#didn’t have time to play this weekend but I got my shiny charm and finished the first dlc the previous weekend!

[sunshineseung]

Journal Part 4 // Jeongin

🍄 | genre: smut mini-series ☁️ | pairing: Yang Jeongin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 5.8k holy shit i am so sorry- 🌸 | includes: milf!reader x babysitter!college student!jeongin, plot 🤢🤮, smut within smut (mentions of marking, pet names/degrading names), anal toys (plug), jeongin wears feminine underwear, nipple clamps, mentions of rule breaking/punishment, begging, face sitting, praise, degradation, mentions (not use) of safe word, pegging, the obvious overuse of the word “mommy” and “ma’am”, aftercare, buttered pasta :)

🌊 | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Finale |

The sound of his own foot tapping was enough to make him more anxious than he already was, and the light shining through the window directly onto his shiny desk to reflect on his eye wasn’t helping. He’s practiced the conversation a million times over in his head. The plan was simple: class ends, ask Professor Lee about his missing journal, and get it back. How hard could it be?

Evidentially, pretty damn hard. All throughout class, Professor Lee was staring at Jeongin, picking on him when no one else would answer easy questions, and overall making his life a living hell just by his presence. 

“Yang Jeongin, come see me.” Minho sighs, adjusting his glasses as he looks up at the clock on the wall of his classroom. “The rest of you are dismissed.” 

Ending class 15 minutes early was extraordinarily unusual for Professor Lee, but the other students hardly batted an eye as they collected their belongings and shuffled out of the room, leaving as Jeongin stepped up to his professor’s desk. He was practically sweating bullets at this point, all of his plans flowing out of his head with every step. The glare Professor Lee was giving Jeongin was intimidating to say the least, but Lee Minho knew all too well what he was going to say.

“You wanted to speak to me, sir?” Jeongin tilts his head, standing over his professor, giving the illusion that Jeongin had the upper hand in this situation. 

“Yes, Jeongin. You left your notebook behind last class, and I just wanted to give it back to you.” Professor Lee opens his top desk drawer, pulling out Jeongin’s journal and holding it out in his hand towards Jeongin. Before his student could grab it, he pulled away, reeling Jeongin in like a fish. “You really ought to be more careful with your stuff. Don’t want anyone else getting their hands on this, do we?” 

Jeongin shakes his head, holding his hand out, patiently waiting for his teacher to put the book into his hand. The room is coated in silence despite the chatter from the hall. Jeongin can feel his heart beating out of his chest, trying his best not to jump over the desk and snatch the journal out of his professor’s hands. 

“So, do you like writing?” The smirk stretching across Professor Lee’s smug face is breaking Jeongin. He feels this odd sense of deja vu on top of the overwhelming anxiety. Jeongin nods again, slightly shaking his outstretched hand, urging his professor to finally hand it over. “Is that what this journal is for? Writing?” 

“Professor Lee, can I please have my journal back? I have another class to get to, sir.” Jeongin dodges the question like a professional, but Professor Lee isn’t satisfied. He laughs in Jeongin’s face, rolling his eyes slightly at the boy’s wit.

“I ended class early. You have plenty of time to talk, Yang Jeongin.” Professor Lee stands up, walking to the other side of his desk and pulling out another chair from a student desk. “Sit down, take a load off. You’re one of my star students. I’d like to get to know you.” 

“Aright, professor.” Jeongin’s staring at the journal, loosely dangling from his professor’s hand. Still, he sits in the uncomfortable chair as the older man leans on his desk, facing the boy. Jeongin holds out his hand again, looking up at his professor with emotionless eyes, desperate to leave this room and go home, because him saying he has another class was a complete lie. Just for right now, Professor Lee wants to play a little game with Jeongin, a game the younger doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

“You don’t have to call me professor. Right now, you can call me Minho.” Jeongin nods, slouching in the chair. “You never answered my question, Jeongin. What do you write in this journal? Notes for class I’d assume.”

“Yeah, notes for class.” Jeongin’s voice cracks as he looks back at the journal, Minho now having one of his fingers between the pages. He winces just imagining what his professor would think if he read a single paragraph on any page. “I need them to study, so can I have it back now?” 

“Well, if it’s just notes, then you’re okay with me reading it, right?” Minho jolts his arm up, opening the book to a random page. Jeongin’s about to run out of the room in embarrassment before Minho holds a hand up, successfully stopping him. “C’mon, Jeongin. Do you honestly think I haven’t already read this?”

If Jeongin had anything in his stomach right now, he’d surely throw up. You reading the journal was one of his fantasies come to life, but this was a bit overkill. He’d never want anyone other than you to read his journal, let alone one of his professors.

“What’s got you so quiet now?” Minho raises the pitch of his voice to taunt Jeongin, playing up the scene. “You’ve had the audacity to write about Y/n in this book nearly every single class, but now that you’ve been caught, you bite your tongue?” 

“Don’t say her name!” Jeongin gets extremely defensive, standing out of the seat to be the same height as his professor. “What do you want from me? Just give me the journal and I’ll go. I’ll even switch out of this class if you want. I don’t care!” 

“Aw, Jeonginnie~” Minho rests his face on his hand, holding his own cheek as he watches Jeongin’s face get red with anger. “Just tell me, how is Y/n doing?” 

“How do you know Y/n?” Jeongin’s confused, unable to connect the pieces to this puzzle. 

“You’re not as smart as you let on.” Minho gets closer to Jeongin, getting right in his face to scare the young boy. “I was her husband. We were your neighbors.”

Jeongin could feel his legs shake, finally connecting every conversation, every question, every action. He steps back, vision going blurry as he’s flooded with memories of seeing none other than Lee Minho in your front lawn, playing with his daughters in the back, or sneaking out to a taxi late at night towards the end of his memories. Jeongin didn’t know your name until he started working for you, let alone know your estranged husband’s name. He felt like such a dumbass at this moment.

“So, how is she?” Minho puts his hand on Jeongin’s shoulder, forcing Jeongin to focus on him. “If you’re going to fuck my ex wife, you could at least tell me how she’s doing.”

“She’s doing well, certainly a lot better without you.” Minho scoffs, laughing at Jeongin’s weak attempt at a diss. 

“And the girls are doing well?” 

“Yup. I watch them every night after my classes.” Jeongin folds his arms, turning his chin up at Minho. How soon he forgets that Minho still has his precious journal.

“So that’s where she gets ya, huh?” Minho brings the notebook back to his face, flipping to a random page, putting his finger on a random line. “Is that where she, in your words, ‘gripped your cock like you’ve wanted her to for so long’? Or did that happen later?”

Half of Jeongin’s brain is struggling to come up with a response, while the other half is thinking about the first time you gave him a blowjob. He’s clenching his fists with anger, hoping Minho didn’t see him starting to pop a boner. 

“What goes on between us is none of your business.” Jeongin jumps forward, finally snatching his journal out of Minho’s hands. He holds his journal tightly in his hands, clutching it close to his chest. “I’ll be leaving now.”

Just as Jeongin turns around to get his bookbag, Minho grabs his wrist and turns him around, once again finding each other inches away from the other’s face. 

“She didn’t tell you anything about me, did she?” Jeongin shakes him off, rapidly walking back to his desk to get his bag. “Answer me, little boy.”

“She’s never said a word about you, Minho.” Jeongin goes for the door, finally seeing his exit within his sights. “Now leave me alone. I’ll see you on Thursday, sir.”

And with that, he’s out. Finally within possession of his journal, he minds his business walking down the hall, heading back to his house that’s less than a 10 minute walk from the campus. 

Just wait until Y/n hears about this.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

“He really hasn’t changed at all.” You stare out the window, taking a sip of tea from your mug as Jeongin finishes retelling the entire story to you. “I’m proud of you, Jeongin.”

“Proud of me? Why?” 

“You handled him very well. Any other boy your age would have crumbled under the pressure.” You sit next to him on the couch, putting your hand on his thigh more as comfort than a tactic to get into his pants. Regardless of your intentions, Jeongin can’t help but blush and bite his lip being the horny boy he is. “Lee Minho has a way with words. His charm worked on me in high school, and I’m sure it works on the other students in his classes.”

“Oh yeah, all the girls have crushes on him.” Jeongin covers his mouth with his hands when he realizes what he says. You just giggle at him, recalling some of the sweet, romantic moments you had with your ex-husband before everything went to shit. 

“Well, you know, the girls are going to his house this weekend. Maybe you should come over?” You ride your hand up his thigh teasingly, making Jeongin freeze as if he hasn’t had sex with you literally days earlier. “I’m always so worried about the girls when they’re with him. Maybe you can help me destress, baby boy.” 

“I’ll help you destress, mommy!” Jeongin smiles, mentally clearing his schedule for this weekend. “Can I ask something though?” 

“Ask away, baby. I’m an open book.” You lean back, one arm flailing behind your head as you take another sip from your mug.

“Why did you two… separate?” Jeongin cringes at his own words, realizing he might have crossed a line as your facial expression changes from a soft smile to a frown. “I’m just curious, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll tell you.” You huff as you sit up, swinging your arms forward so you can straighten your back. “He started acting distant out of nowhere, and some nights I’d wake up to find him gone from his side of the bed. A quick glance at his phone and I saw texts from another woman. I’d rather not get into gruesome details, but that’s the jist of it.”

“You don’t have to get into details. I shouldn’t have asked.” Jeongin shakes his head, leaning on your shoulder to comfort you. You put your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to you. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

“No, thank you for asking. It feels good to get these things off of my chest.” You sigh, feeling an odd sense of relief. You’ve never talked to anyone about this other than a therapist you had for a brief time before work took over your life.

“So… was he a sub like me?” You nearly spit out your tea, Jeongin sitting up and patting your back to stop you from coughing on the drink. “Sorry! Sorry!” 

You can’t help but laugh at the curious boy, his face getting redder than you’ve ever seen. That’s the hardest you’ve ever laughed in a while. 

“Do you really want to know?” You raise an eyebrow, Jeongin covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

“I mean… a little.” He uncovers one eye, looking at your cheerful expression and immediately calming down after seeing you aren’t mad. “You’re good at… ya know. You have to have experience being a dom, right?” 

“Actually, I’ve always been the submissive. Do you really think the egoist Lee Minho would let someone else be in control?” You laugh at your own remark, Jeongin catching on and laughing with you. “But thank you for saying I’m good at sex I guess. Although, I don’t know how much of a compliment that is considering you’re a virgin” 

“Hey! I’m not a virgin anymore!” The red-as-a-tomato Jeongin makes a return as you laugh at his defensiveness. “Can I ask… one more question?”

“Jeez, are you interviewing me or something?” You take another sip of your tea as you gesture for the boy to ask away. He gulps, calculating his final question before he has to go home.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” Pause. You stare at the floor, thinking critically to yourself. How can you let down your sweet little boy without breaking his poor heart?

“Jeongin, you know we can’t be together.” You take one of his hands in your free hand, squeezing his fingers between yours as he nods, looking down at his legs. “I’m over 10 years older than you. That would be absurd.” 

“What if no one knows?” He’s really harping on this, huh? “Or can we be another title? Maybe friends with benefits?” 

“Yang Jeongin,” your quiet, commanding voice makes Jeongin look into your eyes, seeing the seriousness in your expression, “I’m your mother’s friend, not yours. I’m not sure how to define our relationship, but if you really want a label, we can be… sex partners. But no one can know that, alright?” 

“I understand.” Jeongin squeezes your hand back, allowing a comforting silence to fill the room. “So, this weekend?” 

“You can come over Friday night. He takes the girls in the morning, but I have work for the first half of the day. I took the weekend off, though, so I’m all yours, pretty boy.” You kiss his lips, getting caught in the taste before you pull back, stay your goodbyes, and send him home for the night before you go to bed for yourself.

When Jeongin gets back to his room, he sighs and takes out his journal, cracking his fingers before laying the pencil on the paper.

I want Lee Minho to pay. I want him to pay for breaking the heart of the woman I love, even if she doesn’t reciprocate the feelings. He must be insane for cheating on such an amazing woman. If mommy marks me up, leaving hickeys all over my pale neck, I’ll boldly wear something with a low-cut so Lee Minho can see all of the marks left by the most beautiful woman in the world. I’ll make sure he knows that I satisfy her more than he ever could. Y/n, if you’re reading this, please leave pretty bruises all over my body. I want mommy to mark me so bad, make sure everyone knows I’m hers. Regardless of the label anyone puts on our relationship, no one can deny that I’m hers. Her perverted boy, her slutty toy, her little prince, all hers. Only hers.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

The weekend flies closer than he could have imagined, and after seeing you come home exhausted and drained every single night, nothing pleases Jeongin more than knowing he’s the one that will help you relax. As he walks to your house, he regrets not going to the store and getting lotions so he could give you a massage from his unqualified hands. 

“Hey, baby.” You smile at him, bright and gorgeous as always. You invite him in and offer him a drink, which he politely declines. You notice he’s shaking more than usual, and although he was always nervous and awkward, you’ve never see him get this shaky. “Are you okay, Jeongin?”

“Mommy…”

“Oh, we’re right out the gate with this one?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Jeongin takes his shirt off and pulls down his jeans, revealing a hot pink, lace thong covering his half-hard cock. You look up from his cock to his chest, seeing fake, silver nipple rings adorning his pink buds. You cover your mouth as you gasp, indescribably turned on from the presentation this boy had planned. “That’s not all.”

He turns around, bending over so the thong dives deeper between his ass cheeks, but you quickly notice what he was hinting at. There’s a little pink rose peeking out of his ass, a clear decoration on a plug. He looks so fucking hot. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

“What do you think, mommy?” He holds his arms out as he turns around, facing you again as your body hasn’t moved since he’d last faced you. “Don’t you like it?”

“I love it, little prince.” You walk up to him, holding his waist in your hands as you pull him closer, licking one of his nipples, tasting the distinct metal flavor of the ring. “You never fail to surprise me, baby.” 

You kiss from his nipple to his panties, getting down on your knees as you lick over the thin fabric. He twitches under the lace, getting harder every second. Before your mouth can properly suck his cock, you stand up and kiss him harshly on the lips, tasting a faint strawberry flavor. You smile against his mouth, holding his by his waist again as you pull him into your body, your chests coming in contact. 

“Mommy, please sit on my face. I want to make you feel good,” Jeongin whines between kisses. Your hands run up and down his body, feeling him up and making him shiver in anticipation. For right now, you’re content with just sucking on his sweet lips, but his cock clearly needs some attention. “Please~”

“Let’s go to my bedroom, sweetheart. I’ll ride your pretty face as much as you want.” You take his hand in yours as you take him back to your room, practically throwing him on the bed. He palms himself over his thong while you undress, totally forgetting about the rules you’d set up. When you turn around, your gaze goes immediately, almost instinctively, to his hand on his cock as he half-assedly strokes himself. “Is my naughty little boy touching himself? Without my permission?” 

“Sorry, mommy. I couldn’t help it.” Jeongin presses his bottom lip out as he pouts, pulling his hand off of his cock. You roll your eyes and get onto the bed, sitting over his chest before staring down at him like you’re a shark and he’s your next meal. 

“I don’t know if you deserve to eat my pussy anymore.” You ponder, bringing your hand to your chin as if you’re genuinely considering not riding his face until you’re dripping. He puts his hands above his head and pleads again, whining in his adorable high-pitched voice. “Alright, baby boy, but only because I want this.”

You scoot up to his face, hovering your naked cunt over his gorgeous face. As you slowly start to lower your hips to his mouth, Jeongin eagerly sticks his tongue out and fights against his reflexes to just grab you. He laps at your folds, humming from the sweetness as you grind on his face and grip the headboard of the bed. 

“Good boy, Jeonginnie. If you make mommy cum, you’ll get a reward.” He moans into your pussy, his cock twitching under his lace panties just at the thought of you rewarding him. For being so hungry for punishment just days prior, he really wanted to be your good little boy just for today. He sticks his wet tongue into your cunt, inciting you to ride his face even harder, raising and lowering just enough for his tongue to never leave your tight, needy cunt. 

His tongue pulls back, leaving you empty for a moment before he starts kissing and sucking at your clit. You lean forward, putting your clit right up to his mouth all for him. Your sopping cunt was absolutely begging for an orgasm, and Jeongin was getting you there faster than you could have ever imagined. The moans leaving your throat only made Jeongin want to make you cum even more. 

“Please cum on my face, ma’am.” Jeongin wastes no time returning his tongue to your pussy, his wrists still above his head as if he were cuffed. Your legs start to get uneasy, shaking around Jeongin’s head as you breath heavily and mindlessly moan out his favorite pet names and countless praises. He’s smiling against you, sucking your folds until you finally release, your cunt tightening around his tongue as you whine and grind, riding out your high on his face. You were undoubtedly euphoric, slowly coming down from an extremely intense orgasm, but Jeongin was also through the moon, tasting all of your juices leaking into his mouth. 

“Ah, thank you little boy.” You flip your leg over his head, stepping back onto the floor with your weak, tired legs, a hand on the bed so you don’t fall over. You run a hand down his leg, Jeongin starting to shake with anticipation. He holds his wrists steady above his head without any help of restraints. Your palm runs over his cock, touching him over his thin panties. He lets out a huff, needy for more. “Does my sweet prince need to be fucked?” 

Jeongin’s whine are so fucking pathetic. A tear runs down his cheek just from the thought of you fucking him. He watches you as you turn around and reach into your drawer, digging through until you pull out a harness and a bright pink dildo that oddly matches his panties. Jeongin tightens his hole, remembering the bulb nestled in his ass. As you put the harness on, he lifts his hips and shakes his as against the bed.

“Mommy,” he whimpers, “please fuck my ass. Need your cock in me so fucking bad!” He sounds so overwhelmingly lewd, but you loved every second of it. You attach the dildo to your harness, tightening it perfectly so it won’t budge. You cup his cheek as you reposition yourself on the bed, lifting his legs over your thighs. You watch his cock tremble, begging to be touched, as Jeongin stares directly at your face, watching your eyes dart from his cock to his hardened nipped to his quivering lips. “Mommy?”

“Yes sweetheart?” You tilt your head and smile, making a burst of warmth erupt in Jeongin’s chest. 

“Please be gentle, okay?” You giggle at his cuteness and nod, reaching to your bedside to take out lube. Squirting it onto your hand, you rub the length of the dildo with one hand while you teasingly pull at his plug, pulling it out just enough to make him groan. 

“You look incredible, baby boy.” You lean down to kiss him while your hand moves from your dildo to his ass, both hands pulling out the plug before you finger him with lubed fingers. All of his moans are lost on your lips, his tongue letting out and into your mouth, dancing with yours. He squeals when your fingers leave his ass, and he knows exactly what’s next. 

You take his hands in yours from above his head, pulling them down to be next to his head. You lean over the boy while you line your cock with his hole, teasingly pushing the tip against his entrance. 

“I’ll go slow, don’t worry angel.” Your hands hold your hips as you slowly push the strap into Jeongin, watching it disappear into his tight little hole. His thong is pushed to the side of his hole while painfully rubbing against the bottom of his shaft. You would have taken it off, but he just looks too damn sexy in them. 

Jeongin writhes as you stop halfway, petting his sides to help him calm down. He feels so full, so stretched, something he’s never felt before. He’s wanted this for so long, he just wants to enjoy it so bad, especially for you, but the pain is starting to get to him. He’s whining loudly, biting down on his lip harshly in hopes of silencing some of his sounds. 

“Jeongin? Are you okay?” Your voice is soft, but not delicate. You’re speaking at a regular volume, an attempt to pull Jeongin out of his head. He opens his eyes and looks at you, tears threatening to fall out. “What’s the safe word?” 

“Avocado.” 

“One more time for me, baby. What’s the safe word?” Without moving your hips, you lean forward to hold onto his face. He looks so gorgeous, messy and covered in sweat. You just want him to be happy. 

“Avocado.” He pushes his face against your hand, his voice returning to a regular pitch. “You can go further now, mommy.” 

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” You lean more to kiss his forehead, admiring his sharp facial features. 

“I want you to fuck me, please.” His tone is flat, sounding almost unenthused until the final word. You nod and patiently push into him, carefully watching his face for any indication of pain. Jeongin starts to groan loudly as you bottom out, pressing the bottom of the harness against him. “Thank you.” 

“Good boy, Innie. My angel’s so pretty like this.” Your hands go to his chest, dainty fingers pinching his nipples just how he likes. His moans are back to being the high, pathetic whines you’re used to from the boy. His cock twitches, a drop of precum dripping from the tip. “You ready for me to move, my little prince?”

“Yes, mommy. I’m ready!” Your heart warms watching Jeongin’s face light up for such a perverted sentiment. He looks so excited, finally starting to enjoy it. You grip his hips tight as you pull out, watching his cock stutter and his mouth hang open. When you pound back into him slowly, Jeongin feels that familiar warmth in his stomach. 

“You like this, baby boy? You like getting fucked by your mommy?” Your voice is sinister as you increase the pace, rhythmically moving your hips against Jeongin’s ass. His legs shutter as you fuck him, all of his nerves standing on edge. “Who’s mommy’s little cumslut?”

“I am, mommy! I’m your little c-cum… fuck!” Jeongin throws his head back as you wrap one hand around his cock, your other hand is grounded on his hip. You start to jerk him, fast and aggressive, coaxing him to an orgasm even faster.

The dildo drags against Jeongin’s walls, brushing past the sensitive spot he didn’t even know he had. With every thrust and stroke, he can feel himself start to fall apart, all of his speech devolving into incoherent whines and cries. Sweat drips down his forehead as he finds it harder and harder to hold back his release. 

“C-close,” he whimpers, “gonna cum.” 

“Aw, my sweet little boy ready to cum?” You speed up the movements of your hand, tightening your iron grip on his sensitive, red cock. Jeongin feels his reality start to fade, only being able to focus on his impending orgasm. “Cum all you want, baby. Be a good little boy and cum for mommy.”

Your eyes stare intensely at his cock as he’s pushed over the edge, his body convulsing as he has the most powerful orgasm of his life. He shoots his load all over his abs and chest, some dripping onto your hand. Your hand goes still on his shaft, but your hips still slowly rut into him, easing him through his high. 

“Gonna pull out now, alright pretty boy?” He nods, bringing his hand up to his face for him to bite down on his finger. You gently pull your hips back, eventually slipping out of him, watching him breath heavily as you let go of his hips and cock. “Did you like that?” 

“Yes, Y/n. You felt so good,” he smiles, watching you as you stand up to pull the harness off and toss it towards the drawer for you to clean later. “Can we get dinner now?”

“Sweetheart, you need to rest!” You walk to the side of the bed and give him a peck on his forehead, soon kissing him on his plush lips. He lays on your bed, limbs spread out as he’s lifeless and naked. “You did so well for me. I’ll cook you dinner while you take a nap, alright?”

“I’d like that, mommy. Thank you!” You pull the discarded comforter over his body, forcing him to get warm and cozy under your covers. He looked so sweet in your bed, snuggled against the soft bed that smelled like you. 

“How about pasta? Does my boy like pasta?” He nods, shutting his eyes and rolling to his side, preparing to sleep. “I’ll be back in an hour. Rest well, Jeongin.” 

“Thank you~”

Jeongin dozes off as you get dressed in lounge pants, a loose shirt, underwear and no bra. He looks so peaceful sleeping, so you’re extra quiet when you slip out of your bedroom to the kitchen. 

You gather the ingredients and start to boil the water when you get a call. Just as before, it’s your ex-husband, Minho. You groan and hesitantly press the green phone button, turning the call to speaker before setting your phone on the counter. 

“Y/n? Hello?”

“What do you want, Minho?” Your voice sounds disinterested to say the least, and Minho immediately gets the hint that his call was not wanted. 

“I’m gonna cut to the chase. One of my student’s grades are suffering because of your relationship with him-“

“Shouldn’t you be watching my kids?” You don’t have the mental capacity to listen to Minho scold you right now. Your motherly instincts are tingling, and he should be watching your little angels right now. 

“They’re with their stepmom right now.” You grumble at his use of the word “stepmom” considering your daughters still call her by her first name, but nevertheless, you go silent, hoping he’ll get on with this call. “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, you need to stop playing games with Yang Jeongin.” 

“Playing games?” Your face turns red as anger suddenly fills your brain. “We aren’t playing games, Lee Minho. We’re adults. Neither of us need your permission.” 

“You’re playing with this kid’s feelings. Don’t you feel bad?” You pause, watching bubbles start to rise in the pot. “This kid is suffering just because you want to be fucked and you’re too prideful to-“

“Don’t even say that, Minho.” You reach for the box of pasta, dumping the noodles into the pot of boiling water. “I’ll never get back with you. You know that.” 

“What does he have that I don’t?” You hear a loud tsk through the phone, Minho taking a break in his talk to ponder his next move. “You’d rather fuck a college student than a real man?”

“Jeongin’s more of a real man than you’ll ever be!” You’re nearly yelling at this point, rage overwhelming you. “What do you know about our relationship anyway? It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is!” Before you have a chance to respond to his outlandish comment, he chimes back in. “He writes in his little fantasy book every single class, and every time I look over his shoulder, I have to see your name scrawled over every page. He’s obsessed with you, Y/n.” 

“Shut up! Just, shut up!” You stop stirring the pasta to collect your thoughts, breathing in before you lash out at Minho over the phone. “Go watch my kids-“

“Our kids.”

“Go watch our kids and never speak to me about this again. I’ll tell Jeongin to get his grades up. Just, for fuck’s sake, leave me alone.” You hang up, angrily throwing your phone onto the counter again. You hear the floor squeak behind you and you turn around, a scared Jeongin standing behind you with the blanket wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His eyes well up with tears, fearful of how you’ll respond. “This was a mistake.” 

“Jeongin, baby, no!” You drop the spoon to the edge of the pot and bring Jeongin in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. His arms wrap around your neck, the blanket falling to the floor to reveal him wearing one of your big shirts. “Don’t mind him. How much did you hear?”

“A-all of it.” He sniffles, collecting himself with deep breaths. “I didn’t know I’d cause so much trouble.”

“It’s Minho who’s causing trouble, not you.” You pet down his back, trying to get him to calm down and stop crying. “Go back to my room and lay down, babe.” 

“Can I stay out here and watch you?” You lean down to pick up the blanket, wrapping it around Jeongin again. His eyes are puffy and red as if he’s been emotional for a while, and your heart aches just looking at his disheveled state. 

“Of course, baby. Go sit on that stool.” He pulls the stool out from under the kitchen island and gets comfortable, leaning on the counter with his elbows. You go back to stirring the pasta, watching it rise and fall. “I love you, Jeongin.” 

“I love you too, Y/n. Thank you for inviting me here today.” He swoons at your bright demeanor, a stark contrast from the bitter persona you’d taken while on the phone with his professor. “What did you mean when you said I’m a… real man?” 

You laugh a bit, dropping the spoon to the side and getting butter and a bowl out for the pasta. “Lee Minho was never a good man. He takes advantage of everyone who comes into his life. You’re not like that.” 

Jeongin tilts his head. “Then what am I like?” 

“You’re, uh…” you put your hand on your chin, scratching at your skin in thought. “You’re very kind and genuine, which is a bit surprising for a boy your age.”

Jeongin hated every time you brought up age. It only furthered to remind him about how different you two were, and how he never had a chance with you from the start. In your eyes, he’ll never be more than a kid, and that ate away and him. Jeongin’s only goal with you was for you to see him as an equal rather than a child, but he wasn’t sure how to go about reaching that.

“So I’m a real man?” Jeongin smiles, his heart fluttering thinking of you calling him a man. 

“Pasta’s ready! Do you want cheese?” You pour the pasta from the strainer into the bowl, mixing it with the butter. Per your request, Jeongin gets the powdered cheese out of the refrigerator, sitting at the kitchen island again, this time with you right next to him, piling pasta onto his plate before yours, your motherly instincts kicking in again. 

“Thank you mo- I mean, Y/n!” You both giggle at his adorable slip up, appreciating each other’s company. 

“You’re welcome, baby boy.” You push his hair from his forehead and kiss his nose, his cheeks quickly turning a deep shade of pink. “So cute.” 

taglist: @milkym00n @sparklysung @starsareseen @sailorhyunjinz @gothicstay @vogueinnie​ @mariannaab

#skz smut #stray kids smut #i.n smut #jeongin smut #yang jeongin smut #sub!skz #kpop smut

[themangolorian]

look how long this love can hold its breath

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: (slow burn/fake married) When Pablo Escobar escalates his war on Colombian law enforcement, the DEA is getting desperate to pin down his location. Reader is forced to go undercover with another agent, one she can’t stand, Javier Peña. Worst of all, she’ll have to try to infiltrate the Cali Cartel while pretending to be Peña’s wife.

warnings: mild language

a/n: i know it’s a generally overdone trope but i couldn’t resist doing my own version of fake married Javi with a pretty antagonistic reader. hope you all enjoy!

You’d been assigned to an undercover assignment of sorts. You were infiltrating the Cali Cartel. Sort of. The mission was simply to gain inside information on Escobar’s whereabouts. To finally bring that hijoeputa down.

The only problem was your assigned partner.

Javier fucking Peña.

You’d never worked with him, but you knew his reputation as a womanizer. His machismo. And, worst of all, he was an American.

You’d encountered him briefly on separate occasions in the briefing room and each time he’d rubbed you the wrong way. He had a habit of talking over you and every other woman in the unit. Well, honestly, him and his partner Murphy liked to talk over everyone but- to put it plainly, you didn’t like Javier Peña.

“What’s the plan?” You asked in your typical no-nonsense way as you joined him and Murphy in the briefing room.

Incredibly, the up aboves had put these two pendejos in charge of the operation.

“Hola amor,” Peña lilted at you with a smirk from his seat across from you, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

You glared at him. “What the fu-.”

“You’re married.” Murphy tossed the manila envelope on the table in your direction, interrupting your outburst.

He knew you and Peña got on each others’ nerves. This was his way of avoiding the inevitable bickering. It was a shitty way of doing so though.

You cursed under your breath as you fell into a chair and swept the envelope open.

The other two were quiet as your eyes scanned the documents.

“Fuck no.” You pushed the papers containing your’s and Peña’s aliases back at them.

Señor y Señora Villalobos. Dealers disguised as diamond salespeople. Married. To each other.

“Told you.” Peña told Murphy, his tone all-knowing.

“Cállate,” you snarled at Peña.

“You first,” he glared back.

“Hey,” Murphy exclaimed. He rested the tip of his index finger on the files and glared at you both now.

“This isn’t a request. These are orders.” He rubbed at his mustache and this time directed his gaze at you. “You either follow the mission or find another job.”

You glared from him to Peña who didn’t meet your gaze, too busy staring at a point on the table.

You threw your hands up in defeat, reached across and snatched the folder then huffed out of the room, muttering all the while. “Estos tontos Americanos vienen a mi país y piensen que tengo miedo de ellos, malparidos...”

Murphy looked from your retreating figure to Peña who was watching you walk away with amusement in his eyes. “What was that? What did she say?”

“She’ll do it,” Peña said, smirking. He stood and picked up his own file. “And learn Spanish while I’m gone, cabrón.”

Peña rapped Steve on the arm with the file affectionately and then he was gone.

Steve rubbed his face again, tiredly, worried that given the short fuses of both you and Peña, the DEA was making a huge mistake.

*****

“¡Apúúúúúúrateeee!” You dragged the word out, tapping your foot impatiently against the brake.

You were in an agency assigned car waiting around the corner from Peña’s flat for the pendejo to come outside so you could start the long drive to Cali.

Finally.

He threw his bag into the backseat then slid onto the passenger’s seat.

“Amor,” he greeted you with a sardonic smile as he slipped his sunglasses on.

“¿Y por qué tardaste tanto?” You ignored the stupid nickname he was no doubt using to taunt you in order to ask him what had taken him so long.

“I couldn’t find the rings.” He held up a shiny golden wedding band, and you saw a matching one already around his own finger.

For a beat you merely glared at the ring as if all of this was its fault, then you were taking it and roughly sliding it onto your own finger.

“Careful,” Peña said as he inclined his seat so he could sleep. “Keep being so charming and all the narcos are going to want to marry you.”

You revved the engine and took off jerkily, turning the volume of the radio up to drown him out.

The trip was a long one. You both took turns driving. Peña kept turning down the radio while you drove so he could sleep, and you kept changing the station while he was driving. You argued over where to eat and what temperature to keep the air at or whether to open the windows.

“We’re supposed to be married, not divorced,” he’d quipped at you once while he was driving after you’d knocked his hand out of the way of your water bottle as you reached for it.

You turned the heater up then, knowing it would bother him, even though you were already sweltering. He left it though, too stubborn to engage you at your game.

Until you opened your window. Then he was slamming the shut off button for the heater.

You glared at him...then- A mansion outside his window caught your eye. You watched it whiz past.

“What?” He slowed and turned the radio volume down.

“You passed it.” You sat back in your seat. “Coño.” You muttered under your breath.

He pulled the car over. When he let the car idle instead of turning around, you looked at him to see him already watching you, sunglasses off.

“What?”

“This is it. One wrong move and we’re both dead.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. You glared fiercely his way. “Are you reminding me how to do my job, Peña?”

He sighed. “Just- I know we don’t get along, but this weekend, we don’t have a choice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look just because you swooped in from the grand US of A to save all us heathens,” you fluttered your hands mockingly, “doesn’t mean I need you to remind me of my job. I’ve been doing this for longer. If anyone in this car understands what’s at stake, it’s me.” You finished, angry.

“That why you hate me so much?” He asked thoughtfully in a tone so soft you had to look at his face to discern his intent for asking.

He wasn’t glaring anymore. If anything, he seemed curious.

“I don’t hate you,” you muttered but your tone belied your words.

He chuckled. “That’s a good start.” He started turning the car around. “Amor.” He added and suddenly you were fuming again.

*****

The introductions with the narcos and their wives went well enough, better even than you’d hoped. They accepted you as one of their own. It wasn’t hard for you to fit in, you were Colombiana to the bone. Peña on the other hand… But he’d sold it well. Almost too well. This had been your first opportunity at seeing how much he’d picked up during his time in Colombia so far. And it seemed like he’d picked up a lot.

Peña hadn’t been wrong when he’d indicated some of the narcos would take an interest in you. They greeted you both warmly, but their hands enveloped yours tightly and their eyes lingered just a moment too long. You thought Peña must have noticed too, and surely he worried that allowing such blatant flirting would endanger your cover.

That must have been why you suddenly felt his arm encircling your bare shoulders. You tried not to tense in surprise, so much so that you let yourself relax against him in a natural manner. He continued the pretense, kissing your forehead as he made a joke with the narcos about keeping the wife happy.

Inside, though, you were having a crisis and you hoped the look on your face was one caught between amused and loving. A shock had gone through you when Peña’s lips had met your skin. His act was so convincing; how was he so good at this?

You thought back to the first stop you’d made earlier on in the car drive. When you’d gotten out of the car, Peña had whistled softly upon seeing your sundress, warming your cheeks and angering you simultaneously. But he’d said nothing else. And you’d thought on it during the ensuing drive. Normally you wore suits to the office, pants and skirts, but suits all the same. And you’d made a point of never going out with Peña or Murphy. So he’d never seen you in anything else. Against your will, you wondered what the whistle had meant. Not that you cared, but you didn’t need to add one more thing to the long list of things you already had to think about.

You smothered the thoughts. They were distracting and unnecessary and right now you were lucky that Peña was so good at this because he was carrying you both.

As you trailed the narcos out back to sit and have drinks by the pool, you slipped your arm around his waist, needing to carry your weight in the farce and not wanting to have to hear later from Peña about what you should have done.

“Así,” you heard him murmur approvingly.

You dug your nails into his side and heard him grunt in pain.

Your smile then at the wife of one of the narcos holding out a drink for you was genuine.

You spent an hour bantering back and forth with the other couples.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think Peña was happily married in his private life. He played the part perfectly.

As you were both sitting at the poolside table, he would reach over absently and take your fingers in his. The first time a jolt went through you again. But you took the cue. You alternated touches. You would rest your hand on his thigh. You swore he jumped the first time you did that, but he hid it well. He took long draws from your glass. Once he even fed you an olive. If you didn’t know any better, he was enjoying torturing you. He knew you hated olives. But the gesture drew laughs from the men and awwws from the women. It was then you noticed how they were swooning over Peña. It upset you only because you realized that if the pinche idioto was in the position to do it, he’d sleep with all their wives.

Finally and blessedly, your hosts suggested that you two retire to your room before dinner. Peña was to join the other men in Pacho’s office just before dinner for a discussion. You assumed that was when any useful information would be recovered. You realized then that you were here more for decoration than anything.

You fumed as you let Peña lead you by the hand up the mansion’s grand staircase. You both followed the housekeeper who led you to your room.

You dropped Peña’s hand the second the door closed behind you. He gave you a look but then the two of you were scouring the room, searching for any hidden recording devices. You shook your head at him, but he put his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the bathroom. You raised your hands questioningly but followed him all the same.

He was reaching into the shower and turning it on full blast.

“¿Qué haces?” You hissed at his ear, having to get close to be heard.

“We don’t know for sure it’s clear. We only talk freely like this.” He murmured into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shivered involuntarily at the sensation.

You both established that your cover had been bought. And what most likely awaited him at the meeting. You left him to take a shower and went to lounge on the bed.

Several minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened releasing a wall of steam and-

You sat up, glaring, “What are you doing?”

Peña put a finger to his lips furiously. “Adonde está mi maleta, amor?” His sweet tone was a direct contradiction to the furrow in his brow. He shook his head at you, gesturing to his suitcase as if to ask how you expected him to get dressed without clothes.

“Allí, corazón.” You said for show, just in case, glaring at him as he took his time going through his bag to find an outfit. Your eyes tried not to linger on his bare skin and the way water from the shower trickled down his toned back.

You averted your eyes when he turned back, but he was smiling as if he knew you’d been watching him, so you flipped over on the bed to face the other direction.

When Peña left the room with the sound of a fake kiss, you were too nervous to sit still. You had to get ready for dinner anyway. But you were anxious all the same. Your cover could be blown at any second. You stored a handgun under the bathroom sink before getting into the shower and kept an ear out for any strange noises. But nothing happened. You dressed and put your perfume and makeup on. Still Peña was absent. You slid a smaller gun into the holster on your inner thigh and went to join the other wives wherever they were.

They turned out to be in a bar off the kitchen. Luckily already tipsy and talkative. They handed you a drink, but you took only tiny sips as you engaged them in conversation. You struck gold when one of them brought up Tata, Escobar’s wife. They were gossiping over who had a better kitchen. You hung onto every word while providing input as shallowly as possible. Apparently your and Peña’s kitchen was inlaid with marble and dark hickory wood.

Nothing they said gave up the location of the Escobars though and the subject soon turned to jewelry, at which point the women fawned over the diamond necklace provided to you by the agency. Which was your cue to try to sell them diamonds.

Soon enough the staff came in to lead you all to the formal dining room where the men were waiting. They all stood but it was Peña’s face you were focused on.

His lips parted when he saw you and his brow smoothed over. His eyes traveled from yours down along your entire figure. You couldn’t help but get the slightest bit flustered. You avoided his gaze, but he was coming your way to take your hand and lead you over to the seat next to his. It was strange. Surrounded as you both were by actual enemies, it felt like you were the only two in the room. It confused you and irritated you, but you managed to catch your breath again once you were seated at the dinner table. You ignored Peña’s dark eyes on you and took a long sip from your wine glass, trying to focus on the mission at hand.

“Not too much,” you heard him whisper as you placed the wine glass back down.

And there he was.

Underneath the table, you adjusted your feet, “accidentally” stepping on his shoe with one sharp heel.

The curse he muttered in pain under his breath had you smiling as you dove into the conversation, ready to take on a room full of the people who had played the bad guys in your life for so long.

masterlist

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña imagine #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos colombia #javier peña #pedro pascal #self insert #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena imagine #reader #narcos netflix #my writing #look how long this love can hold its breath #part one #sorry the logistics arent perfect as far as the mission rn #going to delve into more detail on what theyre actually doing and how next chapter #part 1 of maybe 5 #javi x reader #javi x you #javi imagine #javi fanfiction #fake married #slow burn #fanfiction

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Scenario to get creative with: Skyquake taking Dreadwing to brothel to "get loose" a bit. ;)

So I found this buried in my asks, and I’m shook because this is actually a VERY fun idea, so let’s fucking go, let’s get carried away with this fuckin idea.

“Ah ah ah, optics closed, brother.”

Dreadwing was usually the one in charge of their creation day celebrations,  but this year, Skyquake wanted to take the reigns. Dreadwing, being a bit of a pushover for his little brother, allowed him to take this one. He knew Cybertron better than he did, so he was expecting something new, something exciting, especially given his tone. Dreadwing allowed his little brother to guide him, optics offline and walking to Primus knows where. Then he finally stopped.

“Okay, open!”

Dreadwing looked around. A bit of an odd building. It didn’t have anything on the outside, apart from a glowing neon sign, depicting a fem blowing a kiss. Dreadwing raised a brow.

“Okay, you got me. What is this?”

“The one thing that makes this place a million times better than Caminus.”

Skyquake paused, clearly wanting his brother to take a moment to think. It then clicked.

“Brother! Are you telling me we’re at a BROTHEL? That’s not even legal-”

“On CAMINUS. Here in Cyberton, they’re quite popular, and this one is the best of the best.”

“Primus sake, how many of these have you seen?”

“I’m not flinging myself at any pretty fem I see, brother. I just like supporting local businesses. Besides, you’ve been so tense with work lately, you deserve just one night to relax. Come on, you trust your brother, do you not?”

Dreadwing hesitated. Skyquake had promised he was going to pay for the evening, and his intentions seemed honest. It felt rude to say no, as uncomfortable as he was. He sighed.

“Fine. Just, make this easy for me, and...be in a different room when you do your thing.”

“Because you need to see my aft when I’m giving it to a fem.”

“Brother.”

“Sorry, sorry, just trying to ease the mood. Come on, follow me.”

Skyquake pushed past the front door, and were met with mechs and fems alike, greeting them loudly. Dreadwing let his brother walk up to the counter as he looked around. There was quite a pretty bunch of mechs and fems around. Freshly waxed and painted, some in the laps of paying customers, some bringing out drinks, and quite a few giving him the optic.

“So, in short, we’re here to celebrate!”

Dreadwing just tuned in to what Skyquake was saying. He was talking to an older fem, who was quite fetching herself. Claws that looked like daggers, and optics that glistened in greed, she looked like she’d have her fair share of prey. She gave him a look over, and chuckled.

“Mmm. Handsome thing, that one is. First time in here, darling?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re from Caminus, so this is...different.”

“Ah yes, these kinds of places are a big no no there, if I recall. Anyhow, don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of you both. A friend of Skyquake’s is a friend of ours, afterall.”

Skyquake shrugged as his brother gave him the side optic. While there was nothing wrong about visiting this place, Dreadwing was still kink shaming. Skyquake chuckled.

“Don’t look so nervous. They’re all quite kind, I assure you. Now, I’m paying for everything afterwards, I don’t want him to see just how much this is. He’s nosey like that.”

Dreadwing turned his helm away, a bit flustered to be caught in the act of peeking.

“I’m not nosey. I’m...observant.”

“Uh huh. Anyway, Is Maxima here tonight?”

“Yep, you’re lucky, she JUST got in. I’ll see if she’s willing to see you.”

“Maxima?”

Dreadwing found it odd that he was so specific on this particular fem. Skyquake scoffed.

“She’s just a fem. Don’t read too much into it.”

“You mentioned her by name, a bit late for that.”

The fem behind the counter chuckled, seeming to type something on her data pad, before leaning over at Dreadwing.

“Okay handsome, what do YOU like? You lookin’ for a wine and dine type, or a wham bam thank you ma’am?”

Dreadwing stammered. What a question to be asked. Skyquake snorted.

“We can’t afford taking ANYONE out tonight, so tell Cheesecake we gotta pass on that front. Just let him meet a few, see who he clicks with.”

“Can do. And Maxima just told me she’s got time to see you, so head to room one fifteen, you know where that is. Big blue, you’re with me.”

“Please don’t leave me alone. Not that you’re uh, not good company ma’am.”

Skyquake rolled his optics, patting his brother on his shoulder.

“If I didn’t trust them, we wouldn’t be here.”

Dreadwing sighed, before nodding. Skyquake left him to Primus knows where, and Dreadwing followed the fem ahead of him. She opened the door to a reasonable sized room, and the large couches signified it was meant as a sort of waiting room.

“Now, take a seat, we’ll have a few girls and boys pop in, see who you like. Once you find someone, you just come and give me a holler outside. Don’t be nervous, now.”

Dreadwing sat down, and let her leave. He was alone in this room now, and he felt tense. He had the occasional bout of intercourse, but that was SO long ago. Relationships of any sort just felt...odd to him now, as if the only other bot he could interact with, was his own brother. It was a bit sad, if he thought about it for too long. Enough so, that meeting all these mechs and fems did nothing for him. Some of the fems were pretty and sweet, some of the mechs were charming and handsome, but none of them really caught his optics. He was about ready to call it quits, when one remained.

“Hello. I’m Orion Pax.”

He was a small, cute little thing. Amongst the shiny paint jobs, fresh wax, and fish nets, he stuck out like a sore servo. Dreadwing couldn’t help but look at him up and down, perplexed.

“I’m sorry, you...work here?”

“As a part time job, yes. It’s nice to have a little extra credits to spend on the weekends. May I sit next to you?”

All the other’s did the same thing, but for some reason, this made him...nervous. He nodded however, scooting a bit to allow him to sit.

“Everyone is talking about how difficult you are to please. I take it you aren’t quite like your brother.”

“Primus I should hope not.”

That made little Orion chuckle. He pulled out a data pad from his sub space.

“You seem a bit tense. Poetry always relaxes me, personally. Would It help to read you something I wrote?”

“Please, I do love my fair share of poetry.”

The little bot cleared his vocal processor.

“Migrating answers

Beast of love discovers all

Bargain intertwined.”

“That’s...rather lovely. Did you write that?”

“Yes actually. I dabble in poetry in my free time, and more often than not, my sweetspark double checks my work.”

“Does...your sweetspark know you do this?”

“Of course. And he’s fine with it. He isn’t...around a lot, and sometimes you just need a big mech to-”

His face suddenly flared, and he hid it past his data pad.

“I..shouldn’t have said that, ignore it.”

Dreadwing chuckled, pushing the data pad down. What pretty optics, this little bot has.

“There’s...nothing really wrong with that, honestly. You like big mechs, and I like...well, you quite frankly.”

There was an odd moment of silence between them, before Dreadwing pressed his lips against his. There was no resistance, no uncomfortable tension. Dreadwing wanted him, and he clearly felt the exact same. Orion pulled away, cheeks still aflame. Even if this was just some kind of act to draw in more customers, Dreadwing didn’t care. It FELT honest, and the shy little poet angle was adorable. He was cute, innocent, and Dreadwing wanted to frag him till his processor malfunctioned. Orion clearly felt the same way, given how he lingered for a moment, before tapping his servo.

“I...have to go. Don’t forget my name.”

Dreadwing wanted to just take him here and now, but he was not the kind of mech to break etiquette, especially in new places. He waited for little Orion to walk out of the room, waited a moment, and the fem from before popped her helm in.

“So, you got your pick of the litter. Anyone-”

“Orion Pax. The small fellow.”

Realizing he sounded a bit too eager, he cleared his vocal processor. How desperate was he? Not even letting her finish her sentence. She chuckled, before motioning him to follow her once again.

“Let’s get you a room big guy. Feel like if I keep you two apart any longer, you’ll start breaking doors down.”

Dreadwing slipped past the other mechs and fems, and was brought to another room. It felt so much more intimate in here than the previous room. A nice, soft looking berth, soft music being played in the background, and the best part? A little Orion Pax. Standing there, in a rather thin looking night gown. The fem chuckled, nudging his side.

“Don’t let his size fool you. He’s sturdy.”

She slipped out, and Orion groaned in humiliation.

“I’m sorry about that, she uh, has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Are you saying you’re NOT sturdy?”

Dreadwing had no idea where that question came from. He delivered it so eagerly, it made BOTH of their faces feel flushed. Orion rubbed the back of his helm, finally putting his gaze back upon him.

“I...I mean, I wouldn’t say THAT…”

Dreadwing had no idea he’d be so easily wooed by someone so small. Orion gestured to the berth.

“Do you uh, want a massage? We usually do that to kinda ease customers into it.”

“I don’t need easing in, to be frank.”

Dreadwing had no idea what came over him. He was on Orion like some hound dog, lifting him off the floor, and practically flinging him onto berth. He pressed his lips against his, and Orion did nothing to fight it. His little servos ran across his chest, dipped in between those nooks and crannies of his armor. Dreadwing savored those touches. Savored the way he groaned into his lips, savored the way he smelled even. Orion pulled away, servos lightly caressing his face. 

“You...should open your spike panel. A big mech like you needs to be taken care of.”

It might have been just sweet talk, but Primus this little one had such a way with words. Dreadwing pushed off of him, popping open his spike panel. He was almost embarrassed, how pressurized his spike was already. There was greed in his optics, and he sat up, using his little servos to grab and stroke his girth.

“Something...tells me you aren’t as innocent as I thought previously.”

Orion chuckled, rubbing his cheek against the thick, eager spike.

“I...just like big mechs. And you’re as big as they come. You deserve to feel SO good.”

Orion pushed the tip past his lips, and Dreadwing felt himself tense up. Such a little mouth, with such a wanting, skilled glossa. His glossa was small, just like the rest of him, but with the way it circled around him, the way he let the drool dribble down his base. Dreadwing couldn’t help but have his helm toss back as the little mech only took him further. This wasn’t the first time he took a spike that size, he doubted it’d be the last. After a good, solid moment of lubing up his spike, Orion pulled away. Orion laid on his back, opening both his legs, and his valve panel. He made quite the show; playing and kneading at his already soaked folds. Dreadwing couldn’t help but stroke himself, and that seemed to only egg on the little bot.

“If I can be lewd for a moment...I want you to frag me as hard as you can. I want to feel that big, throbbing spike inside of me. And YOU want my little valve.”

He was right. Dreadwing leaned forward, putting his servo over his little chest, as if he’d try to run away from him.

“When you say as hard as you can, I do hope you understand I do not take that lightly.”

“Oh trust me, I know what I’m asking for. Come on big mech. Give it to me. Use me. Fuck me.”

Such pretty words, they could be poetry in itself. Dreadwing no longer hesitated. He pushed himself past the lips, and instead of taking it slowly, Dreadwing just stuffed himself right inside, fully and totally. Orion threw his helm back, little servos clinging to his back desperately.

“Are you hurt? Should I-”

“Don’t you pull out. Don’t you dare.”

That was all the permission Dreadwing needed. He was done being nice. He started thrusting into him, his hips clanging against his own. Dreadwing wasn’t merciful; having enough force in his thrust to move the berth itself. Orion’s mouth was a tool for evil, first being used to charm him into this berth, now using it to arouse him further. The way he cried out for him, the way he cried for more, the way he screamed, as if for mercy. Dreadwing kept his face shoved into that sweet, soft neck of his, and the little one wasn’t even spared his bites. Orion’s breath was hot, husky in his audial.

“You can bite me harder, big boy. Take a bite out of me, like I know you want.”

A good, harsh bite not only made his neck bleed, but made Orion squeal in ecstasy. Dreadwing knew he wasn’t going to last very long, not with a tight valve like this, not with a mech so hungry for his touch. When Orion grabbed fist fulls of his aft (with a rather surprising grip), he was forced into an overload. He panicked, realizing he was still inside, before he pulled out. He ended up showering the little mech in his pink, hot load. The sight of the little mech bathed in the afterglow, was enough to make Dreadwing want him yet again. Orion wiped his face with his servo, and licked it off, sighing in content.

“You...REALLY needed that, didn’t you?”

“More...than I thought, honestly. I apologize, I don’t know what’s the polite thing to do from here. Am I supposed to...give you a tip, or-”

“You gave me a LOT more than a tip, big mech.”

Orion chuckled, one hand leaning down to help ease fluids out of his gaping valve. This little mech was so quick witted, so eager to pull him further into affection. Dreadwing was about to go for a second round, when there was a knock at their door.

“Time’s up you two. Everything alright?”

“Just fine! He was just saying he wants to buy more time.”

Dreadwing was about to speak against that, as he said no such thing, until Orion held onto his helm, taking a nip out of his chin. Dreadwing lightly gulped.

“I...suppose I could use more time. It IS my creation day, after all.”

“Good to hear! Go on you two, I’ll check in later!”

As the voice left, Orion chuckled.

“Now that we have just a little more time...how do you feel about letting me at YOUR valve?”

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

Dreadwing lost track of time as he walked out of that room. His brother had been waiting there for what seemed like a while, given the relief on his face.

“Primus sake, there you are! You were in there for SO long, thought someone was killing you or something.”

“I...apologize. I lost track of time.”

Skyquake chuckled, shaking his helm.

“Alright, let’s see the damage here…”

Skyquake handled the final bill for them both, and Dreadwing was too lost in his thoughts to peek over his shoulder. He did some rather...embarrassing things in there. Sure he liked it all, but he didn’t like figuring out all these secret kinks he seemed to have. No matter.

What were the odds he was going to see him again, anyway?

#asks #lemon #dreadwing #orion pax #skyquake #maxima

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine

Reader and Erik take a bae-cation after Reader has her baby. She is having breast pains from breastfeeding so Erik suggests soothing her.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, 

[Side note: Writing this made me so horny....]

Baby girl and her Baby Daddy decided to stay in a fancy hotel in Vegas for the weekend while her mom, Miss Pam, watched their handsome baby boy Omari. Omari was a 9lbs 10oz baby with a head full of shiny jet black curls, droopy cheeks, and fat arms and legs that reminded you of the michelin tire man. Erik made her put in a two week notice with her job in medical billing and coding because he wanted her to be home with their son. He had enough money to take care of all three of them. Y/N didn’t like that at first but she eventually agreed to it. She was actually very happy that she did. Taking this bae-cation with Erik for the weekend was already hard since she couldn’t be near her son. Currently, Y/N and Erik decided to hit up the casino so Erik could play his blackjack. He’s so good at it that he played in a few tournaments and won a lot of money. He was known in that casino for his skills. Y/N knew he was going to win every game so she went off on her own to play at the slot machines. Erik has all the luck while Y/N doesn’t. She lost every game at those slots.

“Fuck this, bruh,” She got up from the cramped seat, adjusting her denim skirt, “This is some bullshit. Let me go get Baby Daddy because I’m hungry for some wings.”

Y/N began to walk away but an elderly lady that was seated next to her kindly taps her on the shoulder. Y/N smiles at the woman before approaching her chair.

“Sugar, did you recently have a little one?” She asks in a smooth tone that reminded her of her grandmother.

“Yes, ma’am,” Y/N smiles with her dimples, “A boy, his name is Omari.”

“I bet he is very handsome. I’m only asking because,” The Elserly woman lowered her voice to almost a mumble. She didn’t need to, the casino was very loud, “You look to be leaking from your breasts-“

“OH MY GOSH,” Y/N began to panic, covering her aching breasts, “Is it bad?!”

“Sweetheart, calm down,” The elderly lady laughs lightly, “It’s alright baby, it happens, do you have a jacket?”

“I do,” Y/N left it with Erik, “It’s with my boyfriend.”

“Where is he located?” The elderly lady got up from her seat, standing at about 4ft.

“One of the blackjack tables,” Y/N takes the elderly ladies offered hand.

“Let’s go find him and get your jacket-“

“You don’t have to ma’am, honestly-“

“No, but I insist,” She was persistent just like her nana,” “Come on sugar, I’d like to meet this young man.”

———————-

Once again, Erik wins. He ignored the jealous and vengeful looks from the other men whose whores huddled around them with their arms draped over their shoulders. The Experienced Table Games Dealer gathers all of Erik’s winnings, instructing him to take it to the Cashier. With his winnings stored away, Erik grabs Y/N’s jacket, ready to head for the slot machines but he spots her with a little old lady dressed in outrageous floral patterned clothing. She was hugging the front of her breasts with one arm while the other was being held by the little old woman. Confused, Erik walks you to them, giving Y/N and the elderly lady a smile.

“What’s going on here? How are you doing,” Erik held his hand out for the elderly lady to shake, “I’m Erik.”

“Dorothy,” She spoke with kindness that warmed Erik’s heart, “So this is the handsome father of your son Omari?”

“Yes” Y/N smiles, “This is him. Did you win, baby?”

“You know I did,” Erik held up his winnings, “I was just about to come get you so we can cash this out and get something to eat. So, what’s going on?”

“You’re lovely lady here had a bit of an accident,” The elderly lady discretely points to Y/N’s breasts, “I noticed at the slot machines and decided to walk over with her. She needs a jacket, young man.”

Erik’s eyes traveled towards Y/N’s arm draped over her breasts, “Baby, you didn’t put the pads in like I reminded you to?”

“I did.”

“Okay,” Erik places his winnings on his seat, grabbing Y/N’s jacket, and helping her put it on whole his chest was close to hers so no one would see, “Thank you Miss Dorothy-“

“Yes, thank you so much, you didn’t have to do this for me at all,” Y/N hugs Miss Dorothy close, “You are so sweet Miss Dorothy.”

“Anytime sweetie,” Miss Dorothy squeezes Erik’s hand, “Take care of her, handsome? She’s a good one I can tell.”

“Oh, I know, I got her, Miss Dorothy,” Erik gave her a charming smile filled with dimples and shiny teeth with a little gold, “You take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will! I need to head back to my friends before the bus leaves,” Miss Dorothy waves one final goodbye, “Tell Omari that Miss Dorothy says hello!”

“We will!” Y/N waves before turning back to Erik, “she’s such a sweet lady, baby.”

“She is,” Erik rubs Y/N’s shoulder, “Let’s get back to the room so you can change.”

Erik wraps his arm around Y/N’s shoulder as they walked to the Cashier so he could cash in his winnings before heading to the hotel.

——————————

“That’s a lot of winnings, baby.”

Y/N watches Erik handle all the money, 10 thousand dollars of it.

“I could have won more but those motherfuckers needed a break from the ass whipping I gave em’.”

Y/N was standing in front of a wall length mirror near their hotel closet. She was currently adding the padding to her nipples to help absorb the milk that flowed from her heavy breasts.

“You need some help, Baby girl?” Erik spoke while stretched out on the bed, twirling a single dread, “You liked how I did it the last time.”

“Yes, please,” Y/N stops, looking through the mirror watching Erik get up from the bed, shirtless and sexy as he walks over to Y/N. Her large breasts still leaked a little so she grabs a rag to dab it gently. Erik stood over her short frame from behind, taking the pads in his hand, and reaching around to lift one of her generous breasts so he could have a good eye for where to place the pads.

“Ouch,” Y/N fusses when he lifted her breast, “Baby, they’re still sensitive...be gentle.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Erik loosened his hold, “Better?”

“Mhm,” She watched as her milk spilled onto Erik’s hand, “Erik, be quick! It’s leaking more.”

“Calm down, and relax,” Erik places the pads, “Now pass me some of that hospital tape.”

Y/N hands Erik some of the skin safe hospital tape.

“Thank you,” Erik accepts pieces of tape from Y/N while he placed them around the padding to keep it in place, “Okay, let me do the next one,” Erik looked over Y/N’s shoulder, slowly lifting her breast and watching as little droplets of milk spilled on his fingers. He adds the pads, quietly accepting the tape, and securing the pads. She was all finished.

“This is a lot better,” Y/N takes her bra from off of the ironing board that she used before they went to the casino, “Thanks, Daddy.”

“Anytime, love,” Erik kisses her jaw, “You wanna get something food?”

“Wings!” Y/N shouts.

“Okay,” Erik trailed his kisses to her neck, “You still smell like Omari.”

“I’ve been attached to his chunky butt for months now. I can’t get his smell off of me.”

Omari smelled like peaches and cream.

“Mmm,” Erik hums before backing away, he looks down at his fingers still wet with milk.

Erik sucks on his fingers before sitting back onto the bed. The taste was creamy and sweet on his tongue. Like custard. He licks his lips, thighs swaying back and forth on the bed because his dick was growing in his jeans. He’d never tasted Y/N’s breast milk. So this is what Omari was receiving all the time like a starving child? Erik already feels left out. Y/N’s breasts once played an important role in the sexual relationship that they both shared. Now that she is breastfeeding, Erik feels as though her breasts are off limits, or no longer a part of that sexual relationship. Erik feels that Y/N’s milk-filled breasts are now reserved for the relationship that she shares with Omari, and that's something he doesn’t feel part of. He just wanted to feel included and not jealous Everytime he looked his son in his grey eyes while he sucked on his mama.

“After we eat, can we swim?” Y/N missed going to the beach and the pool.

“Yeah, Thats fine with me, baby, anything for you.”

—————————

Y/N had Erik’s attention while they sat in Hooters eating. Her breasts were resting on the table since she had to lean over to eat her wings. Erik could see why she was sensitive and in pain. Deep veins could be seen peeking through her skin. They were engorged more than he remembered them to be. Over abundant with milk supply. He wasn’t drooling from the siracha wings he was munching on. He was drooling because he wanted to taste her sugary milk again. It reminded him of the milk after eating a bowl of sweetened cereal for breakfast.

“What?” Y/N couldn’t ignore Erik’s eyes as they watched her, “Do I have blue cheese on my face or something?”

“Nah, You’re just beautiful that’s all. What? I can’t stare at my baby, hm?”

Y/N blushes, “You can, Daddy. I like it when you look at me.”

“You should have worn a different shirt,” Erik’s eyes traveled down to her cleavage poking through her shirt, “You know them breasts got bigger they can’t fit in your shirts like they used to.”

“Why do you think I wear all your t-shirts? I have to go shopping again.”

“I should beat your ass for showing off like that,” Erik smirks while chewing.

“They’re yours so why does it matter?”

Erik leans forward on the table, “Because, I don’t wanna have to gauge a niggas eyes out for looking.”

“Daddy, don’t be violent,” Y/N spoke in a sweet voice.

“You make me more violent when you dress like that.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, straightening her back causing her breasts to poke out more. Erik had a few things in mind that he could do to those breasts. Take his hard dick, some body oil, and her big ass titties, squeeze his dick between and coat it with the oil so he could fuck her titties. Then there was the desire to be breast fed. Erik is so turned on by Y/N’s lactating and sore breasts. He couldn’t ignore the sexual fantasy that involves breastfeeding. Erotic lactation and adult breastfeeding was a new kink of his. He wanted to take Omari’s place and suck on Y/N’s breasts while she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered things like:

There you go, baby, that’s it, suck on mamas breasts.

Do you want some more? You’re so greedy.

Look how much of my milk comes out! You make me lactate more, I love that.

If she could say things like:

Daddy, the more you suck, the more my titties will milk and it’s already too much.

It may hurt when you suck on them...you suck harder than Omari...they’re so sensitive.

Daddy...Omari needs some milk too. You can’t be stingy like that...

His dick was iron hard. Erik wanted to unbutton and unzip his pants so his dick could sprang free. All the blood in his body felt like it rushed to his dick. If he squeezed it, there would be resistance for sure, his dick feeling like a pipe covered in flesh.

“Are you not hungry anymore?” Y/N grabs a siracha wing for herself, “You usually eat everything. Something must be on your mind.”

“I’m just thinking about going back to that hotel with you. You need to take care of something for me.”

“And what’s that?” Y/N looked up through her lashes at him.

“You’ll see. Let’s take this shit to go.” Erik looked around before spotting their waiter, a pretty brown-skinned girl with a bright red weave, motioning for her to come over.

“Anything else for you guys?”

“Nah, can we have some to-go boxes?” Erik pulled out his wallet.

“Sure! I’ll be back,” She walked away with a sway of her thick hips.

“Can we still go swimming?” Y/N asks while eating one more fry.

“Yeah, but not for long though.” Erik wanted to rip that top she had on right down the middle, pull down the cups of her bra, snatch those pads off, and go to town on her nipples. He imagined himself thrashing his tongue before sucking softly. He envisioned her milk dripping down the sides of his mouth and to his chin.

“What’s taking her so damn long? I only asked for boxes not another fucking meal,” Erik complained.

“Why are you acting like that? She’s coming,” Y/N rolls her eyes before throwing a French fry at his chest, “Big meany.”

The Big Meany in my pants is suffering, Erik thought.

“Finally,” Erik spoke with exhaustion as he spots their waiter walking over with a few bags and to-go containers.

“Thanks, girl,” Y/N accepts it.

“No dessert?” The waiter looked at Y/N and Erik expectantly.

“Nope-“

“Can I have a slice of cheesecake, please?”

Erik’s jaw tightened.

“Sure! Just the one?”

“Make it two. He likes the Oreo cookie one. I’ll take the original with extra whipped cream.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Erik wanted to fuss but he knew he would want that cheesecake later.

“Pick your lip up, Daddy, your pouting,” Y/N giggles, “You must be horny.”

“I am,” Erik shakes his head at her, “It’s your fucking fault.”

“Aww, I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

Erik’s mean mug made Y/N explode with laughter, her breasts smushing into the edge of the table. She winced, little whimpers escaping her mouth while she cuffed her breasts.

“They are so damn sore,” Y/N complains, “I just want to take this bra off and let my titties free.”

“Shit,” Erik spoke, “They that filled up, huh?”

“Yes. Omari will have a lot from me when we get home.”

Me too, he thought.

————————-

They pool was empty enough for both of them to enjoy but Erik was too busy watching Y/N swim back and forth. She made Erik take a few pictures of her in her swimsuit for her instagram since she’s a famous plus size Youtuber. She does clothing halls, hair, and makeup. They had been down there for only 40 minutes but it felt like five hours.

“Baby,” Erik called out to her, watching her float with her breasts poked out.

“Why aren’t you swimming?!” Y/N splashed him, “You are a party pooper.”

“Because Daddy is horny and he need you to take care of him right now.”

Y/N swam to the pool ladder, climbing out, water dripping from her body. She walked over to Erik, grabbing their towels.

“Let’s go then. You’re lucky I want some dick.”

Erik stood up, grabbing the towel from her, “You we’re gonna give me some puss either way so don’t say that.”

They made their way back to the room, Y/N keying in, flicking on only the hallway light while everything else was dark. This was the only light they really needed. Erik grabs their towels, tossing them in a wrinkled pile in the corner near the door, and wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist. She giggles, one hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“You feel so good on Daddy’s dick, baby,” Erik murmured, “Touch Daddy’s dick so you can see what I’m talking about.”

Y/N reached behind her, a gasp escaping her mouth when her fingers ran up the length of him.

“That’s all for you...this dick is what nutted in that phat pussy...got all my nut in there...and look at you, gave birth to my son. He made you look even more sexier than you already were. Thicker...ass phatter, titties bigger,” Erik grinds his hips onto her ass, “These big ass titties filled with all that food for my son...Omari probably miss his mama titty in his mouth.”

“Damn, Daddy,” Y/N was super wet, “You’re nasty self.”

“Too bad I got mama all weekend. Now both titties gon’ be in my mouth.”

“Jealous?” Y/N teased.

“Fuck yeah. Daddy is jealous, baby. Omari gets all the milk and sucking while I get nothing? Ain’t fair, baby.”

“Erik...Daddy...you want some of my milk?” She was astonished.

“It taste so good.” Erik French kisses her neck, “so sweet. I liked it off my fingers earlier. Mmm, yummy.”

She could feel herself lactate.

“You gon’ let that milk drip on my tongue?”

“Fuck,” Y/N whimpers.

“Can mama breast feed me too?” The way he asked that caused Y/N’s nipples to harden.

Y/N thought about all the benefits to Erik sucking on her titties while she breast feeds him. Y/N is so sensitive to breast or nipple stimulation and she can’t help but to experience sexual feelings while breastfeeding. Breastfeeding Erik could bring about an unexpected and enjoyable aspect to their sexual relationship. Then there was the factor that the additional stimulation and removal of milk at T/N’s breast can naturally trigger her body to make more breast milk. Erik would have a much stronger suck than Omari and he could help drain her more and prevent the pain she feels.

“Yes...I’m in a lot of pain when it’s so heavy and I can’t drain them since I’m not home,” Y/N’s eyelids fluttered shut, “I can breast feed you, Daddy, but you have to be careful, okay?”

Erik grunts, his eyes in slits while he removed Y/N’s swimsuit top, “I promise I’ll take real good care of you. Damn, I just want it so bad. My dick is so hard, baby, fuck, can you suck it for me?”

Y/N didn’t say a word as she turns around, getting in her knees, pulling Erik’s trunks down. His dick was indeed hard. Deep veins fat with blood under the brown skin of his dick. The tip of his thickness so swollen and purpled from all the blood. Balls tight like he was ready to cum. Dick thicker and longer since the sight of her on her knees turned him on. He just wanted it sucked so damn bad.

“Come on, ma,” Erik grabs the back of her head, “You taking to long for me.”

Y/N wraps her lips around him, Erik’s head falling back. His ass clenched when her lips went back and forth tightly on his dick.

“Fuck fuck FUCK.” He held her head in place so she wouldn’t move away.

“Mmm,” She moaned with his dick deep in her mouth.

“I’m so fucking hard,” He hisses, “Suck it like that, baby, fuck.”

She had him seeing stars.

“Keep sucking on me and watch how much cum I make you swallow you nasty bitch.”

Y/N went faster.

“Oh? Oh yeah? Hmph, yeah?”

She slurped and gurgled around him.

“SHIT.” Erik could feel himself ready to erupt, “Fucking yes, baby, mmmm, please Daddy, yessssss, Mhm, fuck!”

Y/N’s nose pressed into Erik’s groomed pubic hair while he explodes down her throat. Erik pulls his dick out slowly, his eyes staring down at his shiny it is and still very very hard.

“Let me suck on you. I’m hungry.”

Y/N got up from the floor, Erik grabbing her neck to kiss her. She sucked on his bottom lip, earning a smack to her ass.

“Get in the bed right fucking now.”

Y/N went to lay on the bed, her breasts splayed out for him and him only. Erik walked up to her, crawling in the bed to rest between her legs. He gently removed the pads and tape from her nipples. Once she was free, he could already see her milk spilling. It rolled down the sides of her breasts since the fell off to the sides from being so damn heavy. Erik picks her left breast up, Y/N whimpering.

“Daddy, please be gentle.”

“I promise, I promise,” Erik took in a deep breath before opening his mouth, his tongue dragging over her entire areola and nipple. Y/N moans, her eyes closing while her chest pushed further into his mouth.

“So sweet and tastes yummy, girl,” Erik sucked, “fuck, yes.”

Y/N could not stare at the erotic sight, watching Erik’s full lips suck on her sensitive nipple and his thick tongue drag over it so desperately made her reach between her legs to rub her clit.

“Daddy, you’re making them feel better,” She bites her bottom lip, “Umph, Daddy that feels so good.”

Her soft spoken voice and the taste of her milk had Erik’s dick leaking with precum.

“Daddy...please...suck on me,” Y/N moves his head so he can show the other breast some attention.

“I got you, baby girl,” He gave her the same pleasant torture that had her pussy dripping to the bed.

“Mmm, My pussy is so wet,” She licks her lips while watching Erik lightly suck on her, “Daddy, my pussy is so wet.”

“You want me to put my dick in you, huh?”

“Please,” Y/N’s legs went wider.

“If I do that I’m cumming in you deep. I want that puss messy. Gon’ have all my cum swimming in there fucking around with me. You want this dick I’m impregnating your fine ass again.”

“Yes!” Y/N could feel Erik’s dick spread her pussy lips. Her hand left her clit, both of them cumming up to grip his shoulders.

“Remember how I got that ass knocked up? I fucked the pussy just like this didn’t I? And you still remember to keep them legs wide for Daddy, mm, girl.”

His dick slid into her tightness. Pussy still tight even after pushing out a 9lb baby.

“Ooooo, this shit is super wet,” Erik looked down at his dick, “you making a big mess on Daddy,” His lips went back to her titties like they never left, “Make a big mess in Daddy’s mouth too with all this milk.”

Erik moved his tongue over her nipples so good her body shivered, that didn’t include the way he beat her walls up. He was up in a push-up position with all his strength as his dick drilled in and out. He was fucking her pussy so hard that Y/N felt her body bouncing. He was really horny for her. She could do nothing but moan and gasp while Erik sat up with a milk covered chin. He used his hands to hold the back of her thighs while his dick went in and out...in and out with just the power of his hips. Y/N’s toes curled. She could see her breasts lactate while Erik fucked her.

“I’m fucking that pussy, baby?”

He had the nerve.

“Look at you, creaming on me,” Erik swiveled his hips inside of her, “And I feel that pussy, cum on me while I bust this phat pussy open!”

He seemed to go faster and faster each time. His dick was damn near a blur. Y/N pushed at his chest, her eyes shutting and mouth unhinged as she squirted and orgasmed on his dick. Her lungs burned with the deep breath she took. He was still going, another orgasm hitting her suddenly. She thought her pussy wouldn’t be able to work like this again after pushing out Omari but boy, was she wrong.

Erik sucked on her breasts before licking milk from his lips, “You just keep leaking. My dick is deep in here, baby, and my balls ready to empty all my nut in this phat puss.”

“Fuck, Daddy, fuck,” Y/N’s thighs shook, “Daddy, I love the way you suck on my nipples...I love the way you fuck me.”

“You beautiful, bitch,” Erik was cumming, “I’m forever gon’ be your Baby Daddy. Have all my kids. Give me all the milk I can have.”

“Yes! Yes!”

He growled, his nails sinking into her thighs, Y/N’s hips lifting off the bed. Erik’s dick made her pussy spread wider because of how thick he gets when he is about to cum. Like a present, Erik gifted his Baby Girl with more of his seed. He still stroked and Y/N could feel just how thick and veiny he is because of her wet pussy and all his cum. She could even feel the shape of the head of his dick as he slowly stroked her phat cunt to empty all of him. He was so textured and big. Her eyes rolled shut, Erik not helping by leaning forward to suck on her nipples. His dick made her pussy jump around him. Y/N pouts, pushing at Erik. He didn’t move. He still slow stroked.

“Don’t push me again,” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, my pussy can’t take no more.”

“You gon’ take me. Got these big ass titties spilling milk and this pussy creaming. Ain’t no way Daddy finished with you. Just wait, watch how you end up pregnant.”

Y/N was in for a long ass night.

@tgigoldie​ @soufcakmistress​ @chefjessypooh​ @chaneajoyyy​ @pananegra​ @theblulife​ @becincere​ @blaqwidow91​ @fish-outta-watah​ @eyeknowmywrites​  @crowngold​ @njadakillthiscookie​ @blktinkerbell​ @luvanxi​ @sheisexcellent1​ @chocolatedippedinhoney​ @brandithecrystalgem​ @dababydababydababydababy​ @soulfulbeauty19​ @raysunshine78​ @btitannaaa​ @sunkissedebony97​ @youngblackndgifted​ @harleycativy​ @rbhp​ @thee-germanpeach​ @thadelightfulone​ @palmstreesallday​ @skylahb​ @bakaris-shorty​ @nizzle-mo​ @truglori​ @queenflaws​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @theegoldenchild​ @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade​ @nickidub718​ @vikkidc​ @thehomierobbstark​ @rent-emspoons​ @abluesforlyssa​ @abeautifulmindexposed​ @fd-writes​ @chasingsunlight​ @sickaddiktions​ @munteanhore​ @xo-goldengirl​ @tiava143​ @33kiara​ @honeytoffee​ @asiasblackworld727​ @informalmelancholy​ @soulshinechronicles​ @hearteyes-for-killmonger​ @goddessofthundathighs​ @soulfxll​ @whazzzupmyhitta​

#killmonger imagine #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #nahimjustfeelingit-writes #erik killmonger

[forbidding-souda]

hello!! i dont know if you’re still doing them but could i request number 31 from the prompt list for shuichi and hajime (preferably with either gender neutral or male pronouns) ty!!

31: “Hey, I’m having fun” Shuichi Saihara & Hajime Hinata (masc S/O)

I luv Hajime with my whole heart so I got you!! And yeah I’m still doing them <3!! 

Me and my godbrother were taking turns playing Mario and whoever wasn’t holding the one remote had to add sentences to this, so yeah here’s the result of that by the way, it’s towards the end of the Hajime one and the beginning of the Saihara one :D

-Mod Souda

Hajime Hinata

You had a lot of friends in your class, as a part of the main course with the ultimates, and so you hung around them a lot.

And often, in an almost noblesse oblige, you’d bring along Hajime.

Chiaki runs the group hangouts, along with Ibuki, and they both seem to get along with him most.

But you still get anxious, because you know how much he admires the ultimates, and you wonder if getting him to hang out with them is making him jealous.

You don’t care that he’s not an ultimate, he’s still the one you love. But sometimes you get worried that you’re forcing him to come along with you. Does he not want to hang out with your friends? He’s not very vocal about his concerns, he usually goes along with what everyone is doing.

Every time you both go out with them he clings to your side, not saying much and laughing awkwardly.

The things your friends can do blows his mind.

Akane eats a whole chicken wing in one bite? His mind just ???

So when another party comes up in the talk, you already try to plan it in your head. What can you do to make Hajime more comfortable?

Chiaki, in her calm voice, introduces the idea.

“How about... us all in a big room with balloons and flashing lights?”

Ibuki is already excited. “Flashing lights? Like a concert.”

Chiaki gets a small smile. “Sure, how about you perform for us, Ibuki.”

“Maan, I want to perform too!” Saionji calls out, her head on her desk.

“Then that settles it,” Chiaki puts her hands together, “I suppose we all start to plan it now!”

A concert seems like the perfect place for Hajime to fit in.

He doesn’t need to talk to others, and it’s a place where you both are free to dance together!

The thought of being that close to him makes your cheeks heat up.

Would he enjoy that too?

Later, when the school day ends, you stand outside the reserve course’s main building, pulling your jacket closer to you as the winds begin to increase.

It’s always cloudy outside of the school, and it’s not something you’re too fond of whenever you wear the school uniform. Especially when it’s warm and moist.

“Hey,” Hajime knocks you out of your half-conscious state, “how has your day been?”

His eyes, his smile, the content look on his face.

Everything about it you love!

With a big smile you respond, “but I want to hear about you!”

And so you hear about how boring his day was as you both walk down the street.

The sun shines down on his face, peeking through the clouds, and highlighting everything you like about him.

Your face lights up for a second as you remember the party Chiaki was planning.

“Oh, Hajime, you wouldn’t believe the party we have planned out!”

“Does it take place in the school?”

“Yep, in the gym! Yukizome totally got permission for it and everything, Ibuki Mioda is even throwing a concert for just us!”

He stops walking, glancing down at you with a small smile.

“And when is this?”

You can’t tell if his interest is faked or not.

“This weekend! Some ways to go, right?”

He starts walking again before he responds. “I can’t wait.”

You both walk until you reach your room, and then he gives your forehead a small kiss before leaving.

And the rest of the week you both spent the majority of your time together after school walking around until you both end up somewhere recognizable.

Though, without telling him, your mind was occupied on what to wear.

How fancy do you want to be with him?

A tuxedo would impress nobody but Sonia, for sure.

Maybe something charming, like a button-up?

Standing in front of the mirror thirty minutes before the event, you confirm the idea of a button-up. 

And maybe a tie?

No, a tie makes it too official.

While you were decided what accessories to put on there is a knock at the door.

And there stands Hajime, wearing a white button-up and a tie.

“Hajime, you didn’t have to walk over here, I could have walked to your place!”

He puts his hands out in front of him defensively, trying to wave you off.

“I just couldn’t wait to see you!”

Flattered, you put your hands to your cheeks.

“Well, I’m almost done, but we can go now.”

He holds your hand throughout the walk.

The sky is an orange hue, and the sun is almost touching the horizon. Wisps of yellow and pink mix in the sky like paint.

His feet halt before he passes the gates that lead into Hope’s Peak Academy.

He’s passed them before, countless times with you.

But no matter how familiar he gets, the school is still a distant dream to him.

“Come on, let’s go!” You cheer, dragging him passed his mental block.

Past the doors of the school, Chiaki stands against a wall, her game system in hand as she consciously taps away on it.

“Good evening, Chiaki!”

She peers up for only a moment to wave before returning to her game. Maybe she’s a door mouse.

The gym, decorated by everyone in your class, had lights of blue and purple shooting from the stage.

Balloons of pink float, taped to the snack table and the edges of the stage, some of them bare and bouncing around on the floor.

Not all of your classmates are here, just a few you would expect to be early.

“Welcome back Hajime,” Sonia greets him, waving when she notices both of you. “How exciting is this! A concert inside of our school, wow!”

Breathing out, he adds, “Hope’s Peak Academy is truly amazing.”

Most of your classmates know him by name at this point, and they all know to be nice to him. None of them look down on him because of his status. None of them care that much to remember it.

Your mind almost immediately jumps to wondering where Ibuki is, as this is her magical moment. Perhaps she is hiding behind the curtains of the stage.

Your friends start coming, one by one until all 15 students stand inside of the gym.

And as the curtains pull back, you realize you were right. There, with her guitar, shooting fire out of its neck, she rings out chords and sings her heart out with Saionji dances in the front.

Not the best combo, but you enjoy it nonetheless.

And, no matter how chaotic her music is, you love it with all of your heart.

“That’s unique,” Hajime whispers to himself.

“She left her band because of creative differences,” you explain, smiling to yourself.

“Thank you so much for listening to my first song!” Ibuki cheers out, throwing her thumbs up, “and now - here are some of the oldies!”

And as soon as she finished, you grab Hajime’s hand, spinning him in place. His feet stumble as he was caught in surprise at the moment.

You both laugh against each other, vibrating with happiness as he returns the favor, spinning you around and pulling you close to his chest.

“Such romantic music.” He coos.

The others around you fall into the same, sugary light-hearted mood you and Hajime set. They dance, some better than others, but all in sync with the beat.

Even the slight swaying of the SHSL Imposter is enough to let everyone know the party has started.

The lights shine on everyone, showing your bodies as cold hues.

You can even feel his heart against yours one you grab him, pulling him into a kiss, which he happily returns.

Until someone interrupts.

“S/O-kun....” Chiaki puts her hand on your back. “Can you escort me to the bathroom, I don’t want to get lost.”

Chiaki we go to the same school.

You are almost unsure to leave Hajime. There’s such a high chance that’ll he will just hang against the wall and await for your return.

You smile, hands slipping away from Hajime and towards your friend, “Oh, of course, I can!”

And you walk with her, out of the gym and into the hallway, she suddenly stops walking and takes your hand into hers, pulling you to meet her height.

“I pulled you out because I got you and Hajime a gift!”

Your face heats up, and you watch as she takes something out of her pocket. It’s a card, multiple actually.

“They are free passes to the arcade.”

“Where we met...” You find yourself whispering under your breath as you take the cards out of her hand. There are four of them, all shiny and brand new.

“I just wanted to thank you both for... helping me get fifteen new friends. And being so helpful!” She takes a breathe, pulling that and toying with the strings of her hoodie, “I’m so grateful that I know the both you.”

Tucking the cards in your pocket, you give her a big hug.

She hugs back, breathing out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for the cards! I’ll go give them to him now!”

She follows behind you as you turn, returning back to the party.

There was no way you would be able to stop smiling.

And once the door closes behind you, you know that your happiness is going to last forever.

Hajime holds his place in the crowd, bouncing around with all of your friends. His eyes, bright with excitement, bring light to his toothy smile. 

He feels comfortable with your friends! Oh, that is the best thing you could ever see!

He almost explodes with joy when he sees you. He finds himself pushing out of the crowd, too impatient to wait for you to reach him.

Immediately, he grabs your hand, pulling you close.

You look him up and down in worry, “Hajime, I’m back and I won’t leave again, I promise, were you okay when I left?” [ ;) ]

He looks stunned for a second before a cheerful smile alights his face. “It’s okay, S/O, I feel happy, this is really helping me!”

His lips fall open to add something, but he stops, rubbing your arms up and down. He adds, to end your concerns, “Hey, I’m having fun.”

“That’s all I wanted, Hajime.”

Chiaki passes you, going into the crowd, and you remember the point of your trip. 

A look of recognition dawns on your face as he sends you a warm inquisitive gaze.

A grand smile greets his gaze as you gleefully pull out the tickets. “I thought we could go together.”

His hands glaze over them, as realization settles in and sheer joy replaces his brief confusion. “The arcade! Where did you get these?”

Your lips purse into a grin. “It was a gift... from our friends.”

“Well, let’s go back to the party,” his intertwines your fingers, kissing your knuckles before dragging you back to the lights.

Shuichi Saihara

You sharpen your tie, trying to tighten it.

“If you keep messing with it it’s going to become uneven,” Maki scolds you, pushing your hands away from your own clothes.

“And then that will be my problem, but for now, let me fidget all I want.”

Maki scoffs, crossing her arms with her usual puffy face.

A couple of minutes ago, you knocked on her room’s door in a panic with the impossible situation of tying a tie.

You did not know, and Maki was the only person who would even think to know how to.

At first, she almost shut the door in your face, but you asked her for only one thing, she let you come in.

“What’s this even for.” She asks now, still agitated that you even bothered her.

“Oh... I asked Shuichi to play tennis with me!” You cheerfully reply, folding your hands together. “Me and Ryoma used to practice together.”

Maki responds with a dark look her voice dripping with cynicism. “He’ll think it’s a trap. You don’t really think this will end well, right?”

Defiantly, you respond, “I do think so! Plus, he trusts me."

There’s a slight break in her steely glare as she sighs. Under her breath, she mutters, “Just don’t get either of you killed.”

“Hm?”

“I said you’re an idiot, now leave.” Her fingers fidget with her bow, puffing it up anxiously.

Even though the SHSL Assassin’s tone reflects her irritation, her face shows an almost soft concern.

But she’s Shuichi’s friend.

She has to like you... right?

Right.

...Right?

The clock reads noon but the hallway is as dark as ever.

Ever since the last case, everyone’s mood has been down, and everyone has removed themselves from the dining room to reside in their dorms.

You go to open your door, but quickly, a hand covers yours. You gasp.

“Eh... S/O!” Shuichi exclaims.

“Shuichi, you scared me!”

“Aah... sorry, sorry.”

You lean up, your face close to his, so you naturally take a step back. “So, let’s get on our way then!”

Two pairs of feet stride around the school, knowing exactly their destination and everything involved.

And two pairs of eyes anxiously glance at each other, not knowing the boundaries each one possesses.

Once your hand lands on the doorknob to your friends’ lab, the sound of your own heartbeat becomes too prominent for your comfort.

It’s just a game of tennis.

That you are definitely going to win.

“Have you ever played tennis before, Shuichi?”

He walks through the door, knowing this place a little too well.

“Uhm... no.”

With a smile, you pick two rackets up and a ball, eyeing them and examining their physique. 

“That’s great, so it means I will win.”

A small smile forms on his lips, his eyes squinting at the comment.

“Well... let’s see. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it.” He politely takes a racket from your hand, swinging it to test the grip while you cross the court to get on your own side.

“I mean, Shuichi, you know the logistics, right?” You call.

“Uhm, swing the bat and hit the ball? No double bouncing, too.”

“First of all, it’s a racket and not a bat,” you correct with a smile, getting into your stance, “and second of all - take THIS!”

Before he can even blink a ball hits the wall behind him with a loud bang.

He jumps, taking huge steps away. “Woah!”

You tease, “What? You think you could win against me? I trained with the Super High School frickin’ Level Tennis Player!”

His eyes widen and he takes a second to process what just happened. The ball curves to his feet, allowing him to pick it up.

“Does... Does this mean that I serve now?”

You shrug with a cunning smile. “I don’t know. I’m not a tennis player.”

The response given to him tingles his bones, running through his joints just to provoke him. He throws the ball in the air, swinging the racket and sending it your way.

You hit back to him, and the game begins.

With a grunt, you guide the ball his way with an aggressive hit, once again making him move out of the way.

“That’s unfair,” he calls out, “there’s no way I can return that.”

“Thirty-love.”

Huffing, he picks up the ball again, wondering if he will ever catch a break within this building.

He serves the ball, to which you easily return to him, and with all his might, he hits the ball. 

It doesn’t even bounce to the ground.

“Aah!” You hop out of the way, brain sending alarms throughout your entire body. “Not fair.”

“Hey, I’m having fun!” He responds, trying to hide the smile on his face.

“I’ll count that as a point, so you have fifteen now, I suppose.”

He watches as you pick up the ball, tossing it in your hand. He couldn’t help but keep a loose grin on his face.

The game comes out fair, with you having forty-five and him still having fifteen.

Honestly, you feel like if you lose you’ll let Ryoma down somehow.

You make it like your life’s purpose to win!

He serves, hitting it aggressively, in which you use all of your strength to return. He’s been catching on by watching you swing. Just like the SHSL Detective should, supposably.

You swing the bat again, your arms feeling like they just came out of their socket.

He goes to return it but ends up having the ball bounce off of his racket, rolling on the floor. He didn’t even try to hit it.

Amazement fills your eyes. You won!

You jump up and down, clenching the racket to your chest.

“Aah... Good work, S/O!” He chimes in, turning to return his racket and the ball back where you took it. 

You skip happily over to him, returning yours as well. “You’re the only person I’ve played with other than Ryoma.”

Shuichi looks at you, satisfaction replacing the seemingly constant angst laced in his eyes.

“We should play together again sometime.”

A warm feeling covers your chest. “Yeah... that would be nice! Let’s see if you can win!”

He heads towards the door. You follow, still on a high because of your win.

When he opens it, however, he jumps in place. 

“Who ended up winning?” Maki asks.

Shuichi moves past her and out into the hallway, turning away from you. 

“I may have let him win.”

Huffing, you cross your arms in embarrassment. “I was still three points ahead.”

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa goodbye despair #sdr2 #hajime hinata #hajime hinata x reader #shuichi saihara #shuichi saihara x reader #danganronpa saihara

[alias-b]

Nothing Lasts Forever.

Summary. The town of Derry changes people. Sends them running away. What it draws in is arguably worse. Humans create the hate and evil monsters come to feed off of. Eleanor Baker knew that well at a young age when she stumbled upon a painted figure in the distance. Pennywise never forgot the girl without fear. It’s possible that they haunted each other.

AN: I take no responsibility for this. Me flexing some horror and hopelessness bc I have nothing left to lose here. Wrote this to work through some things and sorta in love with it. TW: Should be obvious. Trauma. CSA mention. Abuse. S*xual references. G*re. S*icidal thoughts.  Death. Pennywise F*cks and it’s canon. Sorry, Mr. King.

Pennywise x OC Eleanor Baker ~ Also on my ao3

   They say she saw It first.

   They say she smelled the circus. Sugary sweet and the rusting of metal.

   They say she heard the bells toll soft. Once. Twice for her.

   They say she felt no fear.

   A branch cracked under pristine shoes, distracting a clown in the midst of hunt. The prey; small and blue eyed, barely five years old, ran into safe arms where their family set up camp for a weekend by the lake. 

   Body twisting around, It saw her last. Six years old. Curious green eyes shimmered even under grey skies. Pigtails. Feet behind her, father was hunched over to change a tire with mother beckoning from the window. Pulled over to the side of the road near a Derry forest. The Baker family. Well known and beloved because they had money.

   “Eleanor. You’ll ruin your new shoes. We can’t be late for your recital. It’s going to rain!” Mother’s voice went under heard. Leaves rustled while the clown made a path to slink toward her. Her lips parted, eyes fixated and unblinking. Yellow eyes faded to baby blue like the pretty jewels her mother wore. Safe.

   They were face to face. Drool dripped to hit her once untouched shoes. Those bejeweled eyes surged from that delicate blue back to a hungry orange, glowing brighter and yet he smelled nothing. 

   She had no scent. No fear. A deep, wide nothing. Vast as the ocean could reach. There was no advancing, no will to bring forth the deadlights. She’d probably think they were pretty stars watching over her. Cinderella wishing for a fairy godmother and a prince to whisk her away. He could only watch her make an utter fool of him. Somehow that charmed.

   “Eleanor, now!” Came the shout from her father. A drop of red emerged from the trees. Shiny and terrible. “Where did you get that?”

   A red balloon skimmed against the breeze.

   “From the clown.” She said, getting into the car. “He gave it to me.”

   “Enough playing around, Nell.” Father pressed her inside. The grip was lost along the tangled string. That spot of blood floated up toward the endless sky. Became a floating star too. She wished to float with it. 

   Eleanor danced her little heart out. Prima Ballerina in the making. Perfection was not everything, it was the only thing. She gazed into the audience beyond the balmy stage lights. Rows and rows of orange eyes. Glowing into her. No fear to be cast. Not for any of them. This world didn’t deserve it.

   She saw It again that same week. When they attended a big family reunion. Picnic and all. And her uncle pulled her into the closet full of coats and old board games that were gathering dust. He called this a game too. A secret game. 

   After he’d decided the game was over, a pang snatched his heart to squeeze. Gushing. Eleanor saw those glowing eyes from the shadows. Thought for a moment it was the old cat who roamed the grounds.

   Her uncle asked for help with no breaths left. Tore her frilly dress clutching at her. Hit the hardwood with a finishing crack. Blood pooled.

   Nell didn’t want it to stain her shoes or Mother would be upset.

   That white face bent down toward her. Spine curving to push out against skin. Utterly inhuman.

   “Can you smell the circus, Nelly?” Painted lips full of clustering teeth rumbled. She blinked. White cheeks threatened to tear open with the grin curling.

   “Yes.”

   Little, pretty bells chimed in the ruffles of his garment as he laughed. Soft and sweeter than any sound in this world.

   "Who are you?"

   "Pennywise. The dancing clown." He caught her looking at the body behind his feet.

   Big eyes full and empty.

   “Oh, don’t worry about him, he won’t float.” The clown paused. “You’re a little wonder, aren’t you?”

   She said nothing to that.

   “Go on, grow and see if the world devours you. Tumble back to the weeds where I'll find you again.” His own curiosity was a growing sickness. This fragile human. Unbreakable. 

   The thing about Pennywise was he never considered himself the villain. He only came to feed when that evil and hatred humans brought this world was potent. Natural order. Clockwork. Wolves feed on sheep. The worlds spun on.

   Predators tore into prey, he wouldn’t apologize for that. He didn’t create the hatred, just fed from it. Didn't stop it either. Little dash of fear did a body good. Gave it a sweeter taste.

   Fear was painfully human. A trait that tore us open to display the soft underbelly because it betrayed us down to the core. Granted us something to overcome. A test of endurance. Truly let our true colors pour fresh and obscene. Beautiful. Even when it overcame.

   Pennywise gave her head a pat, leaned down to whisper into her ear.

   “I see into your blackest heart of hearts, Nelly, deep down you’ll know. You'll always know.”

   The door opened. Tiny footsteps away from the dark and the figure there always watching her. Like the stars above in a black sky.

   “You’ll know.”

   Eleanor walked downstairs. Out into the sunny day full of festivities and family. Asked her aunt for another piece of cake. Frosted with yellow buttercream flowers. They discovered her uncle in that closet at the same time the flies found him too.

   They found the cloth clutched into his meaty, stiff hand and began to ask questions. She didn’t want to talk about the secret games he played when she was in that house. They sent a bolt of thunder rattling into her brain. Unraveled the synapses.

   Her mother burned the cloth. Vowed to never speak of it in hopes she would forget. Children forgot things all the time.

   Nell never forgot. Not for a moment. Not her uncle or her festering relatives who seemed to easily put her in the back of their memories.

   She wanted them to always remember too. If anything, they owed her that much.

   The pictures her mind fleshed out with crayons were not what children should be drawing. Twisted bodies sometimes. Other days, it was those eyes. Molten lava. Mother and father decided this wasn’t something they could deal with. Seeing her looking so still and motionless around the house like a ghost was too much. Knowing they failed their daughter was just too much. A lock clicked.

   They put her in a place that watched over mistakes of all ages from rich families. Paid it well. They told Eleanor it wasn’t her fault and yet, she was the one locked away in a tower for it. She was the one ignored and doped up.

   Ten years and she gave them nothing. Years of homeschooling. Counseling. Medications. Years of sticking her tongue out to swear she’d swallowed her pills. Years of giving them nothing. No laughter or tears. She never hurt a fly and she was the monster.

   Sometimes, it was easier to become the monster they wanted, she supposed.

   Eleanor got out and married the first man who smiled at her. Called her pretty. Just to be away from mother and father. They’d rot in the weeds soon enough. The rest of her family dwindled. Terrible accidents. She vowed to never reproduce to spite them.

   Husband played games too when dinner wasn’t just right or when she dressed just a little against his wishes. Seven miscarriages. Too many broken promises. A car accident pulled his body apart. Left her with some money to return home. 

   Mother and father needed her now, sick and dying in their lavish beds. Life always went on in Derry. Father went still snug in his tomb a month later. Few more weeks and mother’s harsh insults became apologies.

   This girl she ignored was all she had left.

   “Nell, I hope you can forgive us.” Her mother croaked one day.

   “You’re free to do that, mama.” She’d turned and came to sit on the bed.

   “Do what, my dear?”

   “Hope.” Eleanor tucked some brittle hair from mother’s face. Made room for the pillow she pushed into place. Eight minutes and it was over. Twenty seven years and members of her family dropped like flies. She told herself it was a curse. Or fate.

   Bloodlines dying had never been so beautiful. Not built to last forever. Not at all. There was justice in that much.

   Both Eleanor’s parents became ashes in two ornate urns. She drove them out to the Barrens and poured them into the festering waters. Stinking of Derry’s rotten bowels. Wind swept. Picking up green and brown leaves. Wading the waters to give them some appearance of peace.

   Nell didn’t smell the stink of death. She smelt the circus. Hot buttery popcorn and cotton candy. Twang of metal from the old, rusted rides whirling all directions. A child’s laughter echoed out from the giant pipe ahead. Covered in sludge and moss. 

   She followed the lively sounds. Enticed. No long holding to this world. Another one awaited. It always had. Marked with two glowing orange eyes.

   Reminded her of the lights twinkling every Halloween. Jack-o-lanterns you couldn’t blow out before midnight because it was against the rules and would bring you bad luck.

   Through watery rot and dead leaves, Nell went into the pipes. Caught glimmers of light between cracks. Felt her way. Heard the uttering of the seven children she lost beckoning her home.

   Down.

   Down.

   Down.

   Ruined her clothes in the trance. Clawing for more because the world couldn’t hope to deliver. Into a massive nest with a skylight. Candlelight danced. She heard the trill of a music box until the room came alive. Whirled from rust and rot to marble and gold.

   Prettier than her wedding day. A church with decorated pews of red taffeta. White roses hanging from every corner. Petals crying into the cherry wood floors.

   A man smiled at her who wasn’t Husband. Sharp, brooding face. Swept brown locks slicked like Clark Gable. Pink lips curled and crystalline eyes gave a twinkle. A white suit and one red rose at his breast.

   She came to him when he reached. Body heavier because a dress dragged behind her. Full skirt of those same delicate white roses. Tight bodice that twinkled under candlelight. Nell smiled too. Utterly lost and found all at once in this room that smelled like decadent caramel apples. 

   A gloved hand curled into hers.

   “Am I dead?” She asked.

   “Oh, yes. For twenty seven years now. You wandered the Earth. But, you're home now.” That voice. All shivers. Chilling until the candles started to snuff out. “That was not life, Nelly. You existed by a thread.”

   “Nelly.” She mused in her deepest dream of dreams. The hate and the neglect and the sheer evil brought by humans who were supposed love and protect instead tore her soul far asunder.

   The man leaned in near her hair. Inhaled.

   “Nothing. Even still.” He recounted the memories. All those times he tried and failed to devour her. “Little wonder.”

   "Pennywise." She puffed, barely audible.

   “I watched you dance. All those years. You can dance down here too in the dark."

   Nell realized as he brought her out for a romantic spin. She’d been seeking him out all her life. All the decay and twisting vines in her soul. Begging to just cross over and stop this pain. But, he wouldn’t finish it because she had no fear. So she danced until the room began to peel. He wiped his cheek on one sleeve. Peachy makeup smeared the fabric to display that red smile upon white skin. 

   She pushed off him. Watched blood rain and melt the rest of it away. This place. A nest. A stomach. A pile of trash and metal twisted up toward the sky. Gouging. Figures floating around it. Waiting. Sleeping soundly because evil couldn’t touch them anymore. At the very least. They fueled something brand new.

   No cry. No scream. Nell succumbed. Stumbling back into a worn mattress as the clown crawled up toward her at some inhuman speed. Slapped his hands on either side of her head. They just breathed.

   Existed together in one space.

   Sometimes good and bravery didn’t blossom from overcoming fear. Sometimes you still wanted to die because enduring a lifelong ache was not growth. It just hurt. There was power in it, but it fucking ached.

   It burned. Plenty of things in her life burned. The scorn of her parents. Her uncle's games. The rotten nurses tossing her around. Husband's hands indenting skin.

   But, Pennywise didn’t. He just showed up to watch the fires grow hot and breathless into a black sky. The terrible view was still a breathtaking thing. Something shattering to become a supernova. Rebirth.

   Enduring pain was worth it. That sick curiosity that there was something more to life. It was worth it. So, fight. Endure. Ache. Be human while you have the chance in an inhuman world because it needs you.

   Gloves opened her dress. Tore layers of tulle and chiffon. Slashed silk. Hands pressed against his chest. Not pushing or pulling. Just holding. Shifting over thick, stitched cotton. Ruffles swayed. She felt a heart beat so hard there under her palm.

   He was alive. Something brand new. Not of this world.

   “Am I like you?” She begged finally. Years of searching and asking why. He stopped to see her green eyes. Glowered. One blue, one orange.

   “Not yet.” Was the truest answer he could form. Fingers gripped his fabric sleeves. Twisted just to hold onto something tangible for the first time in all her existence. Alive at last in this place. Water droplets echoed distantly. “You cannot last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

   Except love, she thought. Except desire.

   Pennywise seemed to hear it even still. Felt the truth of it carve out his heart that was still beating powerfully. Profoundly.

   Something flayed her open. Pushed inside. Made her moan deliciously until two gloved fingers touched her mouth. Bodies connecting. Moving together.

   There were hands everywhere. Stroking soft caresses up and down her naked flesh. It felt like a million little pieces of candlelight were swirling up her body. Those same orbs that had been following her around for too many years shined behind his eyes. Resonated. Beautiful.

   She made out parts of him between thumps. Orange hair. Pristine paint. His mouth on her skin. A heart that was pumping vigorously. Low rumbling growls. Nell felt she’d been starved all her life and was finally feeding. Finally letting the ache flood out that she’d held onto for too long. Finally alive. Feeling. Deep down and drawing in it.

   Her voice came to beg for more of him. Hands grasping to touch him back. To delve into this earth and just feel. He touched her everywhere. Lips and neck. Down her breasts. Between spread legs.

   The combined sensations made her cry out for him to never stop. A gloved hand on her jaw brought their eyes together. Hot, wet touch. Boiling. The peak shattered them both. Nell fell to shuddering pieces. Curved up. Moaning and shameless. Weight fell into her body so lips could touch her own. Once. Just once while they were warm.

   Pennywise lifted off fully to see her eyes. Inhaled again and got what he’d sought too. Years and it was finally there.

   Those green eyes glimmered at him. A waft of sweet candied apples bubbled with heat. Fear. Clear as a crystal, dewy morning. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.

   There was finally something found that could be lost. Something she sought out and held and hoped for.

   And the fear of losing it was almost too much to bear.

   One gloved finger caught a tear that trickled out from the corner of her eyes.

   “Please.” She said, unable to find much else. Like she wanted him and nothing else for the rest of these long days. Do it. Just do it. Nell’s hand lifted. Gentle fingers drew lines along his face. "Pennywise. Please."

   It was a soft prayer.

   He lunged down. Sunk teeth into her tender neck. Tore the scream out before she could hope to give it. Nell choked there. Made an odd sound like she was laughing. It bubbled. Claws grew out from those gloves. Shoved forth into her raging heart. 

   A squelch.

   Her lips were still upturned when it was done. Green eyes pointed on him. Peaceful and bloodied. Naked under the moonlight. Dripping rubies.

   He tossed his head back and wailed. Teeth sharp and bared. Bloodied. Lost. A shattering sound that bent time and space apart. Pennywise plucked her up. Climbed high and vast to the very top of the twisting pile. Watched the dead children float like little falling stars. Something to make wishes upon. Peaceful for only a second in this life.

   He placed her there in a sheer drape. Closed her eyes. Let the deadlights swelter above them. Spinning all directions. 

   A scar thickened.

   Three days passed. The deadlights danced high and wide. Fluttering like a swarm of butterflies. The world spun on a new axis. Pennywise sat below upon his stage. Curved over in wait. Marble statue. 

   A low rumble like a purr erupted. Dainty feet came to him with a newfound grace. Little dancer. Deadly ballerina all porcelain and blushed. Blood red shoes made soft taps across the stage.

   A white hand touched his shoulder. His little wonder. Bells tolled distantly three times.

   “Can you smell the circus?” Her voice poured white hot. Purring louder so he'd feel it vibrate his own chest.

   Lips curled wide. Split. Pennywise rose to see her in the light. Perfection. Those green eyes shimmering like emeralds. Haunted. Totally alive and willing.

   “Yes.” He hissed. Cupping her face to see the angles. Not ruining the permanent brushstrokes that came with her rebirth. “Yes, I do.” A bond struck.

   I do. I promise. We'll float. Always.

   Nell smiled to match him. Totally and irrevocably his equal. A pulse of light drew them together. She granted him a single kiss, tasting candied. A new horror in this world hungry for the evil it would always bring.

   “We were built to last forever.”

#pennywise #pennywise x oc #pennywise imagine #mine #writing

[loverdrew]

My Everything III

You’ve always been so passive, to yourself, and a little bit naive, but what unfolds when he comes in and turns your whole world upside?

Everything I II

The wind blew my hair straight into my face blocking my view as I rushed to the library all the way at the back of campus. I held several books in my hands rushing to catch a good spot where many people wouldn’t be sitting by so I not be worried about people peeping in on my conversions that I would unfortunately be having with the bad boy himself. My stepdad thought it would be best to tutor the boy since he is flunking every class since he got here, to which my response was ‘who cares, because his dad is literally the dean, meaning he can graduate without even trying’. He fought me on it for a little bit until I couldn’t fight it anymore, and began rushing to our first session. 

I plopped my bags on the table when a few people shushed me, me giving them a pouty face before shrugging and waiting for the shrew to arrive. After 5 minutes I smelled that boyish cologne it seems all guys have, and a gust of wind shot over my shoulders before a jean jacket had landed on the table next to me. He sighed and only brought one book, not even a notebook or a pencil. 

“Really? Shawn, I am only here to help you because my stepdad is making me. I can walk out of here and not give a damn if you fail out of college or not.”

“Help me? Like you did at the party last weekend? Yea, some heroic act, I didn’t need your help then and I don’t need it now.” He rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” I said casually and began packing up my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. His hand quickly found its way to my wrist tugging me back. 

“Okay wait, look I do secretly need your help,” he whispered looking around to see if anyone was watching, “if I don’t pass all my classes with at least a 70% in each, my dad said he’s kicking me out and making me go to some military school.”

I sighed and sat back down, getting out some paper and a pencil for him, to which he nodded in a thank you. “Why do you do that? It’s like once someone challenges you, you freeze up and try to put on this charming cute boy act.”

“Is it working on you?” he smirked at me, as he chuckled. I laughed back, actually finding his remark witty. “It’s only happened to me when I’m with my father, he’s the only one I can’t argue with. So my natural response to just do whatever he says.”

“Are you that scared of him?”

“He determines my future, gotta make the old man happy to have a good life ahead of me.” He began writing the first problem down so we could practice.

“Parents have a right to guide you, but ultimately it is your decision on what you do in your life. What do you even want to do?” 

“Okay let’s not get carried away here. Just because we’re somewhat cool with each other now because you saved me at the party and are now tutoring me doesn’t mean I’m going to go spilling my whole life story. Now go, teach me the first problem.” He suddenly shut down, not even looking me in the eyes anymore but only at the textbook in front of us. I swallowed, taken aback from his change in demeanor, and began giving him steps in order to solve the first problem. 

Throughout the 30 minutes we spent going over practice problems, I could sense something was still off about Shawn. His lip quivered each time I leaned forward towards him and the book to reread a problem, he tightened his grip on the pencil when I flipped my hair back to get it out of my face, his jaw twitched whenever I told him good job for solving something. I didn’t want to play up the possibility of plain old me completely hindering the school’s most desired and sought after bad boy, but I couldn’t help but wonder if somehow I made him feel something other than annoyed. My women’s intuition may have just been off, but every now and then those little remarks would make the back of my neck feel hot or my hands sweat. I think he was a little more oblivious to that. I couldn’t stop replaying the night at the party, it could’ve been the alcohol in us or the rush of trying to get him back on his feet but, for a moment it felt like it was just us; no loud music, no other people. I don’t know what about him I found so damn interesting, but I have to admit even the first day when I was annoyed by his actions, I couldn’t help but continue to observe him. 

My thoughts and sweaty hands started to take a toll on me and my heart began beating in my ears. I didn’t want to like Shawn, I told myself nobody would get in my way of my dreams and he was already starting to wreck them by taking up all of my brain space and distracting me. 

“Uh Shawn- I uh, I have to go. I’m sorry...” I grabbed my pencil from his hand and started to put my jacket back on again quickly. He stood up grabbing my elbow to slow down.

“Whoa, hey, stop what’s going on are you okay?” he actually asked sincerely, which it made it all the more worse. His brown eyes popped with worry.

“I’m just worried about another test coming up and I forgot about it until now.” 

“Lemme take you somewhere. It’s quiet, no one will bother you and you’ll be able to study with no distraction.” That’s what you think. He could tell I was contemplating and instead of waiting for an answer, he grabs my bag and his jacket and papers and began walking off towards the exit. I laughed yelled ‘hey!’ while all he did was grin and tell me to follow him. 

We walked for a few minutes before he stopped at a pond just behind the administration building. There was yellow and orange leaves on several trees surrounding it, and absolutely nobody was there. There was no road so you couldn’t hear car sounds, and no students since it was off the path of going to the main education buildings. 

“Whoa Shawn...how do you know about this spot?” I said while staring blankly at the beautiful vibrant tree colors.

“I was in my fathers office last year, he kept going off about my grades to me so I got frustrated and walked out. I kept going down every hallway until I reached outside and found this place. It instantly calmed me down for some reason. Even during the summer I came here to -” he stopped talking and looked like he was trying to figure out how to finish that sentence. He ended up completely dismissing it and began taking his work out again to get back to studying. I complied with him, seeing as I did not want to crack the bad boy into speaking, so I pulled out a granola bar as a joke and handed it to him.

“Granola?” And he took it with a slight smile.

_____

After about an hour of going over problems from the book, Shawn scooted closer to me on the ground in front of the pond. He let himself lean back, and took a refreshing breath.

“Music.” He said calmly, looking at the ripples in the water in front of us, leaves rustling slightly above us.

“What?” I laughed, but was intrigued.

“You asked me earlier what I want to do with my life. Music.” I was surprised, thinking he was the kind of guy to make fun of music if it wasn’t about naked girls or getting into trouble.

“Oh uhm, what kind of music?”

“I don’t want to say it, knowing my image,” I laughed agreeing, “But mainly soft pop or ballads. I’ve been playing guitar since I was little. It helped me literally drown out my father screaming at me even as young as 8 years old. Then, I started writing words to the chords I was playing and it made me feel really free. I’m working on one write now.” I turned my body towards him with my legs crossed, isolating the homework we were suppose to finish by today. I was way more interested in hearing what this masterpiece could be.

“Sing it for me.” I smiled.

“I can do even better.” He quickly got up and pulled a black case out of a bush near the back entrance of the building. He plopped the case on the ground next to us and pulled out a gorgeous shiny wooden guitar. He put his fingers on the first chord to the song, and closed his eyes as he sang the lyrics.

“You’ve got, a hold of me / Don’t even know your power / I stand, a hundred feet / but I fall when I’m around you”

You wouldn’t imagine someone who acted the way Shawn did to sound so beautiful when singing. He had amazing flow, intense grip on the notes but also so much fluidity to change notes, but with a slight raspy sound that gave his words way more emotion. I could tell instantly the song was about his dad. The pressure he’s under being the dean’s son, how it raises his anxiety level even more so than it already should. 

“I’m sayin’ baby please have mercy on me / Take it easy on my heart / Even though you don’t mean to hurt me / You keep tearing me apart / Would you please have, mercy, mercy, on my heart”

He strummed softly to end the first part of the song that he finished, and wouldn’t even look up at me. It almost looked like he was embarrassed by what he just shared with me which was more than he had probably ever shared with anyone, and he didn’t even tell anything to me directly, he let the music speak. I suspect he’s use to that, constantly pouring out his feelings onto paper and transferring it on strings, that nobody would ever hear or see. 

“You know, despite what I say about you, I really did appreciate saving me at the party, and tutoring me even though you’re probably miserable.” He carefully placed his guitar away in the case, still not looking up at me.

“Actually Shawn, after that, I’m really glad I’m here.” His eyes finally made their way up to me, almost scared of how much I knew about his life now. I gently laid my hand on his knee.

“Don’t worry, it’s safe with me.” His face started doing that thing again that he did at the party when I was cleaning him up, just staring at almost every crease and crack on my face. His nose started to dip as his head leaned closer, my breath caught in my throat. 

Suddenly it was interrupted by a ringing in his pocket. He sighed and pulled it out, seeing it was a text message from someone. His face straightened out and he quickly stood up.

“I’m sorry I have to meet up with someone, I have to go right now.” He practically threw his guitar case into the bush but made sure it still wasn’t visible, and pulled on his jacket before bolting without even as much as a second look at me. I scuffed, believing it was once again too good to be true. 

_______

What Y/N didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, is what Shawn thought when he ran out on his study session with her. He briskly walked to the parking lot, jumping into Josh’s car. The two sat silent, Josh looking annoyed with both hands in fists on the steering wheel.

“You can’t keep doing this Shawn. She’s going to find out.” Josh spat at him.

“She’s not going to find out, not if you keep your damn mouth shut.”

“Dumb ass, it’s not just me that know, everyone in our group knows! Your fault for telling Drake, he has never kept a secret since high school.” 

“Well Mara and Logan definitely won’t tell her, they like her too much to hurt her. And we all know you have a thing for her lover boy.”

Josh almost sprung from his seat to strangle Shawn, but instead gave him a death glare.

“Either you stop this shit with her right now or I will tell her you and your dad set up your guys’ classes together so you’d get to know her and only help you pass this semester to keep you from going to military school. I’ll tell her it’s all an act, to use her smarts to keep your pathetic ass in college.”

Shawn chin locked, looking like he would smash Josh’s head in, slumped into the seat and smashed his hand on the dashboard in anger.

“We all know she’d be better off without you. I actually like her, I can take care of her, I can be the guy she needs. We all know she’s just another person on the list who doesn’t need you in their lives. I’m telling you for your own good.”

Tag List:

@fallinallincurls​ @the-diabolic​ @spideylovin​ @shawn-youth​ @bitchinhargrove​ @havethetimeeofyourlifee​ @turtoix​ @alilovesshawn​

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes masterlist #shawn mendes smut

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

Snowmelt

a/n: hi! this is my take on the what if Eirween had kept logan au! i am hoping i can make at least one more chapter of this because i do have a plot thought out, but i am not amazing at sticking to projects fdjhal. either way i hope this is enjoyable 

warnings: child abuse/neglect, hypothermia, death threats, just eirweens A+ parenting in general.

———————————————————

Leith Snowmelt’s life so far had been fine, really.

Well, OK maybe not.

Maybe that’s just what he wanted to believe.

Maybe it was more along the lines of horrible.

He spent most of his time at the edges of the forest; hidden, in the warm months between the bushes. He had learned to be quiet, still and unseen.

He only saw other faeries when his mother decided she wanted to bring him out, like a shiny piece of jewelry for special events. He had learned to be quiet when that happened too, to behave and play tricks when asked.

There always is an anger building in his chest, a tiny part that knows. He knows he was born on the equinox and only if they let him, if someone only taught him, he would be able to bend the forrest to his will. 

Instead he grows silly little flowers and catches sunbeams to amuse bullies who mock him to his face.

Unseelie thought of him, at worst, as a mistake who shouldn’t have been granted with the gift of seeing the light of day, at best they thought of him as The Banshee’s pet, funny silly little thing. 

Most Seelie thought of him as a lost cause.

The only time he ever did anything for himself was nicking books off school children. It wasn’t even stealing really since he usually gave something in return. Children were easy to bargain with, if you were persuasive enough and you looked childish, they often wanted stupid little things in return for their books: a charm, good luck on a test, health. 

It would be so easy to trick them.

Lieth didn’t.

How pathetically Spring of him.

His mother always cast him a half amused look when she found out he was “tricking” humans.

 It was the fondest look she ever gave him.

But all in all Summer and Spring were bearable, but Autumn and Winter were a whole other story.

It’s so cold and miserable, and it’s pitiful how much he missed the sun.

Some Seelie hibernate, or at least stay inside, cover themselves. Snowmelt’s mother will not let him, as if he could learn to be Winter purely by her stubbornness.

So it was his 12th year of life and he has his worst month yet.

His mother seemed to become more unhappy with him by the day. The other Unseelie seemed to lose interest in her little pet, he was not sure what they would do to him if they got bored. Worst of all he had, although only fleetingly, caught the attention of the Serpent King. Only brief amused glances at revels, but Snowmelt knew very well that could bring him nothing but trouble. 

Then a blizzard hit’s Wickhills, covering everything in a thick layer of snow. 

Snowmelt is downright miserable, and very aware of the bitter irony of his name.

His mother fought with him, well it wasn’t really a fight, mostly she was angry at him.

Somewhere deep down there is a growl in him, “I could take you”, that part of him says. 

But right now he is paralized, right now there is a blizzard outside and the sky is dark.

“I gave you life, Lieth,” she said.

He was sure that is the first time she has called him that, the first time anyone has called him that.

“I can take it too, Snowmelt.”

She had never been quite so direct, she bares her teeth in a mockery of a laugh, and suddenly he feels so very small.

So Snowmelt runs, runs through the cold forrest, through the snow. He runs until he can’t feel his legs anymore.

He runs until he is not sure what precisely he is running from anymore, but he can’t stop, he can’t even think about going back.

He runs all the way to the edge of the forest, where he usually reads books, hoping no one will find him.

He stops, his body giving out from underneath him.

He is immortal, he knows this, he does not remember whether or not the cold can kill him. He is, pitifully, Seelie after all.

It doesn’t really matter, he can not go either way.

How stupidly weak of him.

  ——————–

Thomas Sanders had a relatively average life, or well, as average as it can be growing up in Wickhills.

His mom was maybe a little more protective than was strictly necessary, but really with fae all around, who could blame her.

Anyway, on this particular day she had let him go out in the snow, she had said she was coming outside to join him in a second and for now he should stay in the street.

Thomas was absolutely delighted with all the snow, it was the most he had seen in his life, it was just too pretty.

Then he made a turn at the end of the street, suddenly he was at the edge of the forest. 

Which was definitely not were the edge of the forest should be.

To his credit Thomas only panicked a little bit, mostly he was annoyed he had been pixie-led from his own street, and quickly started turning his coat inside out.

And then he saw him.

A Faery, or well a child.

He looked only a little older than thomas, 14 maybe? But he was also small, and a frankly alarming shade of shade of pale blue.

And Thomas just could not shake the feeling that he was frozen and surely hurt.

Thomas could say that what he did next was because leaving the fae there certainly would have left him with some terrible curse.

But something had brought Thomas there. And seeing his face his heart broke.

So he ignored all common sense and logic, finished taking his coat off and wrapped the boy in it.

He lifted him- he was so light it could absolutely not be healthy- and he sprinted home.

Only later he will be concerned about whether or not the rest of the town saw him.

In the moment he could only think that the boy in his arms might be seriously hurt or dying.

He, somehow, clumsily rang his doorbell.

Only when he sees his mother’s baffled face logic rushed back to him and realised that this was so terribly foolish.

He looked down at the boys placid face.

With the best puppy dog eyes he looked back at his mom.

“He is hurt, moma.” he said pleading.

She sighed and shook her head.

“Get inside Tommybug it’s cold,” she looked at the fae boy in his arms and looked back at her sons pleading eyes, “get them inside too, quickly.”

Thomas smiled and they gently carried him inside.

———

Dot Sanders was considering she might have made the worst decision in her life.

She should have been panicking, or be furious at her son or something.

She certainly shouldn’t be gently tucking the fae in the makeshift bed they had made for them on the couch. 

She had called Larry immediately, he had been somehow slightly more rational about the whole situation, but ultimately decided they could not kick out an ill child.

She was in no way a medical professional, or prolific in anything magic. She wanted to call Abby, but she had picked this weekend to go on a short vacation with Roman. The idea of calling May Gage made her stomach churn.

So she did her best and wrapped the boy in slightly oversized warm clothes and turned on the heater.  

She knew, although she did not know much about fae, the boy was hurt. He was quite literally frozen a dull blue gray pattern of frost implanted on his skin and he was dangerously motionless. Aside from that there were bruises, scratches, scars and something that looked suspiciously like a burn.  She couldn’t help the profound ache in her chest as she added a blanket, she was a mother after all.

He made a soft slightly inhuman noise of pain.

“It’ll be alright,” she cooed, because she had gone just absolutely insane. 

He groans again, and he looks so much like Thomas.

Just like her son when he gets the flu, or he scrapes his knee, or when he stayed up too late.

He looks like her students at school too. 

Somehow, even if she knows he could be hundreds of years old, she knows he is just a child.

She runs her fingers through his hair gently and sighs.

“It will all be alright.”

——–

Snowmelt woke up in a place he did not recognize. 

The room has a strange hum to it, he also had no idea what everything inside it is, except for the books. He is in clothes that are not his and give him a strange itch like feeling. 

Somehow the room was hot, but he was not, he felt frozen from the inside.

He only has a few seconds of utter confusion before his thoughts were interrupted by a cheery voice.

“Oh gosh you’re awake!”

He turned to look at the human child, who smiled relieved and bright at him. 

Snowmelt wanted to yell, or run, or something. He could not. Why?

The child frowned a bit.

“It’s alright if you don’t wanna talk, you must still be hurt, mom says you got some form of hypothermia.”

Fantastic, hypothermia.

“Well anyway, I am-”

“No” he manages, his voice rough.

The human shaked his head.

“Right, faery, sorry.”

Snowmelt wondered what his mother would think of him, refusing a mortals name like that.

Pathetic probably.

“You can call me Bug, my mom calls me that sometimes,” he said somehow still upbeat. “Is there anything I can call you?”

He stayed silent, baffled at this child’s lack of manners and common sense and just the entire situation really. 

The child nods anyway.

“Ok,” he said, “do tell me if you need anything, mom and dad will be home in a second, they just went to get stuff for dinner.”

He wondered what kind of parents left their child with a fae, but then he tried to stand up and his body felt like he was being stabbed by needles. He went lightheaded and he noticed his body was littered with something that looked like frost.

He was completely harmless. 

Great, perfect really.

————

The parents did come home soon, and they were…kind?

He did understood less about the whole situation by the second.

They explained that they had found him, and saved him, for reasons Snowmelt really did not understand.

The mother, who told him she could call her Dory, something Bug seemed to find endlessly amusing, well she was fussing over him, she even brought him flower tea he was petulantly refusing to drink, she seemed to not be aware of food rules in fairy courts, and generally seemed to be trying to care for him.

The dad, who the child insisted he called Merlin, was just a little bit weary, but still offered no protest to there being an actual fae in his house.

There must be something, Snowmelt thought, something they want. A blessing? A gift? Simply to keep him imprisoned?

Whatever it was, they had not asked, yet.

After a while they left him to rest, and with much pain he reluctantly drank the tea, which was very good and seemily did not curse him or imprison him further.

From his place on the couch he saw the snow still falling outside and wondered in just how much trouble he was.

---

V: oh! my!! goodness!!! GRACIOUS!!!!! this is so SWEET and the Dory-and Marlin joke was an adorbale little cherry on top of this wonderful sundae that i absolutely love

#longpost #laoft fic #not mine #laoft logan #laoft thomas #submission

[dom-bastiansmythe]

May I Take Your Coffee Order? || Andersmythe

TAGGING: @dom-bastiansmythe & @elliottanderson-gabriel

LOCATION: Sebastian’s suite

TIMING: Tuesday, October 27th, morning hours.

SUMMARY: Pumpkin latte ot black?

Sebastian got out of the shower and dried himself quickly before he wrapped the towel around his waist and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His heart was beating really fast and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm it down a little. 

Was he having a panic attack? Maybe. Will he push it down and continue, much like he did with everything else? Absolutely. 

Soon after that he changed into a pair of dar gray slacks and a white shirt, which would later have a black vest on top. Good look to go to class with. He looked at the hour, and hoped Elliot would get there soon. He didn't want to be late for class.

Elliott had got up earlier that morning to do his routine for school, he had a quick shower and got changed into a tight white V-neck, leather jacket and some tight jeans before he got to work on both his and Sebastians coffee. 

He had them made in no time and grabbed his satchel before he headed to the dominant dorms, though they were together in secret, Elliott didn't want to push buttons so he used his foot to knock on the door before waiting patiently with both their pumpkin spiced lattes

Sebastian had just finished putting his books inside his bag when there was a knock on his door. He chuckled and shook his head before he went to get it. "Good morning, Anderson" he told at the other man, then stepped aside so he could go inside.

Elliott looked up when he saw Sebastian answer the door "Good morning sir" he winked before he walked inside and to the kitchen so he could put the coffees down, placing his satchel on a bar stool then turning back to Sebastian "Good start so far?"

Sebastian closed the door and waited until Elliot put the coffees down, and he put his arms around his waist and pulled him close. "Looks promising" he said and kissed him.

Elliott grinned as he was embraced, kissing him softly and humming "Mmm the coffee or day because I agree with both" he joked

Sebastian held his face with both hands as they kissed, then pulled back a bit and hummed. "Definitely both, yes." He then turned to grab one of the cups and stopped halfway, his brow raised. "What is that...?" he asked, pointing at the cup as if it was a weird thing.

Elliott never felt happier, he smiled against Sebastian's lips, kissing him back gently before nodding "Agreed...good day" he whispered before he watched him. He smirked "It's pumpkin spiced latte, to get you into the fall spirit" he said proudly.

Sebastian tilted his head and looked at him curiously. "I thought I said I like my coffee black, some say like my soul is." He grinned.

Elliott tilted his head "Yes I know but please try it? It's really amazing" he batted his eyelashes for good measure "Your soul is not black, it's bright and shiny"

Sebastian's brow got even higher. "Don't you bat your eyelashes at me, Anderson. You will find I'm a lot harder to convince than that." He grinned, then looked at the cup and scrunched his nose, then looked at him. "You haven't looked deep enough yet, babe." He sighed and grabbed the cup to give it a sniff.

Elliott chuckled "Do you blame me, I have to use my wiles sometimes" he said innocently.  He watched as comically Sebastian glanced at the cup "C'mon, try it" he begged before he moved closer "I've seen some sides" he said all too cheekily before winking.

Sebastian sighed. "If I get sick you will be in charge to nurse me back to health." He chuckled softly. "That's nothing, trust me" he said, then took a small sip of the spiced up coffee. "Hmm... That's interesting."

"I'll happily dress up and nurse you back to health sir, you know it" Elliott teased, he knew that Sebastian was just teasing, but Elliott liked to play along. He raised his brow and smiled "Interesting good or bad?"

Sebastian chuckled. "Oh really? Short skirt and white long socks and everything?" he joked, then shrugged. "It's... drinkable. I'll give you that much." He kissed him again, then headed to the fridge. "Did you have breakfast already?" he asked him as he pulled the  bread and cheese out.

Elliott laughed "Maybe not the skirt, but booty shorts?" he offered before laughing "Alright if you don't want it then you don't have to, thank you for trying" he kissed him gently before shaking his head "No actually, just...forgot, had other things on my mind" he smiled.

Sebastian nodded. "I'll take that" he said and nodded. "Do you want to try my grilled cheese sandwich?" He winked at him and pulled four breads out of the bag, along with some cheese slices.

Elliott leaned against the counter as he watched on "Yes please, would love to see the master at work" he smiled, it was just easy being with Sebastian, how it should be "Thank you for giving the coffee a go, I know you prefer black".

Sebastian turned the stove on and placed the pan on top. "I do. But it's always good to tru everything at least once." He took another sip of the coffee and made the sandwiches so they could go inside the pan. "So how's your day looking today?"

Elliott was happy that Sebastian gave it a go, though he would make it up to him later in some way, he sipped his own coffee and hummed happily before smiling "Well...got regular classes and then swim practice, finished my costume so smooth sailings, you?"

Sebastian gave the sandwiches a couple of flips. "Regular classes too, then Glee club and a couple of hours to spend at the library." He looked at him and smiled. "Mine's ready. Are you excited about the party this weekend?"

Elliott nodded "Well depending on time, I may come by the library? If that's okay?" He asked as he grinned "Oh my gosh yes! Halloween and Christmas are my all time favourite holidays"

Sebastian sure made the sandwiches didn't burn and after he noticed the cheese was starting to look crispy on the edges he grabbed a plate and placed them on it. "Sure! As long as you promise not to distract me from the assignment." He elbowed him playfully on the arm, and put the plate on the counter. "Is it? That's good. Come on, eat up."

Elliott watched him cook and honestly seeing him in the kitchen did things to him, he nodded "I'll behave... maybe" he teased before he followed eagerly and sitting down "Yeah it is, I love pumpkins during Halloween and Christmas is mistletoe" he beamed.

Sebastian took his seat next to Elliot and chuckled. "It's good to know you'll be around, you know, just in case I have an urge of getting my dick sucked or anything." He winked at him, then shrugged. "You do know mistletoe is deadly if you eat it, don't you?"

Elliott couldn't help the laugh that escaped him "Well there is that as well sir" he replied before frowning "You know I don't plan on eating it?"

Sebastian took another good bite at his sandwich and shrugged. "It never hurts to have that information." He smiled. "Are you one of those hopeless romantics, the kiss-you-under-the-mistletoe kind of guy?"

Elliott nodded before taking a bite of his sandwich, he hummed as it tasted amazing "Mmm....what if I am?" he said before fiddled a little bit with his fingers "I never got to kiss anyone under the mistletoe so..." he shrugged.

Sebastian shrugged. "That'd be your problem then." He looked at him and grinned. "Aww how sweet. And you're waiting for your prince charming to do that for you?"

Elliott looked up at Sebastian "Well you know, you could fix that problem" he quipped back easily before he put his sandwich down "No I was waiting for someone I care about" Elliott grabbed the plate and stood up to clean up.

Sebastian raised a brow as he saw him standing up. "Suddenly it got chilly in here" he said with a chuckle and also stood up to take his place to the sink.

Elliott cleaned up his plate and anything else before looking to Sebastian "Sorry" he mumbled before he dried his hands "You do mean a lot to me Bas, and happy to keep it between us, it's just...this has been something I've always wanted and maybe shouldn't have been snappy just now but can you blame me?"

Sebastian folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. He looked down and sighed, then took a deep breath and cupped his face gently. "And you to me" he simply said, hoping he didn't have to elaborate.

Elliott moved over to Sebastian and when he cupped his face, it only made him smile a little "And that's all I need" he whispered before he leaned up and kissed Sebastian gently "Come on stud, you have some horrible coffee to drink before classes" he teased.

Sebastian held Elliot's face with both hands when they kissed, then scrunched his nose. "You see the things I do to make you happy?" He winked at him, then went into the living room to get his bookbag. He came back to the kitchen and grabbed his cup. "Let's get this day started then. And thank you, for the coffee." He kissed him again, then held the door open for him.

Elliott grinned because the whole moment was just perfect, he nodded "Mmm and very thankful for it" he pecked his nose before he grabbed his bag, then coffee before he sipped it "Not a problem, I'll stick to giving you your coffee order though next time" Elliott kissed him once more, sighing against his lips before he slowly moved backwards out the suite "Oh if only we didn't have classes".

END SCENE.

#p:elliot #para #discord

[lost-inyourwords]

New Town (Carol Danvers x Reader)

Request: Can I please request a Carol Danvers/Reader where she’s still a pilot and meets reader in Pancho’s, and they start flirting and stuff? Hope you can write, love your style. (@dearcaptain99)

A/N: this was super fun to write! if anyone wants to request anything else (carol or not!) my requests are open!!

Warnings: alcohol consumption, terrible puns, fluff

Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you had never regretted a decision more. Ever since moving across states, you quickly learned that making friends meant an awful lot of drinking and an ever-increasing amount of hangovers to make up for it. The last two months had consisted of you being excitedly dragged through dozens of clubs and loud venues by equally shiny and volatile people; often ending up with a pounding headache before the binge drinking even began. Tonight, unfortunately, was no different. Your phone was erupting with notifications from several group chats as you put your sneakers on (the extravagant clubbing outfits had been retired after weekend 3) and checked yourself over in another mirror. Okay, four drink limit and agree to dancing; might get Steph and her Jello shots away from you for long enough to run and hide. Taking a deep breath, you left your apartment and prepared yourself for yet another boring night of receiving the “Haven’t seen you around here before,” pick-up line from thousands of small-town fuckboys.

Pancho’s was a lot more charming than you figured it would be. It was a bar with class; a traditional feeling that all the glossy new clubs had failed to present. Perhaps this night wouldn’t go as badly as the others. Planting yourself at the bar as you waited for some of your friends to arrive, your eyes scoured the place surrounding you. The wooden interior was sleek and old-fashioned at the same time; you wondered if it had recently been refurbished. The arcade machines in the corner caught your attention with their flashing invitations to play. Hopping from the bar stool, you sauntered over to the Flight 2000 machine and dug a quarter out of your pocket. The game started up and finished almost instantly as the realisation hit you that you didn’t actually know how to play. You remembered games like these from your childhood, hundreds of hours spent trying to beat your high scores in your dad’s bar back home. You missed those simpler times. Before you knew it, a tear had started to roll down your cheek as you reminisced about the life you had in the past.

Your musings were interrupted by a light tap on your shoulder. You spun round and your hand instinctively shot up to wipe the tear away. You were greeted by a blonde woman, smirking at you with bright eyes.

“Did you lose that bad? Man, I wonder what that’s like,” she remarked sweetly, clearly referencing the teardrop that was now gone from your face. You couldn’t help but giggle in response, both surprised and intrigued by her forwardness. She moved to put another quarter in the machine and looked back to you, that same smirk back on her lips.

“I’m Carol by the way,” she stuck out a hand. You took it and gave a weak shake, marvelling at the warm friendliness emanating from this (not so) mystery woman.

“Y/N,” you responded, trying to match her confidence level in your tone.

“That’s a nice name. You wanna learn how to play?” She asked. You automatically nodded, completely entranced by her. You felt yourself relax as she started explaining the rules of the arcade to you. Maybe this night would turn out even better than you hoped.

Carol let out a loud groan as the machine in front of you lit up green and announced that the previously set high score (achieved by the blonde, of course) had been beaten. She beamed at you as you celebrated your return to arcade game glory and offered to buy her a drink as a thank you for re-teaching you. She agreed and led you through the now packed Pancho’s to the bar. Ordering two beers, you swivelled back to Carol, determined to learn more about the cocky and, quite frankly adorable, pilot. She told you about her work at the nearby Air Force base and you admired her ability to overcome the struggles of being a woman in the military, lending Carol even more of your adoration. You could swear you saw her cheeks darken at a few of the compliments that flowed from you so effortlessly.

“So, what brings you to this lonely little town?” she enquired while sipping her beer coolly.

“I’m a chemist. Got sent over here to work on some development project on a nearby farm. It’s really not super exciting, unfortunately,” you replied, embarrassment growing on your face. You hated talking about your job; especially with someone who had a much more interesting occupation; like Carol. She simply offered you a smile and you instantly felt yourself relax again.

“I think that’s awesome. You’re definitely a lot smarter than some of this lot,” she quipped with another signature smirk as she gestured around the room. You felt a blush crawling up your cheeks and went to take another sip of your beer.

“Didn’t think scientists could be so pretty though,” she remarked, locking eyes with you. Wow, she really liked being forward. You almost choked on the beer and cleared your throat as you set the bottle down. Carol giggled at your flustered state and finished her bottle.

“Guess it’s been a while since you got flirted with? Hope it’s not been as long as since your last time playing Flight 2000,” she teased. All you could do was blush in response.

“No it’s- it’s not that, I just- you’re really pretty and funny and bold and-” you stammered.

“Wow, it’s really been a while,” she exclaimed, sculpted face adorned with a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up! I’m good at calculations, not flirting!”

“Well how about you solve this for me, then?” she asked, grabbing a napkin. She pulled a pen from her bag and scribbled on it. Sliding it to you, your eyes travelled to the neat handwriting on the tissue. It simply read: U + I = ?

“Well, since you’re a chemist, I actually need help with this chemistry equation,” she said, pride laced in her tone.

“Wow, it may have been a while for me but the cheesiness of this one is a first,” you snarked at her. She rolled her eyes and set a $20 bill on the bar, grabbing your hand and leading you out of Pancho’s. You silently thanked the arcade machine as you passed it to continue your night with Carol.

#carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel #brie larson #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #marvel fluff #carol danvers fluff

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

baratrongirl replied to your post “Really do not understand why GameFreak took out the Hall of Fame...”

I'd be interested to hear what you don't like about Sword/Shield. For me, it's quite the opposite. I played the hell out of the 3rd and 4th Gens, then struggled to finish White and didn't buy White 2. Didn't finish SoulSilver, or whichever of X or Y I got, and became completely bored about 10 hours into Alpha Sapphire despite being all motivated to play the game with my original Sapphire team only now I know what I'm doing. Didn't even BUY Sun/Moon.

Then I hung out with my Pokemon friends over Sword/Shield launch weekend, watched them playing on the TV, and had to immediately borrow a spare Switch so I could play too. By the end of the weekend I'd bought the Switch and paid to download my own copy of Shield. I have a few issues with it, mostly relating to the lack of clothing options for male characters, but otherwise I'm finding it the blast of fresh air that I needed to get back into the Pokemon games.

I’ve heard a lot of people say something similar, that SwSh was a nice upgrade from the past couple gens. I started slipping around XY - didn’t wanna buy a 3DS and didn’t until Omega Ruby came out, since Ruby was the first one I’d played - and after I finished the Team Flare plot of X I just gave up for three years and only last year finished the 8th gym and the league. I honestly don’t remember much of playing OR. I think it was a weird kind of frantic nostalgia-fueled haze but I genuinely cannot comment on what I liked about that game. It’s a blank in my memory. Really enjoyed Sun and Moon, like Sword but get bummed the longer I think about it. But I did buy it because I did see a ton of people saying it was a change they were enjoying, quality-of-life upgrades, fun new features, etc. Different strokes and all.

My biggest gripe on Sword is that the world feels pretty empty. Besides the Wild Area, and its few secluded corners, though it’s really a straightforward place, there’s nothing to explore. The plot grabs you by the hand and pulls you to every location. There’s nothing off-the-way that you don’t go to for the main plot. There’s nothing like Kanto’s Power Plant, or Alola’s Power Plant - which I didn’t even realize was there on my first pass through, and then I was like “hey what’s this little place, OH MY GOD WHAT THERE’S MORE STUFF HERE.” The region is a linear loop. There’s no weird little caves that aren’t plot relevant that you get scrambled up in. There’s nowhere that’s locked until you beat the League, like the other half of Poni Island or those last upper bits in Unova or the Battle Frontier in Sinnoh. I had canvassed the Wild Area for everything by the time I went to the final tournament. There’s nowhere else to go. Sure I went back through the Wild Area to catch more stuff to fill out my Pokedex, but new places? Nothing. There’s nowhere to go back to once you can cross water except the little lake by the professor’s house. Not like in Sun/Moon where there’s bits on prior islands to go back to with Lapras. That cave underneath the starting island to go check out I’m thinking of. Galar is a pretty bare-bones region and the Wild Area doesn’t fully compensate.

Which ties to my other biggest gripe, which is, there are three legendary Pokemon in the game and one of them is the opposite version’s exclusive that you can’t get. Two legendary Pokemon! Two legendary Pokemon you can catch! And you catch them both in the course of the plot! There’s nothing like the Regi trio hidden by batshit puzzles, or Cobalion/Terrakion/Virizion tucked in out-of-the-way corners. No wandering Lati@s or beast trio. No Tapus or anything. You can catch two legendary Pokemon.

I think we really peaked back in Gen 3 with its visual Braille puzzles and Gen 4 with whatever the everloving fuck the Turnback Cave was on about. The weird locations that hurt your brain. I miss those. I miss the tricky caves you get lost in and spend time figuring it out. Galar didn’t have caves. The mines were basically a straight shot, yknow? When I’d like to go deeper and have more to explore instead of feeling like I’m taking a walking tour of the whole region.

And the DLC looks like it’ll deal at least with that point with more legendaries, which really grinds my gears. In all the discourse about whether or not the DLC is good or bad or neutral, whether the price of video games has needed to go up or the DLC is cheaper than a third version but some people wait for the third version, which I didn’t seek out said discourse but saw pass me by on Twitter, I saw no one mention that we’re paying to get more than two legendary Pokémon and I felt like I was losing my mind for a little while there. I feel like I’m paying extra for something that’s been in every game since the beginning of time, that being more than two legendary Pokémon that I can catch.

And my lesser little gripes: level balance of the game felt a little wonky with the wild Pokemon toward the end higher leveled than all the trainers except Leon, and the always-on exp share made it worse because when I dragged out the plot by catching everything in the Wild Area, my team got way overleveled for the back half of the game and I could curbstomp everyone that passed me. Team Yell were an egregious roadblock and while Pokemon has always had those, the prominence of Team Yell was exasperating. I prefer environmental roadblocks, like water and back when we used to have other HMs, those feel a little better than two dudes standing in the middle of a wide road.

And why, oh WHY, did GameFreak downgrade after XY and only have fitting rooms in boutiques instead of also in Pokemon Centers? I don’t want to fly to another town to change my clothes! Not every town has a clothes shop but everywhere has a Pokemon Center! I was crusading on this point through Sun/Moon and I will not be stopped until GameFreak puts changing rooms back in Pokemon Centers! (They will probably never do that but I refuse to stop. Forget Dexit; this is the real issue of our time.)

I didn’t mind the limited Pokémon at release because I never transfer my teams thru the games anyway - I’m a sentimental anxious idiot afraid of decisions and commitment and I can’t commit to the one-way transfers to move my teams up to new games. And that plus the Wild Area having trade-evolution Pokemon walking around made me feel like completing my pokedex was actually attainable. So I did!

I don’t hate the game, but I am disappointed by it. I’ve never been a Battle Tower or shiny-hunting person, but I’ve ended up doing those because I don’t know what else to do.

So that’s my opinion on why SwSh has bummed me out more as time goes on, since you were curious.

(Joker from Mass Effect 2 when you ask him for gossip about your teammates voice: “But that’s just my opinion, no need to go spreading it around.” ;) I’ll gladly chat with friends but the poke-discourse got too intense on twitter and I am not inviting that kind of bad energy into our lives. None of us deserve that.)

I’ve still got a lot of endgame stuff for Sun and Moon, UB hunting and I haven’t made it to the Battle Tree yet because my Moon team is getting its ass kicked by everything because I turned the exp share off and overcompensated in the wrong direction and am chronically underleveled. There’s a certain charm for me in being underleveled because I used to have endless patience to overlevel my team to extremes because my childhood anxiety was something like “if I die in the game I die in real life???” and I was terrified of losing and now I’m like “blacks out twice in a row in Moon as I go toward the postgame stuff yolo”. So when I feel like playing Pokemon I’ll probably spend more time in Alola, when I’m not trying to hatch that damn shiny Rookidee because I accidentally committed to that.

#baratrongirl #replies #the thing swsh did REALLY well is the characters. lots of memorable gym leaders #......-stares at hundred screenshots of leon on my switch- no i dont have a crush its FINE

[parkernotes]

new beginnings

also available on ao3

post-endgame / fix-it / irondad

word count: 1752

The invite is casual – spend some time together and have lunch while at it. Catch up on everything that happened in the last five years without having to worry about time or interruptions, or any life threatening situations. Just the Starks and the Parkers, gathered in the formers’ home tucked away from the city noises and chaos.

Even so, deep down it is anything but casual for Tony; it was imprinted on his brain that having everyone gathered like this again would never be possible for such a long time that, now that everything’s happening, Tony feels slightly overwhelmed. Still, he tries not to let it show, and tries his best to avoid panicking when it takes May and Peter more than the expected two-hour drive to arrive from the city, wild thoughts passing through his head of what might’ve happened for them to be so late.

At half past one in the afternoon, almost two hours before the agreed time they should be arriving at the Stark residence, there’s a knock on the door. Tony looks up from his seat on the couch, where he was pretending to work on something with his tablet, as Pepper crosses the living room towards the main entrance, out of Tony’s field of vision.

He hears a series of excited greetings, and he finally lets out a relieved sigh.

“Mo! Come say hi,” Tony exclaims when he passes by the stairs, making his way towards Pepper and their guests.

Soon enough he sees May Parker for the first time in five years – she looks exactly the same as he remembers, smiling at Pepper so that a few wrinkles appear on the outer corner of her eyes, which soon enough are focused on Tony when he enters the entrance hallway to greet them. Her tight grip on him when they hug briefly is a bit surprising, but welcomed. She pulls away, still smiling, and stares up at him with gleaming eyes. She doesn’t even need to say it – thanks for bringing me and my boy back.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Parker,” he says, mockingly formal, even though the words are sincere. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed,” she replies on the same tone, her smile morphing into something amused. “We’re sorry about being late, though. Pete drove all the way here from the city,” she adds with a tiny wince.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Peter says a bit whiny, catching up on her expression soon enough.

“It’s alright. We understand there must had been a few accidents,” Tony jokes, but still thinks about that one time where he taught Peter how to drive – he’d felt less afraid for his life in a few Iron Man missions.

“Mr. Stark,” he full on whines, but smiles when Tony ruffles his hair and pulls him for a hug.

They lead the Parkers inside, and soon enough there’s the soft thud of Morgan’s socked feet against the wood as she carefully climbs down the stairs. Peter and May turn to look at her, who in turn stops halfway down with her eyes fixed on Peter.

There’s a beat of silence.

Morgan squints.

“Are you really really Spider-man? Daddy said he was coming.”

After Peter’s revealed to be her long-lasting hero, Morgan doesn’t really leave Peter’s side. The boy doesn’t seem to mind at all, even when she begs Pepper to place her high chair near Peter’s seat during their meal – he even takes on her parents’ usual role on helping her to eat, cutting her beef into small little pieces before moving on to his own, while answering all of her questions and nodding dutifully as she speaks about her toys.

Tony saves him from a conversation about her collection of Spider-man plushies by asking about school and his friends – are they all the same?

“Well, Ned and MJ got dusty too, so we’re cool,” Peter starts, receiving a nudge from May from being so direct about it, but Pepper smiles at her reassuringly. “Well– uh, I’m happy about it, ‘cause it would be really weird if they were like old now, like twenty-something years old–”

“We get it, we’re all old,” Tony sighs.

“–but since we’re all back, it’s fine. I have a lot of new classmates and some people already graduated, but that’s fine. I mean–”

“Is that kid still there? What was his name?” Tony squints, trying his best to remember. “The one you said kept bothering you–”

“He doesn’t bother me–”

“You mean Flash?” May adds helpfully. “I’ve already told Peter to tell him to stop–”

“I don’t have to tell him anything–”

“Oh, so he’s still in your class? God–”

“May’s right, Peter,” Pepper joins. “You should talk back–”

“It’s really fine–”

“Petey,” Morgan calls quietly, tugging on his sleeve. Everyone quiets down and Peter looks down – she’s already finished her meal. “Can we play?”

He's taking the dishes from the table in the living room to the kitchen when he hears a thud coming from upstairs. He looks up, expecting to hear it again, but only May's and Pepper's voices fill the silence from where they're talking, still sat at the table.

Tony shakes his head to himself, leaving the dishes on the sink and making a beeline for the stairs. As he approaches Morgan's room, the sound of giggles and squeals get louder, and through the narrow slit of her open door, he can see a few brisk movements.

He peeks inside – his girl's bedroom is covered in toys as per usual, with building bricks scattered all around. Tony recognizes the set up right away; they've played this before. It's New York.

There's a sudden movement right in front of the door which makes him startle, but it's just Peter hauling Morgan around making "flight" sound effects. The little girl has elastic bands around her tiny palms glued to old jar lids, imitating Iron Man's repulsors, but for some reason that Tony can't just fathom she's also wearing a bright red cape. She was kind enough to share with Peter though, because there's a similar, but dark blue one, tied around his shoulders.

When Peter lands Morgan on her bed, the little girl giggling madly as her body bounces up and down on the soft mattress, Tony feels like it's the perfect time to make himself known.

"Alright, so, you guys are saving New York and didn't bother to call me?"

Peter's senses probably sensed Tony as soon as he reached the second floor of the house so he doesn't look surprised, only turns around to laugh brightly at him. Morgan, on the other hand, gasps excitedly and stands up on the mattress, holding onto Peter to balance herself.

"Daddy! We won!"

"Of course you did," he says, kicking a few building blocks to the side as he enters the bedroom. "You're Iron Man, aren't you?"

"No," Morgan replies without a beat of hesitation. "I'm War Machine!"

Tony splutters – Peter laughs so hard that he bends forwards and falls on top of the bed, bringing Morgan with him who starts giggling again.

"Okay," Tony starts, offended. "What's so great about War Machine? You know Iron Man's the original one, so–"

"But, daddy," Morgan interrupts, suddenly sounding very serious. "If I'm Iron Man, I can't fight with Iron Man! So I have to be War Machine!"

Tony hesitates – Peter lets out an endeared aw, but his eyes are still shiny with tears from having laughed so hard at his expense.

"Alright, I forgive you," Tony sighs, approaching them to pat Morgan on the top of her head. "Not you, though," he then glares at Peter.

Said boy laughs again. "But she's the boss, Mr. Stark, I was just doing what she told me to do," he excuses himself, blinking up at him innocently.

"Yeah, right," Tony scoffs, but can't help the smile that grows on his face. "Go on now, you two," he says, patting the both of them on their backs to hurry them out of the bedroom. "We'll have desert downstairs."

He rolls his eyes when the both of them let out excited cheers on the way down, but still smiles fondly at the sight of Peter helping Morgan go down the steps.

Hours later, Pepper speaks up and invites the Parkers to spend the night with them when the weather outside gets gradually worse – it started raining around three in the afternoon, and after a while the storm and the fog are so thick that they can barely see anything when looking through the windows.

Morgan is eventually taken upstairs for a nap, and while Pepper shows May around the house as a whole, Tony takes Peter to his new lab. It's modest compared to the ones he had at the Tower or at the Compound; it looks more like a office than anything, but it still has all the toys Tony needs for whatever he wants to build. Peter is not disappointed, and soon enough is asking about anything he can set his eyes on.

"You can still come here, like we did back in the Compound," he comments quietly a while later, while showing Peter a new helmet design he's working on. "Work on suit updates and stuff, every weekend or so."

Peter turns to look up at him, eyes widening just slightly. "Really?"

"Of course, kiddo," Tony replies promptly, a bit confused that Peter's so taken back by the invite. "Why do you sound so surprised? We used to do it all the time."

"Um," the boy starts, looking away. He fumbles with the hem of his hoodie, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "I don't know, it–it's because you have Pepper and Morgan around and I really, like, I really don't want be a bother or anything now that you–"

"Pete," Tony interrupts him gently. "You wouldn't bother us. Besides, Pepper would be disappointed if you're not around anymore – you know, you managed to do it, you really charmed her into thinking you're a good kid–"

Peter lets your a breathy laugh, "You're the only one who doesn't think so, Mr. Stark–"

"And well, Morgan would be ecstatic to have you around regularly, you've seen it today," he continues. When Peter still doesn't look up, Tony places a hand on his shoulder and it does the job. "Don't ever think you're bothering us, yeah?"

You're family, he wants to say, but by the way Peter smiles at him, Tony's pretty sure he got the memo.

#avengers endgame spoilers #endgame fix it #avengers endgame #irondad #fic #tony stark #peter parker #morgan stark #pepper potts #may parker #ao3 #fanfic #mine

[mariajustinteriordesigns]

My Home Detox Project + Reset Button For 2021

It’s finally 2021, and though this doesn’t mean we are back on planes and out dancing again, at least the end of Corona is in sight. I have totally had it with this pandemic and most of us are quite drained emotionally and financially from it. I personally took a huge financial hit and had to give up my office which means working from home again while trying to home school my 1st grader in a foreign language. What a challenge… BUT friends, this post is meant to encourage you so I’ll get to the point. I want to tell you a little story about the morning of January 1, 2021 and how a huge pain in the ass caused me to push a giant reset button on my life.

There is so much negative news that anyone can complain and be justified in doing so. Complaining does nothing except allow you to blow off a little steam, and after some time, it actually intensifies the situation because the more you dwell on negative things, the more negative you feel. The more stuck in the mud you stay.

We can never underestimate the power and importance of having ownership, of taking responsibility, for everything in our life not just the stuff that we technically can blame others for. Yes, in some cases others have been the cause of our pains in life, or situations like Corona can be to blame for many problems, but ultimately we must take action on everything that is thrown on our path and either move it aside, throw it out, or jump over it. To stand on the path and blame the thing laying in front of us, or worse, to turn around and walk back, is the true definition of insanity. We may need to pause for a moment to determine the best way to proceed despite the obstruction, but proceeding is the goal.

This is how I decided to ‘reframe’ 2021 - much differently than 2020. To take responsibility and ownership of my life in a new, more deliberate, way. Last year, I definitely paused too long on my path with nearly everything that was thrown my way. I didn’t take action quick enough. If it was related to my son, family or close friends, I jumped immediately to save the day. If it involved me, my career, my life, I froze and felt victimized a lot. I gave in to wine on the weekends to take away my stress and anxiety. I gave in to starvation and coffee during the week to make up for the calories of the wine on the weekends, which made me tired and addicted to coffee instead. I was either jittery (during the week) or as relaxed as a slug (on the weekends). In either case, I felt more useless than useful.

Corona became the go-to excuse for everything that didn’t work.

And in most cases, it really WAS.

Yet, I realized before the holidays that I couldn’t go on allowing Corona to drive my life. It was in control, not me. One lockdown after another meant more schedule changes, cancellations, stress, and problems. This had to end yet not one of us can end a pandemic, so I woke up on the 1st of January and decided I would END IT in my own way. It would start with me. It had too.

I remember exactly how I felt that morning - cold, withdrawn, lonely, sad. I felt like my life was no longer exciting, interesting or fun (it was up until Corona). Corona had become a huge pain in the ass. I missed my friends, parties, I wanted to fly back to America to visit familiar places and faces, I longed to plan a vacation or simply use the sauna at the gym. I wanted a fresh start, a fair to attend, friends to hug.

I KNEW NONE OF THIS WAS POSSIBLE YET (VACATION, PARTIES, FLYING, FAIRS).

I KNEW I HAD TO LIFT MY OWN SPIRITS BECAUSE I WOULD BE DOOMED OTHERWISE.

I KNEW I NEEDED TO BE STRONG AND MIGHTY FOR MY SON.

I KNEW I HAD TO RE-FRAME CORONA AND STOP FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF.

I thought about what is needed during times of hardship. What do you need to do to come up for air? You make the most of what you have.

What did I have that I could control?

That was the burning question that kept presenting itself to me.

THE ANSWER: My home, my business, my health.

These are the things that I realized needed all of my attention. On January 2nd, I woke up in a different state of mind that I did a mere 24 hours before. I was in control. I was ready to tell Corona to kiss off. I was ready to push the reset button and begin.

I decided to detox my home and my body. I immediately went off of alcohol and sugar, and decided to gut everything in my house - my closets, my drawers, the kitchen, the bathrooms, my storage rooms, everything would be emptied, looked through, and reorganized. I vowed to donate 50% of my belongings, sell another 5% (things I couldn’t imagine giving away), and keep the remaining 45%. It was a big commitment, but once I emptied all of my rooms, one at a time, and started the home detox, and committed publicly to it on my Instagram @decor8 (which helped me to stay accountable), I knew I could do it. I had to. There was no backing out.

As I sorted, friends locally and even online cheered me on. Some came over to help, like Gabi, Esra and Jasmin. Others accepted my donations of love like Diana and Kristina. I felt lighter as my many beautiful things left. I gave things to neighbors. I got rid of over 400 magazines, some I’d collected since 2006. I never realized I had so many, but I had stacks and cabinets full of them. I know they are part of my profession, so naturally magazine obsession would be part of being a journalist and creative director, but still. I couldn’t justify owning 400 magazines. Now I have one favorite stack of about 30. It feels good. I can’t even count the amount of ceramics that I donated to charity. And throw pillows. Wow. I have been working 6-12 hours a day on my home since 2 January and today I finally paused to write this post. It’s the 19th, so 17 days purging, full-time. Tonight I’ll start again. I am determined. Control is so liberating.

I am nearly finished detoxing my home. Now I want to detox my cellar room, maybe next week. I have about 30 nice things to sell, some will go on my new second-hand Instagram @decor8holly and the others, I will peddle in the spring once flea markets reopen and I can rent a table. Yet, as I look around my newly detoxed house, I think about how I want to do a round two next month and get rid of even more. Keep decluttering until I feel more freedom from “stuff”. The overall relief, joy and that fresh start energy I love so much has become addictive.

My wine on the weekends and coffee during the week has been replaced with less coffee, more water, fresh juice and smiles. My energy soars. Life feels totally good again and I have a sense of comfort and hope. My home is once again my creative launchpad and happy spot for me and my projects. I even created a new podcast studio and office in my former storage room, because it’s much better for recording than the large office in the front of the house that I use most of the time. The smaller office is cozy, charming and full of light - and it’s very quiet and my son likes that I am in the back of the house where his bedroom is. He can play and have me nearby.

Once I have finished my home detox, I’m building my all-new classroom online to replace Blogging Your Way. I will offer a shiny new e-course. It will be all about marketing yourself online through newsletters, online classes, communities, and more. I will also put a new guide in the decor8 shop to download all about how to detox your home. My home detox helped my creativity to return tenfold. I also will paint some rooms, move things around, and reinvest in new pieces after selling some off (like my dining room table/chairs and a few other pieces). I plan to finally renovate my son’s room from little boy to big boy - he turns 7 in only 3 weeks and bears holding kites are no longer cool (that’s the motif on his wallpaper).

The best part of home and health detox goes beyond all of the benefits mentioned already… The greatest benefit is that I barely think about CORONA or what I miss. I have no time, I’m too busy leveling up so that once this pandemic ends, I’ll be ready to throw open my doors to guests, host parties again, and enjoy going out with friends because I’ll be healthier AND so will my home.

If you need support detoxing your home, I’ll create a post a guide in my shop soon, and you can use hashtag #mydecor8 to post the after photos of the rooms that you’ve detoxed so I can see your space. You know, I am so glad I found control over my home/life again. You can too.

Love,

Holly

[inopinion]

Date at the Docks

The Virals Series by Brenden Riechs and Kathy Reichs --- > needs more fanfiction, so I’m here to help.

Thanks to a tuna fish sandwich, I did not have to face down an entire evening of wedding planning. Kit had a simplistic desire to be married in a place of natural beauty, and so he proposed we drive out to Cape Romaine Wildlife Refuge. Whitney, of course, wanted something more traditional with a modern flair and thought Boone Hall Plantation and Gardens would be exactly the southern charm she needed. She’d made an appointment with their event planner, had planned a picnic, and packed the bug spray. Diner was to be al fresco at the end of a self-guided walk of the refuge. I was still in mildly hot water over my attendance record being mailed to his office rather than where I could intercept it. My grades hadn’t dipped more than a couple percent and so he was holding me hostage on principle. Plus he thought wedding planning as a family would be the exact start we needed in this new life of togetherness. Blargh.

But, like I said, thanks to a tuna fish sandwich and Hiram’s impossibly sensitive stomach, Mr. Blue had to wait at the dock for an additional twenty minutes. It was exactly the time I needed, as the text came just when Hiram staggered to the docks.

Can’t miss the appointment at the plantation. Feed yourself. No going out.

I texted back: Hiram should be here any minute, maybe five more?

He replied: Can’t. Late as it is.

Kit accepted most of my excuses on face value, it was one of the better aspects of our relationship, but showing some interest in the activities of Whitney’s designs got me bonus points, so the small white lie really hurt no one.

“Never again,” Hi groaned. We hadn’t even cleared the dock before he was over the edge.

Shelton and I shadowed the two middle-school kids that also lived on Morris to the front of the boat.

“So, what’s the plans for the weekend? Bank heist?” Shelton adjusted his glasses and kept one eye on Hiram’s folded form.

“Calculus. I haven’t started the assignment yet.”

“Oh, tisk tisk. It’s a killer. Took me all night last night to get through half. I’m gonna be hitting up the Call of Duty tonight though, little treat for keeping my nose clean for two weeks.”

“Have fun.”

“Yeah. But we’re going out tomorrow, right?” Shelton alluded to the pre-planned boating expedition to our favorite beach on loggerhead.

Even without my abilities, I felt like I needed to see Whisper and her pack. Like watching them would help me remember that connection. There was a good chance I’d come away upset or crying, but still, I needed to see them. “I assume so. I haven’t heard otherwise,” I shrugged.

Shelton raised an eyebrow. Ben was our ride, always, but he’d only managed to slip a few texts to Shelton on a friend’s phone in the last two weeks. His resilience through the class skipping wasn’t quite as high as mine and an emergency conference with his parents rendered him without a phone, without a car, and without a social life. It’s been a bit of a hard start for our relationship, as in a non-starter. It still stung a bit that every message seemed to go to Shelton, all three of them. I shouldn’t mope about it, but still, I was feeling more than uncertain about what exactly I should be expecting now that we’d assigned the labels of boyfriend and girlfriend to each other.

Another volley of overly loud vomit kept me in the here and now. I’d be at the docks in the morning, waiting to see what had changed from our last group ride out to Loggerhead. At least if it got weird, I’d have Coop and the wolf pack to keep me distracted.

Unfortunately, Friday nights had little in the way of televised entertainment. So while I attempted to procrastinate and put off the complexities of nested integrals, I made plenty of headway, enough to question if I had the right assignment. I even sent a confiramtion text to Shelton and got a positive response. But by seven o’clock, all my problems were done and what remained of my weekend assignments was seventy pages of reading for AP English. I turned my attention to The Age of Innocence and let the TV play in the background.

An hour, eight o’clock and I could imagine Kit and Whitney taking in the beauty of the refuge and I sort of wished I was there. Sort of, not really, okay I would love to see the refuge and I wouldn’t mind a little more time with Kit. Besides, the wedding was important to him and he was undeniably important to me. As my stomach growled, I could even admit I wished I had a little bit of Whitney’s picnic basket.

Lazily, I palmed my phone up off the table and gasped. It was still on silent from school which had meant I’d missed a message from Ben.

At my dad’s tonight, you around?

What did that mean? More importantly, in two weeks of radio silence, did I even want to come clamoring to his sudden beck and call? Shouldn’t I at least feign being angry? A glance at the time stamp - 7:12 - and at least I wouldn’t look desperate replying.

I wrote: Just finished some homework. What’s up?

What’s up? Yeah, that’s how you hook ‘em. I waited. Two minutes. Three. I turned on the notifications so I’d at least hear it and went to address my hunger in the kitchen. I made a sandwich, tossed a couple slices of meat to Coop and eyed the baking show on the TV with little interest. Still, no reply. What a start, maybe an ending. It hurt, not that I’d dare let it show, because what was there to hurt over?

Three fast raps on the door and butterflies swarmed my stomach and floated up into my throat. Was he skipping the electronic communications? Ben had cut off shorts and a trim, black t-shirt that looked slightly too small for his frame. It might have fit him in the spring or at Christmas, but he’d grown both taller and stronger in the time I’d known him. His hair was tucked back behind his ears and a slight pink coated his cheeks. Those long lashes saved him sweeping away those prickly thoughts I’d just been fostering.

“So, you wanna come out with me?” He fought the smile that threatened to crack his face.

“Yeah, sure. Where?”

“Just the dock,” he shrugged, then added, “Is that okay?”

Ben looked legitimately worried, like I wasn’t known to hang out on docks with moody boys and would be offend to partake. Coop rushed the door.

“Lead the way.”

His hand slipped out of his pocket and extended for mine. Would I ever get used to it? His elbow bent and pulled me into his side, which seemed like an expert move, had he used it on other girls? How many other girls? Why was I having dumb, over analyzing thoughts in the first place. I turned by attention to the feel of him: warm and solid; the smell of him: men’s sport deodorant and docks; and his body language: stiff, but not anxious. I took a deep breath of the salt air and shrugged my shoulders a few times to relax. It was Ben, just Ben. Just Ben-the-boyfriend doing the first boyfriend things… no sweat.

On the dock, he had one pole already cast into the water, another, presumably for me, sitting on the dock. Three buckets and a cooler. An already opened bottle of fancy root-beer was next to one bucket (his seat).

“So, what I miss? Felonies? Misdemeanors?” he asked, dropping my hand to take his seat and open the cooler.

He pulled out another bottle and dug his keys out of his pocket, digging deeper for his pocket knife. He used the bottle opener even though it was probably a twist off. But, sure, cool points, I guess.

“I’ve been on psuedo-house arrest, so not much. Wedding crap, homework, mostly. All-in-all, quiet. You?”

“Well, grounded. Redefining nothing.”

“How bad were the grades?”

“Three B’s. Nothing major. I’ve done worse at Bolton, but apparently the standards are different now that I’m at Wando.”

Ben lifted the second pole and offered it to me. I examine it and confirm it’s the same one from the last time we went fishing. The lure is the same shiny disk and feather combination. I lean over and look at his bucket. Nothing in it but water.

“We can toss them back. But I was hoping for dinner,” he smirks. “You remember how to cast?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Setting the feed, holding it with my finger I pulled the pole back and launched the line out beyond the dock into the deeper water. Ben’s lips were tight and his smirk never slipped. “What?”

“Nothing. You fish how ever you wanna.”

“What I do?” I insisted.

“Nothing. Just… I mean, fish like cover. Under the dock, by the boats, but you try the open water,” he waved his hand at his own line that dipped below his father’s ferry boat.

“Fine, I’ll reset it,” I started reeling it in. “Call it practice.”

“Sure, practice,” he sipped his soda and then got quiet. “Not the best first date, eh?”

I watched the lure under the gentle waves then pop through the surface. Was this a date? A first date? Did this count? It was after school, almost dark, no parents, no friends, he even brought refreshments. His hand curled into a fist on his knee, those Blue-moods coming to the surface. “It’s a very Ben first date.” I offered, kindly and with a smile. For good measure I pulled the pole back and released it, landing off the end of the dock.

“What’s a Tory-date? You know, for next time?”

“You have to ask?” I raise an eyebrow and glance at Sewee parked in it’s slip down the dock.

“Always wolves with you.”

“Use my predictability to your advantage,” a small nudge from my knee and he slid his bucket closer to me.

“How’s this supposed to go?” Ben asked, looking at the water, watching his line. We’re shoulder to shoulder like we have been on countless occasions, but I can’t recall ever having quite the same queasy feeling.

“I dunno. New to me.”

“I sorta didn’t think much past this.”

“Well, this is nice,” I declared, sipping from the soda in my hand. I see his on his knee, palm up, offering. His fingers are slightly chilled from the glass.

“So, why’d you text Shelton?”

His hand flinches in mine. “Only number I have memorized. Two-zero-zero-seven. Double-oh-seven. I had to borrow a phone from a friend. Only let me the once because he almost got it confiscated.”

“Oh. Okay.” More silence, the lapping waves, the bugs coming out for the night. Coop dashed through the grass and onto the dock, sticking his head into the space between Ben and I.

“Chaperons,” Ben groaned, pushing Coop away and getting licked for his effort.

“Oh, yeah, did you get rules?” I asked.

“Rules? About?”

“Me.”

“Oh, no, not specifically about you, just about girlfriends, but I don’t even know if my mom remembers it.”

“You’ve dated before?”

“Like middle-school, before Bolton. You?”

“Nope, not really, well, about the same, I guess,” I blushed at the memory of those make-out sessions behind Dunkin Donuts.

“So, rules?”

“Oh, Kit made sure we had the talk and everything. Apparently, seventeen-year-old boys are single minded. I think my existence sort of freaked him out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Kit was seventeen when—you know—I happened.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I mean, that’s not gonna happen like right away or anything.” Instant awkwardness. I created instant awkwardness.

“Look, it better to be upfront about things, right? Talk about them? Anyways, Kit says we can’t hang out alone at each other’s houses, curfew—strictly enforced—and he wants to know if we go places where we’re going and when we’ll be back.”

“Okay. Sure,” Ben nodded. “But this is okay, right?”

“Yep.”

Then Ben’s arm moved around my shoulder, a smooth movement that tickled my stomach back into butterflies. “And this is okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.” My breathing stepped up and the sweat kicked on. His face next to mine, his arm pulling on my knees, rotating me on the bucket so we faced each other, his right knee between mine. “This is okay?”

Dear God, Ben had moves. Good moves. Moves that melted me and made my skin pimple into goose bumps. I nodded. Leaning forward our lips touched just slightly, enough for his breath to puff onto my chin. Then the line jerked and his pole fell off it’s prop. Stretching low and fast like a cat, Ben gripped the pole before it fell off the deck. I laughed at his sprawl, his bucket rolling into the ocean and riding on the waves four feet below. He cursed and reeled, keeping the fish on the line and eying the bucket for drift. I reeled in my own pole and while he fought his fish into the dock, I used mine to hook the handle on the bucket and drag it over to the ladder.

“It can’t be that small,” Ben groaned, the silver fish coming up in a leap. “It fought like a monster.”

“Making fish stories?” Kit approached. Coop trotted up the dock to great him.

“Hey, Tory, it’s nine-thirty. You got until ten.”

“Yep, sure thing,” I chirped wondering exactly how much he’d seen. Thankfully, it was getting darker by the moment and maybe my flush would fade before Ben had the fish unhooked and back in the water. Kit lingered, like he wanted to burn my scarlet permanently into my skin.

Coop circled around me, watching Ben’s fish come up over the edge of the dock. It flipped and kicked it’s tail wildly, still fighting in the air. Ben grabbed it and balanced his pole against his side. He grinned while he examined his catch.

“What is it?” I asked more to pull me away from Kit who just wouldn’t disappear.

“Croaker,” he held it up, holding it by it’s mouth.

“Cute.”

“People usually say, ‘a beauty’ but I don’t think ‘cute’ is really a term for fish.”

“Maybe I wasn’t talking about the fish,” I grinned. Ben rolled his eyes and tucked his hair behind his ear. Definitely cute. “Well, mercy or no?”

Ben glanced at the bucket and then back to the fish. “It’s not my favorite,” he lied and tossed it back into the oceans.

He wiped his hands on his pants, glanced at the path up to the condos and found it vacant. “Before anything else gets in the way—” he took the two steps he needed and crushed his lips into mine. His lips were tight with an exhilarated smile and his hands firm in how they held me still. Maybe it would be an awkward transition, but having that first real kiss out of the way was a big start.

#The Virals Series #Ben Blue #Victoria Brennan #Ben x Tory #Tory x Ben #Fanfiction #my writing

[ccorneliast]

A Heart In Barcelona - Chapter 5: A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: T  Summary: Carrie and Harrison go on a weekend getaway to Barcelona during filming of The Empire Strikes Back in the late seventies. Something happens on that trip that changes their lives forever. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I’m not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). I did take some creative liberty on what concerns the timeline, so stuff that is mentioned/places they visit may not have existed in the seventies, I apologize in advance; I do use/paraphrase some parts from Carrie’s books, as a way of making it feel more like them.   A/N: This is going to be the last chapter before the Epilogue (and before this story comes to an end). I hope you’ve enjoyed this so far and if you did be sure to shoot me a message! Chapter 5 goes out to my love Angie ( @soreidy27 ), because I know how much she likes inner-thoughts and stuff like that. This is also your late bday present, itch. I hope you like it, I love you passionately. Shoutout to the carrison groupchat, your girls rock!

On AO3

I sure hope you enjoy this chapter and, if you do, please don’t existate on sharing your opinion and reblogging!

It was a queer, sultry friday night, the night of the wrap party for The Empire Strikes Back, and Carrie and Harrison had silently agreed to keep their distance, as rumors of their involvement didn't show signs of dying down.

“Carrie, so glad you could make it!” one of the producers joins her right at the entrance.

“Couldn't miss it,” she smiles satisfactorily at her employer.

“Great, great,” he smiles back, looking around the room. “Enjoy the party.” he says, as he walks away, distracted by this one and that.

“Enjoy the party,” she huffs to herself.

The last few days Carrie's been in hiding in her London apartment, not wanting to go back home to LA, to be lectured by her mother, nor to New York, to Paul. As if he'd still want her after the news broke.

“Carrie!” Marilou rushes towards her. “Finally a familiar face.” She exhales.

“Hey,” Carrie hugs Mark’s wife, and she squeezes back.

“I lost Mark right about the time we walked in,” she laughs, though curtly. “It's fine, I found you now!”

“Yeah,” Carrie smiles, though her head is still dizzy.

“So, how've you been?” they sit down around a table, Marilou sipping on her wine. “Mark mentioned you've been sick lately.”

“He did?” She mentally kicks Mark. “I guess I've been. I'm feeling good today, though.” another smile, a smaller, edgier one, forms on her lips.

“Hum,” Marilou ponders. “Alright.”

“How are you? How is little Nathan?” Carrie turns her body towards Marilou’s, crossing her legs.

“He’s good, won't stop screaming and crying, but I think that’s normal.” She replies. “I must find Mark so he can show you some pictures!” She promptly gets up to find her husband, leaving Carrie to herself.

Not long after that, a voice echoes behind her:

“Hey, kid.” it’s deep, raspy and slightly demanding. It's Harrison.

“Harrison,” her tone is monochromic.

“What happened to “Hello, lover”?” He teases, but there's no hint of smile or playfulness in his voice.

“Take a seat, lover,” she obliges. “Better?” She raises one eyebrow.

“Nah, I don't want to sit down.” He shoots back. “They're playing our song, care to dance?” He cocks one eyebrow at her, but doesn't offer his hand.

“Save it,” she waves him away. “We don't even have a song,” she looks at him straight in the eye and listens closely. “Unless you and I have slow danced to “Take me On” before without my knowing.”

He grins.

“We'll wait for the next one, kid.” he promises. “I have the whole night.”

“Well, I don't. If you'll excuse me,” she gets up to leave, but his hand on her arm stops her.

“Carrie, I know you're hiding something.” His breath is hot against her ear. “Be a good girl and tell me.” he’s still gripping her arm, and she inhales shakily. How does he know?

“Well, hotshot, I have positively no idea what you're talking about.” She frees herself and puts her hands on her hips. “Please, let me go.” her tone is strong and assertive.

“Please, you dug yourself a hole and haven't come out in days. And I know you can't resist me for more than thirty two hours, we've tried that before.” it could sound like he's teasing her, making her deliberately uncomfortable, but his voice is very much matter-of-factly.

“Arrogant much, Mr. Ford?” She can't seem to get out of this one.

“Carrie…” he mumbles, pulling out a cigarette. He lights it in one swift motion.

“Don't smoke that around me, Harrison,”

“What's gotten into you?” He asks, frustrated. “Usually, you steal it from me in a second.”

“Yeah well, maybe I grew up a little.” It stings.

He looks at her worryingly for a second before laughing: “You almost got me there, sweetheart.”

Two second of excruciating silence fall between them.

“So, where's Paul?” he asks. There it is, jealousy.

“He’s working in New York,” she answers, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Pity,”

“Jesus Christ,” she’s exasperated. “Will you leave me alone if we dance?” She runs a finger along his jawline, the stubble scratching her skin.

“Can't charm your way out of this one, dear.” But he takes her up on her offer nonetheless.

His big hand steadies her, pressing against her waist. Her cheek lays against his chest, her hands running up and down her back.

“Don't,” he warns.

“Harrison,” she calls. He separates their bodies and looks down at her. “Harrison, we should've never gone.” Her voice shows her panic.

“We shouldn't have gone where, dear?” He furrows his brow, confused but satisfied at the same time.

“Barcelona. Harrison, we should've never gone to Barcelona.”

“What’s our number?” Carrie fidgets from one foot to another.

“Twenty seven.” he answers. “Just sit down or something. Rest.” Harrison motions to a black, leather couch. Intimidating, to say the least.

“Alright,” she sits down, but keeps her eyes on him.

“Look, I gotta return a call,” he says. “Mary called,” he continues. “Maybe something happened with the kid-,” and he stops right there. Sore spot.

“Yeah, of course,” she manages a smile and watches him walk away.

Meanwhile, she clutches the paper tightly and fixes her gaze on the white wall in front of her, almost as she’s looking through it. Carrie can almost see the woman lying in that hospital bed, a white, paper-thin robe covering her. She could feel the excruciating pain she must be feeling (Carrie had never met anyone that’d gone through the procedure, but she imagined it hurt) and the sudden regret. The feeling of coming home knowing who you were the day before resembles nothing of who you are now. Or maybe she’d feel relieved. The woman might feel relieved, not having the burden of raising a child in a home that never quite was .

But what if it had been a boy? Would he have had his brown hair, his hazel eyes, or would he have had her fiery personality? Would his father have taught him how to build a wooden table for his mother, or would she have been late to work for picking him up from football practice?

Carrie pushes those thoughts aside as she rummages inside her purse, looking for her lipgloss. She applies it carefully, not taking her eyes from the small, compact mirror. As she finishes, her gaze averts to across the room. A lone woman, much like Carrie herself, smiles reassuringly towards her. Carrie observes her barely noticeable bump and her mind spirals again.

Was it a girl? If it was, was there the slight possibility of her inheriting her father’s family’s blue eyes? Or her mother’s chestnut hair? Hopefully, she’d have the sensible qualities of her dad, with a sprinkle of her mom’s craziness. After all, a little craziness never hurt anybody.

Of course all this back and forth was pointless, she knew it was a girl. He didn’t know though, she kept that secret for herself. She’d have that.

But she didn’t want just that, it occurred to her. She actually wanted all of it, the hard parts, that staying up late and vomit everywhere, and the easy parts, watching her take her first steps and speaking her first words.

“Harrison,” Carrie got up and rushed to him as he entered the waiting room.

“We have to talk,” he says. “I changed my mind.” his face is flushed and his heart is racing.

“What?” she furrows her brow.

“I was talking to Mary and the kids and well,” he takes the two remaining strides that separate them. “I changed my mind.” he smiles and shrugs.

“Thank God,” she throws her arms around him and he, though startled, holds on to Carrie. “I changed my mind too,” she whispers. “Oh, also,” she tells him. “It’s definitely a girl.” He smiles into her hair.

After they part, their eyes search each other’s, looking for the next logical step. Then, a ding sound erupts from above them: number 27.

“Fuck that,” he says. “Let’s go home.” Yes, home…

Four months later, Harrison and Carrie meet up at the hotel booked for the press interviews in New York. When he sees her for the first time in a while, it takes nearly everything in him not to run and crush her body to his.

They kiss. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, very different from the kisses they shared under the Barcelona sky. Those had been rough, demanding, but impersonal. These felt like a beginning more than anything else, a sweet, honey-covered, shiny beginning.

“How’s little Rose doing?” Harrison caresses Carrie’s stomach through the smooth fabric of her clothes.

“Better now that you’re here,” she pecks him on the lips.

“For a writer, that one was pretty weak, kid.” he teases, but returns the kiss.

“Pregnancy brain,” she laughs, and he pretends to accept her excuse.

“We should go, Mark’s waiting for us at the restaurant.” he grips her hand and they slide inside a cab.

She lets her head fall against his shoulder in a carefree manner she’d never tried before. He adjusts himself on his seat, but this time it’s not to distance himself, it’s to make her feel more comfortable.

Then, out of nowhere, Harrison asks: “Do you think we should get married?”

“What?” shock coats her voice.

“I mean, shouldn’t we?” he asks again. “It makes sense, with us having a baby and all.” his hand grips her arm softly.

“I guess…” she ponders it. “I don’t us to marry just because we’re having a baby though.”

“If you don’t want to get married, we don’t have to.” he offers her a smile.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get married,” she raises her head and faces Harrison. “I just want you to get married to me because you want to.”

“Hell, kid,” he huffs.

“I’ve seen enough failed marriages to last me seven lifetimes.” she tries to ease the tension.

“Hum,” he guides her back into his embrace, resting his head on hers. “Why do you think those marriages ended?” he asks.

Carrie has to be careful of what she says: “Well,” she starts, tentatively. “Most of them ended in cheating.” she awaits his reaction.

“Right,” he exhales.

“Hey, baby,” she places a warm hand on his face. “I don’t mind if we don’t get marrie-”

“What if we promise?” he interrupts her. “What if we promise right now to never cheat?”

“That’s kind of like saying our vows, huh Harrison?” she jokes.

“Alright, then,” he faces her and takes her hand in his: “Carrie,” he clears his throat exaggeratedly. “I promise to never love any other woman other than, well, you-” he laughs, nervous. “I promise to give everything to little Rose and any other children we may have,” she raises her eyebrows. “And I promise to take care of you,” his words are muffled as she kisses him. “Forever.” his words never do sound outside their lips. Her hand grips his hair and his hand cradles her flaming cheek.

“I promise all of that to you too, baby,” she laughs into his ear.

“That’s easy for you to keep, you don’t like women,” she takes a second to understand his poorly-thought-out joke.

“Alright, I promise to never love another man other than you,”

“That’s better.” he smiles and she throws herself on top of him.

“Did we just get married?” she whispers, incredulous.

“I think we did, kid,” he laughs. “Hell, we just got married!”

#carrison #carrie fisher #harrison ford #carrison fanfiction #fanfiction #rpf #tita writes #a heart in barcelona

[onlovestreetwithjimmorrison]

Mary and Jim to the end

Before Jim Morrison became famous with the Doors, he and Mary Werbelow were soul mates. In the never-ending procession of Morrison biographies, she is mentioned briefly but never quoted. Google her, and not a single photo appears. She has never spoken publicly about their three years together - until now.

By ROBERT FARLEY Published September 25, 2005

[Courtesy of Mike Sanders]

WHERE THEY MET:

Clearwater Beach, Pier 60. Mary was in high school, Jim just finished a year at St. Pete Junior College. His second cousin, Gail Swift, who lived in Clearwater, says their relationship was intense: “I think they answered a lonely call inside each other.”

Go to photo gallery

BEAUTY CONTESTANT:

Mary, at 18, competed for the title of Miss Clearwater 1963. The Clearwater Pass Bridge is behind her.

[Courtesy of Clearwater Public Library]

Mary Werbelow is polite but firm: She doesn't do interviews. Ever.

Jim Morrison was her first love, before he got famous with the Doors. Friends from Clearwater say that for three years in the early 1960s, Jim and Mary were inseparable. He mourns their breakup in the Doors' ballad The End.

For nearly 40 years, all manner of people have tracked Mary down and asked for her story, including Oliver Stone, when he was making his movie starring Val Kilmer as Jim. Others waved money. Always she said thank you, no.

"I have spoken to no one."

She can't see what good could come of it; some things are just meant to be kept private. Besides, journalists always get it wrong. They focus on Jim Morrison as drunk, drug abuser, wild man. They don't know his sensitivity and intellect, his charm and humor.

"They take a part of him and sensationalize that. People don't really know Jim. They don't really have a clue."

Mary is afraid to share. Because nobody could ever fully understand him, or her, or them. Not to mention how painful it is, even 40 years later, to relive something she would rather forget. She still aches for love lost; her regret never relents.

She lives in California, alone, in an aging mobile home park. By phone she is told that back in Clearwater, to make way for condos they're tearing down the house on N Osceola Avenue, the place Jim lived in when they met. His room was in back, books stacked everywhere save for the path to his bed.

"That was a lovely home," Mary says. "It's a shame to knock it down."

Across a dozen conversations, she amplifies on stories the old Clearwater crowd tells, and adds some of her own. She says she's not sure why she's talking now. Maybe it's just time.

SUMMER 1962, CLEARWATER:

Nine years before Jim died

Mary and best friend Mary Wilkin spread their beach blanket near Pier 60. Our Mary was 17, wearing a black one-piece, cut all the way down the back, square in front - a little daring for the time, especially for a buttoned-down Catholic girl.

Amid the flattops on the pier, the guy with the mop of hair stood out.

Jim had been sent here by his father, then a Navy captain, after he blew off his high school graduation ceremony in Virginia. He had just finished the year at St. Petersburg Junior College and lived with his grandparents, who ran a coin laundry on Clearwater-Largo Road.

On her beach towel, Mary turned to her friend and uttered the first sexual comment of her life:

"Wow, look at those legs!"

Jim tagged along when his friend came over to flirt with Mary Wilkin. He told our Mary he was a regular pro at the game of matchsticks, a mental puzzle in which the matches are laid out in rows, like a pyramid. Loser picks up the last one.

Jim challenged Mary and suggested they spice things up with a wager. If she won?

"You'll have to be my slave for the day."

If he won? Mary had to watch beach basketball with him.

As Mary's first command, she marched Jim to the barber. She was just finishing her junior year at Clearwater High, where all the boys had flattops; she was not going to be seen with such a hairy mess.

"Shorter," she told the barber.

"Shorter.

"Shorter."

To a buzz cut.

He must really like me, Mary thought. I'll see if I still dig him by the time his hair grows out, and if I do, it won't matter.

Slave order No. 2: Iron and clean. And wash her black Plymouth, a.k.a. "The Bomb."

Jim had begun the wax job when Mary's father rescued him with a picnic basket and suggested the couple adjourn to the Clearwater Causeway.

To cap slave day, Mary had Jim chauffeur her to St. Pete, in the shiny Bomb, to see the movie West Side Story.

Mary was on the high school homecoming court. Her friends did cotillion dances at the Jack Tar Harrison Hotel, hit Brown Brothers dairy store for burgers and malts, and shopped Mertz's records for Ben E. King, Del Shannon and Elvis Presley.

Hair shorn, Jim still attracted attention, shy behind granny glasses, army jacket and a conductor's hat. The local law stopped him multiple times to check his ID.

He read his poetry at the avant-garde Beaux Arts coffeehouse in Pinellas Park and visited St. Pete's only live burlesque show, at the Sun Art Theater on Ninth Street.

Friends who thought they knew Mary couldn't fathom why she would want to hang out with the likes of Jim Morrison.

What they didn't know was how out of place Mary felt in her social circle. Jim talked like no one she had met.

"We're just going to talk in rhymes now," he would say.

He recited long poems from memory. "Listen to this, listen to this," he'd say, "Tiger, tiger, burning bright . . ." - excited, like it was breaking news, not William Blake.

This was not puppy love, Mary says, like the earlier boyfriend who played guitar, wrote songs and serenaded her by phone. This was different. This was intense.

"We connected on a level where speaking was almost unnecessary. We'd look at each other and know what we were thinking."

She liked her alone time, in her bedroom, dancing and drawing.

Jim liked his alone time, in his bedroom, reading.

They skipped dances and football games and hung out, at her house, his grandparents' house, wherever.

"I hated to let him go at night. I couldn't shut the door."

When it came to sex, Mary's answer was no.

"It was not happening. And it didn't for a long time. I'm surprised he held out that long."

Mary's grandparents were strict Catholics. She had visions of them at the last judgment, watching her. "It was too much for me to bear."

The poet

Everybody, everybody, remembers the notebooks. Any time, any place, Jim would fish one from his back pocket, scribble and chuckle.

Chris Kallivokas, Bryan Gates and Tom Duncan. And Phil Anderson, George Greer, Ruth Duncan, Gail Swift and Mary. They all remember.

Around Jim, you always felt watched. He'd bait and goad, get a rise, take notes. "There was no one who wasn't under observation," Gates says. "His only purpose in life was observation."

When Jim drove, Mary kept a notebook at the ready.

"Write this!" he'd say, dictating an observation. Or he'd pull over and scribble himself.

Everyone has a story about Jim's brainy side. Kallivokas remembers the night his Clearwater High buddies and a new kid came by Alexander's Sundries, his father's drugstore on Clearwater Beach. They wanted Kallivokas to come party, but he had a term paper due the next day, on Lord Essex. Naturally, he had written all of two sentences.

"I know all about him," the new kid volunteered. Jim wrote the paper off the top of his head, with footnotes and bibliography.

"To this day, I don't know if it was right," says Kallivokas, who says he got an A+

They would rag Jim that the books crowding his living space were for show. He'd look away and challenge nonbelievers to pick any book and read the beginning of any chapter. He'd name the book, the author and more context than they cared to hear.

"He was a genius," Mary says. "He was incredible."

She says his heroes were William Burroughs, William Blake, Hieronymus Bosch, Norman Mailer, Friedrich Nietzsche, Karl Marx, Arthur Rimbaud, Aldous Huxley, Jack Kerouac.

Mary didn't have heroes like that. "Jim was my hero."

The provocateur

Pre-Mary, Jim's buddy Phil Anderson brought him to a house party on Clearwater Beach.

Jim was dazzling with the dictionary game. People would pick obscure words, and Jim would tell the definitions.

Phil turned, and his pal was standing on the couch, peeing on the floor. "Needless to say, we were asked to leave."

That was Jim. He'd charm, then provoke. It was worse when he drank.

He got epically drunk on Chianti at the all-day car races in Sebring, crawled around in a white fake fur coat like a polar bear covered in dirt and tried to launch himself onto the track. Friends grabbed his ankles.

"He'd get a real pleasure out of shocking people and being a little eccentric and peculiar," Kallivokas says. "And that came to the forefront when he had a couple drinks."

Mary says he rarely drank in her presence.

"It was out of respect for me. We were in love, and he didn't want to do things that I didn't like."

"That's a real key to understanding Jim," Gates says. "She was the love of his life in those days. They were virtually soul mates for three or four years."

In the fall, Jim transferred to Florida State. Most weekends, rain or shine, he hitchhiked back to Clearwater, 230 miles down U.S. 19. Most days in between, letters postmarked Tallahassee arrived at the Werbelow mailbox on Nursery Road.

Mary's father intercepted one, read the page about sex and never got to the part that made clear Jim was writing about a class. Furious at her father's snooping, she burned all Jim's letters, a move she came to regret, deeply.

She wasn't much of a letter writer herself. At Jim's direction, she wrote once a week and included the number of a public telephone in Clearwater and a time he should call.

On his end, Jim would put in a dime for the first two minutes. They would talk for hours. When the operator asked him to settle up, he'd take off. Free phone service.

On her end, Mary would loiter by the phone at the appointed hour, glancing about, certain it was the week the cavalry was coming to arrest her.

"I was so scared," she says, laughing. "I just thought it was normal. I see now it wasn't."

She always assumed he had her wait at different phones for her protection; now she's thinking it was his way of making sure she wrote him at least once a week.

March 30, 1963:

Eight years before Jim died

It's hardly something Mary brags about; she says she would have declined. But when the Jaycees called to recruit her for the Miss Clearwater competition, Mary's mother answered the phone.

"Oh, yeah," mom said, "she'll be happy to do it."

The third and final night of competition, more than 1,000 people packed Clearwater Municipal Auditorium. Five finalists matched "beauty, personality and poise."

Mary was looking good, not that Jim was thrilled. If she won, it was on to Miss Florida. Less time for him.

In her toreador outfit - tight-fitting green pants with red sequins down the sides from hip to ankle - Mary did the bossa nova, swirling a red and yellow satin cape. The Clearwater Sun called her performance a "house-stopper." Time for her big question: "If your husband grew a beard, what would you do?"

What a stupid question, she thought, and answered: "I'd let him grow it. Whether he would kiss me or not would be another matter."

She told the judges she was headed for college, torpedoing her chances because it meant she would not be available to fulfill all obligations of Miss Clearwater.

Sitting through other contestants' routines, Mary scanned the darkened hall until she spotted Jim, bored senseless. But there.

She got first runner-up.

1964-65, Los Angeles:

The breakup

Mary's father banned Jim from the Werbelow house. Mary won't say why; she doesn't want to add to the Morrison myth.

When she followed Jim to Tallahassee for a semester, her parents objected. When he started film school at UCLA and Mary announced she was following him to Los Angeles, they were devastated.

To bribe Mary to stay, her mother bought her an antique bedroom set, no competition for a 19-year-old following her heart.

Mary says Jim asked her to wear "something floaty" when she arrived in Los Angeles. "He wanted me to look like an angel coming off the plane."

Instead, she drove out a week early and surprised him.

Together again, in an exciting, intimidating city, they kept separate apartments. Mary got her first real job, in the office of a hospital X-ray department. Later, she donned a fringe skirt and boots as a go-go dancer at Gazzari's on the Sunset Strip.

Jim studied film. At the end of the year, a handful from among hundreds of student films were selected for public showing. Jim's was not among them.

Shortly after, Mary says, he told her he was humiliated, considered his formal education over and needed to forget everything. He built a fire in his back yard and incinerated many of his precious Florida notebooks.

Mary says he started doubting her commitment. "You're going to leave me," he would tell her.

"No, I'm not. How can you say that? I'm in love with you."

After one fight, Jim went out with another woman. He wasn't home the next morning. Mary went to the woman's house, but she said Jim wasn't there.

Mary called: "Come out wherever you are!"

Jim slinked forward, a hand towel around him. Mary bolted and, in a blur, hit the woman's fence as she sped off.

"That was the beginning of the end."

He was drinking hard and taking psychedelic drugs. The darkness she says she had seen from the start was overtaking him, and she didn't want to watch him explore his self-destructive bent. She felt he had swallowed her identity. Whatever he liked, she liked.

"I had to go out and see what parts of that were me. I just knew I had to be away from him. I needed to be by myself, to find my own identity."

She enrolled in art school. The day Jim helped her move to a new apartment, she told him she needed a break.

"He clammed up after that. I really hurt him. It hurts me to say that. I really hurt him."

They split up in the summer of 1965.

A few months later, Jim got together with a film school buddy, Ray Manzarek, who says he wanted to combine his keyboards with Jim's poetry. They started the band that became the Doors.

Friends from Clearwater never saw it coming. Back then, Jim didn't have much interest in music. He didn't even appear to have rhythm.

"He didn't sit around and sing," Mary says, laughing. "Jim, no, he was a poet. He wrote poetry."

By phone from his home in Northern California, Manzarek says all the guys in film school were in love with Mary. She was gorgeous, and sweet on top of that. "She was Jim's first love. She held a deep place in his soul."

The Doors' 11-minute ballad The End, Manzarek says, originally was "a short goodbye love song to Mary." (The famous oedipal parts were added later.)

This is the end, Beautiful friend

This is the end, My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end

Of everything that stands, the end

No safety or surprise, the end

I'll never look into your eyes . . . again

. . .

This is the end, Beautiful friend

This is the end, My only friend, the end

It hurts to set you free

But you'll never follow me

The end of laughter and soft lies

The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end

* * *

Within two years of their breakup, Light My Fire was No. 1 on the charts and Jim was the "King of Orgasmic Rock," the brooding heartthrob staring from the covers of Rolling Stone and Life.

He took up with other women, notably with longtime companion Pamela Courson, but Mary says she and Jim kept up with each other. She says she was his anchor to the times before things got crazy.

"I'd see him when he really needed to talk to someone."

Before a photo shoot for the Doors' fourth album, she says Jim told her: "The first three albums are about you. Didn't you know that?"

She says she didn't have the heart to tell him she had never really listened to them. She had heard Doors songs on the radio, but she didn't go to his concerts, she didn't keep up with his career.

Mary vehemently denies it, but Manzarek says she told Jim, "The band is no good and you'll never make it." He says Mary wanted Jim to go back to school, get a master's degree and make something of himself.

When Mary moved, she says, Jim had a knack for finding her. He would eventually ask if she had changed her mind. "Why can't we be together now?"

Not yet, she would answer, someday.

More than once, she says, he asked her to marry.

"It was heartbreaking. I knew I wanted to be with him, but I couldn't."

She thought they were too young. She worried they might grow apart. She needed more time to explore her own identity.

In late 1968, Mary moved to India to study meditation. She never saw Jim again.

March 1, 1969, Miami:

Two years before Jim died

With the Doors coming for their first Florida concert, Chris Kallivokas left a message with his old friend's record company. He says Jim called him back, loving life.

"The chicks we get, the money. . . . It's great."

"So that crowd control works," Kallivokas teased, talking about theories that intrigued Jim in Collective Behavior class at FSU. He said Jim answered:

"You've got to make them believe you're doing them a favor by being onstage. The more abusive you are, the more they love it."

They planned a reunion in Clearwater.

* * *

Some 15,000 fans cram into the 10,000-capacity Dinner Key Auditorium, a sweaty, converted seaplane hangar in Miami. Jim Morrison announces his drunken presence with dissonant blasts from a harmonica.

The cover boy, 26 now, has a paunch and beard, a cowboy hat with a skull and crossbones and noticeably slurred speech.

One stanza into the second song, Five to One, he berates the crowd.

"You're all a bunch of f - - - - - - idiots!"

Confused silence. Uncomfortable laughter.

"Letting people tell you what you're gonna do, letting people push you around. How long you do think it's gonna last? . . .

"Maybe you like it. Maybe you like being pushed around. Maybe you love it. Maybe you love getting your face stuck in the s - - -."

Screams from the audience.

"You're all a bunch of slaves. . . .

"Letting everybody push you around. What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do! What are you gonna do! What are you gonna do!"

He talks as much as he sings. He wails about loneliness and rants about love. Three songs after berating the crowd, the music softens and he lets loose a plaintive:

"Away, away, away, away, in India

"Away, away, away, away in In-di-a

"Away, away, away, away in In-di-a

"Away, away, away, away in In-di-a."

* * *

Morrison invited the crowd onstage, and the concert disintegrated. Amid the chaos, he supposedly unzipped his pants, exposed himself and simulated sex with guitarist Robby Krieger.

With the country debating indecency run amok, Jim Morrison was Exhibit A. He was charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, a felony, plus indecent exposure and two other misdemeanors.

The courtroom in Miami was packed. State witnesses saw what they saw. Others said it was hype, Morrison only simulated what he was accused of. There wasn't a single damning photo.

Bryan Gates hadn't seen Jim in ages. They caught up during a break, and talk inevitably turned to Mary. What ever happened to her? Gates asked. Jim said he had lost touch, California seemed to have swallowed her up psychically.

He was acquitted of the felony but convicted of indecent exposure. On Oct. 30, 1970, he was sentenced to six months of "confinement at hard labor" in the Dade County Jail.

Out on appeal, he moved to Paris, where he shared an apartment with Courson.

The Doors released L.A. Woman in April 1971, with hit songs Love Her Madly and Riders on the Storm. Months later, Jim Morrison was dead.

On July 3, 1971, Courson found him in the bathtub. The listed cause of death was heart attack; drugs were suspected. He was 27.

September 2005

34 years after Jim died

Mary is 61, unemployed and rarely leaves her mobile home. She says she married and divorced twice, and she has no children.

"I can't find anybody to replace Jim. We definitely have a soul connection so deep. I've never had anything like that again, and I don't expect I ever will."

She painted, mostly realistic oil portraits. She won a small legal settlement after she said she developed multiple chemical sensitivities from rat poison that seeped through the vents of her art studio over the years. It makes it difficult to be around scented products, and she gave up her art.

Mary would not meet with a reporter for this story or allow her photo to be taken. She says she weighs exactly what she did in high school - 107 pounds - but now her hair is long and gray. "People sometimes tell me I look like an artist."

She doesn't think the early Doors albums are all about her but says the lyrics include references to her and Jim's shared experiences, including the "blue bus" in The End. She considered writing about the references but decided against it. An artist herself, she didn't want to spoil people's various interpretations.

For decades, she says, she brooded over how things might have turned out had they stayed together but finally concluded it was destiny. "He was supposed to go into that deep, dark place."

His grave in Paris draws pilgrims from around the world, but not Mary. Quite the opposite, she says. She wants to forget, and still she feels his ghost checking on her.

Lines in Break on Through especially pain her, lines she interprets as Jim saying she betrayed him by not getting back together:

Arms that chain us

Eyes that lie

"I promised it wouldn't be forever, that I'd get back together with him sometime. I never did. It's very painful to think of that. For a long time, any time I would think about him, or anyone would talk about him, I'd cry.

"It used to make me so sad. I never gave him that second chance. That destroyed me for so long. I let him go and never gave him that second chance. I felt so guilty about that."

Mary says she is tired. She has trouble sleeping. She says she's not sure if she has done right by talking so much. She's worried that others will seek interviews that she does not want to give. She wants that made clear: She does not want to talk about Jim anymore.

- St. Petersburg Times researcher Caryn Baird contributed to this report.http://www.sptimes.com/2005/09/25/Doors/Mary_and_Jim_to_the_e.shtml

#Jim Morrison #Mary Werbelow