#well its been over a week and they never called or emailed me back and work has been so rough that i havent been able

[treypug]

💊

[hyewka]

can i suggest a fic where beomgyu is helping take the reader’s mind off a bad breakup…. by fucking the living SHIT out of her NDJDNDJDJDJ

while i fuck you straight | c.bg

warnings; hard dom best friend!gyu, sub!reader, unprotected + pullout method, breeding kink, a spank or two, praise + degradation (mostly praise), slut shaming, rough marking, a tinge of possessiveness, friends w/ benefits, no romantic feelings involved (or are there?), ruined orgasm, princess pet name, beomgyus an insatiable manwhore lol, needy perv gyu with a lot of spit play, fingering, titty sucking hehe, literal messy filth and also barely proofread on my end

a/n; have to thank jazmine with all my heart for proof reading and giving suggestions, i love you so much 😭 @heart2beom this shouldn’t be a big deal as it is, but it is my first time writing full on dom beomgyu so it is this mini celebration for me and all the dom!gyu enthusiasts (i hope) 😇 reblogs are appreciated, keeps me going

You held your phone above your face, scrolling mindlessly through your socials, though subconsciously, you were really just awaiting a call from your boyfriend. Well, now ex-boyfriend. It's already been a week since you got dumped but no matter what went down that day, you couldn't get over him.

It was pitiful every time you jumped up from your bed at a notification just to find it was in fact not your ex asking to take you back and ...just a random spam email.

Beomgyu had his back against your bed, legs sprawled on the floor, also on his phone. You guys had run out of things to talk about when every conversation spun its way back to your ex- Seen that new marvel movie? You wanted to watch it with your boyfriend. That professor just got fired! You remember your boyfriend used to complain about that class. Gosh, you don’t think you’ll ever get over him.

"You're miserable." Beomgyu suddenly brings up.

You groan, as you repeatedly refresh your feed. "Gee, thanks Beomgyu. That definitely doesn't make me ten times more miserable."

He lets his head fall back on your bed, looking up at you through an upside down lens, abandoning his phone. “No, like truly miserable. I’ve never seen you so up and dry and…sober. Be young, live a little.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking past your phone for the first time in a while. “…You talk like you’re 80 years old, about to retire and wallow in self pity, having experienced all there is to life. Thanks Gyu but no thanks.”

“I’m an old soul Y/N.” He says patting his chest, and you roll your eyes. Not necessarily refuting it, it’s his entire personality. “Where’s the chick I used to know anyway. The old Y/N would’ve been over this in a day with a quick hookup rebound.”

You finally put your phone down, staring up your ceiling. He was totally right. Who else would be right about you if not Beomgyu? But you don’t want to think about your old self, or you’d start sobbing again. Not like you were a totally great person, but that person wouldn’t be so stuck on someone. Anything but being the lovesick, doting person you would’ve made fun of just a year ago. God, he really changed you hadn’t he?

You kick your feet, whining, falling into the abyss of treasured memories. “You don’t understand, he was different, he—he was the one, you know?”

He ponders for a bit, room silent, staring at you through his soft lashes, and you think that maybe he’ll give it you; sympathize and understand that grieving was the entire process of a first love. The silence is suffocating when finally, he lets out a light scoff, cutting through it. “No, no I don’t know. Bet you just got soft.”

“God, fuck you Beomgyu.”

He grins his stupid grin that the situation definitely doesn’t call for, “You wish.”

You think if he wasn’t with you through thick and thin for the past four years, you would’ve definitely developed some sort of hatred.

You could visibly notice a lightbulb spark above his head with the way he immediately sits up straight. “Hey, hey wait.”

You tentatively watch as he turns his back away from you, laying both his arms on the soft cushion of your mattress. “I think I might’ve just had the best idea ever. Of the century. The idea of the century.”

“I highly doubt that.” You say, blindly feeling the surface for your phone already.

“Just hear me out,” he whines noticing your eagerness to dismiss him. “But also don’t freak out or anything. Promise me.”

You stare at him, hesitant before you give in to his doe eyes. Sighing, you say: “Okay. I promise I won’t ‘freak’ out. What’s your groundbreaking idea?”

“We should like… fuck.”

Your brows are slow to raise, the rapidness of your blinking at what you think you just heard—no, not think, know. Beomgyu’s voice, loud and clear with his diction, your eyes widen at the final click of it all. Before you know it, you’re reaching for the pillow behind you, flinging it at him with all strength.

It’s like he predicted it prior, dodging one… and then another as you throw all remaining pillows on your bed. Instead of missing with your last one, you decide to hold on to it, and attack him with it. His smug demeanor of successfully dodging everything just a second ago, dissipates as he takes cover for protection. “Are you fucking—are you crazy?!” you yell exapserated, more than awake with your wide eyes.

“Ya! You—you promised you wouldn’t freak out!” When that doesn’t stop your mania with the damn pillow, he decides to lay it all out with as much speed as he can’t seem to escape your wrath. “You want to forget him don’t you? I mean, you should! He dumped you, it’s over! Sulking over him is—Ow! So out of character for you—fuck—I promise a one time fuck would get your mind off him.”

Your pillow is mid air, and Beomgyu opens an eye to peek, hands still in protection mode—you sigh, landing a weak hit on his head before loosening your grip. You do want to forget. You’d do anything to get rid of what you’re feeling. But…

“It—it wouldn’t change anything for me. If that’s a worry. You know that no matter what, you’re my best friend.” He finds his footing, collecting himself, looking at you with intensity you could date back to just a few times over the course of your very long friendship. “Someone I care about. I can’t stand seeing you hurt and not being able to do anything. You know that.”

You bite down on your lip, staring at the familiar boy with his familiar brown bed of hair, and his familiar eyes, lips…How fast did he get you to actually give this a thought? Probably a minute or two. Beomgyu had a way with convincing you to do …anything. “I…know. But what if, what if I’m still head over heels in love with him? What if it doesn’t change anything for me?”

A grin gradually takes over his face, one that is once again, not fitting for the situation. “Why—why are you smiling like an idiot? This is—”

“It’ll change.”

You knit your brows together. “What?”

You don’t notice the way Beomgyu’s hand slowly inched to yours but suddenly, his palm was over your hand, squeezing it just a bit. “Having sex with me is a once in a life time opportunity. You’ll forget him. I promise.”

If you weren’t so lost in his eyes, as cliché as it sounds, you would’ve been completely taken out—probably a joke on his sheer confidence because who just says that? But he’s so …hypnotizing as you don’t even take notice of the ‘okay’ that leaves your lips.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You exhale, “Okay. We’re adults. This won’t matter in a few weeks. Let’s do it.”

Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds before he was on your bed, crashing his lips on yours, a brief taste of strawberry lip balm, knocking a breath out of you until he slows down, testing the waters, then he stops, noses brushing against each other as he searches for something in your eyes, breathing already heavy, “Is this weird? Was that weird?”

You gulp looking down on his already glistening lips, and you nod. “The—the situation, not …the kiss. Fucking your best friend is an odd situation. The kiss…the kiss was good.” You ramble, your voice barely a whisper but he catches it anyway as you take notice of a small smile before he’s kissing you again, hands once cupping your cheeks already moving down to your tits, ministrating gently—every bit of his action seemed careful, too careful for what you know of the things your friends had told you in heated rants and swoons.

Half of the dictionary could be used to describe Beomgyu, and promiscuous was not an exclusion. You could probably say you already fucked him with the headache inducing details about what being with him in bed was like. Which is why you’re nervous as hell right now. From what you know, Beomgyu was… a lot. More than you could handle now, after an entire year of keeping yourself to one man.

“Jaehyun was worried about you. Was worried about what you’d do to me.” You blurt out randomly when Beomgyus’ moved to peppering feathery kisses along your jawline. He hums against your skin, then stops for a second to whisper, “He was?”

You could feel the smirk on his lips, opening his mouth a tiny amount to slightly suck on your neck at the process of your words—of course Beomgyu would get an ego boost from this. “Why?”

Beomgyu is practically suffocating with how little space he’s giving you, body flush against flush, your chest heaving the rougher he increasingly gets with his marking, his sly hand down to rub between your thighs, right at your core.

“Said you only wanted to get into my pants—h-ha shit, slow down, slow down Gyu.” You were getting teary eyed by his increased speed, friction against your sweats getting you wetter by the second whenever the pad of his finger teased your slit. “You know he—he asked me to stop hanging around you b-because—”

None of this was new to Beomgyu, your past boyfriends have always been worried about him for the exact reason—that he’d convince you to let him fuck you, because apparently women can’t have male best friends without it being more than platonic. But …you guess you aren’t really proving them any wrong now with the way you were letting him have his way, marking messy purple splotches all over, in hungry predatory manner, getting rougher and rougher by the second. You gasp when he abuses the same spot he just visited a few seconds ago, “Beomgyu!”

“Because?”

He presses on your aching core, pending you with the question. He didn’t seem as happy as he was with his smugness prior. “Because he thinks you’re a sleaze.”

An incredulous— mean chuckle from the back of his throat and suddenly his hand was down your panties, abandoning the long game of teasing in matter of seconds. He doesn’t touch you though, which only proves to make you more insane. “That’s dumb. Do you think I’m a sleaze?” You shiver, his deep voice so close to your ears, breath fanning against your cool skin—your eyes could go sore from how hard you’re shutting them closed.

You refuse to give it all to him, it makes you feel embarrassed and small. A new, foreign feeling you never thought you’d experience with Beomgyu of all people. “I-in some ways, yes.”

Not a satisfying response from you, he clicks his tongue like you were a misbehaving child, “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

You don’t get a chance to retort before you feel the pad of his finger prodding your pussy, then moving to gather your wetness.

Suddenly, he freezes his movement, pulling back from your neck, looking at you with an amused glint to his dark eyes. “Shit, you’re fucking drenched. And I barely did anything—”

You think he’s making fun of you so your cheeks quickly flush red, already putting up walls of defence but then he kisses you in the heat of the moment, wiping your frown away and you’re finding yourself reciprocating without a second thought—the kiss so sloppy and messy, string of saliva connecting your lips when he pulls away out of breath. “Fuck, that’s so hot princess. You’re so hot.” He breathes in awe of the spit—he truly is the biggest perv.

“Spread your legs for me.” he groans, trying to get better access to your pussy. You obey, admittedly a little slow, but who can blame you? It feels embarrassing regardless of who, but it’s ten folds with your best friend. “Moreee.” he whines, and god you wish you could slap him—can he not see that you’re trying?

“Beomgyu—“

Your voice gets cut off, gasping when he takes it upon himself to pull down your sweatpants with a quick swift motion, taking it off completely, revealing your patterned underwear—and god, now you’re hiding your face…everything was so embarrassing. He takes a second to examine the wet dark spot right in the middle, proof to what he felt earlier, but then you kick your feet. “Stop staring freak!” you shriek.

You can see through the cracks of your fingers the smirk he has on, looking at you with so much intensity you think you’d melt. He reaches out to grab your hand and put it down, even through your resistance, you couldn’t match his strength to your dismay. “I wanna see your face. Have to let me see you fall apart on my fingers like a little slut.”

You’re scandalized at his wording, your cheeks once again quickly heating up. But you let him part your timid legs anyway, big hands gripping the softness of your thighs, spreading your legs as much as he possibly could, to the point you felt yourself cramp up. But even with whines of protest he doesn’t ease up—bunching your panties to the side, impatient when finally he inserts a digit—experimental with his movement before you hear him groan out a curse. “You’re so tight holy shit, did he even fuck you?”

“Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

Your senses are already overflowing, you could feel his hard on, his erection pressed on your bare skin, you’re hyper aware of the finger inside you—slender and slow with expertise as he pushes in and out, talking to you as if you could respond with anything more than restrained mewls. “Maybe dating him was good, then you had to be monogamous and not whore around with every guy you laid eyes on like you used to.”

“I-I never whored around—shit.” He suddenly speeds up, a merciless grin spread on his face—did he find messing with you funny?

“Yes you did. It was a new guy every…it was weekly, wasn’t it?”

You shake your head at his accusations, tears brimming when his mouth finds it use, suckling harshly on your nipples through your flimsy top—your body extra sensitive with the way you spasm on a singular finger. He pumps in two without warning and you yelp, hand reaching out to grab at his hair. You swear you could cum just from the stretch. “Stop denying it, you’d do anything for dick. I’m surprised you stayed so long with that bitch. Was he any good?”

One thing you won’t do is tell Beomgyu details of your sex life with your ex. You refuse. But Beomgyu is stubborn, and he isn’t one to give up so easily. Especially if he feels like you’re withholding information from him. “Tell me.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

He raises his eyebrows in mocking shock, “No way. He never made you cum?”

Your nostrils flair from pure embarrassment and shock. How’d he know? You quickly try to control your expressions, masking it to not give him a hint that his guess was right, but he knew you too well. You hate that. Especially now.

“Can’t believe you’re hung up on a man—fuck, baby are you close? Hung up on a man that never made you orgasm—shit,” He breathes, rubbing his clothed dick on your thigh, getting off at the sight of your face. You really are falling apart. “Don’t worry princess, I’ll take care of you.”

You tighten your hold on his hair, feeling yourself get close as you grind down on his fingers, chasing your high, choosing for your sanity to ignore all his sweet talkings.

“Gyu, gyu I-I’m gonna—No—no-why? God, fuck you, you’re such a—such a dickhead!”

Beomgyu just ruined your orgasm by completely taking out his fingers, you could practically cry out of frustration and yet he didn’t seem the least bit sorry. Instead, he makes a show of licking his fingers, the ones he just had in you, swirling his tongue and sucking them clean while making direct eye contact. You cower a little but still keep your eyes on him. Now you aren’t sure if you could stay as bitter.

You blink rapidly to collect yourself, because holy shit, you’re getting weak for…Beomgyu. “Why’d you do that? I was close Gyu.” you say exasperated.

He unbuckles his jeans, “I said I’d take care of you, just trust me.” Zipping down his pants, he’s quick to drop it down to his knees before completely abandoning them on the floor.

He flings his cock out of the restrictions of his boxers and you’re practically drooling at the pretty sight. He isn’t the biggest you’ve seen but he definitely has the girth—his tip leaking pre cum down his length, hands trying to lube it with his spit. “Beomgyu, condom.”

“I don’t have one.” He breathes, already on you as he lays wet kisses down your collarbones before he gets irritated with your shirt and takes it off, revealing your bare tits. “God, you’re so sexy.” He drawls, sucking hickeys all over your chest in hunger.

You wish you didn’t have to, but you resist his touch and in turn he lets out an annoyed whine, his voice vibrating against your exposed skin. “Beomgyu, we can’t—we need a condom.”

He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, the cutest you’ve seen him this entire day. “I’ll pull out, I promise. Please, I need you right now.”

In that moment of weakness, his tone so needy, as if he really did need you made you feel some sort of power—like you were the hottest, sexiest woman in the world. And so you bite your tongue, and trust Beomgyu to not ruin your life. You’ve done that quite a few times.

“Swear you’ll pull out.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I do.” You say with conviction. “I do, obviously. It’s just-”

“I know. Take a breather for me. Said I’ll take care of you, didn’t I?”

You could feel him lining up to your entrance, his tip prodding your hole, and you’re already getting desperate. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” you breathe.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You do, not sure what to expect until Beomgyu spits, letting his saliva slowly fall down in your mouth. “Swallow.” he demands, his low voice making you shiver—dark eyes watching every twitch of your face intensely.

You gulp his saliva down your throat, obeying and suddenly his expression morphs into lust you’ve never been met with before. You don’t even get to process it for longer, bask in the attention you’re getting before he’s pressing your thighs to your body, pushing into you with a deep groan—filling you up to the brim, your cunt not prepared for the aching stretch. You can feel each vein against your walls, you can feel his slight twitching, you can feel everything. “Fuck, fuck you’re made for me. You’re perfect—shit, you’re perfect princess.”

“Gyu—” you cry out, gripping the sheets under you. It was too much, too much for him to already start slamming his hips. “Gyu what—” you’re cut off by your own moan the moment he hits your g-spot, your face scrunched up, hot as you let out lewd sounds with no control of your own, throat strained already. It's not a surprise he manages to find it on his first try, despite it catching you off guard with the sudden wave of pleasure.

“Should’ve fucked you sooner. Get your little pussy molded just for my dick. You would’ve liked that, right princess?” He breathes out in a long winded babble, his hips unrelenting with each thrust, already quickly building up to be in erratic speed. Through your blurry vision you could see his eyes focusing down on the jiggle of your breasts lewdly, drool trickling down the edge of his lips, the brutal slapping sounds of them from his roughness getting his head light with ecstasy. You’re more than aware of what he wanted to do when he lets your legs rest from the ache of angling them so high. Dirty pervert.

You can’t handle him playing with your tits again, you were too sensitive for anything more than you’re getting but you can’t find it in your throat to say anything before Beomgyu gives in to his lust, leaning down to attach his mouth to your sore nipple. Abusing it as he suckles harshly, muffled moans against your breasts.

His pace getting quicker, clearly getting off from sucking your nipples like a dumb baby. It was getting you embarrassingly close, your pussy clenching around his dick. “Princess. My princess is so—mmf—so perfect.”

“Stop calling me that.” You manage to squeak out. Hes been using that nickname the entire time, and though it was easy to ignore everything else, the nickname was affecting you more than you’d like to admit.

He detaches from your tits, slowing his movement, looking up at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh? Princess? Why?”

“He—he used to.”

He blinks a few times before his lips draw into a sneer, clearly irritated and you’re about to backtrack, but it’s too late. Your eyes fly wide open, breath stricken when he, with no mercy, picks up his speed again, drilling his dick so far into you, you think there’s probably a bulge showing through your stomach—its when you let the tears stream down, let yourself go as he fucks you dumb with each sharp thrust serving as a punishment. But for what exactly? For mentioning your ex? Did he hate him that much?

“You can replace your memories of him with me princess. I know you can do that, I’ll make sure you do. You’re my princess, and I’m the only one who can call you that. Remember that, yea?”

You nod up and down, and he leans down to give your lips a peck, one then two then three until he loses it and it starts getting heated, tongue messily intertwining, spit exchanged in desperate action. Drilling his dick in and out your sopping pussy, squelching pornographic like sounds filling the room—you think you’re screaming at this point, mind too clouded to be fully present. You’ll definitely hear a word or two from your neighbors.

“Fuck princess, are you close?” he hisses, “I’m close too, so close. Tell me when you get there baby, okay?”

You manage to nod, pressure quickly building up

Suddenly you feel him force in a finger in your pussy, stretching you out to unimaginable degrees. “B-beomgyu—I’m cumming, I’m—” your panicked hands at the intense feeling reach out to grab at his chest, crumbling his shirt’s fabric, using the last bit of your strained voice to moan his name, your orgasm so overwhelming you genuinely start seeing white, body shaking as you try to calm yourself down. “F-fuck.” you breathe out.

The way you still clutch onto his arms pushes Beomgyu to his high too, quick to pull out of your gushing pussy before a mistake happened. It takes only two strokes before he’s spurting his seed all over your tummy, biting down a groan, obsessively taking in each inch of your body’s ruined state.

He did this. He ruined you.

The only thing filling the room being the heavy breaths of you both, Beomgyu’s hair plastered onto his forehead from sweat, yours disheveled, a complete mess. Suddenly, a notification ding goes off, and your attention’s snapped to your side. “It’s my phone.” You awkwardly point out, noticing the light before reaching your arm to get it to you.

He doesn’t move from his position, still practically hovering over you. But you try not to focus too much on it, instead taking a quick look at your notification.

Your brows twitch in surprise at seeing the message on your lock screen. Fuck, it’s your ex! Did he want you back? So miraculously? After fucking your best friend?

Without any thought, you unlock your phone, trying to skim where the ellipses left off. It was a long message and—

“We just fucked. Can’t you wait a few minutes before going on your phone— Are you texting Jaehyun?” His warm smile turning to utter rage gets you stuttering.

“No I—well—yes, but—” you fumble on your words, not knowing how to explain—not knowing why you feel like you should explain, but Beomgyu isn’t one to play around clearly, as he snatches your phone from your hand and throws it to god knows where before your body’s turned around like it was nothing to Beomgyu, like you were some ragdoll. Pushing your hips up to have your ass up in the air with your face pushed into the sheets. “B-beomgyu wha..—”

Slap. Your whole body jerks at the impact of his hand, feeling yourself get teary eyed again. “Beomgyu what the hell?” You shriek, trying to squirm from your position, your ass burning. Then you get another slap, and your legs start to shake, bottom lip wobbling at the painful feeling of his rings.

“I promised you I’d make you forget him. Clearly one fuck wasn’t enough to get your mind off that asshole.”

Your panic only lasts a millisecond at feeling his tip for a second time before you’re abusing your throat again at the oversensitivity of having Beomgyu’s dick slam into your pussy, fucking your juices back in. He’s rougher now, ten times rougher. Maybe this was what all your girlfriends were describing to you, the feeling of having Beomgyu’s dick rut into you like wild feverish dog, fucking you like all you are is a pair of limbs, just for him to hound.

You can’t think straight, not a single word coming out of your mouth is intelligible, all slurred together dumbly as he ruthlessly digs his fingers in your hips, helping you find rhythm, your body reacting on its own as it syncs with his thrusts, moving your hips enough for him to let a hand go to the back of your head, further pushing you into the mattress, drool messy staining your white sheets, loud muffled wails filling the room.

“Fuck, you like this don’t you? Getting fucked like a bitch?” your hear him growl. You don’t know what comes out of your mouth, you don’t know anything right now, because you are being fucked like a bitch while thinking like one too, your nose running with your tongue uselessly out like something out of a porno. “Should I breed you like a bitch too? Huh? Will that make your pretty little head forget?”

At that, you cum again, and he sneers, a mean laugh at noticing your orgasm, “You want me to breed you princess? Make you round with my seed?” he drawls each vowel mockingly like you were a dumb kitten and he had to explain a really simple concept—still ramming your cunt, not giving you a fair chance of responding.

That’s how it goes for you’re not sure how long, Beomgyu switching positions to have your leg draped over his shoulder as he fucks you to oblivion, making you orgasm over and over again, before you really feel like you had blacken out at some point only to find yourself waking up to him still going at it—your entire body sore, down to every inch, your nipples especially swollen from all his sucking. He never cums inside you, instead emptying his load all over your body, making you basically a show of his dried semen.

You trust him, even when his tendency to go far never died down no matter how much he got older. “You awake?”

You flutter your eyes open, a dark room, and Beomgyu. His face is abnormally close to yours. “What happened?” your voice comes out very strained, your throat hard to use. Great, you entirely lost your voice.

“Think I might’ve had my balls in…too deep.”

Even a chuckle hurts every bone in your body, holy shit, how were you going to go to work tomorrow?! “Hey, don’t move around too much, I already cleaned you up. Just try to go back to sleep.”

“I don’t feel sleepy. I can’t.”

Beomgyu suddenly giggles, you could make out the cute small thing he does with his lips when he does. “What?” you ask.

“Your voice sounds funny.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d find it funny. Maybe next time you should peg his ass and see how he’d like to not speak for an entire week.

You feel his all too familiar hand laying on your cheek, and you subtly gulp. You don’t know if he heard. He probably did with how close you guys are, noses practically brushing against each other, his breathing all your hearing can pick up. “You know I’m always here for you, right?”

You nod, until you realize he might not be able to see you properly. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He takes his hand off your cheek, then turns on his back, folding his arms over his chest, staring up the ceiling. So the room won’t fall into an awkward silence, you say: “I have a question.”

He shuffles a little on the bed, letting out a hum in acknowledgment. “What was the I’m perfect for you thing about? We’re definitely not like, compatible or anything.”

He laughs before he turns his head to you in disbelief. “Are you serious? Is that a serious question?”

You nod, “Do I not sound serious?”

“No, you sound like you just had the best fuck of your life.” You roll your eyes in good nature, though exasperated, you were exposed to too much of his ego in one day. If you had the strength and will to come up with something to level his ego down, you would. “It’s called dirty talk if you must know the term fair maiden.”

“God, you’re so silly, I’m going to sleep.” You withstand your pain to turn your back to him, groaning with each movement. But you can’t escape his wrath it seems, because he almost immediately snakes his arm around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, his heartbeat all you can here against your back. “Can’t I find you perfect? You know, like…my dream girl. My princess.”

You rapidly blink a few times trying to process—past the deep rasp of his tired voice that you found yourself incredibly attracted to— his words and how it brewed big unfamiliar emotions, knowing now you won’t be able to get a blink of sleep after this.

“Can I keep calling you that by the way? It really sticks.”

Oh god, the last thing you’re going to do is self sabotage yourself even more and get yourself in a stickier situation than you already put yourself in. “No, that’s definitely staying in the bedroom.”

a/n: i have no idea how this reads, its basically bare of any editing so if the flow is a little choppy i sincerely apologize, i write at the golden time of 10pm-2am 😭

[poppy-metal]

friends to lovers with patrick…oh my i have thoughts

you guys both come from rich families, grew up with each other all that good stuff and you are quite literally the only people in your wealthy little bubble who really get each other. highlight of the year is when he comes back from the academy for summer break and holidays. all the time he has he spends with you…of course by the time you’re both teenagers he leaves you every once in a while when a pretty girl he can get with comes along. you’ve known you liked him since you were 10 (this all consuming love that knows you’ll always gravitate towards him) this goes on throughout your teens

He realizes he has feelings for you around the time you’re 17, stupidly when he finally sees you start going out with other people. takes him about a week to fully understand why seeing you with a boyfriend pisses him off…of course when he tells you this, things don’t go as planned (referring to your last post on friends to lovers…like of course youre nervous about this. you love him but if he cheats? god you lose him as a boyfriend and a friend). so you fool around a bit, and while he insists on something more serious, you’re too scared to take the jump

this hurts him of course. hurts him enough that when he leaves that summer in 2006 to go pro, he doesn’t want to keep in contact anymore. yeah it hurts to not respond to your calls or emails, but you broke his heart first? how can he just continue like something is normal. You try to keep track of his life, checking scores, even reaching out to that strawberry blonde boy he brought to your house in the summer before (who doesn’t tell you anything either)

life is so much more boring without your best friend. you try meeting new people all throughout college, spread your wings, but its all so boring. no one is as fun or exciting or loving as patrick. eventually you just give up on the idea he is going to come back to your life, its been four years at this point.

you graduate college and go back to your rich little family. realize he isn’t even in contact with his family, god you really have no connection to this man anymore, the only person you actually love is no longer in contact with you. and quite frankly you’re lonely. so after couple post-grad years of wallowing in your sadness, when your parents start pushing you to get married…it only takes couple weeks for you to agree

everything happens so quickly, meeting the rich prick your parents have picked out, the engagement, god now your wedding is in couple of weeks

are you excited? of course not, you don’t feel anything for this man, but hey there are worse outcomes than becoming a wife to a rich business man. you’re 24 you have the rest of your life to live, at least you can do it knowing you have as much money as possible

so yeah you’re content with the life that you’ve chosen….well that is until patrick mf zweig shows up at your door step after years going “you’re getting married?”

oh well…there goes being content with your husband

-🫀

CHEATING IMMEDIATELY

god, its like. why had he even showed up. you'd been the one to break his heart, you'd grappled with that, stewed with regret over it for years, still did, but he'd been the one to cut you off. to block you on all accounts. so to show up now..... like he'd never left, you're shell shocked. hand over your heart, your engagement ring glinting right there.

its like a full laurie moment. "dont marry him." and you're falling back a step like what, what, you cant say that to me.

but he means it. he'd cut you off but he'd never moved on. and hearing the news of your engagement felt like a wakeup call - like someone threw a bucket of ice water over his head. because he fucking knows you. knows you'd never marry a guy like that - not the girl he knew. and you might have broken his heart, but maybe he should have fought for you harder. maybe he shouldn't have stone walled you. maybe he should have seen you were scared and done everything in his power to prove you were meant to be with him.

its a late start, but he's never been one to quit. he wont give you up again.

[spaceman-earthgirl]

This made me laugh and I decided to make it supercorp.

---

Lena knocks, but doesn’t bother waiting for a response before she lets herself into Sam’s apartment. She makes a beeline straight for the couch, drops backwards onto it with an exasperated huff.

“Hello to you too,” Sam calls from somewhere Lena can’t see her. She appears at the end of the couch a moment later, a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. “What happened?”

Lena sighs as she sits up, there are currently too many emotions running through her, she definitely needs a drink.

“Did the gym this evening not go well?” Sam prompts, concern furrowing her brow.

Lena takes a big sip from the glass Sam passes her before she speaks. “I had a plan, I was going to finally figure out her name,” Lena starts.

Six months. Six months Lena has been working out with the same girl at the gym and she still doesn’t know her name. At the beginning it hadn’t mattered, she hadn’t even realised she didn’t know her name until Sam had asked her and Lena had realised she didn’t know. She’d just been calling her ‘gym girl’, a name that’s stuck around for months as her efforts to figure out the girl’s name have failed.

It started with asking for her number so they could plan their workouts, but the girl had added her name as “Gym Buddy” to her phone, a little emoji of an arm flexing its bicep beside it.

Her next attempt was to ask for her Instagram, which worked, in a sense. She found the girl’s Instagram account, and she may have spent way too long scrolling through it because her gym buddy is hot. Like insanely hot. Like she gets distracted when working out sometimes because the girl really is the most beautiful person she’s ever seen. But that’s not the point right now, the point is that the girl’s name all over her social media is ‘Supergirl’ and that really doesn’t help her issue.

Lena had even managed to get her email address, and still, it gave away no clues.

And now it’s been six months and she just wants to know her name, wants to know the name of the person she has the world’s biggest crush on.

They text all the time, talk on the phone even more than she does with Sam, she sees her most days of the week at the gym and still, no name. At this point, it’s just getting ridiculous that she doesn’t know, and she’s definitely way too far in it now to ask, especially after what happened earlier.

“You know you could just ask her, right?” Sam says.

It’s a common suggestion from Sam, one she’s never going to take. She’s in too deep now, it’s been too long, she doesn’t want her friend to find out she doesn’t even know her name.

She’d thought about asking someone else, the girl is well known around the gym, her sister the owner, but she didn’t want it getting back to her that she didn’t know her name. Everyone just calls her “Sunny D”. Lena’s not even sure if that’s a reference to her first or last name. It’s definitely a reference to the girl’s personality, she lights up any room she’s in.

But that’s where today’s issue comes in. “I did, sort of.”

Sam sits up straighter, suddenly looking more interested in the conversation. “Wait, what? Did you figure out her name?”

“No,” Lena groans.

“Then I’m confused.”

Lena’s hands reach up to cover her face, so her next words are muffled. “I asked someone else to talk to her, and it did not go as planned.”

“I could’ve told you that wouldn’t work.” Lena can hear that Sam is trying not to laugh, and she drops her hands to glare at her best friend. “Okay, sorry. Tell me what happened.”

“There was a girl at the gym,” Lena says, starting from the beginning. “Someone I didn’t recognise.” She spends a lot of her free time at the gym now, she recognises all the regulars. “So, I started talking to her, her name is Nia, she was really sweet. Anyway, gym girl was across the room and I asked Nia if she could do me a favour and go and ask what her name is.”

“That doesn’t sound as easy as just asking gym girl yourself but I’m assuming she didn’t do it. What, was Nia interested in you, or something?“ Sam’s eyes widen. “Oh no, don’t tell me you inadvertently set the two of them up?”

“No.” God, she hadn’t even thought of that happening. The outcome she got was much more embarrassing, even if it went far differently, and entirely better than she thought it would. “Nia thought I was interested in gym girl, and that’s how she phrased it when asking for her name.”

Sam’s trying not to laugh again. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Her cheeks burn now, just as they did at the time. She can still see clearly in her mind, the way Nia had smiled and pointed in her direction. She couldn’t hear what they said but she saw the confusion on gym girl’s face morph into a brilliant smile before she made her way across the gym to Lena.

“I heard you think I’m cute.”

Lena definitely hadn’t said that to Nia, and she’d been about to try and smooth over whatever damage Nia had done, before gym girl’s next words had nearly made her fall over with the surprise of it.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Sam sobers. “Are you okay? I know how much you like her.”

Lena swallows, her frown breaking into a smile for the first time since she arrived. “I’m kind of great, actually?”

Sam frowns, clearly trying to puzzle together the sudden shift in Lena’s mood. “What?”

“I…” Lena can’t stop smiling now, it still hasn’t quite sunk in. “After talking to Nia, gym girl asked me out.”

Sam bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, that’s great! Not where I expected this story to go but good for you.”

Lena laughs too, except she still has one problem. “I have a date with gym girl tomorrow night, but I still don’t know her fucking name.”

(She figures out Kara’s name on their first date, completely by chance because Kara booked the table reservation under her name.

It’s definitely more than just a crush because after Kara walks her home, right when she’s pretty sure Kara is about to kiss her goodnight, Lena admits the truth, admits why Nia spoke to her, admits that she’s spent months trying to figure out her name and only just discovered it tonight.

Kara thinks it’s incredibly funny and can’t believe Lena didn’t just ask her herself. But they both agree that it worked out well since it got them a date.

And then Kara does kiss her, and Lena forgets her own name).

[dawnisdreamlanding]

CHAPTER 2

Ghost x Reader x Konig

Neighbor! and Roommate!au hehe

About me | Masterlist |

Author's note: Happy Hanukkah! I'd like to say THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT FOR THE FIRST PART AAAA!! I've been wanting to write fanfics for agess but I was always too nervous to hahahdsf so all the support means so much to me, especially for it being my first fic. But less talk, more story, I hope you enjoy part 2! <3

‘Why am I meeting so many tall, buff guys today? Well, not that I’m complaining,’ you chuckle inwardly. Konig’s so tall that when he greets you, he bends down slightly. Talk about being short. You mentally shake that thought away before smiling and telling him to follow you to your apartment.

Everything goes smoothly, and he ends up moving into your apartment the following week. It takes him a couple of days and a little head-banging on the door frame due to his height for him to get used to your shared apartment.

It’s been a month since then. You learn he’s from Austria, and he starts to call you ‘Maus’ which was self-explanatory. But you never really learned anything else other than that. So, to recap, both your neighbor and roommate are both silent and secretive. And they’re hot. You quickly shake that thought away. You shouldn’t be thinking about them like that!

Speaking of Simon, you haven’t seen him for a couple of days. You wonder what he’s doing. After a few extra moments of silence, you realized you’ve spaced out from doing your work. Your gaze lands on the long list of emails you’ll be needing to respond to by tonight, followed by the time on your computer on the bottom right of the screen. ‘7.43 pm’. Ugh, this looks like you’ll be staying back late in the office tonight.

It’s already been a few hours since the last of your coworkers said goodbye to you, and the office lights has been turned off except for your section of the office. The darkness surrounding the office was a little unsettling if you were being honest, but you pressed on with answering those emails. Your phone buzzing makes you jump in your seat and the bright screen in contrast to the surroundings makes you squint a little.

Oh, Konig’s calling. You pick up the call and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t relieved to hear someone’s voice after hours of overtime. The line’s a little staticky, but his voice comes through the phone. “Hello, Maus? Where are you?” Konig sounds worried. “Hey Konig!” You try to sound a little upbeat, but your exhaustion comes through nonetheless. “I’m working overtime tonight; I’ll be coming home late.”

Home. You don’t know when you started referring to your apartment as ‘home’, since you’ve always thought your apartment felt so soulless since you moved in. If you think hard about it, the emptiness of your apartment only ever seemed to disappear when Konig’s large frame started to fill in the empty space in your apartment. Despite not knowing much about Konig’s life, the two of you spend quality time together, bonding over shows on Netflix ranging from ‘The Good Place’ to ‘Emily In Paris’. Though you’d have to admit, the more mind-numbing the show is, the more entertaining it is when you hear all Konig’s quips and comments while the two of you watch it. God, you wish you were hanging out at home with Konig now.

“Maus?” Konig calls me once again, snapping me out of my train of thought. “H-huh? Sorry could you repeat that?” I reply. “It’s looks like its about to rain hard tonight, do you need me to bring you home?” his voice gets a little more staticky by the second, and you’re only able to get out a “it’s fine” before the power in the office shuts down.

“Oh hell no,” you say out loud to yourself. You watched enough horror game playthroughs to know that you’re not staying a second longer in office if you want to see another day. Your line gets cut off and you groan. If this isn’t the start of a horror movie.

You managed to exit the office without tripping in the darkness with being little on edge. Little droplets of rain start to fall to the ground, slowly painting the pavement a darker shade of grey with each drop. Your line comes back and you were seconds away from calling Konig to ask him to drive you back home but then a hulking figure leaving the nearby grocery store enters your field of vision.

You are quick to look at this guy because who the hell is he and why is he dressed in all black at night, looking like a robber? Oh my god is he a robber? Oh, it’s your neighbor, Simon. You should really stop bumping into him in such shady situations.

---

Simon ends up driving you back to your apartment complex. This time around, you try to talk to him the car ride there. In between the awkward silences, the two of you managed to bond over some shared bands playing on the radio and you learn that he’s from the military.

“’s not fair that they’re makin you work overtime like this.” Simon grumbles out. “Yeah well, what can I do? Besides, they pay me quite well.” You reply. It was true; the company you worked is quite taxing at times, but the benefits and pay holds you back from quitting.

“Well,” he inhales as he puts his car into park. “If you ever need a lift home, just let me know.” His offer puts a smile on your lips. For someone who you’ve gotten to really know in the span of a 20 minute car ride, he has a heart of gold. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

He has the manners to walk you back all the way to your apartment — you ignore the fact he lives literally right next to you — and makes sure you enter your apartment safely before unlocking his own door.

 You sigh and drop your bag onto the floor. Your eyelids feel really dry and the constant urge to get some shut eye makes the tasks of getting ready for bed seem to stretch on for far too long. Part of you debates on sacrificing dinner so you can sleep a little earlier but that’s when you hear Konig call out for you in the kitchen.

“Eat.” He speaks. “I cooked dinner for the both of us, but I didn’t know you were staying in the office.” A slight pang of guilt shoots through you at the thought of Konig waiting alone at the dinner table for you to come home. “Thanks, Konig.” I smile at him. “I’m glad to be home.”

Konig tries to ignore the warmth that creeps up on him during moments like these. His eyes naturally drink in the sight of you sitting across the table, happily munching on the food he’s cooked you. Fuck, maybe being a househusband wouldn’t be so bad, especially if its for you. He quickly shakes off that thought. He kills. He likes to kill. What was he even thinking?

“Emily in Paris?” he suggests when you finish your dinner. You sigh and shake your head. “Sorry, too tired, Ko.” The nickname slips out of your mouth so easily that you don’t notice it, but he does. His body freezes up and his brain short circuits. He’s so focused on the nickname you used for him that he doesn’t even feel sadness when you rejected his suggestion. He hums in acknowledgement.

“Maybe this weekend?” You say and he nods, watching you turn to head into your room. He decides not to tell you he’s leaving for work that weekend. Leaving to kill people. “Next weekend.” He confirms. You smile tiredly at him and the warm yellow light illuminates your features. “Goodnight, Konig.” God, he wishes you could call him Ko again. “Goodnight, Maus.”

Taglist! @gojo-mochi

[http-tokki]

Youre..its...Dynamight!

~ bakugou katsuki x reader ~ tags/cw: aged up bakugou, anxiety, established realtionships, home business girl boss, cute lil baby dynamight fan meeting his hero. ~ wc: 870

Katsuki was the one who mentioned working from home. He was the one who suggested turning the spare room into your studio and working out of the comfort of your own home.

"It's not like were using it for anything, and I don't plan on filling it with little ones anytime soon." He poked your belly as to emphasise the point.

“Plus, it’ll be good for your anxiety” and despite his flat tone and lack of concern for the space you would be taking up, your heart squeezed at how caring he was. he knew it was tough on you going into work some days, when the anxiety would grip you by the throat and slam you back into bed. The dark shadow of pandemic induced agoraphobia taking over your desire to be in the world of the living, and you felt so guilty taking days off, having a lower income than your boyfriend even though he reminded you every single time you paid of something that he was kind of loaded and didn’t need to struggle through (you could never let him do that, at least not while you weren’t married and ready to be a home maker) so you turned that spare room into your own workspace and after weeks of renovating and redecorating, you were finally open the public, well select few of the public.

You had been open for a while now, your clientele steadily increasing and so did your bank account, but it was the initial surprise of having your clients face drop upon seeing pro hero Dynamight lounging on the couch in his sweats, playing video games. You enjoyed the surprise and shock completely taking over them as they stammered trying to piece the puzzle together.

“You’re- is that - huh?” were the usual string of words that bringing new clients over for a consult is always interesting.

You don’t think Katsuki fully understand the impact he has on people, especially when he’s just lounging around watching tv or emailing companies, all very mundane not pro hero things. (he knows but he doesn’t care. it’s his house why should he change his behaviour for people he’ll see for two seconds) but it was your latest consultation that had you loving your newest work space.

It was a simple consultation, only half an hour to discuss price and appointment times but your client had to bring along her little one due to school being off for holidays. She had given you enough warning, asking if it was okay if her six year old tagged along because her babysitter had flaked and this was the only time she had free. It wasn't an issue for you, offering the little one a hot chocolate and cookies as you and their mother talked.

You hear Katsuki come home halfway through the appointment. He would usually walk into your voice and greet you with a kiss before heading to the shower or his office but you had put up the little sign to signify that you had a client and would be busy for a bit.

The jingle of keys and heavy footfalls of his boot clad feet alert the little one to another visitor. Your eyes flick over to them, hot chocolate clutched tightly in their tiny hands as their head turns to the door and only then do you notice the Dynamight t-shirt. Eyes scanning over the rest of their outfit you clock the socks and shoes and their little backpack in the corner all adorned with your fiancé's face.

"Do they like Dynamight?" you ask the mother quietly, trying not to alert them to the mention of their favourite hero.

"Like?" the mother scoffs. "That's all they talk about. It's Dynamight this, Dynamight that. I've just about had enough of that name." her laugh is soft as she looks over at her child, fondness and slight annoyance lingering in her eyes.

You nod in understanding, biting down on your lip to supress a smile. "You might just hate me for this but-" you turn your head towards the door.

"Baby, can you come in please." you call to Katsuki.

"Angel, I'm too tired so if you want it you're gonna have to- ohh," Katsuki is whining as he walks down the hall but stop his sentence as he spots the kid sitting at the end of your desk.

You watch as little one freezes. Their eyes growing wide and jaw dropping as they see their hero steps into the doorway. You catch Bakugou's gaze, smiling at him before nodding towards the shocked child sitting a few feet from you.

"It's… it's…." their voice is small as they follow Katsuki around the room. "You're Dynamight." they whisper.

"Hi, bud." 'Suki waves and drops into a squat to talk to the little one.

"You're… mum, it's him." they whisper, tiny hands curling in their shirt.

The mother turns to you, eyes wide as she reaches for her phone. "How did you- is he your- how?"

"fiancé ." You laugh softly. "I'm sorry, i should have given you a warning."

She shakes her head, attention now on her fawning child. "You just made me mother of the year."

a/n: cute bakugou content that i never finished from July last year

[comelay]

"It's been a little over two months, since my friend, Aaron, passed away.

This has been my experience."

When the police let me know they were performing a wellness check, I was confused. They let me know Aaron left his cat in his will to me. I didn’t think much of it at first, I was confused by it. About an hour later, I opened an email from Aaron. I read the words “If you are reading this, it means I have passed away.” It was followed by Aaron asking me to take care of Pumpkin. My heart sank. I called the police immediately and sobbed to the dispatcher while telling them I thought Aaron was about to take his life. The Stow Police called me about 30 minutes later, and let me know Aaron’s phone had pinged in Washington DC. I had hope that they would find Aaron before. I had hope that I could still talk to Aaron and grow with him as friends.

I spammed Aarons's email, begging him to respond, telling him I would be his friend and help him. I did not know Aaron was on life support when those messages were sent.

I called Aarons's friend, who, for the purpose of protecting his privacy, I will not name. He let me know he had a suspicion that Aaron was the person who self-immolated in front of the Israeli Embassy. I didn't understand. I asked for clarity, and Aarons's friend explained that he believed Aaron lit himself on fire earlier as an act of protest. I heard the emptiness in his friend's voice caused by shock. We chatted for a little longer, but, we both didn't know what to say, and shortly hung up. I spoke to Aaron's other friend about 30 minutes later, and told him what I knew. His first emotion wasn't shock, but pure sadness and horror. The conversation didn't last more than a few minutes.

After he hung up, I got a phone call from the Stow Police. They asked me to come outside and told me I could go into Aaron's apartment to get his cat, Pumpkin if I still wanted him.

I walked in with Ross. I looked around Aaron's apartment as much as I could, seeing the snacks he liked to eat, the books he had on his counter, and his lack of furniture but an abundance of cat supplies. I walked upstairs. The police officer picked up Aaron’s mattress, and I grabbed Pumpkin and kissed him before putting him in his carrier. The police officer tried to crack a joke with me, saying “Crazy story right?,” which I ignored. Ross and I took Pumpkin to the emergency vet to get checked out.

Between all this, I read bits and pieces of Aaron’s last will. After the vet, I was able to read it in its entirety. I saw a piece of Aaron I never knew about. I knew little Aaron’s life previously. I knew about how he was from Texas, how he came out here for a software engineering internship, how he liked our dogs, and how much he loved his cat. I now knew where Aaron’s heart was, and it was with Palestine.

Every five minutes I was refreshing the news and looking up “Aaron Bushnell.” I was desperately looking to see that Aaron somehow survived. Ross and I watched the blurred video of Aaron self-immolating. We were in shock and didn’t realize the impact it would later have on us. We heard Aaron's screams for justice and his final scream of pure agonizing pain.

The last time I refreshed this day, I saw that Aaron had passed away, with no friends or family present.

The next day, the shock wore off a little. I was sad, but didn't understand how sad this would make me. Ross and I went to Aaron’s friends apartment and explained to him that Aaron had passed away. This man, presumable about 60 or 70 years old, was a little surprising to me at first. But, by talking to him, it made sense. He was kind, and gentle. Just like Aaron. And he really, really, loved dogs and cats.

A couple days later, the fire alarm went off at work. It brought me back to seeing the video of Aaron, and filled my body with pure panic. Ross and I know to warn each other of scenes in shows with fire, knowing it will still bring our minds straight back to that video.

The next few weeks were hard. I talked to Aaron’s friends and tried to process the situation with them as much as possible. They told me about Aaron's love for rootbeer, video games, activism, and cats. They told me about Aaron’s backstory. It felt like something I was never supposed to know about Aaron. It was everything Aaron hated about his life. It was everything Aaron was trying to forget.

I became friends with Aaron's aunt and would call her for hours trying to process everything.

I began knowing more about Aaron in two weeks than I had learned in the past 5 months of being his neighbor.

I felt closer to him, I felt like a better friend to him. I had frequent thoughts of how I would bond with Aaron more with this newfound information. And then I would remember that he was gone.

I would see all the new stories about Aaron being mentally ill, or crazy. I would have people ask me if he was. I would try to explain that Aaron was just, good. That’s how I have and will always see him. I could tell that they heard me, but didn’t believe me. Everyone wanted this crazy story about how Aaron was psychotic. No one wanted to hear that he was the kindest person I knew.

I saw Aaron’s mailbox fill up with letters. I would pick up his flowers and rootbeer I left out on his doorstep every morning when the wind blew them down.

I would imagine Aaron saying hello and chatting to me when I let my dogs out.

I believed I would see Aaron again, until about a month after his passing, when the airforce knocked on my door.

They told me they were clearing out his apartment, and asked me if I would like to take any of Pumpkin’s supplies. I spoke to Aaron’s mom to confirm with her what I was taking. I felt guilty talking to her, as I knew Aaron would not have liked me too. I asked her if I could take one of Aaron’s shirts, so Pumpkin could have his scent. She agreed. I looked through a pile of Aaron’s shirts, and picked a red pullover I had saw him wear before. It smelled like him.

Seeing his apartment cleared out solidified in my mind Aaron was completely gone. They took away the flowers I left for him. I no longer saw the mailman delivering mail to him.

Pumpkin was the only thing left I had to hold on to the memory of Aaron. I can not express enough my gratitude towards Aaron for leaving him with me. Aaron stated in his will that his biggest regret was leaving Pumpkin. I am so fortunate that Aaron saw me the same way I saw him, and trusted me with his beloved cat.

This is all to say, the stories you read online never reflect reality. See the good in others before having your preconceived notions. Aaron always did.

To Aaron:

Hi friend.

I miss you. I love you. I hope you are doing well out there. I hope you know we are all managing down here. I hope you know we all still think of you.

Pumpkin is doing well. I took him to get his surgery. He did incredible. I wonder if he slept on your pillow every night. I wonder if he woke you up by head-butting you every morning. He stares at the wall we shared. I wonder if he knows that’s where he lived with you. I bought the same treats you used to buy him, which he goes crazy for. He still loves to sleep in the bed you bought him. He is truly, my biggest blessing. I hope you see how much love I give him for you.

I miss you, Aaron. I will always say your name with love and respect. I will always remember you as good.

With love,

Your friend,

Erin."

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 22 - gymnast

pairing: gymnast!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which your injured boyfriend issues you a small challenge

word count: 1427

warnings: none? slight mentions to injury of the wrist (brace) and uses lots of gymnastics terminology that i am definitely using wrong. it is also alluded that both spencer and reader are in very good shape

spence-tober masterlist

As you’re walking out of your small office, passing by the ice baths, PT tables, and small medical focused corner into the main space of the locker room, you feel as though you can hear something. 

You stop for a moment in your step and preen out your ear, waiting.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear a faint grunt. But you aren’t hearing something, you’re hearing someone.

As you veer out the door into the main gymnasium, you strain your eyes to see through the darkness. You are often the last person left at the gym most days, taking care of emails and papers and making sure everything is set on your end since you don’t come to work until about 10:00 a.m. 

The gym still has a few lights very dimly lit at your instruction so you would be able to see your way to the exit. Although it is nothing like how it usually is, with the bright white lights covering every inch of the place during the day or practice hours.

There’s a hooded shadowy figure over near the vaulting equipment and you squint for a better look.

“Spence?” You call out into the large room. Your voice almost echoes against the walls. 

The hooded figure turns to face you and pulls his hands up to his face to unmask his head.

Your slight heart palpitations stop as you recognize the face of your boyfriend in his gym practice clothes. He’s wearing his practice tank tucked into his tighter fitting sweatpants with his team jacket covering his arms and back. 

“Yeah?” He answers back to you, stopping his previous motions. 

You sigh, “You better not have been practicing.” You warn him, walking over to where he stands. “What are you still doing here?” You ask.

He takes a few steps away from the equipment and reaches his arms out for a hug. You would indulge him on any other day, but you keep him at arm’s length, your eyes poised on the brace he has on his left hand and wrist.

“I was waiting for you.” Spencer responds, slightly pouting at your rejection of a hug.

Instead, you gently take his braced wrist in your own hands, inspecting it. “It’s not giving you too hard of a time, is it?” You ask him, carefully turning it around and pressing on the skin in certain places.

You glance up at him and watch as he shakes his head, “Nope, feel’s good as new.”

His face has a dopey, goofy expression. Its an expression you know well and see often, communicated mostly on his face though it isn’t uncommon during practices for him to goof off either. Unfortunately, this personna has led Spencer to sprain his wrist and has prevented him from joining in on practices for the most part. 

“Nice try,” You say with an amused smile on your face, “You’ll need to rest it for at least another week.”

“Another week? Really?” He protests and whines.

You nod your head, “Hey, don’t bark at me. Doctor’s orders.”

Spencer gets an adoring look on his face mixed with mischief and a hint of those wide doe eyes that he knows you can’t say no to.

“But what about my gorgeous physical therapist girlfriend’s orders? Whom do I love so much?” He tries to convince.

You shake your head and go to walk past him, “No way, Spencer.”

He chuckles behind you and before you can walk off too far, his good hand catches your arm and pulls you back toward him, into his arms. 

“Come on.” You tell your boyfriend, “You still have early morning conditioning tomorrow.” You remind.

Spencer groans at your reminder, “You’re telling me I can’t join practice, but I still have to do conditioning?” 

You laugh at his antics and nod, “Yep. Hotch would not be happy if you skipped.”

“Hotch is never happy.” He retorts.

“Don’t say that,” You jest with him, pushing at his chest a little, “Aaron is your coach and my boss. Now, are you coming or not?” You ask, nodding your head towards the door.

There’s a glint of something in his eye. Something wild and playful and it reminds you of when you first met him.

You and Spencer had first met when you joined the team and the gym as the on hand physical therapist. The team didn’t quite have the budget for a team doctor, but you could work your magic and manage injuries after a doctor had seen them. You hadn’t been looking for a relationship, but Spencer always managed to catch your eye. 

Maybe it was his tall, lithe, stature or perhaps his thin, but muscular arms. Perhaps even chalk it up to his goofy nature, but at practices, your attention would eventually waffle over to watching Spencer. 

It wasn’t until Hotch and Rossi confronted you and told you that you needed to stay in your office during practice that you found out Spencer was trying to impress you when you watched. After that embarrassing meeting with your bosses, you found Spencer after practice one day and asked him out. Since then, you have been dating. 

Although you still remain in your office when Spencer is practicing because his will to impress you has never waivered and it has more often than not landed him back into your office with some minor injury. Much to Hotch and Rossi’s pleasure.

“How about a little competition?” He suggests with a grin on his face.

You bite your lip. He knows your weak spots and being highly competitive is one of them. You look at him, skeptical of the offer, “What are you planning?”

Spencer puts up his hands in mock innocence, “Nothing! Just a bit of friendly competition.”

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest, “Alright, what is it?” 

He continues to grin at you and takes your arms, uncrossing them and takes your hands in his, leading you over to the rings hanging from the ceiling with some extra mats underneath.

“I challenge you to hold an L-sit for three seconds.” Spencer says, he drags a smaller vault over underneath the rings with his free hand.

Before you were a physical therapist, you had done gymnastics for quite some time. You chose not to go pro and instead quit gymnastics after you had left college after being a part of the sport since you were in elementary school. 

You look up at the rings for a moment and then back at Spencer, a dubious look on your face, “Really?”

Spencer nods. You stretch out your arms for a moment, testing the flexibility and then approach the vault. Luckily you were wearing a halter style top which left your arms out in the open and some comfortable, but professional, yoga pants which allowed much more flexibility than jeans or something other.

After chalking up your hands, you move onto the vault carefully, you expertly bounce up to the rings hanging from the ceiling. From there, you maneuver back and forth to get a better grip on the rings, then pushing up your arms so they are pushing directly down on the rings and pulling your legs up horizontally to your body. 

Holding it for much longer than just three seconds, you can see Spencer’s shocked expression out of the corner of your eye and hold in a laugh, settling for a smirk instead.

You carefully dismount, letting your legs down, then arms, then jump down from the rings being sure to bend your knees to lessen the impact across your legs. 

“That’s it?” You say dusting off the leftover chalk on your hands. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything and you just walk past him towards the exit of the gymnasium. You don’t turn your head back as you hear the heavy footsteps behind you of your boyfriend and just laugh to yourself when he falls in stride with you. 

There’s a look of awe on his face, “How did you do that?” He asks.

For him, an L-sit hold for three seconds is a minor feat. But you haven’t actively practicing gymnastics beyond messing around every now and then. Coupled with rings not being a part of women’s gymnastics, Spencer had assumed that he had given you an impossible task that would end with the both of you laughing and him helping you attempt the move. 

You shrug as you turn off the dimmed lights and take the key to lock up after the two of you.

“Cross fit.”

a/n: i had a lot of fun writing this one and to be honest, this piqued in my head watching random youtube shorts of male gymnasts.

[ave09]

i promise

gk!harvey dent x reader

note: i’m so excited for y’all to read this! i don’t know how the two-face reveal will actual go, but this is my interpretation!

you hadn’t heard from harvey in weeks. 

you’d called, texted, emailed, you’d done practically everything to get in contact with him, and yet had heard nothing back. 

you couldn’t remember the exact date or time, all you remember is that it was just an hour before his appointment with the physiatrist, because despite ‘harvey’s warning’, you were determined to have his condition checked out. 

you were in the car, heading toward the clinic where harvey said he’d meet you when he called you up.

“harvey? i was just getting ready to head to the clinic-“

“honey, listen, i don’t have much time.” he spoke quickly, softly, as though he was hidden and didn’t want to be found. 

“harv? what-“

“i’m going away for a bit.” 

a gasp slipped past your lips, “what?? going away?? i don’t understand-“

“i can’t say. think of it like a business trip. i’ll be back soon.” there was a loud ruckus on the other end, panick struck you, “harvey, please, tell me what’s going on.”

“i love you so much. more than you could even imagine.”

“i-“

the line went dead. your breath came out in quick hyperventilated pants. what the hell was he doing? what was that noise? what was happening??

and as panicked as you were, he was your husband. you had to trust him. 

so that’s what you did. 

and you hadn’t heard from him since.

at week two, you decided to go to the GPD, to report a missing persons. but, apparently, harvey had taken leave, reportedly for almost a month. 

and there was nothing you could do. 

weeks flew by, and your worry only increased. your friends, coworkers, they’d stop by with gifts and kind words. but nothing helped. all you wanted was your husband back.

it was past midnight, and you could not sleep, not without him by your side. nightmares plagued your mind to the point that you’d barely been getting sleep at night. and it had taken its toll.

just as you were about to get up and find something to occupy yourself, your phone rang. you let out a soft sigh as you rolled across the king sized bed to your nightstand, the sound only growing louder. 

it was an unknown number, but you answered anyway. you’d given out your number at the GPD so if anyone had any clue where your husband was, they could give you a call.

“hello?” you answered, your voice groggy with sleep. 

“honey?” 

you froze, tears welling up in your eyes. you knew that voice anywhere. “harvey?” you whispered softly, your voice cracking slightly. 

“it’s me.” 

“oh my god,” you sobbed, unable to contain your emotion as a wave of relief washed over you. 

he was okay. he was alive.

“don’t cry, darling, please don’t.” 

“i’m just so happy you’re okay… where are you?” 

“um, about that-“

“harvey, i need to see you.” you said, desperation lacing your voice. there was a sigh on the other end, then silence. 

“harv..?” you questioned, “are you still there?” 

“i’m sending you a pin. you can meet me there.” 

“okay. i love you.”

“i love you too. i’ll see you soon.”

you had never driven faster in your entire life. the location was practically in the middle of nowhere, near one of gotham’s old rundown buildings. 

what he was doing here? you had no clue. 

you now stood in the middle of an abandoned alley, shivering from the cold. this was exactly where harvey had dropped the pin. he was supposed to be here. 

a startling sound of footsteps caused you to whip around to see a figure standing in the darkness of the alley. 

“you came.” his voice was gentle, almost as though he was surprised by her arrival. 

a small smile spread across your lips, “you called.” 

having him here before you made your heart swell. you had missed him so, and he’d finally returned to you. 

you took a few steps forward, only to see harvey stumble back slightly. this confused you. you had also begun to notice that when he’d spoken to you, he’d only kept one side of his face turned toward you. 

“harvey. come here.” you said, your voice stern. but your husband remained still. so with a sigh, you marched toward him, and now that he was near the dead end of the alleyway, he had nowhere to go.

as you neared, you noticed his face seemed different. and when you saw him fully, a gasp ripped from your throat.

the right side of his face was burned, the melted flesh a mixture of pink and purple. the right side of his lip was gone, leaving only his teeth bared. but what hurt the most, was seeing that his right eye, which used to be a vibrant blue, was now a milky white. 

you choked back a sob as you lifted a hand to the scared side of his face, gently placing it upon the deformed cheek. 

“oh beautiful..” you whispered, blinking back tears. the man scoffed but did not shudder at your touch, “how? how can you call me such a name when i look like this..”

you furrowed your brows, “what?”

“i was afraid to meet with you. i was afraid how you would react, i was.. i was afraid that you couldn’t find it in yourself to love…” he raised a hand, gesturing to his face, “this.” 

a soft smile tugged at your lips, “harvey, i did not fall in love with you because of your looks.” you let your hand fall from his cheek and move to rest upon his chest, where you could feel the thump, thump, thump, of his heart. 

“i fell in love with this. with your heart. i will have you, harvey dent, with a face or not.” 

harvey let out a soft chuckle as you continued, “and i will always be here for you. and this, we will get through this together.” 

you could see a single tear slip down the left side of his face, “you promise?”

you leaned forward, pecking your lips gently against what was left of his, sealing the deal. “yes. i promise.”

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

You Brought Your Worst and I’m Right Here - Epilogue

Pairing: Gale of Waterdeep x female Tav

Work Summary:

After an explosive falling out between Gale and his academic adviser, Mystra, Tav is left to pick up the pieces.

Modern/College AU.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Epilogue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1039

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

One Year Later

When Gale awoke, he was sandwiched between his two favourite girls. Tav’s face was pressed into his chest, and she was snoring softly. If he mentioned that to her, he knew that she’d blush and deny that she snored, but he had the evidence of his own eyes and ears.

Personally, he didn’t see why it bothered her. She was still beautiful even when her lips were chapped, her mouth hanging open, drooling slightly into his pyjama shirt. He hoped that he never had to wake up without her again.

On his other side, Tara was snuggled into the crook of his arm, a gentle purring rumbling in her chest. He was loath to disrupt this blissful little moment, but he needed to pee. He knew as soon as he got up, Tara would start begging for her breakfast, and that, in turn, would wake Tav.

Tav deserved a lie-in. She’d had a busy week. As carefully as he could, he detangled himself from his girlfriend, planting a kiss on her forehead, and then scooped Tara up into his arms and got out of bed.

Tara trilled sleepily, looking around in confusion, but Gale had carried her out of the bedroom and shut the door before she had the chance to start causing a ruckus.

“Sorry, Tara,” he murmured, setting her down on the kitchen floor, scritching her under the chin for good measure. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She meowed at him, so he got to work pouring the little meat sachet into her bowl. She wove between his legs, purring loudly the entire time he did so. He was practised at the art of not tripping over her while she did so. Tara had managed to trip Tav up a few times, though thankfully without injury for either of them.

Tav had adored Tara immediately, but Tara had been a little slow to warm up to an unfamiliar human. Tav would bribe the cat with fishy treats, which had certainly helped.

The flat they lived in now was nowhere near as big as the house they’d shared with Wyll, Astarion and Shadowheart. It had an open-plan kitchen/living room, a tiny patch of grass out the back that could generously be called a garden, and one bedroom. It was small but it was theirs.

They could’ve afforded a bigger place, but they were saving up for Gale’s PhD. For now, they were both working, but Tav had agreed to contribute more to rent and bills if his PhD application got accepted, so that he could focus on his studies. He had tried to protest, but Tav had remained firm.

“You can pay me back when you’re Dr Dekarios,” she had cooed into his ear, and it had been hard to say no to that. Dating a reasonably well-paid chemical engineer had its perks.

His mother had been dubious about how quickly Tav had become entwined with every part of Gale’s life. He knew that it wasn’t necessarily sensible, since they’d only been dating a year, but it came so naturally to him. Tav was his future.

Luckily, Morena liked Tav well enough. He was sure she never would’ve approved of Mystra, had she met her. In fact, Tav was the first girlfriend Gale had had that Morena actually liked, which was a testament to Tav’s character. It felt like every weekend his mother would call him and ask him when he and Tav were next going to visit her.

Once he’d gone to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, he opened up his laptop to check his emails, and was stopped short by a notification from his university application portal.

He stared at it, heart thrumming in his chest. It was a response to his PhD application. He was one click away from finding out the trajectory of his future. He moused over the link, and then away from it again, gripped by anxiety.

“Good morning,” said Tav sleepily.

Gale hadn’t heard her come in, and was so high-strung that he almost knocked his laptop off the table. She filled the kettle, oblivious to way his life hung in the balance. She was dressed in a dressing gown, her feet bare on the tiles.

His eyes homed in on her feet. They must’ve been cold. He should get her some slippers.

“Gale?”

He looked up to see her looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to answer a question. “Er, pardon?”

“I asked if you wanted tea?”

“Oh. Yes please.”

“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your seat.”

“I got an email about my PhD application.”

Tav set the kettle down and crossed the room to him. “What did it say?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it.”

“Oh…” Her hands came up to cup his face. His eyes fell closed as she stroked his cheek. “Do you want me to open it for you?”

“Please?”

“Okay.”

He turned back to his laptop and she leaned over him, resting her chin on his shoulder. Her hand covered his on the mouse.

“Ready?” she asked.

“No.”

“I’m going to do it anyway.”

“Okay.”

He closed his eyes, feeling her moving both his hand and mouse. She clicked once, and then again, and then moved the mouse a little more before clicking for a final time. A warm, bubbly laugh fell from her lips.

“Gale, open your eyes,” she said, gently headbutting the side of his head.

He opened his eyes. For a moment, the words on the screen were fuzzy, but they came into focus. His jaw dropped.

“You’ve been accepted,” she said, kissing her cheek. “Didn’t I tell you that you would be?”

“You did,” he admitted.

“And I am always right.”

“You are,” he agreed, feeling slightly shell-shocked.

“This calls for a celebration. I could make pancakes? Or a full English? Or we could order burritos from- Oof.”

He had shut his laptop, pushed it away from him and pulled her into his lap. “I love you,” he said, tugging at the cords of her dressing gown.

She cupped his face in her hands, a fond expression on her face. “I love you too, Gale.”

---

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed <3

[blurredcolour]

一期一会 | ichi-go, ichi-e | Epilogue

一期一会 | ichi-go, ichi-e Masterlist

Summary: Happily ever after arrives for you and Austin.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Christmas Tree Decorating, Vague and Passing Mentions of Labour, Rating - T.

Word Count: 1138

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“Oh, my not-so-little bean…” you murmured softly, absently caressing the swell of your abdomen with one hand. The other reached to hang a decoration on the Christmas tree that had taken over a sizeable corner of the living room in the house you now shared with Austin. “I swear here and now that your birthday will never, ever be overshadowed by the holidays.”

“Absolutely” Austin chimed in from somewhere on the other side of the thicket of branches. “That’s why we’re putting up the tree early this year, because moving forward…little bean’s birthday comes first and then the holidays.”

“Right…exactly…Separate party with no holiday decorations. Separate gifts, no joint weirdness. Special and distinct events.” You shuffled – more of a waddle but you would never admit that – back toward the coffee table to select another ornament, but the siren song of the couch called out to you, and you found yourself sinking back into the plush cushions, heaving a deep sigh of satisfaction as you set your feet up.

To say that two weeks out from your due date was a comfortable time would definitely be an overstatement. You were managing. You had certainly timed the end of your translation contract well, even though you had been able to work from a spare room upstairs that Austin had graciously converted to an office for you.

Your gaze came to rest on the tall, tanned man still diligently working on decorating the tree. You could not help the way your features softened and the swell of fondness beneath your breastbone. The man who had helped you draft your resignation email, flown back with you to Japan to pack up your apartment and end your lease early. The man who had introduced you to his manager Kate to ensure she could help watch out for slander against you in the tabloids and had welcomed you into his family and friend group. The man who had given up the other spare room in his house to make over into a nursery for little bean and had diligently attended every appointment and test and preparatory session with you.

If you had thought you were in love with the man that night in Osaka…you had barely been able to conceive of the depth of the love you felt for him now. A punch-drunk smile etched its way across your face crookedly as the sound of him humming along to the holiday playlist you had curated together reached your ears. The tree was nearly full of ornaments. In your defence, you had assisted with five-sevenths of the tree before the couch had sucked you in, though you had been limited to the central band – unable to bend over or reach up too high.

After fussing with spacing for a few moments, Austin took a step back to assess the tree as a whole before nodding silently. He switched off the rest of the lights in the room and came to join you on the couch. Sliding forward, you made space for him to nestle in behind you as you rested back against his chest, basking in the moment of peace in one another’s arms.

“I told you I have the director’s permission to keep my phone on me, right?” He murmured softly, his long fingers splaying across your belly.

“Mmmhmmm” You murmured softly. “And I have the ride share apps and the neighbour’s phone numbers and everything ready to go.” You tilted your head back to look up at him. “I’m going to be fine, and you’ve only got five days left on this project.” You strained upwards to press your lips against his jawline.

“Hmmm, ok little mama…” He rumbled and kissed the crown of your head. “But you gotta call me the moment it happens…”

You could not help the grin at the nickname – it had appeared around the same time you started showing. Had simply fallen from his lips, giving you both pause before it become a mutually accepted and adored moniker.

“I promise, Austin, I absolutely want you there…You will be my second call after I secure transportation if it happens early.” You nodded firmly. “Odds are? Odds are it won’t, so take a deep breath and focus on winning another Oscar.” You lay your hands over his softly. “I’m just as eager as you are to meet little bean, but they will arrive precisely when they mean to.”

He grinned broadly and nodded before nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder. You had worked with Dr. Sidhu to keep the sex of the baby a surprise – had seen many people get burned by the ambiguities of ultrasounds and locked into decorating and clothing choices…you wanted little bean to tell you upon arrival who they were.

Given your experience with making plans and the universe laughing, perhaps you should not have spoken with such glib confidence. Not two days later you found yourself making that call, the ride share pulling up to the gate as you grabbed your hospital bag and waddled down the driveway.

“Austin?” Despite your best efforts, the adrenaline pitched your voice an octave higher than normal and wound a tightness into your tone that told him immediately that it was time.

“You’re getting in a car?” He asked in a rush, bursting up from his set chair and heading for the parking lot.

“Yes…” You exhaled as you plunked down into the backseat, closing the door, and giving the driver the name of the hospital. “Yes, we are pulling away right now.”

“Ok, are you in a lot of pain?” You could hear his keys jangling as he struggled to unlock his car door.

“It comes and goes, as it is meant to…Deep breaths Austin…I’ll see you there, ok?”

“Ok…yes. Yes, I will see you there.” He affirmed, ending the call with an exchange of ‘I love yous’ before hanging up.

He arrived just as you completed the first circuit of your birthing suite, leaning on your doula. You could not help the giggles as he burst in wearing full makeup and costume.

“Hey little mama, you’re doing great.” He kissed you quickly, smothering your laughter, before he quickly changed and cleaned his face in the attached washroom.

Ten hours of sweat, tears, blood, and effort later, you and Austin were at last introduced to your baby son. There was a list of names to choose from later, but for now, the pair of you were too awed at his ten fingers, ten toes…and impressed at his powerfully squalling lungs. Lain across your chest, you both peered at him in wonderment as a flurry of activity unfurled around you in the room.

“Welcome to the family, little bean.” You whispered softly and bit your lip at the two wide eyes that gazed up at you in response.

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一期一会 | ichi-go, ichi-e Masterlist

[winterspiderpurrs]

"Sir, as per your protocol, I am to inform you that Peter is in great emotional distress. He is not in physical distress, I will keep a watch on his vitals"

Tony set his coffee cup down from where he stood in the kitchen with Steve, Bucky and Rhodey. He clears his throat " Thanks Friday, do you know what cause it with out invading his privacy"

" He recieved a phone call and an email from Mr. Osborn's solicitor and lawyers."

He made a face, raising his hand up wipe down his face. Its been a few months since the late Harry Osborn had passed away. He had finally succumb to his mysterious genetic illness. Tony didn't know all of the details but he knows that Harry and Peter were close. The final weeks before Harry passed Peter was at his bedside. The death of his friend devastated the young man. He looked over at Rhodey and then back at Steve and Bucky who both had a solemn look on their faces.

" Let the kid know if he needs anything to let me know. "

" Of course. Peter has informed me he will be in need of Ms. Potts and her publicity skills and possibly the team of lawyers you have on hand. "

" What.... Friday. Once Peter is well enough tell him to come talk. Whatever he needs he can have. But i will need to know whats going on"

" Peter has permissioned the access to his email for your review. A copy has already been sent to Ms. Potts"

Tony turns around and projected the email up in the air in a hologram. Everyone gathered close as they read the email. The shocked look on all there faces, Steve reaching out to hold Bucky's hand as his eyes filled with tears.

" Hey Pete,

If your reading this it means I finally kicked the bucket and the vultures at the company can't legally get away with what they want. And I'm sorry Peter. I wish we had more time and I could prepare you for this, it feels like only a few weeks ago instead of the last couple of years to when we reconnect. I was an ass. And your a mess Peter Parker, but you are my best friend. We have known each other for so long and no matter what we have gone through you stayed my friend even when I didn't deserve it. Your a good person, no fashion sense and those jokes? Horrible. But that makes you, you.

And before you say you dont deserve anything and this was never what you had in mind. Just listen to me for once. You deserve to live the life you deserve. I know I pissed off a lot of people with my will. But Peter if anyone deserves to run Oscorp, its you. Father always liked you, even after everything, he always wanted you helping the company. Even if you decide to sale it, I trust you will do good things, life changing things. I know money doesn't mean anything to you but you will finally be able to get new clothes that are NOT from a thrift shop cause thats just gross Pete.

And yes, you are entitled to this. When the accords happened, I told you I didn't trust Stark as far as I could throw him. He has done good by you now but in the beginning I was the one making sure you were safe. I promised you on your 18th birthday that I would always take care of you. And even though I'm not there. This is me fulfilling that promise.

And I'm sorry you are finding out this way. And I promise I would have fixed it if the time came but until then. Maybe it was me being selfish.

I never signed the papers of the annulment. I paid the judge off. We are still legally married.

Peter Benjamin Parker. I've been in love with you since we were 11. Took me a while to realize that I was jealous of your loving family, your smarts, how you didn't care about my money. I know I was being selfish when you turned 18 and would of needed to sign the accords. Nothing Stark could of done could of protected you. And when I realized this is when I could marry you? I jumped at the chance. My family had the money to protect you in a way Stark couldn't since he had no claims on you legally.

You made me the happiest I have every been when you agreed. We had a great few months together before Father found out and I pulled off the greatest fuck you ever to the family legacy. I know I had to tell you we had to separate. And I knew that it broke your heart but you were so worried about how the public would view me, the company that you signed and told me we could go back to being friends.

I'm glad for the time we had together. Even after we reconnect later, I had no hope of rekindling what we had before. My clock was ticking and I didn't want to hurt you even further. But I guess you were going to be hurt no matter what.

Peter Benjamin Parker you deserve all the love and happiness in the world. I'm glad I got to experience what it means to be loved by you "

[lustfangs]

Treble clef anon here (𝄞)!

I hope this new piece lives up to my previous standards. Of course, as per your suggestion, we'll be taking a deep dive into the wonderful world of dumbification.

Afterall, what need have you of thoughts - when you're so wet and horny and needy and dumb that all you can think about is how bad you want to be ruined right now?

xxxxxxxxx

It began at work.

It's been a pretty busy month - with calls coming in one way, emails the other, and your boss constantly nagging you about some shit you sent to the wrong person last week, it's astonishing you're even able to keep up. Well... you haven't really been able to keep up that well. Every night you get home so tired you can barely blink without falling asleep, yet the moment you roll laboriously into bed, you're kept awake by the persistent low-level stress of knowing you've got to go to work again tomorrow.

You've thought of getting a therapist, but who has the time for that? Rubbing at your clit at night, awash with the hot flood of an orgasm or three, is all the reprieve you really get from this damn job. And even then, it's so short you barely notice.

So it's another morose, upsettingly boring day when you sit down at your desk, getting a final stretch in before switching on the shitty little company computer and opening the first few emails. They're the normal stuff: finances, shipping, some idiot lost their keys again, etc.

Except, there's one new message. Unknown sender, but you can't be bothered to run up the name. It's probably some newbie who forgot to switch to their work email. Inside, you see some garbled-looking text, obviously photocopied from somewhere, and a file attachment.

Fuck it, might as well, you think, double-clicking your way through. It's some kind of webcam app - your beleaguered old in-built cam blips to life, a dim light in its corner to show it's somehow still shambling on. On your screen, you just see your face. Haggard, strained, and shadowed with eye bags darker than your eyeliner, you look about as miserable as you feel. Across this dour screen flashes a message. Quick, subtle, but you catch it.

"Blink twice"

Hell, why not. You blink twice.

"Good girl."

Your cheeks flush, that light red startlingly noticeable in the slightly grainy camera footage. Oh, so that's what this is. One of those call-and-response porn bots? You'd heard of them before - hell, you'd been sent them before, whenever some dumbass let their email get hacked - but this one is surprisingly well put-together. Usually, big compilations of these pop up either on youtube or on porn sites, depending on what they ask people to do. Long compilations of tired workers being a little goofy, or a little slutty, into a camera that scrambles their identity when the recording's over.

It's funny, you never thought you'd get caught up in one of these. Maybe you'll be able to get off to it later, when it's inevitably uploaded to the hornier channels of the internet. No new emails. So for now, you keep watching.

"Blink again"

You blink, a damp little spot between your legs.

"Good girl." "You love doing what you're told."

Your breath hitches, the look on your own face enough to send a thrill of lust through your body.

"Nod for me."

Your head bobs once

"You love doing what you're told." "Nod again."

Thank god you're in a cubicle with a door, even if it's just a flimsy bit of cardboard. You nod, mouth slightly agape, and keep staring.

"Good girl." "Show me your tits."

You glance around, making sure nobody's around. Getting up a little, you can see there's even fewer people in than usual. Just you, your boss, and a cleaner. Guess everyone else took the weekend off. Or they're just working from home; you live too close to work not to bother coming in and keeping home separate.

Dropping back down into your seat, you flash your tits - short, sweet, and just long enough that you get an eyeful of yourself, before tucking them back under your shirt.

"Good girl."

The look on your own face is something else. Mouth a little open, tongue just by your lips, you barely manage to restrain yourself from groping at your tits, just dying to see how hot you'd look doing it.

"Again."

They're out in the air before you even realise, and with the click of the far door, you know the janitor's gone for the day. Just you, and your boss in her closed office.

"Touch them."

Your repressed need for some release takes over; groping needily at yourself, you do everything to look as slutty as you can in your reflection - kneading, pinching, pressing them together until your nips are nice and puffy, and you're aching to have them sucked.

"Good girl." "You hate thinking, don't you."

You keep staring, transfixed.

"Nod if you don't want to think"

You've nodded already, and it takes a second for you to realise you actually need to stop. Breath shaky, you drop your hands from your chest, just moving your arms to squish your breasts together and jiggle them a little, chair creaking beneath you.

"Good girl." "Don't think, just nod."

Your head bobs on its own, following the words.

"Don't think." "Take off your shirt."

The cotton lands in a heap on the floor, barely able to contain the instinctual nodding, as you get to see your smooth skin for the first time today. A drop of drool lands on your leg. Where'd that come from?

"Don't think." "Good girls don't think."

Another wet drop on your legs.

"You're a good girl, aren't you?"

You nod vigorously, staring at the image of your own tits.

"Say it."

You stop, suddenly unsure. It feels so good, but... say it? Your mouth forms the words, your head fills with their tune. Will your boss hear you? Surely not, she's behind a closed door afterall?

"Say it."

You raise your head a little over your cubicle wall, just enough to see. She's busy behind her desk with something, barely visible through the slats of her covered office windows. The door is firmly shut.

"I'm a good girl."

"Good girls don't think."

"G- good girls don't think~"

"Good girl." "What are you?"

"I'm a good girl."

"That's right. You're a good girl. And good girls don't think." "Good girls are dumb."

You shift your legs, and feel your own fingers already there, rubbing away at your clit like there's no tomorrow. It's so, so, wet down there, and you can't help yourself now, can you?

"Say it."

"Good girls... are dumb."

"Good girl." "What's your name?"

"I-"

You can't... remember? Your own name? Where was it again - oh, yeah. It's on the floor, on your discarded shirt. You fingers slip inside for a second, and the blind, gasping lust that seizes you refuses to let go, wetly plapping your own hand against your plumply pretty labia, every thought vanishing like smoke.

"What are you?"

"I'm a good girl~"

You whine, eyes rolling over how good you're making yourself feel.

"Your name is slut."

"My name is Slut?"

"Remember, good girls don't think."

"Mnnh~"

You bite your lip, unable to block the low moan sliding out of your throat, your new name locking into place. You should have that put on your... cube ickle? That's a long word.

"Long words are funny." "Good girls are dumb. Long words aren't dumb." "You don't need long words. You're dumb." "What's your name?"

"Slut."

"And what are you, slut?"

"A good girl~"

"And what are good girls?"

"Uhhh..."

You strain your mind to think, absently licking the sweet slick off your own fingers. Humping your hand, creaking the chair, you desperately try to grasp what you were thinking about - was it your wet, aching pussy? No, that's not it. What about this hot feeling between your legs? And how about those cute tits on the screen in front of you? Yeah, that makes sense!

"Good girls are dumb." "My, you really are a good girl."

"Mmhm..."

"So what are you, slut?"

"Uhm... I'm..."

"You're a dumb slut. That's what."

Your whole body trembles as the pleasure suddenly washes over you, hips rolling your sloppy pussy onto your fingers, helplessly riding them as you stare at the pretty slut on the screen.

"Stand up"

You shoot to your feet, tits bouncing as you try to keep fingering yourself, even standing up. Oh look, you're boss' door is open. Wow, has she always been this hot? You shoot a look back down at the screen.

"Cum in my office." "Edge until you reach me. Kneel every time you get close."

You follow the pretty instructions, dumb brain shorting out every time you get so, so close, and dropping to your knees, dripping wet juice all over the floor each time. By the fifth time, you're right by her door, and fat tears are rolling down your face as you grope desperately at your tits instead of your puffy pussy. Finally, you step inside. The office is decorated all in black, as is your boss, her chest and thick cock both straining against her clothes. Standing there, you fingerfuck yourself for her pleasure, squealing with need as the floor soaks in your juices, the smell of sex wafting through the room.

She just watches, clicking a pen.

Why is it so hard now? you think, mashing your clit so hard you're crying all over again. Let me cum for her! I want to cum for her! I'm a good girl! Good girls are dumb! I'm dumb slut! Dumb slut want cum! Just those words flash through your mind, and soon enough you're saying them out loud.

"I'm a good girl! Good girls are dumb!"

"Yes, my dear. Good girls are dumb. And you're such a perfect, pretty, dumb little girl for me, aren't you~?"

The orgasm comes with a scream, dropping you to your knees, then onto your face, as wet cum squirts against the glass of her office, thumping dully in the heart-pounding quiet. Your breaths are nothing but moans and whines, your poor mind gone completely. Just a fuzzy haze left, mumbling something into the wet carpet as trembles wrack your body, showing off your pretty back, and your pretty cheeks, to your new master. Wasn't she your boss already~?

~~~~~~

tadaa! I can do a part two if you like Something tells me your boss won't be satisfied with just watching you lose your mind in front of her.

I get the feeling she wants to keep you.

But who am I, the author, to decide such things?

P.S. I hope you feel a little better now, and hopefully you'll have an easier time of it than before.

Treble clef anon you are my savior!!!! I’ve missed you <33 please send that second part over I’ve been so busy lately :((

[nevermindirah]

🎁 🍬 🤔 🎨

🍬 Do you write for multiple fandoms? If yes, what is your favorite fic of yours for each fandom?

I do! Overwhelmingly TOG these past few years but I may still write more MCU here or there. My very favorite of my MCU fics is the one I'm afraid I may never write: Eartha Grit, in which Sam Wilson is a drag queen. How the hell to choose between my TOG babies I have no idea, so I'll pick one on impulse: every shutter click I wish was a kiss. We really knocked it out of the park with that one 🙏

🤔 Would you ever want to write something canon if you got the opportunity?

I have no desire to face any of the stresses of professional fiction writing, and I don't think that's where my skills are at, but I would leap at the chance to contribute to the story outlining that would result in Daisy Johnson officially returning to the MCU. They should've put her in The Marvels! She would have such interesting relationships with Monica and Kamala especially!! But since they didn't go this route I'm sure I can find other fun and exciting ways to get her on movie screens. Kevin Feige don't call me just accept my emails pls and thank <3

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I would die of joy and come right back screaming with delight if someone made fanart of my work. Two very different scenes pop immediately to mind. One: the moment in Wouf Wouf when Nile is enjoying a gentle wake-up cuddle with her wolfy bestie and its following moment where all of a sudden a very hot very naked human man is halfway pinning her to the bed. Two: Olympic gold medalist Nile and her hockey player doing something cute, like for example trying out a pairs skating lift. ok also Three: anything from every shutter click I wish was a kiss >:)

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

saving the best for last. have TWO snippets! <333333333

(fanfic writer asks!)

Meeka/Vincent

It has now been fully three days since Meeka has had a proper workout. This trip was supposed to include at least a little light mountain climbing! Snow is still piling up and at this rate she doubts she’ll get to do more than snowshoe a few meters to the airport taxi when it’s finally safe to leave the cabin.

Her circuit between her bedroom, the kitchen, and the far side of the living room with its cozy fireplace is laughably inadequate exercise. The lack of better options is starting to make her physically itch.

The summit organizers are doing their level best to continue with the planned events over video conference, but some of the delegates aren’t showing the same commitment to the summit’s success, and some of the unplanned moments of an in-person meeting that get people to see each other’s humanity across political difference are simply impossible to recreate online. Meeka is finding each session more frustrating than the last.

She was able to keep her one-on-ones with the principals from Haiti, Brazil, Bangladesh, and Vietnam, all of which went well, and she’s going to have an exciting follow-up call when she gets home with the leaders of Vietnam’s solar program. Both Egypt and Mexico had to cancel on her due to tension headaches from all the unexpected screen time. A video call from home in a week or two is just as good as a video call from nearby cabins they can’t leave on this frozen mountain, or perhaps better, without the frustration of cabin fever.

Last night’s video happy hour with some of her friends and their friends and a handful of new allies was decently amusing! Though a good portion of it was spent ragging on France, which brought one of the largest delegations to this trainwreck and yet had not a single representative at that afternoon’s Francophone countries roundtable discussion. Extraordinarily disrespectful.

Meeka declined invitations to social events tonight. Eye strain hasn’t gotten to her, thankfully, but her temper can only take so much frustration. She needs a break from screens. She needs to move.

When she logs off after the last of the day’s sessions and leaves her bedroom, she finds Vincent on the floor with Mila.

Sugar Daddy AU

(this is a rougher draft prose-wise but the vibes are there!)

“Boys, this is my friend Nile I’ve told you about.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Nile,” says Philippe.

Jean Pierre says a quiet hi but his lip is trembling. As they move into the living room and Booker offers Nile a glass of water, JP bursts into tears. Booker scoops up JP to comfort him, murmurs all kinds of reassurances. Philippe goes and gets Nile a glass of water.

Nile’s heart melts for this kid. She was only a year older than him when her dad was wounded in action and she recognizes the turmoil behind the responsible-kid exterior.

Nile asks him about his pottery and they talk about that for a little bit while Booker sees to JP. When things are starting to calm down, she tells Philippe that he was very brave and responsible tonight, reassures him that Dad’s home now and you can relax, it’s all going to be ok. Booker of course overhears this and melts over how great Nile is.

They’d had snacks at Astra’s party but ended up leaving before eating a real dinner, and the boys hadn’t eaten yet either when Joe started having trouble breathing, so now everybody’s hungry. Before either of the adults can really think through logistics or say the should-say things like “I can call you a car to the MARC station” or “I should probably leave y’all to it”, Philippe asks if Nile is going to stay for dinner.

“Yeah, Papa, can she?” JP adds. “We could watch a movie!”

The boys egg each other on about yeah! Let’s watch a movie! Booker sets the oven to preheat then asks if he can talk to Nile for a moment in the other room.

“I’m sorry to just invite myself over like this,” Nile says. “I should—”

“If you’d rather not stay I could—”

They both trail off and look at each other.

“What’s for dinner?” Nile asks.

Booker looks down, sheepish. “Pizza casserole.”

“I bet it’s delicious. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed?”

“If you want to stay, you’re very welcome.”

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Twenty-Five — Fallout

It took me way too long to find my voice — I felt more disconnected from my body now than when I was freezing over. “When does it get easier?” I asked, voice croaky and barely there. “When do you stop feeling guilty over it?” 

5,555 words [teehee] | 20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: violence, described spiraling, death, racism, illness

Brent pulled the sleeve of his sweater over the wrapping on his elbow as the phlebotomist, I’d discovered they’re called, filed away his blood samples in this tube holder, each one marked. 

“Stress to them that I need the results as soon as they can get them,” Dr. Sims was talking off to the side with some technician. “The full report, in email.”

The tech muttered some agreement, clearly awestruck at who he was talking to, and was gone with the vials the moment they were handed off. 

“So what’s a…microray?” Brent asked.

“Microarray,” Dr. Sims corrected. He was dressed differently today; business casual, collar of his dress shirt caught on the neckline of the wool sweater. “It’ll break down the sequencing of each individual chromosome and tell us if there’s any genetic malformations in your DNA,”

“And why would we need to know that?” Brent glanced over at Dad, who was sitting in the now-baren windowsill seats and looking out the window. Everything Dad and Brent had in this room was packed up, ready to go as soon as I got medicine from the in-hospital pharmacy. 

Dad sighed hard, staring at the sky like it had all the answers for a moment longer before turning in place to face us. “There’s something I need to explain to you both,” 

And then he began to tell us more about how Mom got sick. 

She didn’t heal immediately after having us, but the doctors brushed it off; a Conduit has to be in decent shape to heal and she simply wasn’t. She lost a lot of blood in the abruption, and the blood transfusion had to be from someone without the Conduit gene as the enzymes are dangerous to normal people, so she may have been beyond drained out. That’s what they thought, at least. “They told us to give it a week,” Dad said, “That we’d probably see progress by then.”

They didn’t. Instead, Mom was discharged, and then back in the hospital nearly two days later for MRSA. 

The Doctors contributed the infection to her weakened system, and brushed it off then as well. “When someone’s pregnant, their immune system is ass,” Dad tried to joke, with no real humor in his voice. “So they reset the healing clock on us. Told us to wait two weeks. Raising two newborns on my own when she was hospitalized was horrible, by the way,”

Two weeks came and went and her scar wasn’t gone. Her and Dad brought it up to her obstetrician, and they simply said to wait till her six week check-up. The amount of time it takes for someone normal to heal. “They did that again and again, a lot. Just told us to be patient and do it the human way,” Dad shook his head.

She began to bruise. She started getting bloody noses again. She had accidentally sliced a knuckle to the bone in a dishwashing accident and had to get stitches, which stuck around instead of dissolving almost immediately. “Healing was the first thing to disappear, and then her powers got weaker.”

Brent looked at me, fear in his eyes. “So does…does that mean Jean’s…”

“We aren’t sure yet.” Dr. Sims said. “That’s what the microarray is for. I was still in school when Fetch died — what was happening to her was what made me go in the first place. But that means we never found out what made her sick, and we’ve gotta rule out that it isn’t something genetic.”

“But didn’t you guys say it might be Augustine’s tar?” Brent asked.

“It might be,” Dad responded. “Which is where the second part of this conversation comes in.”

What the hell did that mean?

Dad took his jacket from his lap and chucked it on to the little backpack he had, hands going to his knees in its place. “Remember that holiday vacation I promised?”

What the hell did that mean? “Yeah?” I asked, glancing over at Brent with a cocked eyebrow. Was this like how people take out their dogs for the day before putting them down? Was I getting a ‘Best Day Ever’ before kicking the bucket? At least Brent seemed to be feeling the canine excitement; he was suddenly sitting perched at the end of my bed like he was waiting for Dad to ask him if he wanted to go for a walk. 

Dad smiled slightly — though it looked more like a grimace. “Have either of you ever wanted to visit New Marais?”

Brent immediately cringed, and I couldn’t blame him. New Marais was…bad. Bad enough that Theresa’s mom basically fled from there after her dad was killed. I’m pretty sure it was the world capital for place most likely to get stabbed at. There were literal robbers poised at bridges, shooting the tires of cars on the highway to make them crash so they could pilfer everything from the vehicle. The only people that’d thrive in New Marais were criminals, extortionists, and other sorts of bloodsuckers. It wasn’t a pretty place, hadn’t been in literal decades; after the flood and the fascists, it had no allure. Unless you liked French colonial structures and being assaulted. 

Even the architecture couldn’t convince Brent; he looked at me, and I knew we were thinking the same thing. “Why, uh…” I drew off. “Why New Marais?”

Dad wasn’t surprised at our apprehension — in fact, he seemed to agree with it. “There’s someone there that can help us out. Knows a bit about tar powers — but we have to be there to get answers. He’s outside of the city center, from what I understand, but it’s…”

“New Marais,” Brent said distastefully. 

Dad nodded. “New Marais.”

“That’s still Louisiana,” I said, “That’s gotta be a couple hour flight, right?”

Dad grimaced. “Actually, it’ll be a…three day drive…”

“I’m not allowed to fly.” Dr. Sims said from his place, yet again, by the sink. “Not in planes, at least. I don’t plan on flying that far with my powers, either.”

“You’re coming with us?” Brent asked, an undertone of astonishment in his voice. 

Dr. Sims nodded. “What’s happening to your sister is something I plan to see through. I didn’t get to…to help Fetch in time. I’m going to do it this time. It’s what she’d want.”

The way he talked, you’d think he and Mom were age-old friends. How well did they know each other?

The doctor came up with prescriptions, pain medicine and antibiotics and something else I couldn’t pronounce, giving directions I knew I’d forget the moment I left this room. Dad knew this too, saying, “I’ll put alarms on my phone — oh,” he reached down to the backpack, fiddling with the thing and pulling something out. “Put them on yours too.”

He tossed my phone towards my broken arm, forgetting I couldn’t exactly reach out and catch it with it held against my chest in the sling. 

Dr. Sims slipped out at some point on promises that he’d be right back — and he was. Almost within three minutes. He was a bit winded, looking past Brent and I as he helped me figure out how to put on my jacket to look straight at Dad, saying, “We’ve got an issue,”

Dad’s face immediately got steely hard, and he stood, shoulders squared. “What’s up?”

“Not that kind of—” Dr. Sims cut off, “Well, it could be. Protest.”

Dad growled. “How the hell do they know we’re here?”

“Someone probably slipped something to the media,” Dr. Sims crossed the room in a second and was at the window, looking down at the parking lot a few floors below. “Might have seen you. Looks like they’re congesting the main entrance though, so we can probably slip out back. Problem is, none of us can get to the parking garage without them seeing,”

“It’s just a few protestors,” Brent shrugged. “We can get past them.”

“It’s…” Dr. Sims trailed off. “It’s more than a few.” 

“One of us could go move the truck—” Dad started. 

“They’ll just chase us down.” 

“Is there a roof entrance?” Brent asked. “Maybe we can leave a different way, come back for the truck?”

Dad looked at him like he was an idiot. “I’m not letting your sister climb a hundred feet in the air when she can’t make the landing.”

I managed to balance the jacket on my shoulders, saying, “We should just go. Brent’s right, we’ve walked past them dozens of times before. There’s probably cops monitoring, we should be fine.”

Dad looked like he wanted to do anything, literally anything, except that. “If they get violent, Jean…” he warned. 

Oh, God. Don’t tell me he’s turning into this sort of parent. “I can still defend myself, Dad.” I insisted. He wasn’t going to start keeping me in bubble wrap, right?

Dr. Sims actually came to my rescue. “We’ll all be there, she should be fine.”

“We can even escort her,” Brent added, amused. “Like some c-list celebrity.”

Dad bit at his cheek, unsure — but also entirely out of options. “Fine, okay,” He said. “We’ll move quick. Eugene, think you can guard Jean while she gets in the truck? I’ll cover Brent.”

Well, at least I wasn’t the only one he was being overprotective of. “Sure,” Dr. Sims said. 

They found a formation when we stood in the elevators, just in case some people made it into the lobby of the hospital; Brent and Dr. Sims stood in front of me, flanking each side for space while Dad stayed behind me. A full cover of large, powerful bodyguards to make up for the fact that I was now weak. It felt so demeaning. I was some weak spot in the family now, a risk that they’d have to mind at all times. 

As the elevator doors opened up into a hallway, I could hear them, a dozen voices, maybe even bordering on a hundred, all chanting angrily — although I couldn’t make out what. Brent cast an unsure look over his shoulder, asking, “Maybe we should stay a while?”

Dad’s face was steeled. “There’s no point.” he said plainly, a sudden shift from his hesitancy before. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

Still, as we passed an electronic map in the hall, Dad’s hand came out and drained it of all imagery, matching Dr. Sims in power. 

The lobby was huge and fancy and white, with some big fountain fixture in the middle, its white noise barely doing anything to silence the voices. The windows, though, were big enough to show how many people there were. There were at least a hundred, all being forced to the sides by police so that the actual entrance to the hospital would be clear for patients and visitors, with three separate news vans recording the tension. “Fucking hell,” Dad muttered behind me. 

“At least there’s cops?” I offered, not entirely sure that was a good thing. Rarely was. 

“Stay looking forward, stay walking, don’t engage,” Dad listed off behind me. “You hear me, Brent? Don’t engage—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Brent muttered, going a bit red. 

The foyer of the hospital had a line of police whose eyes I avoided; just gotta stay in step and keep moving forward. Easy enough. 

All of that assurance disappeared when we stepped outside to what was moments away from becoming an angry mob. But what I wasn’t prepared for was to be confronted with images of me; a grainy picture of me trying to get the huge concrete rock to not hit the helicopter, my Linus Pauling yearbook picture. The signs were all littered with words, accusations: Shot out of the sky on the ones with the footage, a sign with just the number 137 on it, the 7 written on a sticky note. An update on the death count. 

Me. They were protesting me. 

And as we stepped further into the light, the protestors zeroed in on me, and the general yelling became targeted insults that somehow melted into white noise and also stood out to me all at once. “Dirty Bio-terrorist!” one person yelled. 

“There’s over fifteen thousand unemployed, I hope you’re happy!”

“You killed my brother!” 

“We’re homeless now!”

“Someone oughta hold your head underwater!”

I didn’t realize I was frozen in place until Dad’s arm wrapped around me, and he began to roughly steer me through the slight divot in the crowd Dr. Sims and Brent’s bodies had made. “C’mon, Jean,” he muttered, voice as stiff as could be. 

There was no getting through the crowd here; the flow of the protestors followed us like what I imagine wolves hunting elk did. But was it fair to paint them as the predators when they were the real victims here? If the Big Bad Wolf was on trial for the murder of those pigs, could you blame other swine for wanting to swallow him whole? 

And that wasn’t an exaggeration; the crowd seemed to push closer in until they were claustrophobically close, until the heat of their insults warmed my skin. There was a shout, louder than the rest, and suddenly Brent was slamming himself into my side, arm steeled and shield up and I stumbled and yelled in pain. Something crashed against it with a musical ping, and a rather large decorative rock from the piles in the medians fell between his feet. 

“The fuck, dude?” Brent shouted, swiping the rock up from his feet. He looked about ready to chuck it back, trying to get a good eye on whoever threw it. 

“Things are getting out of hand,” Dr. Sims warned. 

Dad tucked me closer into his side and walked faster, repeating under his breath again and again, “Stay looking forward, keep walking,” as if he was moments away from also going after people. 

Brent stayed posted on my other side with his shield up all the way until we got to the entrance of the parking garage, people filtering around the entrance that was currently occupied by a few cars trying to either find parking or pay for it. Only protestors, though — all of those cops that had congregated the entrance? They were nowhere to be seen. The one running interference now was Dr. Sims, who stepped to the side, pushed us all into the stairwell, and then lifted his hands, blue light beginning to swirl around them. 

“Eugene, what the hell are you doing?” Dad asked, pushing me up a step. 

“Buying us some time. Go!” He demanded. “I’ll catch up.”

He waved those arms, and the air in front of him began to turn blue and solidify. Parts of it went silver like Brent, other parts stayed blue, and it began to take on a humanoid form when Dad pushed me again, forcing me up the stairwell. 

Brent was in the lead, taking two at a time and looking back to watch me struggle to climb. God, the cut in my side was throbbing with each rough breath. Dad stayed behind me chanting encouraging reassurances, like “You’ve got this, Jeanie,” and “Last flight of stairs, c’mon.” 

Thank god — I didn’t think I could go much farther.

Dad rushed us to his truck, opening the back door on the drivers’ side and forcing us both in there. “Brent, cover your sister for me. I’ll get us out of here,” 

“Shouldn’t we wait for Dr. Sims?” Brent asked, crawling in awkwardly after me. 

“He’ll catch up,” he reassured us. 

Wasn’t sure how someone was supposed to catch up to a moving vehicle, but okay. 

Brent’s shield was gone, but both arms were steeled now, covering my head and neck as he practically forced me to duck into his lap. I couldn’t see anything that was going on besides the shifts in light, but God, I could hear those protestors, louder than before and seemingly arguing with something. Did Dr. Sims…start a fight? 

I peeked up from Brent’s lap just as the light shifted to see the protestors trying to fight their way into the parking garage against…eight tall, armored, blushed-blue winged angels.

“What the fuck?” I whispered, watching these angels levitate a mere ten inches off of the ground, refusing to part for the protestors — and cars — trying to come in. 

“Get ready,” Dad warned us. Brent forced my head back down. 

Dad honked the horn twice and there was a sudden collection of shouts from the protestors before Dad revved the engine and peeled out of there, throwing the truck so roughly right that I left Brent’s lap and nearly flew into the floorboard. There were more shouts, insults and curse words thrown our way that were drowned out by the truck’s roar and distance as Dad sped out of the area. 

I stayed down for three minutes before Dad sighed hard and called back, “You’re good now, Jeanie.”

I could barely move. Those people, nearly a hundred people, came to the hospital to protest because I was there. Because of what I did. 

“You okay?” Brent asked me. 

I just stayed staring at the rock on the floorboard, the one aimed for me. How could I be okay? 

We were well on the highway and nearly to the connection bridge that crossed to the other side of the Sound when the truck suddenly lurched as something slammed into the truck bed. Dad cursed as we both yelped, swerving in his lane so hard that the people beside us honked furiously as Brent and I spun around to see what happened.

Dr. Sims was in the bed face down, the groan audible from where we were despite the ambiance of rolling down the highway at 65 miles an hour.

“What the fuck was that?” Dad demanded, head whipping back to look at us and looking straight just as quickly as he moved to the right lane, slowing down. 

“It’s uh,” Brent cocked his head. “It’s Dr. Sims? But he isn’t looking too good…”

He wasn’t looking anything. He hadn’t moved, face plastered in the lateral grooving of the truck bed.

Dad moved over until he was on the shoulder of the highway, putting the car in park and hopping out to check on Dr. Sims. “You good, Eugene?” he asked. 

“Had to…couldn’t find you. Made an angel…fly me around. Out,” I could hear him groan through the window. “You’d think…I’d know how to land by now,”

“Well if your powers gave out, you couldn’t exactly stop it.” Dad shook his head. “C’mon, get in the truck,”

This was met by a loud groan that lasted for at least thirty seconds before Dr. Sims even tried to move a muscle. 

Dr. Sims was now comfortably in the passenger's side seat of Dad’s truck, thanking him like a man parched when Dad sacrificed his phone for draining. “Does that not break it?” Brent asked. 

Dad shook his head, glancing at us in the rearview mirror as Dr. Sims recovered. “Nah. Kinda just makes it short circuit for a while, but it’ll work again soon.”

Dr. Sims leaned his head back on the headrest, gasping out at the relief of the drain. “Thanks Del,” 

“Sure. At least you have good aim,”

We were returning to Salmon Bay, but only for a moment; we were going to pack, maybe eat, and then start the thirty-nine hour drive to Louisiana. A multi-state trip that Dr. Sims and Dad began trying to plan as soon as Dad’s phone turned back on. “So it’s only a ten mile difference if we go right at Salt Lake City and take the highway to Denver,” Dr. Sims hummed. “Cuts through Wyoming,”

“We could make it a road trip?” Brent offered. “Yellowstone – could go to a Broncos game—”

“We’re…crunched for time, bud,” Dad said, casting a quick glance at me in his rearview mirror. 

Right — I was the ticking time bomb now, the arsenal no one wanted around ‘cause it’d ruin days and maybe lives. I was holding the cool rock in my hand now that was aimed for my head, if what Brent chattered off at some point was true. I couldn’t even blame whoever threw it, not if they were impacted by what I did. 

I was the cause of their discontent. They weren’t there to picket Dad or Dr. Sims, or Conduits in general with its two biggest leaders in the same place — but me. Not only for the deaths — people were screaming about losing their homes, their jobs. I may have killed one hundred and thirty-four — no, one hundred and thirty-seven, now — but I ruined the lives of so many more. 

How many people were homeless now? How many people would have to scramble to live, to make money? 

Salmon Bay wasn’t hurt, at least. That’s really all I could cling on to, was that they seemed relatively untouched. The Longhouse was roped off, and there were spots in the concrete that had been ripped up, but the wood chips and body were all wiped away. 

Betty’s baby blue Beetle was in the house’s driveway, and it seemed the moment we turned down the street she was already racing out of the house, at Dad’s driver’s side in an instant and nearly yanking me out of the truck. “Oh, Regina!” She cooed, missing how I winced in pain as she gripped me tight around the abdomen. “You’re alright!”

Dad caught the grimace, gently peeling Betty off of me like you would a bandaid off of a toddler. “Okay, give her some room,” he chuckled under his breath. 

Betty stepped back, shifting her hands to my shoulders and looking me over. She glanced over my shoulder at Dad with that look, that pathetically sad one that people reserved for children’s graves and oil-slick ducklings before wiping it clear off of her face and saying, “You need to eat! Come on, I made lunch.”

There was no convincing Betty I wasn’t hungry; she actually hovered near me until I took a bite of the grilled chicken she made before finally sauntering off, satisfied. The house was different; there was a new side table shoved in beside the couch, a television on the floor next to a propped-up mounting system. The kitchen had been entirely unpacked and had a bunch of unopened bulk cleaning supplies on the counters. 

“Your family was meant to be the stars of the Potlatch,” Betty chimed in at some point. “A Potlatch is to share fortune among the tribe, and that’s what we planned to do for you all so that moving in would be more comfortable. Furniture, linens, the like — there were so many in the reservation that found something in good quality to donate. While you were…” She drew off, hesitating before going with, “In the hospital, I called in some favors and had everything moved in. In fact, I want to show you your room when you’re done!”

“We’re practically all moved in, now,” Dad added. “‘Course there’s probably a bunch of little things we’re forgetting, but for now, this is gonna be home.”

Yet another big change. 

“Speaking of moving, though.” Dad added, taking a moment to chew on his food before continuing, “I found something when I was going through your stuff, Brent.”

Brent froze, fork midway to his mouth, and the blush from the cold outside almost immediately left his face as he paled. “Oh, really?” He tried to play cool. 

Dad snorted, not ignorant to what he was doing. “Relax, you’re not in trouble. Not big trouble, anyways. But c’mon, man, why did you think having weed in a lawyer's house was a good idea? You know how deep of shit you would have gotten into if I found it before all of this?”

Brent blinked. “You’re…not mad?”

Dad barked out a laugh. “You really think I wasn’t smoking weed at your age? But Brent, son — it’s legal. You couldn’t wait till you were eighteen?”

Brent was still absolutely baffled at how this conversation was going, and I’m sure if we could hear the cogs in his brain, they’d be grinding so hard against each other that the sound would make us all cringe. “I’m…sorry?” he asked, not sure where he was supposed to go with this. 

Dad shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter much, now. You have a higher metabolism, so getting high off of…regular stuff won’t be easy. That does not mean to try anything harder.” He stressed. “But if you plan on using dab pens, get ready to have to pull that fucker for a good eight minutes—”

“Delsin!” Betty chastised, Dr. Sims stifling a laugh from the couch. 

Once they wound down and Dad mumbled his apologies, I spoke up, asking, “When do we leave?”

Dad hummed, thinking. “Tonight, probably. Less traffic, less people. We can all take turns too, since you two have your permit — well, you probably can’t Jean, but you could,” he directed towards Brent. “Eugene and I are gonna finish deciding which route we’re taking, and we’ll go after everyone packs.” He looked over his shoulder at Dr. Sims. “You’re sure you have everything you need?”

Dr. Sims shrugged. “For the most part. My laptops are still in your truck, and my go bag has enough supplies for a week without access to, say, washers or something. I don’t need much more.”

“I think I’m done,” I said, standing and abandoning the meal that was barely dug into. “I’m gonna go down to my room, start packing.”

“Oh! Let me show you where everything is—” Betty began, but I shook my head. 

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I can find it all. Kinda wanna lay down, too.”

Betty hesitated mid-step, shooting a look over to Dad, who seemed just as concerned. “You sure, Jeanie?” he asked. 

I hated how they all were looking at me. “Yeah, Dad. I’m sure,” I said as lightly as I could, trying not to let my annoyance come through. 

Dad slowly nodded, eyes not leaving mine. He was trying to analyze my poker face for something. “Alright. I’ll come check on you after we finalize a plan,”

Check on me. Like I couldn’t be left alone for too long without fear that I’d drop dead. “Yeah, sure,” I muttered, already turning around and heading down the hall. I ran away from their concern as quickly as I could, disappearing down into the basement and closing the door behind me, a small barrier between us all.

Betty really had put work into making the room feel less like squatting underneath a bridge and like an actual room; the mattress was now on one of those beds with storage cabinets underneath, my art chest sitting at its foot on the ground. There was a short, whitish dresser on one wall and a desk on the other, which I walked towards while pulling the rock from the protest out of my pocket, setting it on top of a bunch of random unopened school supplies. 

Right! On top of everything, I was still in high school. Because things couldn’t get worse.

Well, no, they could. I knew exactly how they could, and how I could avoid it — but I didn’t. Why should I? I plopped down on the bed, threw off my arm sling, wrapped myself up in that woven blanket with Salmon in the middle and pulled out my phone.

Was it responsibility, curiosity, or just self-loathing that led me to wanting to look up more about the flood in Seattle? Probably all three. I needed to see what I did, how it impacted everyone because…didn’t I have a duty of care here? Didn’t I have a responsibility to care?

It would have been so much easier if I didn’t.

There was some footage from the fight from that helicopter, and that was really the only place I found anyone in my defense; the reporter, cameraman and pilot all lived, thank God, and it seemed like there were people in agreement that that was my initial plan. That’s where it ended, though. 

There was a tag specifically for the tsunami everywhere, littered with people asking for donations to online fundraisers and if anyone knew which amnesty hotels still had rooms available. I hadn’t considered there would still be people missing too, unaccounted for in the chaos of recovery; .pdfs with faces and names and case numbers all littered the tag with family and friends begging them to come home. And the vitriol. 

Another Rowe, ruining lives, one said. 

There was a picture of my mom with a 289 above her, the image beside it of me at that art expo I won last year, side by side with the judges and Dad, 134 over it.  The entire thing was titled apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. 

There were already politicians using what happened as their campaign fodder, speaking of how Conduits cannot be trusted to keep civilization safe if they’re able to live in it. “One Conduit has a bad day, and the body count is in the hundreds. A juvenile Conduit just killed over a hundred people in Seattle, injured thousands, and disrupted the lives of over seven hundred thousand people. This is a child who goes to school with your children, who doesn’t have control over their powers yet — what are we supposed to do when the next Conduit with absolutely no control over their abilities messes up? How can we trust we’re safe when these people don’t even seem to have control over themselves?”

Gotta get a new car because Tiger Lily flooded my brand new Mazda, one complained. 

It’s gonna take more than identification, another tweeted. Pocahontas was stuck on a reservation and still managed to attack a big city. Biterrorists need to be carted off to some island.

He didn’t even spell Bio-terrorist right. 

I could barely find the energy to get angry at the racism — how could I when the next post would be one for a funeral, or a wake, or just begging for someone, anyone, to tell the poster if their family member was alive?

And God, the obituaries. There was something bleak and horrifying about seeing one for a child that knocked the wind out of me so hard I began to hyperventilate to get it back. This was worse than the seven year old at COLE. There were dozens of children, old people and middle aged ones and people my age, barely adults. So many people died. 

Waves began roaring in my ears as my breathing picked up, and while I was still looking straight at my phone screen, none of it made sense anymore. The words looked like nothing more than scribbles a child would do. That a child should be doing, not being lowered six feet into the ground or cremated or…

Oh, God, I couldn’t breathe. 

I drew my legs into my chest and squeezed my eyes shut until they felt welded together, struggling to get in enough oxygen to feel like it was reaching my lungs. Fuck. A hundred and thirty seven people. All of this, all of this, was my fault. If I didn’t get caught by that Akuran, none of this would have happened. No one would be dead, our lives wouldn’t have been upended, maybe I’d even be able to heal without worrying why it was wrong — because if I didn’t know I was Conduit, I wouldn’t even feel like anything was wrong! My cast pressing into my chest wouldn’t feel like the squeeze of an anvil threatening to crush me whole. None of this would be happening, but it was, and it was my fault. My fault. My—

The bed moved, and someone settled in behind me, hands wrapping around the wrist dug into my hair and forcing it down to my chest, crossing it and grabbing my other arm the same way. I was gently leaned back, straightened from my curled form and pulled into a chest, and could barely hear Dad through the tinnitus in my ears. “You’re having a panic attack, Jean. I need you to breathe,” he commanded softly. “Use your stomach, not your chest.” 

I tried to follow his instructions but it seemed to take two minutes just to get a neuron in my brain to spark hard enough to adjust how I breathed. Dad stayed there holding me, enveloping my little form, keeping me from doing anything else but concentrate on breathing. 

My ears stopped ringing but began to sound like they were stuffed full of cotton balls, everything far away. Even as Dad’s soothing voice broke through my harsh hiccups, it felt like I was listening to him from underwater. His arms slackened their hold on mine, one leaving to pick up my phone as he whispered, “Oh, Jean,” before closing out the picture of a 10 year old’s obituary. 

 It took me way too long to find my voice — I felt more disconnected from my body now than when I was freezing over. “When does it get easier?” I asked, voice croaky and barely there. “When do you stop feeling guilty over it?” 

He shifted to my side, pulling me in so my ear was just over his heart. “I’m not sure,” he sighed. “It hasn’t gotten better for me.”

[pbandjesse]

Today was beautiful and I tried my best to enjoy it. Because I was so incredibly bored at work. It was actually painful. But I did my best to fill the day.

It started late though. I slept terribly. I woke up a ton. My belly hurt. So I let myself sleep in late. It's not like it mattered. There was nothing happening today.

When I got up for real I felt slightly better. My stomach still hurts but I wasn't as upset about it. I got dressed and really liked my outfit. My hair was dirty but it was fine. I tried to braid it but even that wasn't working for me. I just let it be down and lived with it.

James had left for work long before I did. I would get myself and my stuff together, gave Sweetp a kiss, and headed to camp.

When I got there I wasn't sure if Sarah was in the office because the lights were off. But she was there. Just enjoying the natural light. And honestly. I loved that. So we never turned on the lights today.

Sarah said once she was done her breakfast she was going to walk to the lodge to set up for tomorrows feild trip. And I would go with her. We actually would get it all done, the tables, chairs, and sweeping, really quickly. We do a good job splitting the tasks.

It really hurt my wrists moving the chairs. I would just push them around as groups of 4-7 chairs to avoid picking them up. Honestly my hands and wrists have been really bothering me but I am getting my injection on Monday. So I should be good hopefully next week.

I wasnt feeling great. So after we finished the set up I suggested we just sit on the rocking chairs outside. And we did just that. And it was really nice.

Listening to the morning doves and enjoying the breeze. It was warming up fast and it was just really nice being outside.

We would be out there for a half hour before we headed back to the office. Sarah would leave a little before me. And I would slowly make my way back but still beat her. When I got back I made some signs for the next open house. And while that didn't take long it was fine. I would finish my worksheet for tomorrow's workshop I'm doing with creative alliance. And find some emails to answer. It was a slow morning.

I wasnt really interested in eating lunch. I would snack a little bit I just wasn't feeling it. My stomach pain would lessen but I just didn't feel great.

I decided to go for a walk and go see how the tadpoles were doing. I stopped at the car and grabbed my fanny pack hammock. It's not like I was in a rush or busy.

I walked down to the Glen and found two very excellent hammock trees. Set up my stuff and laid there for a long while. I threw my fleece over it so the sun wouldn't be in my face. It was really warm and beautiful. I would just hang out and enjoy the beautiful day and tried not to feel so anxious about how bored I have been at work.

I am really glad we are getting back into field trips because I am feeling like I have in the past when I want to leave jobs and do something else and I don't really actually want to leave camp, I just want to have direction. Next week we have a field trip I think but I also hope to do organizing in the art building and just get more tasks from Heather and Alexi and stop feeling so overwhelmingly bored.

Eventually I would check out the pond. And the tadpoles are growing! They all seem to be lines and rectangles now. Not moving in there but still fun to see the changes. I did see a few large tadpoles too and that was really cool. I did some more searching around in nature. But eventually I packed my hammock back up and went to the office.

I took a different way and saw some cars going to the barn. Sarah and Chloe were also up there too. I was alone in the office for a bit. I had a phone call with Parker about tomorrow and we decided to cancel my workshop on Saturday which is fine, there wasn't any sign ups. But that's okay. I didnt actually want to run it. Ah well. The two I have tomorrow have 20 signed up so its all good. And now I will get to hang out with Callie and have brunch which I wanted to do more anyway.

Parker also wanted to have a conversation with me about teaching a monthly "adult home ecc" class. I am very excited about this idea. And so I would spend some time researching different things I could reasonably do. And I think I have some good ideas.

I would walk towards the lodge again. Chatted with Joe at the nature lodge. Was disappointed that I could have done some painting with him!! I had been so bored. I hope he lets me know next time.

While I was over there I saw Sasha and Chloe over at homestead so I went to chat with them and ended up helping them problem solve a new little enclosure for the chickens. We would use a kiddie pool and some chicken wire with some zipties and made something I think will work out good. We all were helping. But Chloe did the majority of the labor. It was still fun. And we cuddled the chickens for a little bit.

While Chloe was assembling I went to check on the reptiles. I sprayed Sadie the snakes tank because Ceila said it should be more humid. And then I pet Nelly the terrapin and she was very peely and seemed happy to be scritched. She's so cute. I love turtles.

I really want to get a tortoise. That is my next big goal, setting up a tortoise enclosure. Once we have a fence and we are working on the backyard that is something I really want to do. I want just the best enclosure for a tortoise. Someday.

I was enjoying hanging out with Chloe and Sarah but I was also very very bored and a bit to hot. I made it almost to the end of the day. But it was time for me to bounce. I said goodbye to them and went to the office to collect my stuff and headed out.

I drove to the pet store to look for a new fish. And I really like the fish I got. He's really cute. Not a regular betta but one with shower fins. A king half moon. He's much larger then Ari was. And he has a little mustache!! I named him Gomez.

I would also get some more (certified snail free) plants. And was very excited to get my new fishie home.

There was some annoying traffic but it was fine. I was more concerned about the water in Gomez's cup was splashing around. But I found a spot to put him that seemed more secure. And got home around 430.

I washed the plants first and got everything set up in the tank before I introduced Gomez to the water. And once I did I realized that the water was moving to fast for him so I used a ziptie to attach the fake log to the filter so it can slow the water flow and rhag seemed to help. And hopefully the plants grow well and my new fishie can be happy and comfy.

I would walk to CVS after that. First time walked over there since we have moved in. When I got outside I got to meet another neighbor! She was very nice. And I had a nice walk. Even if someone dropped a cigarette from an apartment and almost hit me with it! But I don't think it was on purpose. Still waiting annoying.

The CVS was mostly behind plastic which I hate but whatever. I found what I came for. Paid. And went home.

James came home pretty soon after I did. I was really happy to see them.

We would mostly just chill. James would go record something for their podcast but then would jump into cooking.

I would spend that time going some shells to a moveable type box I have. I saw someone with this on Pinterest and I was like. I can do that. And I don't know where I'm going to hang it yet but I love how it looks. It was a fun little project.

When James came back downstairs they made some fried tofu and it came out good but a little to spicy. I would spend the evening on the couch. I was tired. And just wanted to be cozy. And that is what I did.

We would watch videos together and just hang out. My dad called and told me about his and his new friends chanting for coffee which is so silly. He really becomes the mayor of every room he ends up in. Love him very much.

Eventually I took a bath and washed my hair. We hung out together while I took a bath and James kept filling kettles so the water wouldn't be as cold. I appreciate them so much.

Now I am very much ready for sleep. Tomorrow I am doing my diorama workshops with kids and I'm nervous but also really excited. I really hope they enjoy it.

I hope you all sleep well tonight. Take care of yourself and eachother! Goodnight!