in a blissful roll of his hips, making you gasp. Needing him inside you desperately, you grabbed his cock gently and helped him slowly guide it inside you, breathing out a sigh of relief once he filled you to the fullest. On your back, you laid there, allowing yourself to get used to the feeling of him. Bob, ever the patient man, didn’t move an inch until you gave him the go ahead.

Once the coast was clear, he was like a beast, snapping his hips at an unstoppable force. It felt so good, like all your nerves were set ablaze in the best way. Your ankles wrapped around his waist, your hands scratching up and down his back. The way he was bent over you gave him perfect access to your tits, to which he took full advantage and brought one of your nipples to his mouth. The feeling had you clenching around him like a viper, his hot tongue dancing around the sensitive skin of your breast brought you close to the edge again. His thrusts were hard and wild, but calculated, hitting the perfect spot every single time. You were both moaning like animals, swears and praises and the scent of sex filling the air as you fucked each other into the night. “Fuck, Bobby, m’so close. Wanna come with you, wanna come with you so bad.” you whined out, and Bob can’t think of a time in his life where he’s heard or experienced anything sexier.

“I’m almost there, my girl, fuck, so close. Just hold on f’me like a good girl, can ya do that? Can you wait like the good girl I know you are?” His voice was so gruff, deep and full of ecstasy. “Yeah,” you managed out in a high pitched whimper, something that made Bob’s cock twitch from inside of you. With a few more deep strokes inside you, he was ready, and he knew you were too. “Let go, baby. Come with me, fuck! You better come with me, baby, know you can.”

And so you did. And it was glorious. Earth shattering, mind blowing, you name it. Your skin was hot and sweaty, and you shook like a goddamn earthquake as you came, Bob not far behind as he experienced his own orgasm. Moaning wildly, he collapsed beside you the second he pulled out. The two of you lay there, breathing heavily, minds reeling from the most amazing and intense and powerful sex both of you have ever had in your entire lives. Once the two of you caught your breaths and energy enough to move, Bob cleaned the two of you up before pulling you into his arms. You laid there, head on his chest, looking up at him in pure fascination and wonder.

Yeah, Bobby’s definitely got it goin’ on for sure.

And Hangman can fuckin’ suck it!

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 15

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 15: The Widow

Chapter Summary: Contemplation.

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, lotta yearning and self-reflection, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, food

Notes: Chapter title from “The Widow" by The Mars Volta. This is the peak of angst in this story, I promise. Pleaaaaaase be mindful of the trigger warnings above. Big big thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading 🖤✨ OK THANKS FOR READING YALL LOVE U SORRY IF ITS A BUMMER.

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As far back as you can remember, you hated the dark. 

The uncertainty of what it contained would keep you up for hours in your childhood bedroom. 

Your mind ran rampant, imagining all kinds of insidious creatures lurking in the shadows. Beneath your bed, in the corners, behind your closet door, outside your window. Watching, waiting for you to fall asleep. 

At some point you started sleeping with the lights on. Your parents got you a nightlight in an attempt to curtail this behavior, but it wasn’t enough. There were still shadows. You were still cloaked in darkness with the monsters. All this did was begin a new ritual, where you waited until they went to bed before turning on the lights. 

One night, after you heard your parents’ bedroom door click shut, you scurried over to the light switch and flipped it up. The overhead light came to life, flooding the room in safety. Relief.  

By the time you crawled back into bed, your dad opened the door and peeked into the room. He looked between you and the overhead light, sighing, “Louella, we talked about this.” 

“Don’t turn the light off.” 

“Why not?”

Even then it felt silly. The answer stuck to the inside of your throat, hot and buzzing. Instead of letting it out, you burrowed beneath the covers and curled up into yourself. 

The floorboards creaked as your dad made his way across the room. He sat on the edge of your mattress and rubbed your back, comforting you. 

“Sweet pea,” he cooed, peeling back your Lion King comforter to expose your face, “It’s not good for you to sleep with the lights on all the time.” 

At this, you pouted at your blanket, fiddling with the frayed edges. 

“The dark is scary, isn’t it?”

You nodded. 

“What’s so scary about it?”

You shrugged. 

He hummed in acknowledgment, then glanced around the room, “I’ll let you in on a secret. Most everyone is afraid of the dark at some point or another. You know why?” 

Another shrug. 

“In the light, we have certainty. We can look over in that corner and see with our own eyes there’s no boogeyman there. It’s just a corner. Done deal. The dark… that’s trickier, isn’t it?” 

You nodded, trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the monsters you believed would manifest in the black abyss and swallow you whole. 

“You’re safe here, though. I promise. It’s just you in here. There’s nothing hiding in the dark. The corner is just a corner. All that’s under your bed is dust. In your closet, it’s just clothes.” 

“Can you check?” 

He chuckled, but granted your request, lowering himself to the ground to peek under your bed, telling you, “Nothing under here,” then climbed to his feet and strode over to your closet, pulling the door wide open so you could see the proof yourself. 

“All clear,” he said as he closed it and returned to your bedside, “Does that help?”

You nodded, casting your gaze down to your lap. A lingering feeling of dread still sat heavy in your stomach. His gaze stayed trained on you, obviously unconvinced. 

Eventually you asked, “But what if we just don’t see it now? What if it sneaks?”

Your voice felt tiny, meek. 

His shoulders deflated with a sigh. He scooted closer and petted your hair, holding eye contact when he countered, “Your brain is trickier than the dark ever will be. It makes you see things that aren’t there. Unless you believe it’s safe, you’ll never be able to rest.” 

He was right, you suppose. 

Rest only really found you when you trusted the lights’ promise that nothing would hurt you when it vanished. Even when the light broke its promise. Even when your dad went to the ER and returned in a box.

You tried to believe that your family would live on without him. That he would still somehow keep you safe. 

But he didn’t. 

Neither did your mother. 

Your mother cut the power and made you fend for yourself.

You learned that the only way to ensure nothing would hurt you was to make sure the room was vacant before deadbolting the door. To lock the windows and draw the blinds. You sharpened your teeth into fangs. You developed night vision and grew claws, and you hid so well you thought nothing could find you. 

Sure, it was dark. 

But the abyss had only one occupant, you knew that as fact. 

Sure, your skin ached to feel the sunlight. 

But you were safe. 

You’re not sure when it happened, but sooner or later, you swore you could see shapes shifting in the pitch black. When you laid in bed at night, you could hear something in the walls. The faint, dry scratch of nails on plaster. 

It sneaks. 

The thing became clearer over time. Bloated, purpled skin. Limbs that popped and groaned when it crept around just beyond your reach. It carried the stench of rot, putrid and sulphuric. 

Deep down in your guts, you understood the horrible truth. 

It was you. 

A part of you, anyway. Something that lived and died inside you, stillborn into the darkness just to haunt you. 

Then there was Ethan. 

Brash and charming, he took a sledgehammer to your walls and yanked you from your hiding place. Sunshine poured into the dark, dank room, soaking you in brightness. 

At first you were terrified. 

It overwhelmed your senses. 

Your eyes, having long forgotten how to operate in the light, burned in reaction. You clamped them closed for fear of going blind. It felt so warm you thought you might melt. Ethan’s honeyed words seemed like loudspeakers compared to the quiet echo of your breathing. To the faint, hoarse whisper of your monster. 

It took some time to acclimate to this long-forgotten brightness. But once you did, it felt incredible. You couldn’t believe you hid from it for so long. 

Together, you understood that with light, comes shadows. He had a monster who crept after nightfall, too. Sometimes you’d wake to the soft caress of its nails on your cheek, to his sour, putrid breath gurgling in your ear, “I will be the death of you,” like a promise. 

You came to trust its keeper, though. You believed it wouldn’t tear you apart, like yours wouldn’t Ethan.  

That is the promise of love, after all, isn’t it? 

To cherish one’s light so much that you’ll endure their dark? To love even the most haunted, grotesque parts of someone? Even their monsters? Even their ghosts? 

To trust that you can rest your weary bones in the dark without it destroying you? 

You believed this for so long. Bright years filled with joy and laughter and love, where you felt alive and trusted him. In those years, you forgot a very important fact:

 It sneaks. 

The fireplace lets out a sharp POP, drawing your attention away from the pitch black window. 

A smoldering log at the bottom of the hearth collapses. The fire shifts, birthing fresh flames that breathe hot against your cheeks. 

You pull the quilt snug around your supine body and huddle deeper into the couch, into the warmth of your body heat. 

When you called your mother-in-law yesterday and explained what was happening, that you needed a place to stay for a few days while you figure out what to do, she graciously granted your request to use their cabin out in the Sierra Nevada foothills, but warned you the place was winterized and had no central heating. 

“I don’t know what condition it’s in, nobody’s been out there since August. There’s quite a bit of firewood by the fireplace and out by the woodshed, use as much as you need. Electricity is on, but no internet and cell service is shoddy. You’ll need to get the water going, too—you know, why don’t you give me or Adam a call once you’re out there, we can walk you through it.” 

“Is there a landline? I don’t have my phone.” 

“Sure is.” 

“Ok, I’ll call you when I get there.” 

“Stop and get some groceries in town, too, there’s that grocery store—”

“Yeah, I remember,” you interrupted, eyes darting to the departures board, “I have to go, my bus is gonna be here soon. Thank you so much, Sarah.”

You could feel it coming within one second of the quiet hesitation that followed. 

“Lou, I just want to make sure…” 

Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. 

“Are you ok, honey?”

Fuck. 

Your face crumbled. Emotion clogged your throat. Tingles worked up your chest, behind your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to suffocate the tears. 

“Yeah,” you managed to tell her, your voice wavering with bullshit, “I just, um… I just need a few days. To get myself together, you know.” 

“Alright. Well, will you call me when you get there?”

“Yep,” you sniffled, “Talk to you then, bye.” 

Before she could respond, you returned the receiver to its cradle, ending the call, then took a moment to gather yourself before picking your toppled-over suitcase up off the ground and finding your bus.

The ride to Fresno was long. You spent most of it staring out the window, not really looking at anything in particular, just lost in your noisy head. 

At the Fresno Bus Station, you talked to three different cab drivers before finding one who agreed to bring you all the way out here. 

He made a few attempts at small talk, asking how your day was going and if you were on vacation and so on, but quickly picked up on your not-so-chatty vibes and let the cab go quiet. 

As he drove on, palm trees were replaced by threadbare ash trees, soon joined by evergreens. The hills became steeper. Swathes of rock broke through the earth’s soft surface, more and more with each mile. 

You asked him to stop in the town closest to your in-laws’ cabin. He kept the meter running while you bought a meager supply of groceries, figuring you only needed a few days worth, if that. 

Then the yellow taxi cab then drove deep into the forest, turning off on a low-maintenance dirt road that made the car jostle and rumble. 

When you came around a curve, and the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN came into view, you instructed him to drop you off there. 

“Are you sure? I can take you down the driveway, no problem,” he insisted. 

You could have explained that the gravel driveway was in poor condition and you didn’t want him to break down or something. Imagine that. Drive a girl to the middle of a goddamn forest and wind up getting stuck out there. What a fucking nightmare. For both of you, really. 

“I’m sure,” you said, flashing him a weak smile as you handed him the remaining money from your wallet, “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he looked down at the bundle of cash, but he took it, giving you a nod of thanks. 

“Just, um…” you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged, looping plastic grocery bags around your wrists, “If anyone comes around asking if you saw me, could you maybe… maybe you could say no?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded again, studying you for a moment before turning to open his door, “Let me get your bag for you.” 

He pulled your shitty suitcase from the trunk and handed it to you. Before returning to the driver’s seat to begin his voyage home, he paused for a few seconds, then looked at you. 

“Excuse me for asking, ma’am, but are you… well, are you… safe? Do you need me to contact anyone?”

“No.” 

The word came out sharp and final. It felt harsh leaving your lips, so you added, “I mean, you don’t need to contact anyone. I am, uhhh… cool as a cucumber. Safe… as a lock. Thanks, though.” 

You tried your hardest to give him a reassuring smile. He didn’t look like he bought it, but got in his taxi and left. 

From here, you followed the driveway into a tunnel carved out from the trees. 

The air was crisp and clear and everything seemed quiet except for the sound of you huffing and puffing down the path, leaves crunching under your feet, plastic bags rustling, your suitcase flopping around behind you like a defiant animal on a leash, fighting against each step. 

Fucking exhausting. 

About halfway, you spotted a flat boulder peeking out from the earth a few strides into the forest. You dropped your suitcase, shaking the plastic bags from your wrists, and blundered through the trees towards it. Your rubber legs ached with relief when you sat down criss-cross applesauce on the cool stone. Catching your breath, you leaned back and tilted your face up towards the canopy. A breeze rattled through the pines and ashes and cooled your cheeks. 

You spent some time here, stretched out on the boulder, admiring the contrast of the dark, rheumatic branches stretched out towards the powder-blue sky. When your labored breathing calmed, the quiet sounds of the forest started to come into focus. Leaves rustling. Birds warbling. The whistle of wind.

It felt nice. 

Peaceful.

Eventually, you heaved yourself to your feet and resumed your journey. You walked and walked, legs and wrists and arms aching, body and mind sapped of energy, until the tree line opened up into a clearing. 

The cabin came into view, and a bone-deep sense of nostalgia struck you. 

You remembered the first time Ethan brought you here, the summer after you started dating. Everything seemed to pulse with life. The trees, glowing green with leaves. The roaring river in the background. Ethan. The future, in general. 

What’s the word for the kind of nostalgia that guts you? The kind that feels like a 30-pound weight in your stomach? The kind that shreds your heart to pieces in your chest? 

That’s exactly what you felt when you saw the cabin. 

It looked cold. Dead. 

The inside felt no different. Everything was dark. Cool, still air bit your cheeks. Canvas was draped over all the furniture. It smelled of dust and damp and better times. 

You dropped your belongings to the entryway floor, collapsing in a heap among them, then cried your eyes dry.

Once you gathered yourself, you found the phone to call Sarah. 

She walked you through the ins-and-outs of making the cabin habitable. How to turn the water back on and get the fireplace going. Gave you permission to use whatever you want or need… which, so far, is just some firewood, a quilt from the cedar linen closet, and this couch. 

You blink your bleary eyes a few times, before looking back to the window. The world outside has lightened. Frosted trees stand out in the rich, Neptunian veil of morning, every branch appearing lacy and crystalline, important and beautiful. 

Have I slept? Or did I sit here all night, staring into the abyss?

“Fuck it,” you sigh to yourself as you sit upright, “Might as well make some coffee.” 

Ding

The elevator doors slide open.

Dieter follows Parker onto the fifth floor hallway of your apartment building. 

As he walks down the familiar hallway like he has so many times before, a guttural, foreboding feeling builds in his veins. 

The sensation is unbelievably heavy, but hollow. Knight’s armor. A church bell. The barrel of a gun. 

It reminds Dieter of the first time he came here, when he sensed Ethan’s presence on the other side of that door. 

“Hopefully the landlord didn’t change the locks,” Parker says as he flips through his keychain, isolating one labeled LOU. The key slides in without protest. Parker pushes the door open and enters the apartment, Dieter hot on his heels.  

When Parker flips the light on, the state of your apartment makes Dieter’s stomach drop. 

Ransacked is the first word that comes to mind. 

Every drawer and cupboard in your kitchen sits ajar, their contents disorganized or spread across the countertop. The couch and chair cushions are all discombobulated. Dirt tracks dried into the white carpet trace the heavy flow of boots that moved in and out of the apartment. It looks like every surface of the place has been perverted. 

Dieter crouches down to set an overturned cubby upright, shoving a pile of your hats and scarves and gloves back into their rightful place, muttering, “Fucking pigs.”

A leopard print pattern catches his eye, and he plucks out a scarf, draping it around his neck before returning the container to its home. 

“Pigs is right,” Parker snorts, slamming closed cupboards and drawers, “This place is a fuckin’ stye. I’m glad she’s not here to see this.”

Dieter rubs the soft fabric between his fingers and brings it to his nose, inhaling your scent. A freshly-baked smell that prods his tender heart. He stands and starts towards the kitchen, but freezes when he notices the door to Ethan’s room is open. His eyes flick from Parker, totally preoccupied with reassembling the kitchen, then back to the doorway. 

Curiosity gnaws at his insides. 

He approaches it, trying to act casual despite his pounding heart. At the threshold, he pauses to peak inside, not entirely surprised to see the room exactly as he pictured it. 

Well, mostly, anyway. 

No file cabinet or deep freezer, but open spaces where he thought they’d be. Taken as evidence, probably. Empty file folders are strewn across the desk. But the navy blue walls, the hardwood floor, the mirrors… all there. 

That horrible, palpable emptiness, like loss on loss on loss… that’s there, too. 

He glances over his shoulder at Parker, still distracted, then looks back into the room. When he steps through the doorway, a rush of adrenaline spikes his pulse. 

Why are you here?

Dieter cautiously wanders over to the desk and starts picking up the empty file folders, halting when he finds a sketchpad beneath one. 

He flips through the book of abstract black-ink illustrations. Some of them scribbles, some exquisite, some in-between. All of them saturated with emotion. Hopelessness. Guilt. Anger. Grief. Frustration. Every time he turns a page, a new sensation strikes him. Shame. Resentment. Suspicion. A whole dictionary of dark emotions. 

Scattered throughout, though, he finds a few that feel… not lighter, per se, but different. They feature negative space and soft curves. Clean lines and chaos. Love. 

They’re you. 

Of course they’re you, love. Of course you were his light in the darkness. A brightness carved out of soot and rot. 

A fond smile creeps across his lips. 

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Dieter looks to one of the mirrors and asks, “Can I take this with me? To give to her?” 

Yeah, sure. 

“Thanks,” he nods and tucks the book into his coat pocket, glancing over his shoulder before quietly inquiring, “Any chance you know where she is?”

Not here.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dieter thinks. He jumps a little when he hears the response crystal clear in his head. 

Well then why the fuck’re you here? You’re wasting time. 

“Me? What about you? Didn’t you move on from this place?”

After this, Ethan goes quiet. 

Dieter shrugs and looks away from the mirror to study the framed photos on the wall. Photos of Ethan with, who Dieter assumes are, his kids. None of them recent. The vast majority of the pictures feature you. 

You and Ethan kissing on your wedding day. The two of you posing somewhere with mountains in the background, drinking on a beach, dancing at a party. Each one depicts big, genuine smiles. The adoration you had for each other is evident. 

As the successor to your heart, maybe he should feel a twinge of jealousy, but he doesn’t. He actually finds it sweet. It fills him with warmth to know you spent a long while being well-loved. 

The wall of photos displays relics from Ethan’s youth, too. 

Graduation photos, family vacations, a bar mitzvah. Dieter picks up on something. A distinct before and after. He stops on a picture of Ethan as a child, hugging a younger boy—his brother, Benji—by a lake, and it starts to come together. Although he can’t quite pinpoint the defining line, it splits him in two and fractures into shards. 

An icy cold rush overtakes his body, like the word gave out from under him and he’s suddenly submerged in freezing water. He can’t breathe. He can’t scream. Feral, panicked energy pulses through his veins. His concrete limbs can’t move, paralyzed as he sinks, deeper, deeper, deeper…

Dieter returns to himself with a jolt, gasping for air. 

He takes a step back and slumps over, pressing his palms into his knees as he pants, “What the fuck, man? What the fuck?” 

You need to find her before it’s too late. 

Red bubbles up his chest.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” he sits up, jaw clenched, fists balled, and steps into the through-line of the mirrors. They reflect off one another to form a long, curved tunnel that stretches out on either side of him. Dieter looks from one mirror, to the other, seeing his image captured within each infinite layer. 

“Fuck you, man,” he seethes, shaking his head, “You fucking did this, you know that? Fucking piece of shit. I’m fucking trying, ok?” 

The last sentence comes out hoarse and thick. Heat works up his throat and his vision blurs with tears. 

“Whoa—hey, Dieter,” Parker runs into the room, all wide-eyed and searching Dieter’s face, “What’s wrong?” 

A sob heaves his shoulders. He hangs his head, shaking it from side-to-side, “I’m trying, Parker.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, pulling Dieter into a hug, reassuring him, “We’re gonna find her.” 

“What if we don’t?”

“We will. Keep that faith, papi. We will.” 

Dieter buries his face in Parker’s bony shoulder, releasing the pent-up worry and guilt festering infectious in his chest for the past day. Parker pets his hair and rocks him back and forth, letting out a few of his own sniffles alongside Dieter’s. 

When their crying starts to peter out, Parker gives him one more squeeze and pulls back, asking, “You wanna get out of here? This place is a fucking mess, and we gotta catch that flight soon anyway.“

“Can I look in her room first?” 

Parker’s eyebrows knit together over bloodshot eyes, and he nods, patting his friend on the shoulder before stepping aside. 

Dieter approaches your bedroom cautiously. Paranoid thoughts circulate in his brain, all those what-ifs and delusions of tragedy. What if he finds you here, cold and lifeless? What if you’re dead somewhere while he pokes around your apartment, looking for clues? Is he doing enough? Could he do more? 

But when the door groans on its hinges as he pushes it open, and he sets foot inside your bedroom, the impending doom percolating in his veins drains from him almost instantly. Many of your things have been rifled through, like the rest of your apartment, but the place holds an air of serenity. 

It feels warm and safe. 

It feels like you. 

Flipping the light on, he closes the door behind him, then walks over to your bed and crawls under the covers, burying himself beneath them. 

The sheets still carry a faint whiff of sex and sleep from before the two of you embarked for LA. His lungs expand with a deep, wide breath. Eyes drifting closed, he thinks of you. How you’re feeling. Where you are. What you’re doing. 

He picks up the bite of a chilled breeze. The steady babble of a river. Warm hands. Burnt tongue. Coffee, bitter and black. 

The signal drops. 

Not much, but enough for him to know you’re not in immediate danger, which brings him some solace. 

Still under the blankets, he pulls out his phone and dials your number. It rings and rings until your voicemail picks up. 

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.” 

“Hey doll, it’s me. I’m at your apartment. It’s a fucking mess. Parker and I stopped by before going back to LA. He’s coming with me to help… well, to help find you. Anyway. I’m in your bed. It still smells like us. It was hard for me to fall asleep last night without you. Waking up without you is… it’s hell. I don’t know. I miss you, Lua. It’s been one fucking day and I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life. I love you. I’ll call you when I get back.” 

Despite your lack of sleep, you managed to make this morning a productive one. 

You removed the slip-cases from the furniture and dusted, then forced yourself to eat a halfway decent breakfast of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. After washing the dishes, you soaked in the tub for a while, staring up at the wood-paneled bathroom ceiling as you contemplated what to do with yourself, both in the short-term context and the long-term. 

While drying off, you noticed the bright, mid-day sun shining down into the valley, making everything glow golden. It looked inviting. 

You dug through your suitcase, sifting through the clothing you packed with a warmer climate in mind. Shorts. Dresses. Bikinis. The best you could do was a sweater and some pajama bottoms. 

Down by the riverbank, you found this creaky wooden porch swing and settled on which to sit and ponder. 

You smooth the tip of your finger along the dewy lip of the mug, breaking up a curl of steam with each lazy revolution around its circumference. 

Today is the shortest day of the year. 

The winter solstice. 

Every once in a while, wind rolls down off the snowy tips of the Sierra Nevadas and meets the warmth of the California sun. The creaky wooden bench sits square in the middle of these contradictory weather conditions. Hot and cold. Dry and damp. Constantly churning, waxing and waning from one state to another. 

A crisp gust of wind from upriver cuts through the sun-baked pocket of air where you’re seated. You huddle into your jacket and bring the steaming mug to your lips, hissing when the black coffee scorches your tongue. 

The thought of Dieter shoots through you like a bullet. 

You picture him beneath the covers of your bed, fully clothed in his furry winter jacket, wearing your scarf, eyes clenched shut, wishing you would come out of hiding because it’s safe now. 

It rattles you. 

An infinite number of memories and worries and hopes and what-ifs flood your mushy, sleep deprived brain. They all muddle together in an incomprehensible cluster fuck that sets your blood ablaze and makes your ears ring. Your body contracts, squeezing a sob from deep within your chest. 

Fuck. 

Every single ounce of you aches to see him. To smell him. To feel his arms wrapped around you and hear his voice murmuring honeyed affirmations in your ear, telling you he loves you and understands why you had to leave. 

You pray he understands that you didn’t want to. Of fucking course you didn’t want to. You had to. For his sake and for yours. 

During the FaceTime call with Parker, when you first saw the cops outside your building, then David Alterman, you could only see two paths forward: Dieter would choose you or his career. 

Would he have chosen you? Maybe, but it would have been foolish. 

He would have to support you through whatever punishment the state of New York has queued up against you—prison, probably—on top of dealing with the fallout. The public backlash, the halt of money flow, not to mention the loss of his career, which means more to him than public opinion or money. In his own words, acting is his fucking purpose in life. 

And for what? An incarcerated girlfriend? Even if you put the issue of your pending criminal charges aside, you still wouldn’t be worth that loss. 

It would be gradual, but eventually he would feel it. 

It sneaks. 

He would come to resent you, and you wouldn’t be able to fault him one bit. 

Would he have chosen his career? Maybe, but it would ruin you both. 

If he chose to break off your relationship in order to salvage his career, you would have to hear him say it. You would have to know, with certainty, that you take second place in his heart. Maybe this is a selfish notion, this desire to be his number one priority. If he didn’t choose his wife over his career, why the fuck would he choose you?

Not only that, but if he chose this path, he would have to shoulder the hardship of two broken hearts. You know he loves you. You do. Ending your relationship would devastate him. He would be plagued with guilt and shame and regret, all the same as if he chose you to begin with. 

It seemed cruel to force him to make this impossible choice. No matter what he did, it would be wrong, and he would carry the burden.

This is when you saw the third path branch out before you. 

The one where you could sneak out before the sun rises, dragging your monster by its tether behind you. Where you could lock yourself away in a boarded-up room and wait for her to take you. You, not him. 

You would rather absorb the blame, from him and everyone else, a million times over than curse him with the responsibility of this dissolution.  

This is a mercy kill. 

An act of love. 

It may not seem like it to anyone else, but really, it is. 

This thought brings you some solace. 

Another gust of wind blows shivers down your spine. You bring the mug to your lips to test the coffee’s temperature, finding it tepid, but drink it anyway. 

Dieter wasn’t sure what to expect when he came home. 

Worst case scenario, he imagined cops waiting to arrest him for bribing an elected official or tell him you turned up dead. Best case, he imagined opening the door to find you there. Problem solved. Happily ever after. He would kiss you breathless and never let you doubt your station in his life again. 

What was most likely, though—and what he found—was something in the wide gray area between his paranoia and hopeless romanticism. 

Lincoln was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through TikTok on his phone, while Darlene sat at the dining room table, typing away on her laptop. 

Although he tried to keep an open mind the whole way here, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Here he was, exhaustion burning his bones to dust, expecting some kind of a celebration, only to find out this was a checkpoint, not a finish line. 

Lincoln and Darlene both perk up at the sound of the door opening. They both rise from their respective places to greet Dieter and Parker. 

“Hey, welcome back!” Lincoln calls as he grabs Dieter’s suitcase, “How was your flight?”

“Fine,” he grunts, then nods to Parker, “This is Parker. Parker, this is my PA Lincoln and my publicist Darlene.” 

“Former publicist,” Darlene corrects, shaking Parker’s hand, “Nice to meet you.” 

Parker gives her a polite smile and a nod to her and Lincoln and tells them, “Thanks for your help.” 

“Want me to take your suitcase?” Lincoln asks Parker, dark blonde eye brows raised in expectation. 

“I’ve got it, love,” Parker waves him off with a dismissive hand, then turns to Dieter, “Where do you want me?” 

Before he can answer, Lincoln cuts in, “Here, I’ll show you to the open guest room.” 

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Parker’s mouth. He shrugs, “Lead the way, pretty boy.” 

Even in the dim illumination of the waning daylight, Dieter sees Lincoln’s cheeks flush pink. He grins and starts off down the hall. Before following, Parker looks at Dieter, raising a mischievous brow as he glances between him and Lincoln, mouthing, “Cute.” 

“Any updates?” Dieter asks Darlene as he slides off his crocs and starts towards the kitchen. 

“Well,” she sighs, crossing her arms, tilting her head to one side, “There has been progress.” 

The way she says it sounds like the beginning of bad news. He pauses his search for food and frowns at her. Static rises in his throat. 

“And?”

She walks to the dining room table to grab her notebook, flipping back a few pages as she approaches the kitchen island and leans against it. 

“So, I was able to trace her steps to a transit station in Fresno. I went up there yesterday and talked to security. Found out she took a cab from there, but the cab company won’t disclose where they dropped her. The driver reported that she seemed… off. Said she seemed scared and was very secretive, like she was in danger or something. He thought maybe she was running from a domestic abuse situation, and requested that the company not disclose her location.” 

Dieter gapes at this, unable to formulate words. She continues. 

“She talked a few other cab drivers before this one, so I talked to them. They told me she didn’t give them an address, just said it was about sixty miles away, up in the foothills. But that’s… that’s all I was able to get. The trail runs cold there.” 

“Can’t we throw some cash at the cabbie who drove her? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it, I don’t care—” 

“I tried,” she shook her head, throwing her hands up at her sides, “I told them to name their price, they said it wasn’t about money, it was about safety.” 

Heat spikes his blood, overwhelming him with nervous energy that sets him into motion, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his neck, clenching his jaw. 

“What the fuck do we do now?”

“Do you know if she has any family or friends in that area? Maybe she mentioned something in passing—” 

“No, of course she didn’t,” he scoffs. 

Darlene doesn’t say anything. Her hazel eyes follow him from side-to-side. 

“I know her family is from Ohio, her friends are from New York. Anything else is a fucking mystery to me,” he shakes his head and stops pacing to holler, “PARKER, get in here!”

A few seconds later, he hears footfalls in the hallway, then Parker rounds the corner, blinking at him, “I know you didn’t just call for me like a fuckin’ dog.”

“Does Lua know anyone out by Fresno? In the mountains?” Darlene asks him. 

Parker frowns as he thinks about this, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Distant relatives, old friends,” Darlene glances at Dieter, “Exes, anything like that?”

Dieter glares at her, nostrils flaring, to which she defends, “We have to cast a wide net, I’m just asking.” 

Parker shakes his head again, “No. 

“What about Ethan’s family?” 

His face stays fixed in a searching expression. No glint of recognition. 

Dieter’s shoulders slump. 

Parker looks at him, brows knit together with concern, and adds, “But honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted, I might not be remembering right now.” 

They sit there for a moment, dull and disenchanted, until Darlene sighs, “Well, should we order some takeout?”

By late afternoon, the sun starts to sink down into the ragged black tree line of the far away mountains. 

Rays of light catch the atmosphere just right, casting a shimmering golden hue onto the cabin. One of these beautiful glowing beams streams through the window and manages to hit you square in the eyeballs. 

Grimacing, you flip your book belly-down onto the end table and push yourself up into a sitting position. A yawn expands your lungs. You stretch your arms above your head, then let them fall limp at your sides. 

Charred logs glow inside the fireplace. No flames. You rise to your feet and trudge over to it, swinging the grate open to slide a few more logs on the fire. They sizzle and pop as they catch heat and light ablaze. 

You look around the cozy, rustic living room, glancing at the clock on the wall, then out the window. 

Earlier today, while poking around the cabin for something interesting to take your mind off… Well, everything, you stumbled upon a small stash of homemade wine. A glass–maybe a bottle–sounds nice right now. Maybe you could make some food, too. Probably should. 

You pad across the dark lacquered floorboards to the cellar door, and push it open. Wrinkling your nose at the mildew scent, you flip the lightswitch on and tip-toe down the stairs, then across the room to the wine rack. One-by-one, you pull out the corked green glass bottles and take note of their year. A few are labeled Plum 2017. Two Strawberry 2018s. Half a dozen Red 2018s. 

One of the bottles reads White 2017. A fond smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You slip the bottle under your arm before jogging up the stairs to the main level, where you sift through Sarah’s record collection. A Frank Sinatra album catches your eye, so you put it on, then pour a glass of wine and survey your limited options for supper. 

A part of you wants to say fuck it, skip the meal. Just let your empty stomach soak up the wine. Let the tiny tendrils of alcohol branch out into your bloodstream and work its numbing magic. Maybe it’ll dim the acute pain simmering beneath your sternum. 

Then you spot the lemon on the counter, sitting beside a bulb of garlic and a blue mesh bag of onions. 

There’s pasta and olive oil in the cabinet. Parmesan in the fridge. You could make something nice with that. Maybe watch the sunset. 

I could do it tonight.

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the first time you saw him. Shifty and slightly arrogant, all blown-out pupils and twitches. Basically a red flag wearing a human suit. You thought he was handsome, though. And his booming laughter brought a real smile to your face for the first time in weeks. 

It felt familiar. 

It felt like sunshine kissing your skin after a long bout of darkness. 

Shaking the picture from your head, you start rummaging through the cupboards for a pot and saucepan. You fill the pot with water, toss in some salt. 

When you pull the chef’s knife from the butcher block, you pause to examine the blade in the golden hour light. 

I could slice my pulse open. 

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the second time you met him. Kaleidoscope skin and chartreuse aura. Acid stripped away the cocaine ego to expose his bare bones. And they were beautiful. 

Something happened that night. A tethering. A melding. Some ethereal otherworldly connection that intertwined your souls. 

Even though he was essentially a stranger, you couldn’t shake the sense that he had always been and always would be a part of you. 

Swallowing around the emotion welling up in your throat, you shake your head. Too messy. 

The thought of your own blood makes you queasy. If some has to find you like that? 

Fuck.  

Your stomach twists into nausea. 

You set down the knife and find a cutting board, then resume your dinner preparation, singing along to the music, concentrating on the mechanical motion of the blade tearing through the onion, meeting resistance with each aromatic layer. 

The goddamn knife is dull anyway. 

After mincing the garlic, you nudge your little piles of chopped-up produce into the gleaming pool of melted butter in the saucepan. Steam rises with a gentle sizzle, moisture meeting fat. 

Inside the pot, tiny ripe bubbles line the underwater walls, waiting to burst. 

Turn up the heat. 

Stir the saucepan. 

Sip your wine. 

You tap your fingers on the countertop, following the beat of the brass band, and quietly sing along with Ol’ Blue Eyes, “No one would care, no one would cry. If I should live, if I should live or die. What now, my love? Now there is nothing. Only my last, my last goodbye.” 

You picture Dieter at the beach, holding your hand as the two of you waded through the tide. The best day of your life. 

You picture him in his boxers, watering his plants. You picture his warm brown eyes flicking between you and a sketchpad. Him taking the first bite of a gooey brownie and groaning with delight. Laying behind you in the bathtub, arms wrapped around your waist underwater, planting a soft kiss on your cheek bone. Waking up in the morning, his wild dark curls all bent the shape of his pillow indent, a wistful, sleepy smirk on his lips. Laughing. Smiling. Telling you he loves you. Meaning it. 

A deep ache of shame spreads across your chest. Your stomach churns. Tears burn behind your eyes, then spill over, streaming hot down your cheeks. 

How fucking stupid are you to think the darkness wouldn’t come and swallow everything whole, Dieter included? 

What, because you’re in love, the two of you should be spared? 

Has that ever stopped her before? 

I should fucking know better. 

A far-off, high frequency noise starts in your ear and it cuts audio for a second. Everything around you seems far away. Not real. You feel spectral, like you’re dreaming or a ghost or in a tv show or something. 

Entirely fiction. 

Sniffling, you wipe your damp with the sleeve of your sweater. 

You grab the wine glass off the counter and swallow its contents, then refill it, splashing a little vino into the saucepan before setting the bottle aside. 

A roar swells as the ingredients get to know each other. You take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, pungent scent, then notice steam billowing off the water in your pot. The still surface has erupted into a consistent boil. You throw about half of a pound of fettuccine into the pot. More than enough, but who the fuck makes only one serving of pasta? 

While the fettuccine cooks, you pour some cream into the saucepan, then whisk and whisk and whisk, pausing periodically to stir the pasta. Once the sauce thickens,  you whisk in pre-grated parmesan a pinch at a time. You fish a strand of fettuccine out of the boiling water and confirm its al dente status, then transfer a few spoonfuls of pasta water into the sauce before pouring the pot over a colander in the sink. 

It calms you, this process. The step-by-step. Seeing the fruits of your labor unfold in real time. Each checkbox marked calms your ragged nerves more than the last. 

Before you know it, you’re curled up in an adirondack chair on the deck, quilt draped over your shoulders, twisting fettuccine around your fork as you watch the sun sink down into the mountains, turning the sky into this beautiful vivid watercolor. It’s fucking gorgeous, you’ll give it that. 

Am I really going to go through with this? 

That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? To end this? To ascend into that glowing iridescent tunnel? To cross the threshold and finally return to the sea of love?

It’s funny, you think, how your whole life you were afraid of dying because you didn’t know what came after. 

But after seeing it, you know you had it completely backwards. 

Death is a piece of cake. You weren’t scared once when it happened. It’s like the light turned on in your room and you knew there was nothing hiding in wait. Nothing sneaking. 

Life, though? 

Life is scrambling through the darkness of uncertainty, trying to find a beacon. When you make contact with them, you cling to flames, hoping they’ll burn forever to keep you safe and warm. They won’t. They always burn out. 

By the time you finish your pasta, the wine has fully assimilated into your bloodstream, drowning all the excess noise in your head. You polish off the bottle while watching the sun sink down into the Sierra Nevadas. Dusk absorbs the light. The atmosphere shifts from midnight blue to inky black, enveloping you in darkness. It doesn’t even bother you. 

Head swimming with wine, you lay out on the cold deck and stare up at the nighttime sky, littered with dazzling pinprick stars. 

They remind you of all the times you stargazed with your father, and the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars Ethan hung on the ceiling of the first bedroom you shared with him. 

They remind you of how incredibly vast the darkness is. 

How the hopeful glimmer of a star can appear so bright and so close, but really be lightyears away, in another galaxy, another life. 

Maybe the next one. 

[ Next Chapter ]

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

Requests are OPEN🎉

Dear All,

Requests are now OPEN! Please feel free to send in your requests. I have listed the characters that I write for below the ‘keep reading’ line. A few things to remember:

I do NOT write ships like Buddie etc. I only write Reader-Inserts.

I only write for characters mentioned in the list as well as any that have been added under the Additional Characters sections on my Masterlist.

I have not yet written SMUT fics, but I am not opposed to doing so.

I do not currently have an uploading schedule, but I will try to get any requests done ASAP.

That’s all there is to say, so feel free to request!

Thanks,

Emily xoxo

Complete Character Masterlist

9-1-1

Eddie Diaz

Evan Buckley

9-1-1 LONE STAR

Carlos Reyes

Judd Ryder

TK Strand

AVENGERS

Bucky Barnes

Loki Laufeyson

Peter Parker

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Tony Stark

BRASSIC

Vinnie O'Neil

CASTLE

Javier Esposito

Kevin Ryan

Richard Castle

CHICAGO FIRE

Kelly Severide

Matt Casey

CHICAGO PD

Antonio Dawson

Jay Halstead

CHRONICLES OF NARNIA

Edmund Pevensie

Peter Pevensie

Prince Caspian

CRIMINAL MINDS

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Spencer Reid

FATE THE WINX SAGA

Riven

Sky

FRIENDS

Joey Tribbiani

HARRY POTTER

Draco Malfoy

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Harry Potter

Ron Weasley

James Potter

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL

Troy Bolton

LETHAL WEAPON

Martin Riggs

OUTERBANKS

JJ Maybank

John B. Routledge

Rafe Cameron

Topper Thornton

RIVERDALE

Archie Andrews

FP Jones

Jughead Jones

Reggie Mantle

Sweet Pea

RIZZOLI & ISLES

Frankie Rizzoli

SHAMELESS

Carl Gallagher

Kevin Ball

Lip Gallagher

SHERLOCK

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

SONS OF ANARCHY

Chibs Telford

Happy Lowman

Jax Teller

Juice Ortiz

Opie Winston

Tig Trager

SUPERNATURAL

Castiel

Crowley

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

TEEN WOLF

Derek Hale

Stiles Stilinski

THE ORIGINALS

Elijah Mikaelson

Klaus Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES

Damon Salvatore

Jeremy Gilbert

Matt Donovan

Stefan Salvatore

Tyler Lockwood

TWILIGHT

Carlisle Cullen

Edward Cullen

Emmett Cullen

Jacob Black

Jasper Hale

Paul Lahote

Seth Clearwater

YOUTUBERS

Colby Brock

[ship268]

BAD268's Arcived Masterlists

!! I no longer accept requests/write for any of these fandoms, so please don't request them!!

American Horror Story

Includes: Tate Langdon

Big Hero Six

Includes: Tadashi Hamada

Cobra Kai

Includes: Miguel Diaz, Robby Keene, Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz

Dream SMP (C!)

Includes: Technoblade, Wilbur Soot, Dream Team, Karl Jacobs, Karlnapity, Slimecicle

The Flash

Includes: Julian Albert

Harry Potter

Includes: Cedric Diggory, Remus Lupin, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter

It

Includes: Bill Denbrough

Marvel

Includes: Peter Maximoff, Alex Summers, Scott Summers, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, Pietro Maximoff

Maze Runner

Includes: Gally, Minho, Newt, Thomas

MCYT

Includes: Dreamwastaken, Karl Jacobs, P! Philza, Quackity, Sapnap, Wilbur Soot

Meet the Robinsons

Includes: Wilbur Robinson

Newsies

Includes: Spot Conlon

Once Upon a Time

Includes: Jefferson, Peter Pan

The Outsiders

Includes: Johnny Cade, Darry Curtis, Sodapop Curtis

Peaky Blinders

Includes: Michael Gray, Finn Shelby, Thomas Shelby

Phantom Of The Opera

Includes: Erik Destler

Rise of the Guardians

Includes: Jack Frost

Riverdale

Includes: Sweet Pea

The Sandlot

Includes: Benny Rodriguez

The Santa Clause

Includes: Bernard

Squid Game

Includes: Hwang Junho, The Salesman

Supernatural

Includes: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Team Free Will

Check out these links for who I currently write for:

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

[ratsoh-writes]

Yo I just had the best spider oc idea

Meet peas Parker! The spider rat!

Peas is but a simple little brown fancy rat. His owner is a sweet old lady, may Parker, living in a small town cottage. Every day is a delight. He gets fresh veg and fruits with his breakfast, learns tricks, and she even lets him chill on her shoulder while she works in the garden

One day may has a bad fall in the front garden. Frantic, peas does the one thing he’s never dared to do before. Leave her shoulder outside. He scampers down the road hoping to see a human, any human who can help his beloved mom. And that’s when he ran into the spider. An escaped experiment from Oscorp pest control. After a scuffle with the spider, peas gets bit and drags himself home. However he feels different…. Stronger. Strong enough to even lift may and get her to her landline.

After that day peas has become spider rat, lover of garden peas and blueberries, and defender of mays garden. And soon the neighborhood. With more and more animals mutated by Oscorps experiments, people find that the only thing saving their baby tomatoes is little peas and his love for his fresh greens.

[kcthescreamqueen]

Tag Lists

These are the fandoms and people I’ll write for. I will update this every time I get into a fandom!

The Vampire Diaries Universe 

Damon Salvatore

Stefan Salvatore

Elena Gilbert

Jeremy Gilbert

Jenna Sommers

Katherine Pierce

Caroline Forbes

Bonnie Bennett

Alaric Saltzman 

Matt Donavan

Tyler Lockwood

Lizzie Saltzman

Josie Saltzman

Hope Mikaelson

Klaus Mikaelson

Hayley Marshall

Rebekah Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson 

Finn Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Kai Parker

Davina Claire

Harry Potter (Golden Trio and Marauders Era) 

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Lucius Malfoy

Severus Snape

Bill Weasley

Viktor Krum

Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Ron Weasley

Ginny Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Hermione Granger 

Regulus Black 

Barty Crouch 

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Clint Barton

Thor Odinson 

Tony Stark

Steve Rogers

Natasha Romanoff

Alexei (Nat's dad)

Melina (Nat's Mom)

Yelena Belova

Bruce Banner

Pepper Potts

Peter Parker (All 3)

Stephen Strange

Wanda Maximoff

Peitro Maximoff

Loki Laufeyson

Peter Quill

Matt Murdock

Gomora

T'Challa

Bucky Barnes 

Scott Lang

Hope Pym

Brock Rumlow 

Riverdale

Jughead Jones

FP Jones

Betty Cooper

Veronica Lodge

Archie Andrews

Joaquin DeSantos

Sweet Pea

Cheryl Blossom

Polly Cooper

Toni Topez

Fred Andrews

Criminal Minds

Aaron Hotchner

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Penelope Garcia

JJ

Emily Prentiss

Rossi 

Gilmore Girls

Rory Gilmore

Luke Danes

Lane Kim

Paris Geller

Dean Forester

Jess Mariano

Logan Huntzburger

Shadow Hunters

Jace Herondale

Alec Lightwood

Izzy Lightwood

Raphael Santiago

Magnus Bane

Clary Fray

Simon Lewis

Hodge Starkweather

Luke Garroway

Jocelyn Fray

Sebastian Morganstern 

House Of The Dragon 

Daemon Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Viserys Targaryen

Alicent Hightower

Helena Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Fifty Shades of Grey

Christian Grey

Ana Steele

Sawyer

Mia Grey

Nate Grey

The Walking Dead

Daryl Dixon

Negan Smith

Rick Grimes

Glenn Rhee

Carl Grimes

Scream

Billy Loomis

Stu Mocher

Sydney Prescot

Tatum Riley

Dewey Riley

Gale Weathers

Randy Meeks

Tags: @mbav3rdseason

Mickey Altri

Mark Kincaid

Roman Bridger

Chad Meeks Martin

Mindy Meeks Martin

Sam Carpenter (Loomis)

Tara Carpenter

Ethan Landrey

The Hunger Games Franchise

Katniss Everdeen

Peeta Mellark

Cinna Vaught

Haymitch Abernathy

Effie Trinket

Finnick Odair

Johanna Mason

(Young) Snow

The Rookie

Tim Bradford

Lucy Chen

John Nolan 

Bailey Nune

Nyla Bishop

Angela Lopez

Wesley Evers

Aaron Thorson 

Supernatural

Dean Winchester 

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Crowley 

Gabriel 

Jack Kline

Ruby

Twilight

Bella Swan

Charlie Swan

Edward Cullen

Jasper Hale

Emmett Cullen

Carlisle Cullen

Alice Cullen

Esme Cullen

Rosalie Cullen

Jacob Black

Grey Anatomy

Mark Sloan

Derek Shepherd

Alex Karev

Merdith Grey

Lexie Grey

Cristina Yang

 

If you wanted tagged let me know what/who you want tagged for and I'll add you to my tag list!

[averyyyyyyyy]

marry me?

 sorry if this is bad. this is my first one!

trey parker x fem! reader

y/n had been friends with trey for as long as she could remember. one night when they were in high school y/n had been invited to a party that one of her other friends were hosting so she decided to take trey with her. what harm could it do? trey deserved to have some time out to relax. "come on trey. let's go. you'll have so much fun." y/n pleaded with the boy trying to get him to go. trey had agreed to go but he had currently changed his mind and was sitting in his room not budging. "fine i'll go but i'm not drinking." he sighed getting off his bed looking back at y/n. "i didn't say you had to. you can just party. i just want to dance and have a fun time being out of the house." y/n replied shaking her head going to the party with trey in tow. 

   a little while later, y/n was dancing with trey. well, it was more y/n dancing and trey just standing there. "let's go sit down for a bit maybe somewhere with less people." trey suggested before taking y/n to somewhere where there were less people. they found somewhere to sit to take a little break but also talk. after a few minutes had passed, trey looked over at y/n and spoke. "hey y/n when were thirty would you maybe want to get married? i mean i don't really think there is anyone out there for me. plus, you make me really happy and i enjoy being around you." 

  "yeah why not. i mean when you put it like that it sounds like a good idea." she shrugged. there had to be someone out there for the both of them, but she couldn't deny it, they really did get along great and just being around trey always made y/n so happy.

  during those thirteen years, they had maintained a close friendship with each other. y/n had gone through a few failed relationships. whether it was due to cheating or y/n simply not being happy with her significant other. trey had also gone through a divorce with boogie which y/n had been there for him the entire time giving him a shoulder to cry on or if he just needed someone to talk to. she was there for him, and he was there for her. they were two peas in a pod. during that time y/n had started to develop romantic feelings for trey, she knew she shouldn't have but he was so sweet and really was a great guy she knew that she couldn't help it. trey had been so lucky to have y/n in his life she really did mean the world to him.

  the night before your birthday trey invited you out to dinner to celebrate your birthday. he had planned to take you to your favorite restaurant and make it a night for the both of you to remember. trey picked you up from your place and drove you two to the restaurant.

once you had gotten your food and had eaten some, trey spoke up looking over at y/n. "y/n you know how when we were in high school, and we made that silly pact that if we were both single by thirty we would get married... well would you still want to marry me?" trey looked at y/n with hopeful eyes. he really hoped she would accept his proposal.

 "hmm. i don't know what's in it for me?" she teased laughing softly. "of course, i'll marry you trey. there isn't anyone else who i would want to spend the rest of my life with." y/n answered with a wide smile on his face. she really couldn't believe it she was actually engaged. like actually engaged.

[lemonduckie]

Lost Boy

“Help! She’s been injured!” Peter was holding his dying aunt in his lap, encircled by an inescapable wall of flames. “Someone, please get help! Someone please…” He sat, watching the life drain from her eyes through the steady flow of tears. The flames were closing in, and just as they reached him he woke up, his face streaked with tears. This is the 8th night in a row he has woken up crying from the same dream. Ever since his aunt May died, he couldn’t sleep at night. He laid there, staring at the ceiling wiping the tears from his face. After he was sure his face was dry, he got up to eat breakfast with his dads, Tony and Stephen. He got pants on, nearly tripped down the stairs, and sat down at the table. “How are you feeling, Amber?” Stephen asked as he flipped a pancake. He let his head slip from its perch in his hand and fell onto the table. “Sleep doesn’t exist anymore for me. I have the same dream, her dying in my arms. Can’t you do a mind thing on me to make it stop, Stephen?” He knew what Stephen would say, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “Amber, if I were to do that, the very memory of her death would be eradicated from your mind, and I’m not doing that.” He paused, looking at his daughter. “Grieving is good for you, everyone’s body processes grief in a different way. Let your body process it through and you will eventually begin to feel better about it.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I know this, I just don’t want to. Sleep deprivation over a course of a week isn’t good for a crime-fighting hero, you know.” Stephen slipped a stack of pancakes, drowning in syrup in front of her. “Maybe this will help, Amb.” He hated it when they called him Amber. Amber was a girl, he wasn’t. He was Peter Parker, male hero locally known as Spider-Man, not Spider-Woman. He sighed, and said; “Maybe, let’s see.” He dug a fork into the pancakes and shoved it into his mouth. He sighed with delight. “Honestly, these are helping, thanks.” Stephen smiled, clearly feeling like he accomplished something. Peter looked around the kitchen, and noticed that Tony wasn’t there. “Uh, where is Tony? I haven’t seen him in a few days.” His dad sighed, and said; “He is setting up funeral things for May. He also has a few business calls to attend to and we probably won't see him until tomorrow.” Peter sighed. “He is never around anymore. I’m going to go and see him in his office.” Stephen tried to advise him against it, but without success. Peter got up, put his remaining pancakes in the microwave, and set off to find Tony. He searched all of his offices until he found him in the one furthest from the kitchen. He stood there until his dad noticed him. “Yea, meeting next week - can you give me five minutes? Thanks.” He put the phone on hold and turned to face Peter. “Hey, Amber, what's up?” He flinched at the name, but ignored it otherwise. “I came looking for you to see if you wanted something to eat with us, you haven’t been out of your office in a few days.” He hung himself from the frame of the door, letting his hair flow towards the floor. Tony smiled at him. “Yea, I’ll come eat, just let me end this call, sweet pea.” Peter smiled at him and left the office.

After they ate, he went back up to his room. When he opened his door, he saw a black dress sitting on his bed. He heard some grunting and saw his best friend, Ezra shoving their way through his half open window. He began to laugh. “Oh man, this is good. My best friend, stuck in my window.” He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. “No! Oh god, just help me?” Ezra was still trying to push themself through the window the rest of the way. He rolled his eyes and pulled him the rest of the way through. “A dress? Who sent this?” Ezra was trying not to laugh, but failing to do so. Peter rolled his eyes. “I have no clue. FRIDAY, who had this dress sent to me?” “That would be Natasha Romanoff, Amber. She said you would look pretty in it.” He sighed, while Ezra snickered. Peter shot him a death glare, which shut him up immediately. After a moment without speaking, Ezra spoke up. “ Do you want me to get you a suit? I’m sure I have one you can borrow, I’d just have to go back to my house and get it.” Peter was tempted to take them up on their offer, but he didn’t want to offend Nat. “No, if I did, it’d offend Nat. I don’t want to do that.” He couldn’t wear his binder or his boxers with the dress. If he wore the boxers the dress would stick to it, making it obvious. “C-can you leave while I change?” They both blushed, and Ezra darted out of the room. He picked up the dress and almost vomited. He couldn’t wear this, he just couldn’t. He threw the dress and slipped on a hoodie, making it to where he was just wearing a hoodie and boxers. Just as he went to open his door, Stephen was on the other side, his hand up like he was about to knock. “U-uh, hey Amb. I was just coming to see how Natasha’s dress fit you, but it appears you haven’t even put it on yet.” Peter sighed. Although it wasn’t his dad's fault, he still felt like he wanted to punch something. “Yea, I was about to put it on. Can you give me a minute?” He slammed the door and whipped around to stare at the dress. He took off his binder and stuck on one of the few lace bras he kept when he couldn’t wear it. It fit as he thought it would. “OK, I’m done!” He called for both Ezra and Stephen to come back in. When they stepped in, he wanted to die. “Honey! You look amazing! I’m so glad it fits!” Stephen was all over him, making tiny adjustments. While he was doing that, Ezra was standing in the doorway doing everything they could not to laugh. “Y-you look great!” was all they managed to get out without breaking. He couldn’t take the incessant fussing over him. “Ok that's enough let me change back.” Peter shoved the two out of his room with a sigh of relief. “So, are you actually going to wear that?” Loki had slipped into his room unannounced. He turned to look at him with a playful glare. “I have to. If I don’t I will hurt Natasha. I don’t want to do that!” Peter didn’t want to hurt anyone, but he didn’t want to hurt either. Loki didn’t understand. “Why don’t you just tell someone? It would be easier for you.” Peter had thought about telling his dads, but could never actually do it. “I-I can’t. What if they don’t think it’s right? What if they take away my binder? What if-” Loki grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re spiraling, Peter. I don’t have any reason to believe they won’t accept you and help you transition.” Peter knew this was true, he just wasn’t ready. “Ok, I will sit them down after the memorial. I don’t want to burden them anymore.” Loki just shook his head. "Acceptable, but now would be better. See you at the funeral." And with that, he was gone.

[i-trust-in-love]

Coop was relieved but obviously cautious and hesitant to get too close to his daughter Parker when he sees her again. The last he remembered of her was that she was out for blood that Valentine's day night. "I'm glad to see you are doing alright and not in jail. That's good. Am I safe to assume that means you didn't find your target that night?" While he once again had no idea the young woman before him was his beloved child, he still felt the pull to be there and help. Though since Parker and Coop had talked since then, accompanied by tears and hugs, his words had the potential to confuse her. @infcinity

[brendakthedonutgirl]

hey Brenda, how was your thanksgiving, what did you eat and how much did you eat

It was just great, sweetie!

We had turkey and gravy, scalloped potatoes, sweet potato casserole, cheesy peas, cornbread stuffing with sausage, green bean casserole, parker house rolls with honey butter, maple glazed carrots, pecan pie AND pumpkin pie and some lovely sauvignon blanc. There was also chips and dip and pickles and olives before.

i had LOTS

[themculibrary]

“Numbered” Fic Titles Masterlist

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian (ao3) - ForASecondThereWedWon sam/bucky T, 7k

Summary: After seeing Steve's shield handed over to some stranger, Sam calls up Bucky, certain he's the one person who can properly commiserate. He doesn't really expect Bucky to answer though (the guy's become a bit of a recluse), or to hear the hints that he might be missing Sam as much as Sam's been missing him. Not that he'd ever say it straight out.

4 Minute Window (ao3) - Speranza steve/bucky E, 24k

Summary: "Look, if they catch me," Bucky muttered, "they're either going to kill me or they're going to put me in a box with a little window and—Steve, I can't."

5 New Year's Kisses (+1 Proposal) (ao3) - Banashee clint/tony, bruce/natasha T, 3k

Summary: What it says on the tin. Tony and Clint's relationship over the years.

5 times bruce banner lit up (ao3) - mosaicofhearts ot6 M, 2k

Summary: five times the avengers showed/told bruce how good he was (and five times he reacted... well, not entirely unexpectedly).

5 Times Bucky Fell And Sam Caught Him (ao3) - annhamilton sam/bucky G, 10k

Summary: ....plus the one time he didn't.

5 Times Peter Parker Almost Came Out to the Avengers (ao3) - Babereflective T, 12k

Summary: (And the One Time He Did)

Peter Parker had a secret. No matter how badly he wanted to share it, he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t. Deep down he knew it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. It was a huge deal, and sometimes he thought he would never tell anyone how he really felt. You see, Peter Parker was a bi disaster. He told himself that he wasn’t the type of boy to stare at cute strangers too long or smile at the thought of a school yard crush, but oh boy he was. But nobody could know that. Well, nobody except Ned and MJ.

5 Times Peter Was Suspicious About Sam and Bucky (ao3) - 27dis sam/bucky G, 2k

Summary: And one time he was sure about it.

5 Times Spider-Man Needed Help (ao3) - CivilBores, starsinyourveins T, 23k

Summary: …and the one time Peter Parker did.

7 Things Steve Rogers Found Out About Tony Stark & The One Thing He Found Out About Him (ao3) - romanoff steve/tony M, 22k

Summary: Steve likes Tony. Tony likes Steve. They just don't know it yet.

Steve goes on a voyage of discovery for his favourite billionaire. It doesn't quite go as planned.

Seven one-shots from the lives of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers and how they fell in love. Aww.

8PM - avintagekiss24

Summary: Sam and Bucky are enjoying life after all of the chaos of Thanos finally dies down.

14 Valentines (ao3) - jehans steve/bucky E, 18k

Summary: Someone is trying to woo Steve.

Every day in February leading up to Valentine's Day, Steve is sent an expensive, if a bit impersonal, gift from a secret admirer. And while he's less than impressed by this covert attempt to win his heart, he's very impressed by the sweet, funny, and deeply attractive delivery driver who brings these gifts to his door every day.

Bucky is amazing, and Steve is falling for him hard and fast, but each day that goes by is another day closer to Valentine's Day, and the expected end of his secret admirer's gifts. Steve had better figure out soon if Bucky's clear flirtation with him is serious, or if he's just in it for the chase. Because if he's serious, there are Things Steve would like to do....

15 Minutes, 35 Days (ao3) - Veldeia steve/tony T, 3k

Summary: A failed attempt to sabotage a HYDRA research facility leaves Steve and Tony at the mercy of the enemy. Will they survive to see another day together?

20 Featherbeds (ao3) - OriginalCeenote steve/bucky M, 33k

Summary: Prince Bucky's search for a true princess continues to go sour, until one cold, rainy night.

Stucky AU. Loosely inspired by "The Princess and the Pea."

21st Century Burnout (ao3) - Superstitious harley/peter E, 11k

Summary: When Benjamin Parker died he left Peter the only valuable thing he owned: a 1969 Ford Mustang 429 Boss. That was almost a decade ago. Now, Uncle Ben is probably rolling over in his grave since illegal street racing was 100% not the intented outcome.

Spiderman by day and king of the streets by night, a jaded Peter Parker is tired of being the hero. Harley Keener is the unfortunate mechanic who fixes Peter’s beautiful, abused car (and sometimes Peter).

98.6 (ao3) - arsenicarcher (Arsenic) clint/phil G, 3k

Summary: Clint hates being cold.

100% Professional (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight peter/wade M, 22k

Summary: When massage therapist!Peter gets a call for a meet-and-greet appointment in a ritzy part of town, he doesn’t expect tall, scarred and holy muscles to open the door. Drawn first to Wade’s smile and then to the pain radiating out from the soldier, Peter tries to do everything he can to help Wade while also fighting his own attraction because ho ho holy crap is it a bad idea to sleep with clients. He is NOT that kind of massage therapist.

Ex- soldier!Wade can hardly leave the house any more, too wracked with pain to make it very far out the door, too self conscious of his ruined skin to attempt dating or even friendships. But when Peter smiles at him, laughs with him, and somehow isn't icked out by Wade’s… mess… he starts thinking that maybe life could be something good again.

Healing happens with both hands and hearts, and if Peter can manage to stay even a little bit professional long enough for Wade to get up the courage to ask him on a date, maybe they’ll find another use for all that massage oil.

1796 Broadway (ao3) - rainproof, teaberryblue steve/tony, bruce/natasha M, 

Summary: Captain America respectfully requests that all complaints be addressed to him in writing. On paper, the nice old-fashioned way, because the computer screen hurts his eyes.

Put your phone down, Tony.

1-900 (ao3) - AdamantSteve clint/phil M, 1k

Summary: Clint can't sleep - he calls a sex line. Phil is the operator.

1917 (ao3) - msbluesunflower steve/bucky M, 9k

Summary: Born on March 10th, 1985 in Brooklyn, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was named after Sergeant Barnes, Captain America’s childhood best friend, who died when he fell off a train in the Swiss Alps.

In 2008, Peggy Carter donates to the Smithsonian letters Captain Rogers wrote to Sergeant Barnes in 1944, after he fell.

1984: Our Love Was (ao3) - KingWintershield steve/bucky E, 830k

Summary: Steve is a closeted Brooklyn cop looking for someone to settle down with and finally have his family. Bucky is an alcoholic who works at his friend’s record shop and is the only guardian of his two little sisters since their parent’s died. When the youngest Barnes gets lost in Brooklyn, Steve and Bucky have a rushed but significant first encounter that ends in a promise for more. Set in the 1980s, this chronicles their days of falling in love, staying together against opposition, and fighting for what they want.

[wetbloodworm]

shoutout to my mom's windows which give the perfect gay lighting

charlie and parker met in middle school and have been best friends since. because of how often they're around each other and how physically affectionate charlie is, they're often mistaken for a couple, which they think is very funny (parker is aroace and charlie has no interest in parker that way). they came up with cutesy nicknames for each other to play up to the bit; parker is honeybee and charlie is sweetpea. so, outfits based on the nicknames! parker is wearing the maya kern bee skirt and those are supposed to be sweet peas on charlie’s shirt and thigh highs but i'm bad at flowers.

charlie’s one arm is fucked up here but it's fine

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

Requests are OPEN🎉

Dear All,

Requests are now OPEN! Please feel free to send in your requests. I have listed the characters that I write for below the ‘keep reading’ line. A few things to remember:

I do NOT write ships like Buddie etc. I only write Reader-Inserts.

I only write for characters mentioned in the list as well as any that have been added under the Additional Characters sections on my Masterlist.

I have not yet written SMUT fics, but I am not opposed to doing so.

I do not currently have an uploading schedule, but I will try to get any requests done ASAP.

That’s all there is to say, so feel free to request!

Thanks,

Emily xoxo

Complete Character Masterlist

9-1-1

Eddie Diaz

Evan Buckley

9-1-1 LONE STAR

Carlos Reyes

Judd Ryder

TK Strand

AVENGERS

Bucky Barnes

Loki Laufeyson

Peter Parker

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Tony Stark

BRASSIC

Vinnie O'Neil

CASTLE

Javier Esposito

Kevin Ryan

Richard Castle

CHICAGO FIRE

Kelly Severide

Matt Casey

CHICAGO PD

Antonio Dawson

Jay Halstead

CHRONICLES OF NARNIA

Edmund Pevensie

Peter Pevensie

Prince Caspian

CRIMINAL MINDS

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Spencer Reid

FATE THE WINX SAGA

Riven

Sky

FRIENDS

Joey Tribbiani

HARRY POTTER

Draco Malfoy

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Harry Potter

Ron Weasley

James Potter

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL

Troy Bolton

LETHAL WEAPON

Martin Riggs

OUTERBANKS

JJ Maybank

John B. Routledge

Rafe Cameron

Topper Thornton

RIVERDALE

Archie Andrews

FP Jones

Jughead Jones

Reggie Mantle

Sweet Pea

RIZZOLI & ISLES

Frankie Rizzoli

SHAMELESS

Carl Gallagher

Kevin Ball

Lip Gallagher

SHERLOCK

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

SONS OF ANARCHY

Chibs Telford

Happy Lowman

Jax Teller

Juice Ortiz

Opie Winston

Tig Trager

SUPERNATURAL

Castiel

Crowley

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

TEEN WOLF

Derek Hale

Stiles Stilinski

THE ORIGINALS

Elijah Mikaelson

Klaus Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES

Damon Salvatore

Jeremy Gilbert

Matt Donovan

Stefan Salvatore

Tyler Lockwood

TWILIGHT

Carlisle Cullen

Edward Cullen

Emmett Cullen

Jacob Black

Jasper Hale

Paul Lahote

Seth Clearwater

YOUTUBERS

Colby Brock