#a red cherry on a white-tiled floor

[soracities]

Maram al-Massri, from A Red Cherry on a White-Tiled Floor (trans. Khaled Mattawa) [ID'd]

[clockwayswrites]

Danny spread his bangs apart as he peered into the mirror, checking on how bad his roots were doing. It really didn’t matter if they looked bad, he just didn’t want anyone thinking too much about how he actually had black hair. The cherry red locks slipped out of his shaking fingers.

His roots were white.

That wasn’t—

Danny scrambled to part his hair on the other side where he had thought the white patch was. Maybe he just forgot which side it was on. It’s not like he’d seen is natural hair in a long time. Maybe he just…

The wall tiles were cold against his back as he slammed into them and slid to the floor. It was white too. There was more white. Had he not… wasn’t he… clearly he wasn’t using his powers enough. That’s what it was, right? It wasn’t that, this wasn’t inevitable, he just hadn’t been using his powers enough. Being in the shelter, staying in once place, it just had made him too cautious. If he just used them more he could halt this. He could stop the change. He could stop…

Stop what?

Dying?

Is this what it all was?

Was he just dying slowly, one day at a time?

Had this been inevitable since he stepped inside the portal?

Someone was pounding on the door.

“Kid— if you’re doing drugs in there!”

“No, my bag just fell,” Danny said. Or he guessed he said. It felt like a stranger saying the words.

He had to move on.

This shelter had been good— better, at least. They hadn’t asked his age. But if he wasn’t using his powers enough maybe he had to go back onto the streets. Maybe he had to leave.

Danny shoved his toiletries back into his backpack and unlocked the door. He kept his head ducked and mumbled a sorry as he tried to slip past the employee. A hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

“Kid—”

“I wasn’t doing drugs,” Danny snapped, yanking his arm away. He held it close to his body, rubbing it. The guy hadn’t hurt him, but it had felt— it had been too much. “My bag just fell, guess I didn’t get it on the hook.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

Danny shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It was a good jacket, warm. He had got it at a shelter in the last city. It was the only good thing from that place. “Didn’t eat lunch.”

The employee sighed, slumping a little. “Go see the kitchen. Aida is in, she’ll give you a snack.”

Mumbling a thanks, Danny backed up a few feet before the turned around and headed to the kitchen. A snack would be good. It might be a long time since he got any good food, he’ll to use his money for a bus out of here tomorrow.

(edit: made an update thread)

[and-the-stars-collided]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[sytoran]

𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 (𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐖𝐄'𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍') ⌇ wanda maximoff

summary: in which 'rockin'' is a euphemism for sex.

☰ PAIRING: sub!wanda x dom!gn!reader

☰ TAGS: modern!au, married life, oral sex, cunnilingus, smut, wanda in that mean girls santa outfit, strap-on usage, humiliation kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, safewording

☰ RATING: 18+

masterlist

"honey, i'm home!" you call from the doorstep, recklessly flinging your winter coat onto the back of a chair.

it had been a long day at work, (retail work during the holiday season was a fucking bitch), and you were more than satisfied to go home to your wife.

so when you were greeted with nothing but a faint cry from upstairs from wanda, instant dread filled your bones, damning you to think of the worst possible scenario.

you dropped everything on hand and ran up the stairs three steps at a time, wondering what the hell had happened. did wanda hurt herself? was she crying? was she-

of all the million and one possibilities of imageries painted in your head, not a singular one could've even begun to fathom what wanda was doing.

no, nothing could have prepared you for this.

"baby…" your words trailed off, the sight of wanda sprawled on your bed rendering you speechless.

she was donning that mean girls christmas outfit, the crimson one with the insanely short skirt and low-cut top. the fur outlining the outrageously exposing cuts almost seemed to taunt you.

in further aggregation, wanda was trailing a hand up her leg, from the high-heeled boots that showed off her deliciously exposed thighs. the earlier whimper had been a result of the vibrator she had pressed up against her cunt.

to top it all off, like the cherry on icing, wanda spread her body in a way such that your eyes could feast on all her assets at once - especially her wet pink folds in your direct line of vision.

your jaw slackens. i'm in paradise.

you don't know what kind of miracle this is, that you've been blessed with the most breathtakingly divine woman to ever grace the earth, but you're certainly not complaining.

"daddy," wanda whispers in tone that is as honeyed as is sultry. wisps of red hair cling to her forehead, almost as if foreshadowing the what-ifs.

"merry christmas."

and then you pounce on wanda, quite literally, making her squeal.

your hands are everywhere, squeezing at her breasts and her ass, digging into the plush of her thighs and plucking at her nipples through the fabric. it's everything you could have ever wanted, and you're damn sure you aren't going to put this opportunity to waste.

"take - ah! - fuck, t-take - oh! - take it off," wanda gasps, nearly incoherent with how fucking rough you're being.

your hands are unashamedly explorative, and the redhead nearly comes undone with how fucking possesive you're being. you're pushing her into the bed but pulling her closer, until all she can feel are your hands on her skin.

"no, i wanna fuck you in that," you growl against her flushed skin. "wanna fill you up so bad."

wanda lets out a needy moan at your demandingness. your voice is hoarse, throat having run dry long ago. you finally bring yourself to pull back, but before wanda can complain, you've flipped her around.

her legs hit the floor with an unceremonious thud, high heels clacking against concrete tiling. using a hand to push her front against the bed, effectively bending her over, you groan in pleasure.

wanda is so perfectly spread out for you, so pliant and so submissive and so needy, and you're hungry. you could fucking devour her.

"are you packing, daddy?" wanda breathes out, turning to look at you with an innocent look.

wanda's question goes unanswered, because you've already unbuckled your pants, and the thick strawberry-red and quartz-white, candy cane coloured strap gets buried in her cunt from behind, before wanda could even register what was going on.

in the first thrust alone, the strap went hilt-deep, because of how wet wanda was. the scream she let out was earth-shattering, for she had already reached her climax, with help from the vibrator earlier.

"you're a fuckin' whore, mhm? couldn't even wait for daddy's instructions." you comment against the back of her ear, warm breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.

your eerie calmness scares wanda, in the most arousing way known to man. you're trailing your hands over her thighs. wanda's panting, trying to rock her hips back for you to stay inside.

with haste, you harshly slap her on the side of her bare thigh, reveling in the way her entire body shakes in that little santa outfit. wanda mewls, crying out in pain and pleasure.

you tug at her hair, so easy to pull, just because you can. forcing wanda to look at you, you say, "that's one."

wanda keens for your touch, visibly confused at your words.

you smile a mean smile, almost snake-like in the way it curves at the edges, the running a tongue over your lips in anticipation.

"how many days of christmas are there, baby?" you murmur, littering hickeys over the pale skin of her neck.

"t-twelve!" wanda gasps, a jolt of arousal flowing south when your tongue finds her pulse point.

"how many times am i gonna make you cum?" you question, barely over a whisper, hovering over her lithe body. she's so little in your hands, so easy to pin down, so easy to please.

you fuckin' like that.

wanda only manages to splutter, grasping at the fabric of your clothing in search of comfort once she realizes your ploy. "i- i can't, daddy. too much, it's too much-"

"mhm, but you can do it 'cause you're my good girl," you respond with ease, taking the opportunity to flip over her hand and place a chaste kiss on her knuckles. "and you're gonna count after each one."

wanda tries to argue again, but her body is saying otherwise. she's dripping down her thighs, slick coating her fluttering folds. almost as if on cue, she raises her ass up slightly higher.

you can only smirk in response, running both hands over the expanse of her thick thighs. "pretty little slut," you mutter, watching with a hawk-eye as her thighs clench with need.

"inside," wanda whimpers, trying to grasp for you, abd you quite nearly lose your goddamn mind.

with a vigour of all energies exerted, you begin thrusting into her like it's the last thing you'll ever do. with the added height of her high boots, it means that you don't need to bend your knees down to do it properly.

and it also means that you fuckin' pound into her however you like.

which is precisely what you're doing, as wanda's moans digress into screams. the way she's whining out the numbers each time she convulses and reaches her high is intoxicating.

two. three. four.

"so big," wanda whines with slurred words, drooling onto the pillow. "m' so full."

it only spurs you on to drive the girth of the candy-cane strap deeper inside her pussy. the way you're moving it in tight circles makes wanda think you're trying to ruin her insides.

"so tight and wet for me, doll," you grunt. "bet you'd let me fuck you 'til all our neighbours know, mhm? what're you gonna say to them when you can't move your legs?"

it's not like she would complain, anyway.

it's embarassing, how fucking wet she is, even after having cum four times. she's still soaked, drenching your strap and her thighs, dripping onto the floor.

but you couldn't give any less fucks, the only thing on your mind being the fact that you wanted to break her. ruin her, 'til she was unable to speak, to move, to think.

flipping wanda over again, you bask at the view you've been blessed with. ample breasts and smooth skin, all wrapped up in a little tiny santa outfit. she's laying on her back, almost bashful at how greedy your eyes are.

before wanda could even think to close her legs, you pried them even farther open with a cocky ease that sent another wave of slick down her thighs.

and then you were burying your head between her thighs, warm and wet sensations simulating her oversensitive cunt. all you had to was grunt about how fucking needy she was, and wanda was gone again.

five. six. seven.

dear god, wanda tasted better than any dessert you'd ever had.

you were insatiable, lapping and sucking like a demon starved of innocent souls. but your desires couldn't quell, not when wanda fucking maximoff was at your mercy.

the crescendo of your wife's screams of sweet sufferings had your head spinning. she was crying, the tears streaming each time you brought her over the edge. her wails of hot-white pleasure had you keening for more.

"you gonna cum again, doll? already?" you teased through heavy pants, sharp breaths for air brushing against wanda'a clit.

when you received no response, you probed her with a harsh slap on her ass, confirmative in forming a bruise.

that in itself had wanda streaking powder-white cream all over you, the world stuttering on its axis. "ei - ah, fuck - e-eight," wanda whined, words slurring with drool. even in that state, she was divine.

just as about you were to slam the strap into your wife again, she cried out her safeword, "vision!", with the remains of her stamina. you slipped out of that headspace almost instantly, moving up to comfort your wife.

the time stills for a moment. wanda's erratic breathing gradually steadies. you let your eyelids flutter shut.

"sorry, baby," you whisper into her ear, littering gentle kisses over her neck. "too much?"

wanda merely smiles at you through droopy lids. "you have a lot of stamina. maybe i need to go boxing with you and bucky."

a chortle escapes your lips as you nuzzle into wanda's chest like it's your personal pillow, basking in the feeling of the rise and fall. wanda sleepily reaches up to touch your hair, and she lets out a shaky sigh.

it's a picturesque scene, with intimacy so tender you want to frame this moment in time before it flees away like everything eventually does.

however, if loving paid a price, you'd go into debt for wanda maximoff.

---

"i can't feel my legs, detka," wanda says aloud after a while. "i have work tomorrow."

"oh. i would say sorry for what i did, but i'd be lying."

thanks for taking the time to read :) reblog if u enjoyed!

masterlist

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Savior

Yan Shigaraki x reader

Warnings: mind break, isolation, sensory deprivation

800 words

He wanted to be perfect for you. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. That's why he agreed to become a guinea pig, to become unstable, a monster. When he becomes a true monster you will sit perfectly in his maw. Not like you knew about any of this. All you knew was that you've spent weeks in near total darkness. Scared, cold, and totally alone.

The room itself was pretty big. A plush king sized bed and soft blankets contrasted by a cold tile floor and gray walls. A table and chair littered with books and papers was the only thing to keep your mind active. The desk barely stood on 3 legs, having been broken after a week of being trapped in this box. There wasn't even a window or door to give false hope of escape.

Black fog oozed out of the wall just like it did every day. At first you would cry and beg for whatever was beyond the void to let you out. Screaming until your throat grew hoarse every day until you ultimately lost your voice. Your throat has healed but you know it's pointless to talk anyway. A hand passed through the darkness and left a bag on the floor and took the bag with yesterday's garbage with it. Clean clothes, some food and water, and a sudoku book. The puzzle was a nice change of pace, something to hold onto so you don't completely lose your mind. The isolation was really getting to you though. Often unable to tell if you said your thoughts out loud or in your head. Sometimes even imagining a voice talking back with you. You weren't sure how much longer you could take this isolation before you truly went insane.

The food always looked good, being a simple but balanced meal. Nothing ever too fancy or too cheap. The clothes were shorts and a t-shirt. Thin but it was fine as long as you stayed on the bed. The single light in the middle of the ceiling was on an automatic timer, and the only thing that sort of what you keep track of how many weeks you've been locked in here. At least that's what you have been using as a daily indicator along with the routine food drop off.

Slowly it felt like more of your will was draining along with your sanity. The craving for another human, for any comfort or companionship was ravenous.

You tried a few more times to talk to the void when it would show up, but all that left was an empty feeling in your heart when you never got a response. Despair, that's what it was. A crushing feeling coupled with the intense feelings of loneliness. All you could do was sit and wait, and wait, and wait…

You were never a religious person but watching the wall crumble to dust made your soul scream. An angel! He had to be an angel! Why else would he come and free you after all those months of soul crushing isolation! Freedom. That's right, he was your freedom. So why couldn't you move?

Your chest started heaving and your hands trembled. You watched your savior through misty eyes as you fell to your knees, your legs no longer able to support your weakened body.

“Hello.” His scratchy voice trilled, filling the silence that's been consuming you for so long. “I've waited so long, so so long to be able to do this..”

He knelt down in front of you and roughly grabbed your arms, the piece of metal attached to his left hand biting into your skin. It was impossible to care about the little details though. Not when his hands felt nice and cool against your hot skin. Not when his voice finally broke your burden of silence. Not when the rough feeling of his lips on your own felt like Nirvana.

You know you recognized him from somewhere. His white fluffy hair and cherry red eyes were distinctive enough, but all of your memories from before the room all felt so far away. If it was important you would remember, right? Well as far as you're concerned your angel is the most important thing in the world right now. He was your world.

He kissed you like a man taking his first drink after a month in the desert. A famished roughness that left you light headed, but you returned the enthusiasm as best you could given your weakened state. It felt like you were being eaten alive. Even if you were though you didn't want to stop him. As long as he kept touching you, as long as he was near you, as long as he stayed with you. You wouldn't care what he did. He was your savior after all.

[xstarsmvxz]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐌𝐁 ❀

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 .𝟎𝟎𝟎 - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐞𝟒𝟐 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐨𝐜

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ➬ Miles morales, a star student at Brooklyn Visions Academy finds himself infatuated with a certain red headed girl he’s never even spoken to (yet), causing him to have a mental battle whether he should talk to the schools best guitarist and registered ‘cool girl’ and risk embarrassing himself or just absolutely keep to himself and live a regret filled life. Unfortunately for him- the universe decided not to be on his side.

Athena Blake, the schools so called ‘cool girl’ and best guitarist notices a boy she recognises from her calculus and advanced English class staring at her a lot. At first the red headed beauty finds it cute and mostly jokingly makes fun of him for it, rarely sending small smirks and head tilts his way, sometimes having brief conversations. However, when she notices him beginning to always loom around her and seemingly follow her around, she decides to ask him about it.

𝐜𝐰 ➬ one way pining (for now..), Athena being a flirt, light swearing, Miles is lowkey a dork, ooc, he and uncle Aaron are still the prowler!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ➬ 2.1k

The walls and hardwood floors of the dimly lit theatre room are basically vibrating as the strumming of guitars and booming sound of drums being played can be heard, playing along to the song ‘I hate myself for loving you’ by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

People passing the doors of the large theatre stop in their tracks to take a peek or turn their heads towards the noise, some bobbing their heads to the music as others roll their eyes and continue walking to whatever class they have next.

Inside of the theatre room is a small band, two guitarists and one drummer. The three friends are on the stage, a red light illuminating their figures as they play through the loud speakers, grateful that they all have free period.

The lead guitarist, a girl with cherry dyed red hair and popping green eyes finishes the song off, her fingers aching as she throws her head back and strums the final cords.

The girl turns around to face her two friends Ivory and Thomas with a beaming smile on her face, her cherry flavoured lipgloss shining from the light on the stage. Her red hair messily frames her face as she goes to speak but is interrupted by the schools choir teacher followed by a few students walking into the theatre as the door clicks.

The band silently pack up their things, leaving the schools drums on stage as the girl puts her red and black guitar back in its case, placing it in the back rooms before smiling at the choir teacher as the trio walk out of the door.

The door closes with a loud click as the three friends strut down the hallway, squinting their eyes as they try to stop the burning sensation from the schools extremely bright lights.

Ivory turns to her friends, talking about how the choir kids are always interrupting them and cutting their playing time short. Ivory had jet black hair and deep brown eyes, she had dark skin which Athena thought went extremely well with her gold jewellery. She was the bass guitarist of their band.

Thomas immediately agrees with his friend, rolling his eyes as he exaggerates how annoying they are and how bad their singing actually is. Thomas was your basic white boy, except he was very very gay. He had light brown fluffy hair and pretty hazel eyes. He was the bands drummer.

“Speaking of singers, we seriously need one guys, I mean think of how much better our band would be!” Athena speaks up, turning around to face her friends as she walks backwards, her beat up red converse tapping as she walks along the tiled floor.

“She has a point. How many bands don’t have at least four people?” Ivory agrees, tilting her head to face Thomas as she takes her grape flavoured lollipop out of her mouth.

Thomas just stared at her blankly as he thought about his friends thoughts. “Exactly.” Ivory says, putting her lollipop back into her mouth as she tucks her free hand into the pocket of her black zip up hoodie.

Athena let’s out a stifled laugh as she turns back around to walk properly- only to bump into somebody. “Oh! I’m sorry!” She apologises, her face flushed with embarrassment, “I wasn’t really focusing on where I was walking..” she trails off as she picks up the papers that she had caused the boy to drop.

The red headed girl passes the paper back to the boy with an awkward smile, watching as the boy just stares at her with surprise. “You alright there?” She questions, her brows furrowed as she tucks some of her messied hair behind her ear.

“Oh I- um.. yeah, I’m alright” The boy replies, snatching the paper out of the girls hand and muttering a small thank you before he hurries off, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Athena and her two friends watch as the boy speeds off, Ivory and Thomas giggle a bit as they watch the boy however, Athena just stares with furrowed brows, whispering something to herself “weird…”

The trio shrug it off and continue to walk towards their next class, hoping to get there early instead of late like usual. Thomas has social studies so he departs from his friends first, giving the girls a small smile and wave before walking into the already student filled classroom.

“Hey Athena! Hi Ivory!” Comes a voice from beside them, her voice sweet and chirpy. The two friends turn to face the girl, already knowing who it was just from the sound of her voice. “Hey Valentina.” Athena says with a soft smile as Ivory just waves.

Valentina was a kind and lovely girl, she was also well known around the school so she got invited to many social gatherings and parties, that’s kind of how Athena and her friends met the schools sweetheart.

Athena and Ivory continue their walk, walking down some stairs before Athena reaches her calculus class. The girl rolls her eyes at a small joke that ivory made before pushing the doors to her classroom open.

Heads turn as they watch the girl walk through the door, some people giving her smiles and waves as others continue to mind their business. Athena sits at her assigned desk, next to one of Valentina’s friends.

Her name was Isla and her and Athena had become good friends since meeting each other in class. “Hi Athena..” The blonde girl says, smiling at the red headed girl as she does small sketches in her book.

“Hey girl, do you know why literally nobody is here today?” Athena asks as she scans the classroom, placing her books down on the table. Isla shrugs, flipping her book to a fresh page as the teacher walks in before whispering to Athena, “I heard that nobody was going to come today because of the prowler’s attack last night..”

The red haired girl turns to face her friend with a puzzled face. “Why? It’s not like the prowler is going to attack the school, especially in broad daylight.” Athena states, opening her book and grabbing a pen to copy off of the board.

Isla just lets out a small “hm” as she begins to copy the work down, listening to the teachers lecture. The teachers monotone voice in soon silenced as the door opens with a squeak, the hinges practically begging to be replaced.

The boy from earlier walks in, his books in hand as he walks towards a table at the back, awkwardly sitting down with a quiet sigh. Athena stares at the boy as she can hear the teacher let out a groan at the boys tardiness before continuing his lecture. “Hey Isla..” the red haired girl whispers, “what’s that guy’s name?”

Isla turns to face the boy who is now also rushing to copy what’s written on the board. “Him? That’s Miles Morales, he’s super smart.” The blonde girl mumbles before gurning back around to face the board.

“Miles Morales..” Athena mutters to herself, tilting her head before she zones back into what the teacher is saying, her pen gliding along her paper as she continues to write.

❀

Miles Morales. That name has been running through the red haired girls head all day. I mean- he’s cute, shy, but very odd, not at all somebody Athena could see herself with.

The red haired girl now sat in AP English, unbothered to listen to the teachers lecture as she zones out on the boy siting in front of her, staring at his two neat braids at the back of his head. The boy must’ve felt her green eyes burning through him as he slowly turns around, looking at her over his shoulder.

They make eye contact for a solid three seconds before Athena realises that she’s been staring. The girl quickly picks her pencil back up and continues to write, her face flushed red with embarrassment.

Miles does the exact same, flustered and surprised that the girl was even staring at him in the first place. He had been watching her for weeks, well not watching watching her, just noticing her. Noticing that she dyes to roots of her hair red again every few weeks, noticing that she reapplies her cherry flavoured lipgloss on every hour or so, noticing that she wears the same necklace everyday- the silver one with the pretty red star in the middle.

Miles thought she was beautiful, from her looks to her personality. Everybody knew her and spoke of her, his friends would tell him how fun and nice she really is once you get to know her, they would tell him to just shoot his shot and talk to her because it’s not like she would laugh at him for it, or tell everyone.. would she?

Miles had many questions in his mind as he thought about the girl, not even realising that the bell had rung minutes ago until the teacher repeated his name for the third time, telling him that the lesson had ended as she wonders how the dazed boy hadn’t heard her.

The boy carry’s his belongings as he rushes out of the door, his brows furrowed as he hurriedly walks down the hall, wanting to get home as soon as possible to prevent anymore embarrassment for himself.

His wishes are soon cut short as well as his walking as his shoulder bumps into the back of somebody. Athena Blake. The boy lets out a quiet groan, just how unlucky was he today?

The red haired girl turns to face him with furrowed brows until she catches sight of his pretty braids, realising who had just bumped into her. “You sure you’re not doing it on purpose?” She chuckles as she turns to fully face the boy, forgetting about the conversation that she was having with Ivory and Valentina.

“W- what?” Miles’ nervous voice comes out as he awkwardly and apologetically smiles. “Bumping into me, are you sure you’re not doing it on purpose?” The girl repeats, her guitar slung over her back as her hands are occupied with a small knitted handbag and her phone.

“No, no! I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to bump into you earlier either.. I.. I just wasn’t-“ The flustered boys speaking was cut short as Athena lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh, causing the few people in the near empty hallway to stare.

“I’m just fucking with you, we’re cool.” The girl says, widely smiling at miles, putting her pretty little tooth gem on display. “Oh.. we’ll still I’m sorry, my bad.” Miles awkwardly apologises with a small smile on his face.

Why was he so nervous around her? He was never nervous. Not even around other girls, not even when talking with strangers and definitely not when he was getting chased by the police as the prowler.

Valentina taps the red haired girls shoulder with a smile on her face as Athena turns around to face her brunette friend. Valentina and Ivory inform Athena that they’re all about to leave to hangout at her house, laughing at her interaction with the boy that they had most definitely been listening to.

Athena puts her phone in the pocket if her hoodie, grasping her knitted bag tighter as she follows her friends out, not before turning her head to face the boy with a smile on her face, “see ya around, Miles..”

The boy just stares at her as she walks, watching the was her hips sway and her plump thighs rub against each other as she lightly jogs to catch up with her friends. He was shocked that she knew his name, knowing damn well that he had never told her.

For the rest of the day Athena’s sweet voice echoed through Miles’ head, even as he showered, even as he ate dinner with his uncle and mom, even as he blared music through his ears, music that reminded him of her. The same sentence would never leave his head,“see ya round, Miles..”

He was done for, completely infatuated with the girl and he knew it, as much as he would deny it to this friends, he knew deep down that they all knew as well. Cute scenarios played in his head from the second he fell asleep to the second he woke up, when those scenarios were replaced by her sweet voice once again.

❀

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[eddiexmunsonlover]

One Step Away From You (Chapter 17)

Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader

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Chapter Summary: When Eddie takes you to look for apartments in Indianapolis for college, he can no longer fight the fears that come with it or stop them from affecting his mood. WC: 3.2k Warnings: MDNI. A short angsty chapter with fluff and comfort at the end. Explicit language. Eddie's moody in this one. Continuing their growth together. We're getting close to the end of this series and this will be the last of the angst to come! Series taglist: @littlexdeaths @siriusmaraudeers @amandahobblepot @eddie-is-a-god

Sunday, May 18th, 1986

The classifieds section in the latest edition of the Indianapolis Star sits in your lap, red ink circling the multiple destinations on you and Eddie’s agenda for the day. You take a deep, reassuring breath in an attempt to settle the anxiety creeping into your gut as the highway exit for Indianapolis appears, willing excitement and hope to take its place instead. 

With your choice to attend Indiana University in the fall solidified, now it’s time to find a place to live and the prospect of living in a dorm does little to excite you. Many of the classified ads for apartments in the paper appeal to the working college student, promising the perfect fit with a close proximity to campus.

“Where to first, babe?” Eddie asks from the driver's seat. With a quick look at the coordinated red markings on the classified ads and map of Indianapolis, the van follows your directions toward the first address.

After a few minutes, the van slows to a stop in front of an apartment building. Outer walls made of faded red bricks rising 5 stories tall, dark fire escape stairs settled near the white edged windows. Nothing fancy, but decent enough to fit the bill. With a quick glance to Eddie, he gives you a tight-lipped smile before you two depart from the van and head inside. 

The expectations from the outside coincide with the inside. A one bedroom apartment. The smell of cleaning products provide some relief as you look over the cream colored walls paired with worn cherry wood floors and molding. Slightly dated white appliances match the tile flooring in the small, but adequate kitchen. Big windows fill the rooms with soft sunlight, allowing a view of the heart of the city. Exploring the bedroom and its attached bathroom, you can’t stop yourself from visualizing all your belongings filling the quaint apartment. What you’d put where, how you’d decorate it. Imaging Henny running through it and napping on the windowsill. 

Only a mile away from campus, it checks everything off your list.

“I really like this one, it’s practically perfect.” you remark to Eddie as you stand in the bedroom. He follows, giving a quick glance around.

“It’s alright, I guess.” He sighs as if unimpressed, an impression that’s solidified when he doesn’t return the smirk you give him, only continuing to look around and walk back into the living room.

You shrug it off, holding onto the hopeful feeling that comes with the ease of imaging yourself here. With every inch fully explored, you and Eddie return to the van. Making sure to mark a star next to this listing before you’re onto the next stop only another mile away.

The next apartment you have marked is only 2 miles away from the first, and in the short drive it becomes clear the area is less than savory. The whole area seems darker almost, even in the clear light of day. Darker bricks and cement lining the buildings, dirtier sidewalks less populated than the last. Some buildings in clear need of some TLC, while others are completely rundown. Spots of glass are settled on the sidewalks, whether from windows or broken bottles you aren’t sure. The van slows in front of a dark tan building that looks not much different than the ones surrounding it, corresponding numbers to the address you have circled on the exterior by the front door. A double take to the newspaper in your lap confirms it.

“Well… this is it” your voice wavers slightly at the announcement, eyes raking over every crack in the foundation.

“Absolutely not.” Eddie retorts without hesitation, foot resuming on the gas pedal to continue down the street.

“Wh- Eddie! Come on, this is the cheapest place I could find!” You look between your boyfriend and the apartment building now fading behind you.

“Ha. Yeah, no wonder.” He scoffs, voice hard as steel.

“Come on, we didn’t even give it a chance!”

“Oh I gave it a chance, Sweetheart. I don’t need to be worrying every night about my girl getting mugged on your way home from school.” He doesn’t spare you a glance, only a shake of his head with his decision finalized. You recede with a huff, sinking back into the passenger seat. With a couple more listings to see, you hope the rest of them are as decent as the first.

The next address takes you to the outer edges of the city, away from most of the hustle and bustle where there’s more greenery and less of the constant noise found closer to the heart of the city. There’s less apartment buildings and more houses, including the one at the next circled address. It’s clear the house has toughed out many seasons but still emanates a cozy, inviting atmosphere with off-white singles and a small yard. The information in the ad details the house is split into apartments with the shared living space of a kitchen and living room, ideal for college students with the university only a short drive away.

When Eddie shifts the van into park, you barely waste a second climbing out and onto the sidewalk, almost anxious your boyfriend would quickly find something wrong and drive off again. You hear the familiar scuff of his Reebok’s next to you as you both eye the place and the neighborhood.

“You uh, got some big girl job I don’t know about?” You giggle, looking at his features that are scrunched in confusion. “How are you gonna afford renting this whole house?”

“I’m not renting the whole house, Eds. The owner rents out rooms.”

When you look from the house to Eddie again, his eyes are now on you. Only he’s looking at you as if you’ve just spoken to him in another language.

“Nope, no. Too risky.” He argues, curls swinging as his hands move with his words.

“Eddie-”

“You don’t know these people, Y/N. They could be freaks, real freaks!”

In the middle of a deep sigh and roll of your eyes, you spot who you assume to be the owner stepping out from the front door. An older man with salt and pepper hair, hunched over onto the stair railing with a pipe in hand.

“Look, Eds. We’re already here and the owner’s already seen us so let’s just take a look, alright? Please?” you beg exasperatedly with big, bright eyes pleading up at him. He meets them, looking over you before his chest raises with a deep breath, sparing a glance to the old man on the porch watching.

“Alright, fine.”

The owner is friendly enough, ushering the two of you through the well-lived in living room and kitchen that is in need of some light cleaning and personality. After following his slow but steady steps up the stairs, the owner whom you now know as Fred, grumbles towards an open door before leaving you and Eddie to explore the small but amble room on your own.

There’s not much to look at; gray speckled carpet lines the floor of the room and beige flowered paper is glued onto the walls. With a look into the closet, you’re skeptical of its capacity to contain your wardrobe but you’re sure you can make the space work if needed. Though you love the idea of having your own apartment, renting a room out of a house is a cheaper option while still giving you the chance to live with other college students. You can make due.

“Oh, hi!” an unfamiliar husky voice coming from the hallway catches your attention, turning around to spot a tall, tan-skinned, and muscular guy standing in the doorway. “I’m Mark, you?”

“Y/N”

“Eddie”

Mark's gaze only flickers to Eddie for a split second before it’s back on you, flashing his pearly whites.

“I live in the room right at the end of the hall. Are you moving in?” You don’t miss the flirtatious smirk on his nude lips, nor the way his eyes quickly look over your body and neither does Eddie.

“No-” “No.”

You laugh awkwardly as you take in Eddie’s rigid posture that’s now angled toward Mark. The tension hanging in the air between them is nearly visible to the eye.

“I’m just looking right now before the Fall semester.”

“Oh, are you going to Indiana University? I’ll be a Senior there this year myself. What major ar-”

“Well, like she said. We’re just looking right now and I think we’ve seen everything. Right, sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice is cold and features firm as he looks toward you, hand outstretched for you to take with your own. With a stunted breath you grab Eddie’s hand, forcing a smile while he leads you out of the room. You offer Mark a polite wave goodbye as you pass him and follow Eddie right out of the front door.

“Like I said, freaks. No way. That guy was a total creep.” He spits out the final word once you’ve re-entered the van, quick to turn the keys in the ignition.

You exhale and lean back into the clothed seat, deciding to let Eddie take the win on this one too. Out of the three you’ve seen, only one is still a viable option with the list now dwindling. Any rooms for rent or ‘bad’ neighborhoods out of the question, you’re unsure what, if any kind of list will be left by the end of the day.

The sunshine that once illuminated the city now hides behind clouds, peeking through only momentarily as drops of rain splatter onto the van’s windshield. The hope and excitement you had at the beginning of this trip is disappearing with it.

By the time every circled address has been checked off, that hope is a far gone memory with Eddie finding something wrong at every place, nothing was good enough. Though his protectiveness over you and concern for where you’d be living was endearing at first, as you make your way onto the highway back toward Hawkins, it’s downright pissed you off. The light drizzle of rain has now turned into a downpour, the squeak of the windshield wipers rapidly sliding across the glass to keep up with the water is the only sound filling the van beyond the Dio tape playing through the speakers.

You aren’t sure if it’s just you or if the heat filling the van is the cause for your cheeks to burn red hot. Eddie hasn’t said a word since you parted the last apartment on the list and neither have you. Leaving you to ponder what the hell is wrong with him for the whole ride home. His mood has been off from the get-go today, before you even left Forest Hills Trailer park and has remained steadfast till now. You hadn’t expected the way he acted today at all, but what irks you even more is how much his sour mood has leaked into yours, chipping away your excitement bit by bit, listing by listing. Leaving you teetering on the edge of a snippy comment you’d later regret if provoked. 

When the van returns to the gravely driveway of Wayne’s trailer, silence continues to permeate the space between you. Following Eddie wordlessly into the trailer, you wonder if you even want to. Considering if you should just return to your trailer, let Eddie sulk in his shitty mood and try to salvage yours. But still, your heart tugs you along after him into the bedroom. You lean against the door frame, watching as he yanks off his vest and jacket to fall on the floor, digging around his drawers for the weed stash. 

“Maybe I should spend tonight at home.” You test the waters, watching and waiting for any reaction reminiscent of remorse or guilt, any kind of change from the mood he’s given you today.

“If that’s what you want.” He mutters without meeting your gaze, sitting on the edge of the bed and sprinkling bud into a fresh paper to roll.

Your jaw clenches and you’ve officially been pushed over the edge you’ve walked the last few hours. You fully step into the bedroom and slam the door behind you, finally drawing his attention.

“What I want is to know what the hell has been up with you today?!” you cry out in frustration, but he only looks back down at the weed in his lap.

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

“Bullshit you don’t! You’ve been in a bad mood all day, constantly nitpicking and shooting down every single place we saw. I don’t understand!” You take a breath as you read his body language, tense but slouched shoulders with his head hung low. Taking another step closer, your voice comes out softer. “So, please… help me understand, Eddie. What’s wrong, baby?”

The sincere desperation in your plea finally breaks through his walls, his shoulders slumping with it.

“I’m scared, okay.” He admits sheepishly.

“Scared?” You prod, disposition going soft while your eyebrows knit together in confusion as he takes a shaky breath.

“I’ve been able to push down the thoughts about what’s going to happen when you move to Indy and start college for awhile now, but I couldn’t run away from it today. I had to face the reality that you’re leaving and yeah, I know it’s only an hour and a half away but it’s not across the street, or in my bed almost every night.” His own voice betrays him as it cracks toward the end and it feels like a vice grip on your heart, pulling you until the bed dips with your weight next to him. 

“And of course, I can’t help but think about what happened the last time you moved. You’ll have a whole ‘nother life there, new friends, shit, maybe you’ll meet some guy like Mark and decide you like him more than me.” 

You bite back the retort the bubbles up from your throat, intent on letting Eddie air out all he’s been holding back in this moment of vulnerability. His watery brown eyes look up from his lap to meet yours, effectively putting a lump in your throat and summoning tears to well in your own. 

“Tonight on the drive back, you were so quiet and I know it’s because of me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if you were thinking the same thing I’ve been. Wondering if there will be better for you at college, better than me… better without me.” 

The grip on your heart tightens with his confession; the worries about your love, the insecurities on his ability to hold yours with the uncertainty of the future. It pains you that they blind him from seeing himself the way you do, from seeing the undying love you have for him. You reach for his hand and interlock your fingers, taking a deep breath as you look over his face with love and admiration.

“Eddie… I can’t act like I know what the future holds but I can tell you this with 100% certainty. I love you, and I can’t see myself falling as hard for anyone else as I have with you.” You search his eyes, seeing the way they soften as he takes in your words. His hand tightens around your own while your thumb gently strokes his skin. Your teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your bottom lip, contemplating making the offer that’s been floating in your head for months.

“And… I um, think there’s a simple solution to all this. All those places we saw today, Eds… they’re big enough for two people.”

His eyes widen with the realization of your offer, body turning to full face yours. Weed tray put off to the side of the bed so he can take both of your hands in his.

“Really? You want me to move with you?” With a nod of your head and a soft smile, one of his own spreads across his face. “I’d follow you anywhere, baby.”

“Eddie,” You breathe out. “I don’t want you to ‘follow’ me. I want you to be with me, you know, build a life together. But I don’t want to get in the way of your dreams, either. If you want to give the rockstar thing another shot then-”

“Sweetheart.” He stops you in your tracks with a dry chuckle and a shake of those dark curls. “Yeah, I could give it another go if I wanted to. Do another demo with the band and try to get signed. Move to LA, maybe even become famous for a few years and hopefully not lose myself in the process. But, I don’t even know if I really want that anymore, especially if it’s not with you.” His tongue darts out to wet his pink lips before he leans in closer to you, holding your undivided attention. “All the dreams I have about my future, you’re always in them. The only future I want is with you, my love. No matter where we are, no matter what jobs we have… as long as I have you, I’m happy.”

A wet laugh bursts from your lips as a tear breaks free and your forehead falls to rest against his. The rough skin of his thumb gently wipes the tear from your cheek before cradling your face. Faces slowly inching together until your lips collide, desperation in every seamless movement. Desperate for each other's touch, desperate to convey your love.

Gasping breaths escape your mouth each time your lips part before they meet again in a soft and slow tantalizing dance. A dance that only intensifies and deepens when his big, warm hands grab onto your thighs, pulling you to straddle his lap. You fall into the position eagerly, arms sliding behind his head, fingers losing themselves in his curls. The wet sounds of your mouths and the muffled whimpers leaving them fill his bedroom. Losing yourself in the pillowy softness of his lips and the tight grip of his hands kneading the fat cushioning your hips.

As you part for a breath, you’re overcome with how much you love Eddie more and more everyday. The thought only intensifies as he flashes you a wide smile, dimples on full display. Your finger twirls around a loose strand of hair framing his face.

“So in all honesty, which place did you like the most today?”

“Think I’m gonna have to go with the first one.”

He swears his heart skips a beat when you smile back at him, the kind of smile that spreads to your nose in a cute little scrunch. 

“That one’s my favorite too.”

When your lips meet again he doesn’t waste time licking into your mouth and breaching your lips, tongues engaging in an impassioned, lewd wrestle. You let him lay you back onto the pillows, your legs eagerly wrap around his waist as you fall into another night in your boyfriend’s bed, conveying your love and passion for each other for hours to come.

[geminibsworld]

R u mine?

summary: academy!coriolanus (modern day bc it’s my story) opposites attract fr

warning: cussing, corio being a dick lol, smut, fluff, angsty, uhhhh plus his chaotic

🫧

arabella’s dark curls bounced behind her as she walks up the concrete stairs, her chanel necklace pinching her skin, a cigarette sat between her dark pink lips. dark make up around her brown eyes, tan skin peaking out of her loosened school uniform shirt hanging over her short plaid skirt, her black thigh highs in her black mary jane’s. she puffed on the cigarette before stopping and dropping it carelessly, stepping smashing the burning cigarette into the concrete. other students whispering and staring, she scoffs walking inside. mahogany walls, and pale concrete steps, book shelves and pictures of dead white men surrounded her. her heels click on the tile floor, as she heads towards the golden words that say, ‘office’ , her black dress coat, also apart of the uniform hung low only showing her black thigh highs, and mary jane’s showing. she leaned on the dark shelf waiting for someone to acknowledge her.

she stared into the small office seeing no one, she sighed looking at her watch on her wrist. suddenly a lady with bright grey hair appears, her glasses hung low on her nose. she smiled at arabella, sitting down at the desk.

“how may i help you?” the lady asks, opening up her macbook, typing and clicking a few buttons. she looks up at arabella through the top of her glasses.

“arabella lopez,” arabella only says, staring at her long red nails. admiring how perfect they looked, she pulled out her phone turning on the camera, looking at herself before pulling out a cherry red lip gloss applying it.

“are you new?” the woman asks her, arabella doesn’t answer at first. she rubs her lips together before pulling apart, a pop sound erupts from her plump lips. she shoves her phone in her bag, along with her lipstick.

“yeah,” arabella says, nodding, staring a head as she leans on one arm. her nails tapping impatiently, the lady nods at her words. she heard more typing before the printer started printing something. arabella sighs, annoyed.

“here you go sweetie,” the lady says, sliding arabella her schedule along with two other papers. one being her locker information and her room number this place being a boarding school and another being phone numbers and emails of all of her teachers.

arabella nods walking away, her heels clicking on the floor. as she steps up the stairs, she feels eyes on her. she turns and sees a blonde boy, staring at her from afar, and a girl with brown hair she looked like she was trying to pry his eyes away. arabella and the boys blue eyes met, she winked and smirked, before continuing her descent up the stairs. as she makes her way around the corner, she sees the boy and girl walking hand in hand towards her.

as arabella climbs the last few steps, the boy and girl not far from arabella, she gets to the top of the stairs. arabella looks at the paper looking around before spotting the class two doors away. just as she’s about to reach the door, the blonde boy reaches in front of her pulling the door open.

she jumps slightly, before turning and looking at him. he smiles at her, before arabella was about to walk through the brown hair girl pushed past her, practically stomping into the classroom. arabella laughs to herself.

“what’s so funny?” the boy asks, brows furrowed his pale blue eyes meeting her dark brown ones he noticed amusement twinkled in her eyes.

“nothing, she just seems like a lot of fun,” she says, her voice soft and smooth with a slight spanish accent. his brows raise, a laugh escape his lips. he shakes his blonde curls following after arabella.

he couldn’t help but watch her. she was mesmerizing, so different from everyone here. arabella smirks as she can feel his eyes before walking up the steps finding a seat in the back. she sits down her bag, pulling out her macbook, notebook, and a purple pen. coriolanus sits down on the other side of the room, sitting next to emma his girlfriend for the last year, her almond brown straight down her back, neat. he liked neat forsure, but that girl with the wild curls? she was new to coriolanus. he was interested forsure.

as class drones on, coriolanus showing off proceeded to answer as much questions as the professor would allow. arabella typed away, while noting things down. her nails tapping against, her keyboard. coriolanus answered questions left and right with ease, peaking at arabella every once in awhile hoping she’d take notice. oh she took notice, every time he would peak, she looked more obviously, just fucking with his girlfriend though.

as the class ended, arabella looked at her schedule heading to her next class. she walked into the room, coriolanus already there. he stand up walking to her, his face hard and his body stern and tight.

“who are you? where did you come?” he asks, his voice confused, his blues searching her face. she rolls her eyes shoving past him, coriolanus had never experienced such disrespect. he made a face, following her.

“hello? im talking to you?” he says like she should be obviously should be responding to him, she pulls out a chair throwing her bag into the empty chair next to her. she opens her bag pulling out her macbook, opening and logging in.

coriolanus couldn’t believe this, he was never ignored nor disrespected. he slams his hands down on the table, leaning down her height. she ignores him, reaching for other things.

“why are you being a bitch to me?” he asks, arabella can’t help but laugh. a melodic laugh escapes her dark red lips, she shakes her head her curls bouncing. tom scoffed, sitting up standing up straight adjusting his tie pulling at the bottom of his shirt. arabella finally looks him, their eyes meet and she has this twinkle in her eye again, his face relaxed for just a second before returning to look frustrated and confused.

“i don’t have to talk to you, i especially won’t talk to you if you’re an asshole and to answer your questions from earlier. im arabella, and im from none of your fucking business,” her accent coated her words in honey. they rolled smoothly off her tongue, too smooth. her words confident yet so honest.

“that’s not a real place,” coriolanus says, his brows furrowed. she rolls her eyes, sighing. coriolanus, scoffs folding his arms over his chest.

“for someone who’s highest in their class, you sure are dumb,” she laughs, biting her lip grinning. coriolanus unfolds his arms, before laughing rather dryly. he didn’t like how she was treating him, didn’t he know who he exactly was. the top of the class was just a mere accomplishment to him.

just as coriolanus is about to respond, the professor walks in. coriolanus returns to his seat which isn’t far from arabella. he liked her name, that would suit someone like his girlfriend. small, timid, frail girl. but her? she seemed tougher, rough around the edges, no control.

🫧

arabella walks down the student hallway approaching her room, the door says 326 printed in gold just like the office up front. arabella pulls out her keys, sliding the key in. she opens the door, and see that coriolanus from earlier sitting reading a book on the other bed. she rolls her eyes as he looks up at her, arabella slams the door shut.

“yeah, men aren’t supposed to be in here,” arabella speaks, setting down her things as she sits on the bed. she pulls off her coat first, coriolanus sits up on the edge of the bed, a smirk on his lips.

“im waiting for someone,” he says, his eyes bluer than ever from the window being opened, arabella starts her fingers at her buttons. one by one she goes down, coriolanus’ eyes widen as she’s looking down at her shirt, her red nails finishing off her shirt. his eyes totally ogling her tan chest, a white lacy bra finally show pushing up her cleavage. he bites his lips, arabella snaps her head up, their eyes meeting before coriolanus pulls his book up to cover his face. arabella smirks to her, pulling the shirt off her shoulders standing her, pulling down her skirt slowly. coriolanus’ eyes watched, he licked his lips watching as she pulls the skirt over her hips turning around and slowly bending over, she was putting on a show he thinks. for him. the skirt drops, and he catches her white lacy panties, before she stands up straight walking over to her closet opening the door standing there.

coriolanus knew he was getting hard, he couldn’t look away. she had an actual body, more meat on her bones, he thought. she had actual curves, coriolanus had only seen these girls on the internet. he places his book on his lap, pulling out his phone. her curls reached half down her back, the white contrasting with her tan skin. she pulled out a hoodie and a pair of sweat pants, she throws them on her bed. the sun lighting up the room completely, she reaches around her back trying to reach around to unhook her bra, she struggles before coriolanus suddenly decides to speak up.

“need help? i’ll be a gentleman,” he says, already standing up. she turns to look at him, before pulling her long hair over her shoulder, nodding. he walks over to her, adjusting himself in his pants hating his big dick because every time he was hard in these tight ass pants it was painfully obvious. he stands behind her, her ass so fat almost touching his crotch. he was nervous, his hands feeling clammy. he had never been so close to a girl with such a body. he cleared his throat careful not to poke her, his hands softly touching her golden skin. she so soft, he almost came right there. he couldn’t believe the affect she had on him, they had only just met. all he knew was her name, and that she was gorgeous. his fingers pulling the fabric disconnecting the hooks, the straps loose, she made no movement as he takes his calloused fingers pushing the straps off her shoulders. she shakes her arms slightly, before turning around.

coriolanus’ eyes widened, his eyes making immediate movements towards her breast. they were medium sized, dark pink colored nipples. they hardened as the cool air touched them, he sucks in a breath feeling his cock throb in his pants.

“thanks, snowball,” she smirks at him, he feels like a weak child right now, he wants to grab her and just have his way with her. make her scream and beg for more, but his girlfriend wouldn’t like that very much.

her brown eyes darker than normal, brushing past him, her ass touching his crotch, he breathes out a quiet, ‘fuck’ as he stands there dumb folded. she slides the hoodie on over her chest before sliding the sweatpants up her long tan legs.

“hi baby,” emma’s voice snaps him out his thoughts, he turns to face her caught off guard. his cheeks pink, obviously flushed, and his very hard dick trying not to burst through the seems of his pants. he quickly grins pulling her into a hug. she presses a small kiss on his cheek, she had only agreed to date him if they could only have sex on their wedding night. occasionally she did things for him, but he loved doing things for her. she hated to be touched though, plus he could only eat her out.

“hi emma,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and rough as he rubs her shoulders. she grins at him, pulling away grabbing her louis vuitton purse off her desk.

“are you ready to go?” she asks, her perfect brows arched at him. he grins, nodding then clearing his throat. he quickly looks back at arabella, who had airpods in her eyes her eyes pouring into macbook.

🫧

coriolanus was throwing a party at his frat, everyone was there, pretty or ugly, rich or poor, everyone was here. he hoped arabella would show up, he had people watching for her. he was paying them of course so they’d actually do it. he sat with his frat brothers and their girlfriends, playing poker. the room thumped with artic monkeys playing, red and blue lights lit up the room. coriolanus could never imagine acting like these fools, but his frat brother loves parties like these. he looks up, not seeing messy curls, but yet seeing straightened hair, well kind of it had more body to it. she wore a short bra long sleeve dress, black pumps on her feet, she walked in already a drink in her hand. he noticed her red nails, he loved that. most girls he was around had french tips, the classic short look. arabella’s nails were long and dark. the dress fit her curves perfectly, her small waist connecting to her perfect sized hips. he kissed emma on the cheek, whispering, ‘be right back,’ giving her his cards as she takes over. coriolanus approaches arabella, she was flirting with a man. he could tell, her eyes giving a more siren look and her dark lips into a mischief smirk. coriolanus knew the boy, he wouldn’t satisfy her like he could.

coriolanus places a hand on her shoulder, clearing his throat. she snaps at him, rolling her eyes.

“dude! have you met miss arabella?” the drunk boy, sejanus laughs, slurring his words slightly. he stumbles into her slightly, arabella grabs his arms stealing him laughing.

“yeah, i have actually. we talked a few times today, actually,” coriolanus gives him a knowing look. sejanus rolls his eyes, before hiccuping and replying.

“not all the pretty girls are yours, corio,” he slurs, coriolanus scoffs furrowing his brows. arabella giggles, coriolanus’ ears perk up at that sound.

“we all know you just want to use her and dump her afterwards sejanus, now let arabella and i talk,” coriolanus finally snaps, “now go,” sejanus scoffs, walking away heading towards their group of friends. arabella laughs, bitter lacing her voice. she turns around facing him. he looks down at her, before noting how actually short she is. coriolanus is six ft tall, yet she seems barely five ft. he smirks down at her, her thick brows furrowed at him.

“what if that’s what i want?” she challenges him, coriolanus laughs. he couldn’t satisfy that type of girl if he tried, but coriolanus? he could, he knows he could.

“please, he wouldn’t know how to work it or please you enough. you’d be extremely disappointed,” he laughs, so confidently. she shakes her head, scoffing at him.

“how do you know? huh? what would satisfy me?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him. he smirks leaning down to her ear, his lips breath in her ear. she swallows dryly feeling nervous, remaining calm as her heart thumped in her head.

“let’s see, look at you. you need to be treated like a whore, a toy, someone who could control you and your body, because no offense, look at you. you’re a wild animal, you just need to be tamed,” his breath fanning her ear. he brushes her hair behind her ears before standing up straight, his hand fall to his sides smirking down at her. her dark brown eyes, narrowing at him once more except different. she bit her lip, before nodding at him.

“you’re right. i love to be fucked like a whore, corio,” she says, her thick brow arched at him. he smirks, leaning down his lips on her ear.

“yeah?” he asks, his hand sliding behind her back gently tugging on her hair.

“yeah,” she says smirking at him.

🫧

her hands tugged on his curls hard, he groans into her mouth. his hands cupping her jaw, kissing her with such passion and hunger. his hands go for her dress hiking it up her hips, as his fingers teased her wet heat as they make out.

somehow they ended up in coriolanus’ room, but this was his plan. have her in the palm of his hand. he was obsessed with her confidence and power. she was so different than anyone he had ever met. he couldn’t date her not yet, but he could have his way with her. if he makes her cum tonight more than once, she’ll be his forsure.

his fingers rubbed her clit, feeling her juices soak through her thin panties. she moans into his moan, her nails digging into coriolanus’ shoulders leaving marks. he pulls away from her, sliding her panties down her legs. as he pulls his belt off he gets an idea.

“turn over, baby,” he rasps, “arch,” his voice is stern. he loves to be in control.

she rolls over, on her hands and knees, arabella lays her cheek on the bed arching her back. coriolanus groans, rubbing and gripping her fat soft flesh. he moans, palming himself in his pants, before unbuttoning his pants and unzipping. he pulls himself out of his boxers, spitting in his hand stroking himself a few times moaning. arabella lay there in anticipation as his tips rubs between her folds, they both moan out, his tip rubbing her clit as he holds himself rubbing his cock against her.

“fuck,” she moans out, coriolanus places a hand on her hip, spreading her cheeks as he places his tip at her small hole. she heard rumors of the coriolanus being big, but she figured it was gossip.

he slides in slow, arabella starts panting slightly, little whimpers escaping her lips. her eyes screwed shut, as he enters her. coriolanus throws his head back, groaning loudly before pulling himself then reentering with no warning. his hips slam into her ass, her fist grip the sheets. he starts going at a steady pace as she soaks his cock, he’d never felt anyone so wet for him before. coriolanus was in heaven, groaning so loudly he didn’t care. he slams into her, her ass jiggling with each thrust. arabella lets out a loud screaming, clenching around him once again soaking him as her juices dripped down his cock.

“so wet for me, such a good girl,” he moans, slapping her ass. she cries out, before adjusting her positing now just on her hands and knees.

coriolanus places a hand on her hip before grabbing her hair, yanking it around his large hand. his hand fisting her hair, she whimpers. coriolanus shows no mercy, pounding into her. arabella’s moans not slowing down, as he finds her g spot. her moans becoming more high pitched, he relentlessly pounds her feeling her clench and cream all over him again.

“yeah, take it. cum all over my cock, baby,” he grumbles, she cries out cumming again, she soaked his cock so much. his thrusts sounded so wet, he closed his eyes moaning before slamming into her more becoming slightly more sloppy just as he’s about to cum, he pulls out stroking himself twice before shooting his cum all over her ass. he smirks at her, before slapping her ass again.

he goes and grabs a towel for her tossing it on the bed. arabella grabs the towel, crawling and standing up. she wipes her ass off seeing a hand print. she listens to the rustling of coriolanus getting dressed, she turns around pulling her dress.

“im keeping your panties,” coriolanus’ voice snapping her out of her dizzy haze, her legs shake quivering slightly. she furrows her brows, laughing ever so slightly. he looks at her, confused.

“so, how’d i do? miss arabella,” he asks, smirking at her, eyes narrowing at her. his hands on her small waist, pulling her chest into his. she places her hands on his chest, making a face.

“i guess you did okay,” she says, before a grin comes creeping up. she felt embarrassed, he really did fuck her the way she likes. plus he knew how to make her cum.

“more than okay, you came on my cock five times,” he laughs, cocky but teasing lacing his voice.

“yeah, i did didn’t i?” she asks, looking up at him through her lashes.

“yeah, baby, “ he murmurs next to her ear, “stay the night, just me and you,” his hands rubbing her back, ever so slightly giving her goosebumps.

“we could fuck more,” he says, she hums in response.

“that’s not a bad idea,” she smirks, her nails trailing around his waist band. he bites his lip, watching her finger, smirking at her.

coriolanus and arabella agreed to keep things physical, and not emotional. no strings attached she says, coriolanus was fine with that. they were opposites yet, so connected physically he couldn’t say no. plus he still had emma.

🫧

[saradika]

— WASTELAND, BABY

part i. the fear and the fire of the end of the world

[masterlist]

boba fett x f!reader

rated E - 3.4k

tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes, canon-typical violence & death, mentions and use of guns/weapons, death of people and animals, sort of slow-burn

a/n: I’m so excited to share this series with you! Reader is new to the world, so much will be explained (game knowledge not required to enjoy!)

The year is 2297, and your days in Vault 113 are spent among the pages of your books - of fairytale romance, of noble knights and handsome princes. That is, until you venture from your Vault, and are immediately thrust into the harsh and cruel world of the Wasteland.

And when you find yourself being rescued by a man in armor - you can’t help but wonder if those beloved stories might just have come true.

You still dream about the sleep.

In shades of sepia, the perfect days that never seemed to end. That always seemed to be just a little bit familiar, like you had taken each exact step before.

The idyllic neighborhood, slow jazzy notes floating in from open windows. Cars that rolled down the street until they were out of sight, always at the same time. Perfectly behaved dogs, in their neat, square yards.

Now - now that you're out - you don't know why it took you so long to notice.

Maybe you didn't care. Were content to play through that single, perfect day. To ignore - at first - the glitches. The fuzzy part of your brain that said that something wasn't quite right.

The itching memory, that something bad was going to happen. Something you had picked at, until it was raw and aching and oozing.

You wonder if that is why you woke up. That something in your brain triggered the stasis - the reason why on that morning, your eyes opened to shades of green and grey.

A dome of glass overhead, a sick pneumatic hiss when you hand flattened against it. The mask you tore from your mouth and nose as you were born onto the tiled floor, shivering and confused.

It had all come back to you.

The blaring of the siren.

The man, ushering your family into the vault.

The promise, whispered with clasped hands.

It will all be okay.

We'll be together, don't worry.

Climbing into the pod, the slow sleep that came after. Waking up, in your old life.

Never waking up that way, again.

You had sat in silence, for hours. Unsure of what to do, where to even start.

Freezing in place when there was a whirr, the sound of movement - as a robotic being rolling into the room, checking the readouts on the large display.

With thick treaded tires, and a sleek, domed head. A mass that looked like a brain floated inside with one large, fixed mechanical eye. It churned your stomach, as it chirped at you.

You are 1825 days ahead of schedule. Please return to your tranquility lounger.

The pod wouldn't let you back in, though you had tried. The red button pushed flat, the screen unresponsive. Leaving you alone and helpless as you looked at the circle of others.

Of your family and neighbors and friends, still in their perfect dreamland.

You lingered there, a while longer. Too afraid of what was beyond its safe walls. Only nudged into moving when the cramp of hunger became unbearable, until you couldn't take the repeating, robotic lines any longer.

Metal doors had opened into other rooms. Empty and sterile and shades of grey steel. Bits of your memory came back - the hallways you ran through. Glimpses of what lied in them, in your rush to the pods.

Eventually, you found a mess hall. Twin machines lined the walls - white with cherry red accents, rows of cafeteria-style tables in front of them. They were still humming with life when you approached, reading the lettering across the top in blocky, silver print.

VAULT-TEC FOOD SYNTHESIZER

The press of a button dispensed thick, pink paste onto the metal tray beneath. It felt like mush in your mouth, the vaguest flavor of something, but not enough to mask the unpleasant texture.

But, much like everything now - the loneliness, the isolation - you learned to bear it.

There are some things you found, in the days that came after, that were not quite so horrible.

A room full of beds, where you tested each one to find the best. Stripping the pillows and blankets, until yours was as close to cozy as you could get.

There was a device you found, in a room full of bubble-screen computers, with their black screens and green, blinking text. It sat half-out of its box on one of the tables, and you were unable to resist removing it from its casing.

A screen sat in the middle, on top of a thick, leather strap. A booklet fell out - the pages now dog-eared and crinkled from the amount of times you read it. The first lines still seared in your memory.

If you're reading this, a scorching wave of atomic fire has likely turned the surface into a wretched husk of its former self... which means your Vault has been activated! You now have in your own hands one of America's finest, easiest-to-use personal-computational tools: the Pip-Boy.

It becomes one of your prized possessions.

Sitting heavy on your wrist, an endless supply of screens and dials that entertained you for hours. Readouts and documents and even simple, chirping games to fill the empty hours with.

The other thing you came to cherish most was the library.

Well, you called it that - though it barely compared to the ones in your memory. It was a small room - a pair of plastic chairs, beneath a thick, metal shelf lined with books of all shapes and sizes.

You'd read them all, in the months you stayed there. Even ones that made your eyes burn with their dryness; Dean's Mechanics, Infiltration Techniques Vol. 2, Pugilist Quarterly.

Fingering tracing over the thin pages, trying to make sense of things you had never heard of before.

But your favorite were the fairy tales. Just four books, among the two dozen.

Grimm and Perrault. Andersen and Lang.

Their books thick and illustrated, the spines and covers stamped with gold.

The romances were the ones you visited, again and again. Younger you would have loved the macabre - evil witches, plucked out eyes, soul-wrenching betrayal.

But in this new world, you couldn't bear it.

You got lost in the pages. The girl who fell in love with the Beast, who was not so monstrous after all. Another, who risked everything to dance with the Prince, only to abandon him at midnight when the spell was broken.

When you grew bored, you created your own tales. Princesses that were swept off their feet. Knight fighting dragons, a fluttering in your chest when you thought about the romance.

The twisting and twining of limbs and tongues, the slow build that lead into soft, contented sighs.

They became your comfort, as the days passed.

So similar - in ways - to the ones when you had been asleep. The same routines. Paste, read, sleep.

The same clothes - the blue and gold jumpsuit you had woken up in. That the others wore as well, in their sleep. Each one the same, with the vault’s number emblazoned across the back.

On your Pip Boy you read it was to protect you from the elements outside - but here, it only added to the monotony of your day.

Every variation of an afternoon you had done at least once. Poking into every corner of each room. Fingers tracing over the glass screen of the pods, watching your family sleep.

Reading the books again, and again. Using the bits you picked up to learn more about your Vault, what had happened.

It took you a solid month to key into the computer terminal in the main office. Clicking on different words in the scramble of letters that poured across the screen, trying to crack the password protection.

Getting frustrated and giving up - only to come back again the next day.

Finally, the beep as you were let in. Clicking through the files, piecing together a mess of text that was scattered across numerous logs over the years.

That you were in Vault 113. That it was created in partnership with several more, and a copy of the previous, 112.

That some of the Vaults were created to be an experiment. A test to see how humanity would fare, released in key waves after the Great War of 2077.

Held in a cryosleep stasis - the first to be opened at 25 years, and then at 50. Continuing every quarter-century until 225 years has passed. Ending with your vault, scheduled to be released last.

The dread settles in as you started to understand what they had meant when you woke up.

That you were early.

That all you can do is wait.

You don’t even know where you’d even start - no idea if they would fare as well as you did, to be woken up ahead of schedule.

And so, the days ticked by. The marks you scratched on the wall next to your bed slowly increasing. One for each morning you woke up, until there's 182 of them lined up in neat rows.

Finally - coming to the realization that had been nudging at you for days, for weeks. The one that had been keeping you up at night, though you wished for the unconsciousness of sleep.

That you can't sit around for 4 and a half more years, just waiting. That wasn't a life, any way to live.

That you'd go mad, talking to your Pip-Boy, the robots that only had a few lines of verbal programming.

You had to know, to see. To go out.

Into the world. Alone.

You'd watched the videos.

The short animated films. The cartoon boy with the vault suit like yours, as he explained life after the fallout. How it would be different - tips on survival, how to keep sharp, how to use your own experiences and talents to your advantage.

It helped, giving you an idea of what to expect, but you hated them. The little acronyms, the cheesy animation - they seemed to mock the massive loss from nuclear annihilation.

The grainy, black-and-white recordings you find, after.

Prepared and left by the Overseer that no longer stayed there - who passed on the responsibility to the robobrains that still stood watch, when another Vault position opened.

They had made you weep, to think about what happened. Until you chest ached and your eyes stung. You couldn’t watch some parts, thinking about all those who had not been able to get away. Unable to help wondering about your extended family - your friends.

But it still hadn't prepared you for how vast and cruel the Wasteland was.

It had taken you another two weeks to actually open the Vault door. Dragging your feet as you collected supplies. Trying to pack everything you'd need while also trying to leave plenty in case someone else woke as you did.

Canteens of water, extra vault suits. The pink mush spooned into glass jars, clinking in your backpack, as you checked the space another time.

Leaving a note on the terminal, where you hope they'd find it.

But eventually, you had to try. You'd stalled long enough.

And so, after marking the Vault’s location on your Pip-Boy - you left.

You’ve been out for a week now. That alone feels like an accomplishment.

Not expecting how barren the world would feel, even with the preparation. It mirrors the muted browns from your dreams, though there's no hazy edges here.

Just a broken landscape of trees - still standing, stripped bare and bleached by an unforgiving sun. Crumbling roads, and what little grass endured was burnt and brittle. The air dry and thick in your lungs with the dust that kicked up, as you had carefully left the vault.

Misfortune had befell you almost immediately.

Barely out of the crumpled building that held the Vault, down the worn asphalt path, when there had been a scuttling sound. Fear and bile in your throat when a roach the size of a cat crept from the ruins, poised to spring.

Unable to do more than to grasp at the ground, fingers wrapping around a solid bit of wood. You can still hear the crunch of collision when you close your eyes, before you took off running, not wanting to see the aftermath.

The petrified branch still sits by the door, just in case.

In the half-standing farmhouse you've set up base in, until you're brave enough to wander further. That has been unnerving as well - seeing places that were different from your memories.

You had gone home, first.

It had seemed natural, though the fear lingered in your stomach, making your steps heavy. Following the road for three miles, all the while trying to force the puzzle pieces to fit. Broken bridges over dead streams, street signs that lead to crumbling, empty lots.

The road you lived on had been hit hard. It had ached - nothing left but the skeletons of your life before. Tumbling brick and rotting plaster. Chipped tile and broken floors, creaking under your feet as you stood where the kitchen once was. Must like your life before, it was just - gone.

The sentimental part of you had rooted around. Finding a rusting, red bottle cap in the ruins. A silver spoon found in the shattered remains of the counter where you grew up baking cookies.

You took them both, tucking them into your bag.

The farm you had found next, late the first night. You had been there before as a child.

The owners opened their property for apple-picking, hayrides, bonfires with sweet, melting smores. It had been a memory you had forgotten, until the bit of still-standing roof appeared on the horizon, beckoning you to it.

You'd do anything to have more of them. The memories.

The owners are gone now, as is the orchard. Just rows of thin trunks left, the branches dead and brittle.

With the wasteland around you - so very different from the safe, metal walls, the honeycomb of simple rooms - you wish you had stayed.

But much like waking up, you knew you couldn't. That you couldn't undo what happened, or forget the things that haunt you now.

Now - you spend your days wandering out. Poking around the barn to see if there's anything to take with you.

Finding a bit of joy, in some small moments.

In your books, as they soothe you to sleep. The stories are long-memorized but still bringing such comfort.

In the funny, two-head cow that had half-scared you to death when you first found it - that you know think is sort of cute. Almost poetic, in a way.

She wanders the fields behind the barn, and sometimes you go out to sit with her - keeping watch from a distance.

In your Pip-Boy, with the radio that hums out tinny tunes throughout the day - there's only a few of them it picks up, the songs on loop.

Picking through the holotapes of data - finding out that your new friend is called a Brahmin, mutated after years of radiation. It’s not much, but it's something.

It gives you hope that there might be someone else out there. It gives you the strength to think about moving on.

And you do find them - a semblance of civilization - but not in the way you hope.

You’re sleeping when it happens. Curled up in a bedroom on the second story, trying to avoid the holes that litter the hardwood floors.

It’s barely morning, the sunrise a weak, watery yellow as it peeks over the ridge. Though with a start you realize it’s not the light that has woken you. That rarely made a difference, after your time in the Vault.

Too afraid of the dark to turn off the light.

It’s the bellowing.

At first, you don’t know why it makes your skin prickle. After all, Minnie made those sounds when she first saw you - snorting and pawing at the packed earth, both sets of eyes dark and wide. Slowly settling, in the hours after - when all you did was watch from behind the fence.

The pieces click into place.

There was something out there.

You’re just getting up to look, when you hear a wild shout. The sound echoing, followed by a sharp, echoing crack.

The bellowing stops.

Your gasp is loud in the silence. Hand pressing over your mouth as your heart thuds in your chest - aching. The floor beneath you creaking as sink down onto it, trying to make yourself small.

But the voices move closer. Different tones overlapping, arguing - from the open field, then to the barn.

Then, to the house.

Your breath in your throat as the front door bangs open, a sharp voice cracking through the air.

“-lay off the fuckin’ Jet, mate. You’re fuckin’ paranoid as hell.”

The floor creaking as they move through the living room. An annoyed grunt, the rattle as something metallic clatters to the floor, making your stomach flip.

“Told you man, I heard somethin’,” Another voice answers.

Your heart drums so loudly in your ears, you’re certain it has to be audible. Tucked underneath the window, in clear view of the staircase.

If you don’t move, they’ll see you. You’re certain of it. The videos had warned you of the lawlessness, but nothing could have compared you for the fear that paralyzes you.

But, you try to be brave. Three feet to the right and you should be safe - your heart in your throat as you shift your weight, to move just out of sight.

The floor groans.

The voices downstairs stop.

You bolt.

Feet like lead, disconnected from your brain as you make for the stairs - thinking you can make it out. Skipping steps at a time, hoping that you won’t fall and break your neck. Ankles aching as you hit the bottom, sights set on the door the left open.

Almost making it out, when there’s a shout. A sharp “fuckin’ knew it” that sounds entirely too close. A gloved hand that reaches out, snagging your elbow.

Sending you off balance, slamming into the brittle wall. Pain radiates from your hip, the wood splintering from the collision. The hand closing around your ankle, yanking you hard.

The man pulls again - dragging you to the side, through the open doorway.

You’re gasping for breath, trying to yell - though nothing comes out. The air knocked from your lungs as you’re tugged across the porch, one of the steps cracking against your head as you try to grasp onto the railing.

It splinters under your grip, one of the spindles breaking free. He lets go when you reach the bottom, calling up to the second that lingers in the doorway.

“Check inside. See if there’s any more.”

A foot pressing against your shoulder, pinning you to the ground as he leans down, barking out a harsh laugh.

“Thought you could hide?”

He’s even more terrifying up close. Dark paint smeared around his eyes, dripping down his cheeks like tears. Dressed in a mismatch of leather clothes, nails driven up through the fabric at the collar. A spiked shoulder pad made from bent metal, the sharp edges a deep, rusted red.

You take a deep breath… and then swing.

The makeshift weapon collides with the side of his head, and then shatters. With a loud yell he stumbles, and you scramble - pushing yourself onto shaking knees, and then feet.

“Goddamn bitch,” He snarls, and there’s footsteps from the house, calls coming from the barn.

You don’t make it to your feet before you’re looking down the barrel of a gun. Fear and a strangled whimper in your throat as you hover in a half-crouch, hands coming up to shield your face.

A shot fires.

There’s a bright red light that sears through your closed eyelids, the smell of something burning. You open them just in time to see the man pitch to the side, his body glowing with a heat you can feel. Disintegrating as you watch, turning to ash before he hits the ground.

You can barely hear the yell from the others, the sound of your heartbeat drowning the world out. Faintly aware of one cracking shot, and then another, a deep reverb echoing across the flat plane.

Rocks skittering on the ground around you, the tremor of heavy steps and sharp mechanical hisses. Loud cries and shots traded as you cower, unable to look away from the scorched earth where a person just was.

And then, everything goes quiet.

A shadow falls across you, and you’re looking up. Seeing the figure that’s crumpled against the stairs. The unmoving peppering of bodies littering the ground, out near the barn. Never making it any further.

Up, and then up - to where a giant suit of armor towers over you. Painted in shades of green that you thought you had forgotten. A long rifle tucked in the crook of its thick arm, the end a hot, steaming red.

It’s head tilts - as a low, mechanical voice breaks through the silence.

“Its dangerous to wander the wasteland alone, ad’ika.”

ad’ika - little one

thank you for reading! 💚 part ii will be out thursday, the 9th! and if you’d like to get tagged, please fill out the series taglist here!

(0-pressure tagging some friends that liked the sneak peek 💕: @spaceydragons, @luladoll, @obiknights , @wingofshadow , @bobathirstaccount, @reluctant-mandalore, @ohheyitsokay, @floral-force , @valentine-tx, @dreamlandcreations, @vellichormybeloved)

[sulrae]

Megatron likes Hip-hop

Megatron never really understood the Lost Light's love for human media. In part because of his...negative impact on earth. Therefore, he's left out of the several conversations and references that some (Rodimus and Swerve) bots tend to make.

He does eventually find interest in human poetry after receiving a datapad of earth's greatest literature, courtesy of Minimus. He goes through the likes of Emily Dickinson and Lewis Carroll with a fine tooth comb. He ends up learning a bit about earth history and culture as he attempts to interpret context and meaning. Arabic poetry leaves a tingle in his spark as the words of Maram al-Marsi's A Red Cherry on a White-tiled Floor has him enamored with human's relationship with love.

He pours over Maya Angelou's I Know Why The Cage Bird Sings several times that he has it memorized. He even finds video clippings of her performing the poem over the years.

Megatron ends up stumbling into Hip-hop through human forums.

A decacycle habit to observe discourse and theories gave insight to much of the works he had read. Perspectives surrounding word choice he never considered. There were times in which he wanted to take part. The lack of mechs interested in poetry left him itching for conversation. However, the concept of Megatron, former Decepticon warlord arguing about stanzas with humans would be frowned upon by many. So he was content with reading and mumbling to himself about his own opinions.

And then one of his forums becomes rife with discussion after someone posts a wall of text, filled with anger and passion on the disrespect of the music genre of hip-hop. A response that came from someone else's thinly veiled contempt towards an artist receiving a Pulitzer for his work. The poster goes in detail of how this form of rhythm and poetry combine in ways the require skill. How the stories of oppression and love are spoken with such intensity in one moment, and a quiet calm in the next. "You clutch pearls at the sight of it as if you don't rip them from the clams you so greatly detest". The scathing remarks provides enough intrigue for Megatron to finally look into music on earth.

He pulls up the Trapped by 2pac. It rattles the bones of his past. The words lingers in his processor for cycles after.

It takes no time at all for Megatron to dive into the rest of Tupac's discography. Once he's done with that, he takes in more. N.W.A lights embers that was similar to the early days of the war. Mobb Deep brings him back to the streets of Kaon. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill centers him a bit; allows him to simply sit with the album's beauty over a cube of energon one evening.

He picks through the more modern hip-hop and rap. Megatron can't seem to let go of the sound of the artists before, his expectations set unbelievably high. Very few could provide the same captivation of hearing Trapped for the first time.

Which was why it was fitting when Megatron finally reaches the artist that was so ardently defended.

Kendrick's music surprised Megatron at every turn. There was serenity in one verse that would build into a maelstrom of vigor and fervor. He was playful with intonation that any form of monotone required stillness. His lyrics melded with melody and the quick change of beats felt as though Megatron was listening to master craftsmen. To Pimp A Butterfly pushed Megatron to fill datapad after datapad with his own analysis and excitement. He gets through the DAMN. album and sits in silence after Duckworth finishes playing. Megatron almost misses his shift due to filling over 4 datapads worth of thoughts. One of them being that the album- while phenomenal- comes second to Pimp A Butterfly (The sampling of the interview with Tupac certainly adds to the bias).

It comes to the point where Megatron has to find someone to talk to about the genre. Minimus will spend too long on the vulgarity of lyrics. While Megatron thinks that while Drift would take delight in some of the music, there's still an air of tension whenever the two are around one another that suggests their relationship should stay professional. Megatron's at a loss with all of his thoughts when Grimlock of all bots catches him humming and goes, "Is that Outkast?"

It's a strange comradery they build, yet one that Megatron's delighted to take part in over energon at Swerve's. They've gotten a few stares that intensify anytime they have any arguments on which region's produces the best rappers.

("You can't deny the impact of west coast rap." Megatron had threw his hands up.

"And I refuse to let you consider southern rap artists as a 'paltry attempt' of emulating New York!" Grimlock pointed at Megatron.)

Magnus gently asked them to have their conversations somewhere else.

The Lost Light ends up encountering a human ship that isn't thrilled to see Megatron (even in a parallel universe, Megatron still finds a way to cause fear), but doesn't outright attack him on the account of the autobot badge on his chasis. They give him a wide berth while on the Lost Light. That is until him and Grimlock play Juvenile (at Grimlock's request), and have two human's peaking around the corner with shock and judgement. They ask both of them their thoughts on the genre that has Megatron stand a bit straighter as he talks for joors about his descend into hip-hop. One of the humans nod- still wary of Megatron but regards him with the respect. The other (Jeremiah) revels in this fact and is brought into the fold. The three meet every so often, discussing the state of music.

Then one day, Jeremiah rushes to Megatron with the rap battle of the generation.

Megatron smiles so hard at Kendrick's responses that it scares the whole Lost Light.

[soracities]

Maram al-Massri, from A Red Cherry on a White-Tiled Floor (trans. Khaled Mattawa) [ID'd]

[loserboyfriendrjl]

prongsfoot apartment headcanons:

entrance corridor: a short hallway, a wooden clotheshanger and another hanger for their keys.

kitchen: rectangular shaped. the walls are a very light beige, and the floors are made out of ebony wood. on one side of the kitchen, the one with the entrence door (a cherry wood one), there’s the cabinets, sink, under sink cabinets (cherry wood), over and stove, and a white fridge. the other side has a two-people round table. a window’s covered by orange blinds, casting a glow through the haze of smoke. there’s an ashtray on the table and discarded cups of coffee. the walls are covered in covered of pictures of them and their friends. two animals bowls are on the floor, too.

living room: it’s separated from the kitchen by a singular wall. there’s a telly perched up on a small, ebony wood commode, and the couch is a washed down, red-brown, whereas the rug is a lighter shade. there are paintings and drawings on the wall, as well as a few other pictures. the windows are covered by mustard yellow curtains. the lamps and lightbulb emit a warm light, and there’s a record player on a chair tucked into the corner of the room. above the telly, there are shelves stacked with books, and there are soft, cushioned chairs on the floor, too.

bedroom: the floors are covered by a brown rug, and over that is thrown a smaller, dark red one. the walls are beige, but covered by band and quidditch (sports) posters. there’s a smaller clotheshanger on the wall. their bed is close to the wall, parted by only a nightstand, on which there’s a lamp and a few books haphazardly thrown. still, next to the bed, there are more books, and their old rucksacks, and whatever is related to that moment’s hobbies. in their bedroom, there are also their animals’ beds.

bathroom: attached to the bedroom. the tiles there, too, are a very light beige, but the tiles on the floor are dark red. there’s a dark orange carpet in front of the bathtub, shielded by a shower curtain. on the washbasin is the small cup in which their toothbrushes are, and above it is a small cabinet, in which there is medicine, toothpaste and anything of that sort. the toilet is right on the left, and behind it is something small, resembling a stair, where are magazines and newspapers. towels are hung, but they usually shower together, so reach for them or give them to each other.

[roseverie]

do you have any poetry/anthology book recommendations? 🤍

- Les Fleurs du Mal (The Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire

- Ariel by Sylvia Plath

- Poems 1962-2012 by Louise Glück

- Averno by Louise Glück

- Certain Magical Acts by Alice Notely

- The Carrying: Poems by Ada Limon

- Selected Poems 1: 1965-1975 by Margaret Atwood

- Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson

- The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova

- The Moon Is Always Female: Poems by Marge Piercy

- Extracting the Stone of Madness by Alejandra Pizarnik

- Cherry Blossom Epiphany: the poetry and philosophy of a flowering tree by Robin D. Gill

- I Always Carry My Bones by Felicia Zamora

- Howling at the Moon by Darshana Suresh

- The Black Unicorn: Poems by Audre Lorde

- Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda

- Haruko: Love Poems by June Jordan

- The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu

- Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

- Orpheus & Eurydice: A Lyric Sequence by Gregory Orr

- Crush by Richard Siken

- Rose by Li-Young Lee

- A Red Cherry on a White-tiled Floor: Selected Poems by Maram al-Massri

[89rooms]

My pain will be red like a ripe cherry mashed on a white tile–

Maram al-Massri - 'A Red Cherry on a White-tiled Floor: Selected Poems, translation Khaled Mattawa

[antis0cial23]

The Pride of the Navy

Chapter 1: Return

Summary: Back in North Island, what will the secret mission bring?

Chapter Warnings: Swearing

NOT PROOF READ

Her cherry red Chevy Impala rumbled down the streets of California, windows down, music playing. The salty air rolling off the beautiful beaches whipped past her windows, drowning out the music. A bittersweet taste sat in the back of Quinlan’s throat, rousing her thoughts, California bringing an odd sense of nostalgic comfort. Well… It used to. The small condo Quin owned was perfect for her needs, and bonus, close to the bar and base. The quiet area where it resided older than the main city itself, keeping it generally tourist free. Driving down the narrowing roads, dropping from a four lane, to two, was a drive Quinlan had hardwired into her brain, having driven a million times. The tires of her Chevy imprinted on the roads to her residency like a scar.

Memories were all around her as she pulled into her driveway. The asphalt was cracked from age and use, but most recently abandonment. Quin hadn’t stepped foot on the property in eight long years. Last time she was here was when she was twenty-four. Stepping out of her Impala, the engine slowing its hums, memories seeped into her mind. Eight years since she last slept in that bed. Eight years since she last spent evenings at the bar with friends. Eight years since she had been stationed with Phoenix. Eight years since she last talked to Rooster. Phoenix and Quinlan talked as much as they could, deployments off the coast with no cell service were always a bitch, but they still talked. Sometimes two weeks or more between messages, but some semblance of communication was still there.

Walking into her once frequented home, a thin layer of dust coated everything in sight. She hung up her keys and jacket, not feeling in the mood for the inevitable cleaning her place would need. But all in time, which for once she had, or at least that’s what she thought. Her reasoning for being back only described as a classified mission she would find out soon, but the worry of not knowing had already settled in, buried in her mind, behind the memories, both good and bad.

 Stepping through her place, everything was right where she left it. Pictures in frames collecting dust, fake fruit on her kitchen counter. Pictures of her and young Emmelyn, walking to school, taking long drives to the beaches in her Chevy. The frames on her coffee table, surrounded by small bits of shattered glass, face down and unmoved made her eyes sting with years of unshed emotion. She contemplated moving them oh so many times, but to no avail as they still sat, cardboard backs face up. And just like Quin had done before, she turned the other way, ignoring their existence. Sometimes processing the pain would only cause more. Splashing only creates more waves, and sometimes that was better than thinking of the ever-looming tsunami ready to hit the shore at the slightest provocation. Heading to her room at the end of the hallway off the kitchen, Quin pushed open the door as she looked back in time. The sheets in a messy pile in the floor, just how she had left them after meaning to throw them out. The brand new, well now eight-year-old, comforter sat in its packaging next to the stripped bed she hadn’t made before she left. She dropped her bag at the foot of her bed, not yet bothering to unpack. She needed a distraction, and a shower. Long flights in a single F-18 were anything but appealing, especially in the coastal suns off the edge of Florida to a naval base in Texas, where she hitched a sanctioned ride on a carrier to the bustling cities of California.

Peeling off her white tank, aviators still attached to the neckline, she dropped it to the floor. The sound of the metal frames hitting the tile was muffled by the sudden rush of water from the shower head. Quin looked in her mirror, the last time she saw herself in it being eight years ago. Who knew so much could change in a deceptively long few years? Not even a decade. She didn’t see her twenty-four year old self staring at her, but a more matured, reserved maybe, version staring back. The look in her eyes almost haunted. Haunted by the memories that resided in the walls, in the pictures that surrounded her. Maybe staying here wasn’t the best idea she could have made, but then again, it was California.  The state where so much happened in her life, seemingly so quick. Built up only to fall. So maybe it wasn’t the house. Maybe it wasn’t just North Island. Maybe it was California as a whole, maybe the whole west coast. Or more simply, her. Her thoughts, memories that threatened to surface with every mention of the sun filled days or glistening beaches of the western U.S. But, the only thing she knew for certain was the fact that she in no way wanted to be there, especially not back at the infamous ‘Top Gun’. Even with her distaste for the temperamental weather of Florida, she would much rather have stayed.

She stepped across the threshold into the shower, the water not yet warmed. The water felt frozen on her back, like small ice crystals pelting her spine. Cold or warm, she didn’t mind at that moment. Maybe the icy water would bring her back to the cold showers after long Floridian flights in the locker rooms on base. A locker room only occupied by her, and three other female aviators. Two WSOs and two pilots, including herself. A small group, Quin not really feeling the same camaraderie she felt elsewhere, but still a close group of girls fending for themselves in a career filled with cocky assholes called ‘men’.

Before she had contemplated about stealing a jet and flying back to Florida too much, the water warmed. Feeling like the warm ocean on the gulf coasts that she couldn’t help but think a certain bird would love… ‘Damn fuckin’ California bullshit’ Quinlan cursed in her mind as the hazy image of the aviator lingered. Letting the water run, her mind grazed over old California thoughts, her old life, eight long years ago.

Cas (Her shortened call sign! (Casper)) and Phoenix sat at the bar, reminiscing on their time in Top Gun. Both nursing beers, and not just the cheap Miller Light Penny supplied to the masses, but the good shit. What was the good shit you ask? Guinness. Maybe not the best overall, but far better than Miller. The necklace Phoenix gifted Quin was resting comfortably on her neck, the small bell jingling when she turned.

“You know that looks like a collar, right?” Vex stated, staring at the bell with amused eyes, “Maybe your call sign should be Kitten.” He smirked, hoping to garner a reaction more than an eye roll, but he had failed. A few moments later, Quin spoke,

“I am willing to bet you fifty dollars that even with this, you guys will still be oblivious of my presence till I speak.” Quin said with a knowing edge in her voice.

“A bet’s a bet, Kit.” Vex spoke, smiling like he’d already won. God, she hoped that nickname wouldn’t stick.

Quin’s mind refocused, not truly wishing to remember the rest of that night. She lost herself in the steady spray once again.

Phoenix knocked on her door, stepping into Quin’s house. Finding Quin on the sofa, envelope in hand as well.

“Casper, my lovely, lovely ghost. How ever are you able to contain thyself?” Phoenix joked, Quin looking less than interested in her envelope. She already knew what it said.

“Get your ass over here, Tash.” Phoenix obliged, sitting next to Quin, her smile bright, excitement radiating off of her. Quin could only smile half-heartedly.

“On three.” Phoenix insisted, and so she counted. One, then two, and three. Phoenix ripped open her envelope with vigor, unlike Quin, who simply tore the seal with false enthusiasm.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! Cas, I got an invitation for Super Sonic! (Please bare with me here y’all, we gonna pretend this is a real name) The all women squadron!” Phoenix looked beyond excited; it was exactly what she wanted. Quin tried to look happy, but the knowledge of leaving her best friend weighed her down. Phoenix calmed slightly, seeing the look in Quins eyes.

“Quinlan. What did you ask for.” Top Gun graduates always got first pick. Phoenix knew that. So did Quin.

“I, uh, requested to be moved to Lemoore. Nix, you know the limited positions for SS. I wanted you to have it. Admiral Bates offered it to me, but you know about Em, I can’t leave her.” Quin couldn’t look at Phoenix.

“Are you forgetting you wanted this too. They are even based in Washington State Quin! Emmelyn could even come! Quin all Lemoore does is train new recruits.” Phoenix couldn’t hardly wrap her head around what was happening.

“Tasha, you deserve it.” Quin smiled, tight lipped. Her and Phoenix rising off the couch at some point, “Why don’t you go call your Nonna and tell her the news, Nix.” Phoenix just stared at Quin as she was slowly ushered out of the house. Oh, the things you do for friends. Even more so the things you do for family. Lemoore would only be two years. Who knows what would happen after?

Quin still stood by her decision that day. Forever and always would she still believe that was the right choice. Memories still swirled in her head,

Later the same day, Quin’s phone dinged a ringtone she wished it didn’t. A text from none other than Rooster.

‘Lemoore? Really? You turn down the Black Aces, going with me, for Lemoore? Even after last night.’ She could hear the anger, maybe disappointment in his words.

‘See you some time, Rooster.’ Undelivered. Maybe its what he wanted too; she couldn’t read minds. The undelivered status of her message speaking volumes to his state of mind.

Quin sighed. Lemoore did only last two years. Two long, dreadful years. She loved her sister, with all of her heart, but Lemoore made her question of she could truly be Emmelyn’s guardian. Its what their mother wanted, sure, but sacrificing her career? Teaching recruits whose egos were bigger than Captain America’s ass? One can only last so long without losing their mind. After her two Lemoore years, Quin never had the desire to teach again absolutely ever. Going the rest of her life without seeing a classroom again would still be too soon. The only thing that got her through was remembering she was there for Emmelyn. Being only fourteen, she needed a guardian. And that is that Quin did. Looked after Emmelyn till she turned eighteen and started her journey in college. Specifically at the Naval Academy, much to Quin’s distaste.

Turning off the water, Quin needed something to clear her mind. Whether that was a long walk on the west coast beaches, or a drink, most likely of hard liquor, she didn’t know. But lucky for her, ‘The Hard Deck’ had both. With a destination in mind, and more circulating memories, Quin readied herself for whatever was to come.

-----------------------------------------

Masterlist

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[majestativa]

How long have you suffered to have become so cruel?

— Maram al-Masri, A Red Cherry on a White-tiled Floor: Selected Poems, (2004)