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#freeway ditch
operacontour · 1 month
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I had my stripper graduation tonight (ie : my face and ass have been in people's laps tonight and I think I saw like 6 pairs of tits) Everybody put their legs up on my shoulders bc I am the freak whose dance was based off of death and BDSM.
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Safe Harbour | Frankie Morales x F!AFAB!Reader | Fluff
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Summary:Frankie finally takes a bath for his bad back. You can't help but join him. Warnings: No explicit smut, but it's not "clean" either.         Bathing/Washing; Mild Sexual Content; No Smut; mentions of genitalia; Fluff; Domestic Fluff; Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Romantic Fluff; Valentine's Day Fluff; Bubble Bath/Bathtubs; Food mentions; alcohol mention; Frankie Morales has a bad back; But even that won't stop him from wanting to bone. Reader has no physical description but is "Mrs Morales", and has a vagina. Just a little fluffy fun with Frankie and you, his wife. Fluffbruary Prompt: Phone | Bubble bath | Doll [Day 14 prompts of @astromechs #rebelcaptain Fluffbruary!] Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @merz-8 for taking a look at this before I posted! Wordcount: 1920 Read on AO3
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“I’m almost home guapo,” you coo down the speakerphone, the traffic around you finally beginning to move. You’re sweaty and irritable and if it weren’t for the promise of Frankie and a long weekend together, you’d be miserable right now.
“Drop-off go ok?” Frankie asks and you shiver at the way his voice sounds, deep, rich, relaxed. You’re about to answer when you hear a strange swooshing noise in the background of the call, but you carry on regardless.
“Yeah, Gabi was fine, far more interested in the empanadas Diego and Maria were making than saying goodbye to me,” you chuckle as you recall the apologetic look Maria’s new husband had given you when Gabi had run off without so much as a second glance at you.
“Don’t take it to heart mi cielo, she’s five, and takes after her dad in being painfully food motivated,” Frankie tries to soothe you over the phone, but you shake your head, even if he can’t see you.
“I know,” you say before another swooshing noise distracts you in the background of the call, “Frankie, are you in the bath right now?”
There’s a heavy pause and you feel the bubble of triumphant energy pooling in your belly. You’ve been trying to get Frankie to take a bath for weeks. It’s not that the man doesn’t wash – Frankie is a clean freak even by your standards – no, it’s the back and shoulder pain you’re more concerned about.
“I might be,” he says, the smirk on his face clear in his tone.
“Did you use that bath bomb I got for you?” You ask with a bigger grin on your face as you prepare to ditch the slow-moving traffic for your exit of the freeway.
“I did.”
“How does it feel?” You ask as you finally break free of the traffic, you’re only a few minutes out now and the idea of Frankie in the bath is making you impatient.
“So good mi amor, I should have listened to you months ago,” he admits, and you bite your lip as you grin.
“I’m just glad you’re enjoying it,” you say as you turn in to your street.
“Come join me when you get in yeah?” Frankie asks sleepily and you can already imagine his blissed-out face and damp curls.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
~*~
You knock on the bathroom door with your free hand, the fingers of the other wrapped around two bottles of pilsner. Your black silk robe hangs open, exposing the lacy red set of lingerie you have on.
“Come in muñeca, the water’s just fine,” Frankie says with a heady sigh, “What took you so-,”
Frankie’s voice cuts out with a strangled gasp as you nudge the door open with your hip. His jaw goes slack as he looks you up and down, his dark brown eyes swimming with hazy desire. He’s stretched out in your large corner tub; you can hear the soft rumble of the jets that line the sides of the bath.
“You’re too good to me,” Frankie says with a groan as he takes the beers from your hand so you can shimmy out of your robe. You see the way his chest is red and flushed from the hot water, colour creeps up his neck, and dapples across his cheeks. His soft curls stick to his temples and forehead as sweat and water droplets bead at his brow.
You take it slow, shrugging it off your shoulders so it bunches around your elbows, exposing the skin of your chest. Frankie’s tongue darts across his lower lip as he watches you inch the flowing material down over your curves. His eyes follow with rapt attention as you feel the heat simmer under your skin.
“So beautiful mi amor,” Frankie breathes as he sinks a little lower in the bath. The fragrant waters slosh around him as he not-so-subtly places the beers on the tiled floor before slipping a hand below the surface.
“Thank you,” you coo as you unhook your bra and toss it to the floor. Your nipples are hard despite the steamy room, pebbling with arousal at the way Frankie is devouring you with his eyes. You turn slowly on the spot, baring your ass to him as you roll your thong down your legs. You hear the sharp intake of breath when you bend forward, giving him the smallest glimpse of your cunt. You slip the garment off your feet and kick them into the pile of discarded clothes.
“C’mere,” Frankie rasps as you hear the bathwater churn a little, you turn to see him sitting upright on the small shelf built into the bath, arms outstretched.
“How could I say no to that?” You ask as you saunter over to the tub. Frankie holds out a hand to steady you as you step into the tub, you grip it firmly as he guides you down onto his lap.
The hot water rushes up to meet you and you moan softly as your skin burns a little at the high temperature. It’s a pleasantly exhilarating feeling as you settle in the steamy bath, thighs straddling Frankie’s lap as his hands settle on your body. One hand cups your cheek as the other rests on the curve of your hip. You don’t miss Frankie’s thick, hard length bobbing between you.
“Missed you baby,” Frankie murmurs as he tilts his head up to look at you, his facial hair is coated in droplets of moisture that shake from his moustache as he speaks.
“I wasn’t gone that long,” you chastise him gently as you thread your fingertips through the curls at the nape of his neck. You rest your forearms on his shoulders as you roll your hips forward to press your mound against his cock, trapping it between you. Frankie’s body shudders beneath you as he lets out a soft hiss.
“Long enough for me to draw a bath and soak a while before you got back,” he pouts a little as you press a soft kiss to his jaw, right where the hair refuses to grow.
“Poor Frankie,” you tease as you leave a kiss at the corner of his mouth, the bristles of his moustache taking delightfully over your skin, “Such a needy boy.”
That sends shivers down his spine as he turns his head to capture your lips with his own. He takes your bottom lip between his and sucks on it slowly, pulling on it before letting it go with an audible pop. His dark eyes glisten as he looks up at you, a silent question behind them.
“You need to rest your back baby,” you scold him as his dick twitches against your stomach, “Ten more minutes and then we can have some fun.”
“You’re cruel,” he whines but he doesn’t press further, instead he lays back, sinking you both deeper into the hot, heady waters.
You lean forward and press your face into his damp locks and nestle your nose against his ear. You trace irregular patterns along the slopes of his shoulders as he runs his hands up and down your back.
You stay there for some time, steam curling around you as the water ripples with a soft hum, the rhythm soothing. The air jets blow bubbles over your legs, a gentle caress that has you curling your body forward, enveloping Frankie with your naked form.
“Thank you for dropping Gabi off,” Frankie’s voice is no more than a whisper as his lips ghost the damp skin of your collarbone. You can feel the press of his strong nose and the brush of his soft facial hair as he nuzzles into you.
It’s like you’re both desperate to get closer, although there is naught but skin on skin, souls bared and bodies entwined. It’s hot and clammy, and you know you’ll need a full shower after, but it’s worth it. Intimate moments with Frankie like this are priceless.
“Thank you for looking after yourself, you’ve been pushing it too hard lately,” you say with a sigh as you toy with hair behind Frankie’s ear, twisting the curls around your fingertips.
“I know, but I do it for you, for Gabi, for us,” Frankie wraps his arms around you, one snaking around your waist, the other gripping your neck from behind. You’re anchored to him, unmoving amongst the turbulent waters.
“And I love that,” you hum softly as you pull back a little, pressing your cheek into Frankie’s as you savour the contact, “Just want you to look after yourself too sometimes.”
“You’re so good to me,” he says, weariness clear in his tone, “I love you.”
“I give as good as I get, guapo, I love you too,” you respond with a smile on your lips as you lean back to look him in the eye, “How ‘bout we shower off and order some takeout?”
“Then bed?” Frankie smirks up at you, bottom lip between his teeth as he raises his eyebrows suggestively at you.
“We could eat the takeout in bed,” you counter with an equally salacious grin on your face.
“You’re incorrigible Mrs Morales,” Frankie teases and you yelp as he stands abruptly, you scramble to wrap your legs around him. You engage your core, and support yourself with your arms on his shoulders as you glare down at him.
“That’s not good for your back,” you scold him but he simply grins up at you before teasing his teeth along your jaw.
“Sorry Mrs Morales, maybe you need to teach me how to behave.”
“I really do, put me down,” you growl as you leer at him and he rolls his eyes and relents. He puts you down gently and you cross your arms over your chest. You can’t stay angry at Frankie for long, you know it, he knows it, but it’s worth labouring the point.
“Fine, besides, the bath did wonders,” he says with a shrug as he bends and flexes for you, as if to prove a point of his own.
“Yeah, yeah,” you scowl as you point to the shower, “Hit the showers Morales, we’ll see how limber you are once you cool down.”
“I don’t plan on cooling down for a few hours, muñeca,” Frankie clicks his tongue as he cups your chin, brushing the pad of his thumb across your moist bottom lip.
“Don’t come crying to me when you can’t move in the morning,” you say without any real bite to your tone.
“Noted, now, what are we ordering in? I’m starving,” Frankie says with a grin before slipping into the shower.
You shake your head, incredulous as you join him under the hot water. You wash each other slowly, savouring the rough drag of the washcloth over your skin. He massages your scalp as the water washes over you, you repeat the action for him. It’s a delicate dance peppered throughout with affectionate touches and open-mouthed kisses.
Eventually you’re swaying together without purpose, a slow, sleepy waltz of sheer bliss as the hot water cascades over your joint bodies. One of you needs to make the first move to get out of the shower and call the local takeout place, it takes almost an hour before you do.
Never have you felt so content, but Frankie Morales is your home, your refuge and safe harbour. You know for certain he feels the same way.
Never before had you known love, then Frankie Morales came along.
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carnivalcarrion · 4 months
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Hello! I have come asking for you to info-dump about the the modern human au. I full of brain rot of them (especially after the last thing you posted about them, damn) Maybe you can tell us a bit more Sally!!
lucky for you, i've been full of that good ol brainrot As Well! thoughts! feelings! ideas! i got em!
so since we're already on the subject of the Crash Arc, allow me to expand on it for a moment before i get to Sally Thinkings! if you've read the snippet, you may have noticed the extent of Wally's injuries was not listed yet. well! he got messed up with a capital F! since it's fiction and i'm god in this scenario, i'm veering slightly away from realistic damage, immediate & lasting. bc lets be real. if i stuck to "this is as realistic as i can make it", then Wally would be aaaaaabsolutely fucked. it was a bad crash in a very unsafe vehicle at high speeds. like - this is what happened. a drunk driver hit Home going 70 down the freeway. swerve, fishtail, tumble down a (small, shallow, really its more like a glorified ditch) ravine with trees and rocks and shit on it. absolute miracle that Wally didn't die in the crash, let alone during the solid half hour (slightly longer) he was trapped in Home before someone noticed the crash site and called emergency personnel. Wally "hanging up" on Barnaby was actually the impact jarring him so he slipped and hit the end call button. but yeah without going into technicalities and detail, Wally has some lasting damage in his dominant hand. It takes extensive physical therapy for him to be able to paint/draw again at the same level he had been at. the hematoma hadn't done a lot of brain damage that wouldn't resolve itself with time. in my mind, when Wally wakes up in the hospital, for a few days he's very confused and his memory is shot. he'll wake up, interact, then go to sleep, but when he wakes up again its like waking up for the first time again. he just can't retain memories for a bit. he's got some severe brain fog. his mood is also kinda fucked with - he's uncharacteristically irritable with low patience, etc. these are all things that clear up with time, but in my mind Wally has chronic migraines going forward. bad ones! and there are days where it's harder fr him to concentrate. and yk. a teeny bit of chronic pain where his shin bone was pinned back together and where his hand was essentially crushed. but other than that he's fine going forward! good days and bad days!
but enough about that! You Want To Hear About Sally!
i imagine that she becomes quite successful in the theater industry. i'm not too familiar with it myself, so i'm gonna be uh. Vague about it? but she starts her own theater troupe - it's a bit of a commute from home base to the town she works in, where the theater is located in, but she makes it work! of the group, she's probably away more than any of them. working on shows, traveling to work on other ones - i like to think she's been on Broadway! she probably has had opportunities to do tv/movie acting, but idk... i feel like Sally would be like "nah. live shows or nothing". maybe at some point she takes up voice acting gigs, as long as she can do them from home. she probably has her own little room-turned-VA-studio thing. idk how that works either! it seems right! but yes Howdy's store's automated messages and advertisements are in Sally's voice. she's probably picked up a temporarily modeling gig here and there.
so Sally is very very busy. Poppy is supportive. everyone is, and they all love to help out when they can - and reel Sally in when the "stardom" starts to get to her head. they do their best to acclimate to occasionally getting jumpscared by her voice in a grocery store or in. idk. fashion shoots. victoria's secret billboards. that last one was a joke! maybe. i think she would.
i also like to imagine Sally like... getting some sort of award and then spending a solid five minutes naming her friends, thanking them with specificity, and then plugging their own stuff. they probably have a rotation for who accompanies her as her plus one for events and parties she may or may not be invited to. she's not like... a Big celebrity but! she's Known and Liked! she has Connections! i like to imagine her and Wally looking dapper as fuck at a Venue...
so the friend group typically stays together, with Sally going off to do her Things the most. she makes sure to schedule time to be with her friends and girlfriend/wife/Poppy between work and gigs and etc. she somehow finds a balance with Ease. or apparent ease... someone get this girl a vacation...
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scorpiomother · 1 year
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IN LUST WE TRUST (pt. one)
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・゚★ . this is some visionary shit. been tryna film pleasure with my eyes wide shut, but it keeps on moving
summary: they don’t know one thing about each other, but they do know that they want each other. bad. little do they know, they are at the mercy of an influx of hormones caused by a radioactive spider.
pairing: mcu!peter parker x f!silk reader
word count: 9.7k
warnings: explicit content. minors dni (+18) mentions of weed and anxiety. partaking in alcohol. copious amount of sexual pining (maybe too much oops xx). taking peter’s virginity. unprotected public sex w/ a stranger. not sex pollen but basically.
curated vibes: novacane. pyramid. stargirl interlude. 
masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 read on ao3 𓆩♡𓆪  kofi 𓆩♡𓆪 series mlist
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HAVE MERCY
Peter wanted his first time to be with a girl he loved. Special like first times are supposed to be.
He didn’t know what had come over him, but he couldn’t stop himself. Before he knew it, she was bruising his neck and all he could do was crumble into her. Inhale her intoxicating scent and bury his face into her chest. Give her the same marks she gave him…
 It felt almost inevitable, somewhat of a mysterious plan orchestrated by the stars. It was like two meteorites colliding, something you can’t see until it’s too late. A lust-filled collision leaving no casualties. At least that was the only sensible way to explain how he could fuck someone he just met. 
Though to his credit, this was the second time he ran into her. Unfortunately, it still didn’t excuse the fact that she was still a stranger.
It must’ve been the universe throwing him a bone— this fate led entanglement. Not the burning tingle in his hands, nor the sensory overload throwing Peter into a haziness that he was going to regret later. He desperately needed to think that he was a victim in all of this to live with himself.
All he wanted was some weed. How was he supposed to know he was going to lose his virginity in the bathroom of a hole-in-the-wall bar?
It started three days ago. The encounter wasn’t supposed to be as unnerving as it was, but the way his mouth got dry being in the same vicinity as her was enough to make him feel weird. If he was being completely honest, he felt like a creep taking advantage of the situation.
Taking the subway was a rare circumstance that Peter had ditched years ago, finding it way faster and more convenient to use his spider abilities. But the night before, Peter had been slaving away to finish his biochem lab and was too tired to put on the suit and use every strain of muscle in him to swing across the city for class. The last time he was sleep deprived and navigating his way through the skyscrapers, he knocked into a billboard like a mosquito on the freeway. So it was easier to walk to the relatively close subway and sit his exhausted ass on the bench until he reached his stop.
But God, was he out of touch with reality. Everyone had come off of work, the afternoon brimming with traffic. Rather than slouching on a seat, he held onto the silvery pole amongst the other hands and tried to take up the least space possible. There was an elbow jammed into his back and a foot on his Converses. The swarm of released students and dull businessmen and grandma’s on a grocery trip had been all too much. The humidity that came from the crowd was quick to reach Peter. He was already uncomfortable and regretting his poor choice.
And then, something he can only describe as his spider senses revved up his already overstimulated mind. Vacuously, his nose twitched. The air around him abruptly became heavy and light all at the same time. The atmosphere claustrophobically nauseating and sticky.
At first, it was dizzying in all the right ways. A soothing kiss on his skin. He began to sigh, his cluster fuck of a brain easing up on him. It was like he was holding his breath and he could finally release it. A sizable weight released off of his shoulders. And then he inhaled— a terrible mistake.
It was like the humidity dissipated within moments until the kiss turned into teeth sinking in his flesh. It bit down hard, canines and all. Utterly piercing. Every particle in him was burning like the air was exchanged for cyanide. 
God, was it incredibly hot. Scalding, really. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees. To not rip off his shirt like a savage caveman searching for the cool air to storm his bare chest. 
All he could think was that he must have been having a panic attack, and somehow, he was supposed to act like he wasn’t feeling everything all at once.
I’m fucking dying. What’s happening to me? Ican’tfuckingbreath.
There was nothing but his heartbeat striking at his eardrums and sweat drenching his skin. It felt like the day he got bit. A pain that felt infinite, tormenting him.
And then everything went silent. The suffocating air was bearable. The iron prick on his skin was less than molten. He came to his awareness, realizing for a nanosecond that there had been a small hand wrapped around his hand instead of the pole. It was the most relief he had felt in what seemed like hours. He didn’t know how she got here, but he was thankful for the slice of grounding she gave him.
“I’m sorry,” her shaky, yet dulcet voice apologized.
“I- um. It’s okay,” he rasped out. 
Her body occupied the space in front of him, her aroma perforating the air around him. The mixture of cinnamon tea and muted roses and an intoxicating other thing made his head spin. She was a breath of roses soaked in spices, a temporary balm to his lungs. 
The whirl of chaos that ensued made his sight obscured by tunnel vision. Somehow it was a small blessing that past the havoc and anxiety, he was able to drink her in. 
She might’ve been the prettiest thing he had seen since MJ.
Her glossy lips and dilated pupils that screamed yearning was stirring his chest into an explosive device, just waiting to detonate. He wanted to look at her until there was nothing to look at anymore. Till there was nothing more to memorize.
It was beginning to feel something close to love at first sight until his cock twitched.
Peter immediately felt a great sense of mortification. He was ashamed. He adjusted his hand on the pole, attempting to make the slightest of room for her to grab so that she didn’t have to touch a creep. But when she removed her hand from his, he could feel the poison leaking into the air again. He was without her and it was painful.
Her hand clasped onto the pole right below Peter’s, the end of his fist slightly rubbing against her thumb and index finger. Her touch was feather light and he quickly regretted making space for her. His twisted mind wanted to take up as much possible space so that she had no choice but to drape over him. 
Peter was biting the bottom of his lip, a scream of agony swelling in his throat. He was in pain and he wanted her to fix it, though he didn’t know exactly how a stranger could fix this sudden fever.
As if the world could see through Peter, the train came to an abrupt stop causing a slight commotion in the train. There were slight murmurs and shifting of the feet. The displeased groans and the rough noise of metal scrapping and squeaking. But Peter could hardly pay attention to his surroundings. It was all white noise compared to the soft oh that left her velvet lips. On the other hand, fuck was on the precipice of his tongue, the profanity almost being forced out by the sudden contact with her. Her weak grasp on the pole had transcended her stance, causing her to fall into Peter.
Regardless of his discombobulated state, Peter’s spider senses had granted him a hasty reaction. His hand had found her waist in one fast motion as if her body was a sixth sense of his. The understanding of her space and being was a secret language that he was never aware of till now, and he had mastered it in minutes. Maybe it was his heightened sense from the spider bite, but her breath was strained and her heart was in tandem with Peter’s- their pulses far too fast for him to even count. He felt like they were one and the same at that moment. They were two people in an anxious state (if he could call it that) in the same place, at the same time. 
She gasped as her back became flush with Peter’s chest. “Sorry… Again” 
She could have taken it as him helping her regain her balance or to keep her from invading his personal space further, but really he was trying to steer her away from his member. 
“No, I’m sorry.” He said, removing his hand from her. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”
Didn’t mean to pop a tent in public is what he really wanted to say. Yes, he didn’t mean to grab her, but he wasn’t actually sorry. He felt no remorse when she felt like that. 
She shook her head, roses further perfuming Peter’s air. 
“It’s not our fault…” She muttered. 
She adjusted herself, attempting to give Peter distance, but failed as the train was at full capacity. He could feel her try to shrink, to remove her ass from his thigh, but she had nowhere else to go. He wanted to repossess her waist and tell her it’s okay. His hand was close to pulling her back in until she was sinking into him completely.
He felt a flurry of emotions, this strange sense of need clawing at his chest for her. His instincts blurred his sensibility and logic. His thoughts weren’t in his possession. They were intrusive and deafening and out of his reach.
He took one sharp inhale to get air, an attempt to be submerged in her field of roses, and the hairs on his neck stood up. He could smell her cunt from this distance and if Peter wasn’t mistaken, she was just as aroused as he was. This felt so sinful to Peter.
Close proximity wasn’t enough. He needed to be in her. 
No. That was wrong. So fucking wrong. He just met her. No, that wasn’t right either. He didn’t meet her. They were just two passengers on a commute home that had no personal interaction. It was just accidents transpiring. An accident to run into her. A mistake to touch her. All a misfortune to his psyche.
But when he looked at her lips, he could swear he could almost taste it. He imagined her cherry-flavored lips adorning his neck, smearing mahogany along his body till he was red all over. Till her lips were wrapped around his…
No, this was so wrong.
And yet she felt so good against him. 
His mind was overflowing with obscenities like water breaking through a dam, something completely out of his control.
She wanted this just as much as he does. How could he explain the arousal dripping between her thighs? If only he could just get closer…
Peter’s head started to hang low. His control was slipping. He felt drunk, acting off of impulse. It was a losing battle of tug-of-war with a horny, roid-raging demi-god cracked out of his goddamn mind at one end and innocent Peter at the other.
His lips felt a magnetic force drawing him to her, the innate desire to drag them along her body consuming him whole. 
Perhaps, she could feel it too, because her gaze had shifted from her feet to Peter, her doe eyes interlocking with his gawking stare. He was drawn to the flutter of her eyelashes and the curious twinkle in her iris. Her pretty little eyes were just tainting his weak mind.
She felt so far away even like this. Inches away and it still wasn’t enough for him. In Peter's mind, her stare was calling out to him like a siren. It’s okay. Touch me. Feel me, she conveyed with her innocent blinks.
There’s something wrong with me, he finalized. 
As she took a hold of his stare, she licked her lips.
It’s the taunting maneuver of the tongue that makes him want to submit to all of the obscene thoughts, but her innocent words that came next shackle him down.
“Are you okay?” She asked, her concern clear on her face.
No, I’m not okay. My heart is going hundreds of miles per minute and I want to fuck you.
God, was this all just so wrong and he knew it.
Beneath his feet, he could feel the brakes rumble beneath the train and prepared to make a break for it before he did something to this innocent woman. He had to force himself out, taking the next stop even if it wasn’t his to take. 
“This is my stop,” he blurted out.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes penetrating through him. 
As her touch detached itself from him, he could feel the ache prickle back up. Fuck.
His focus was collapsing, turning his eyesight into complete mush. His vision blurred just trying to take her in one last time. All of his senses were bursting at the seams and finally gave up, it appeared. It felt like he was malfunctioning. Breaking.
“See ya,” he said absentmindedly, blinking back the fog in a poor attempt to will his vision back to him.
He doesn’t know how he managed to get out, but he does. Instead of her perfume, there’s New York’s signature scent of sewer and trash invading his senses. He can finally breathe, but it doesn’t feel like it as his hands shake and sweat trickles down his face.
There’s a sense of heartbreak when he walks away and he doesn’t know why he yearns for this girl he has no name for. But with the very little control he has, he uses it to propel his feet forward, one after another and didn’t bare to look back. He didn’t know what he would do if he looked back and saw those glassy eyes of hers.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
After power walking through the city for twenty minutes, he finally reached his dingy apartment. He was profusely sweating and it wasn’t from the trek.
In his own confinement, he immediately wrapped his hand around his aching bulge and tried to find relief, but even after cumming he was left with a guilty conscious and a stubborn hard-on. The worst part was that it didn’t end there.
For the past few days, his intrusive thoughts made him agoraphobic. He didn’t think it was possible for his cock to be the reason for him becoming a complete shut-in, but he also didn’t think it was possible to gain superhero abilities from a spider bite. An ugly rash, maybe, but super strength? Somehow the world kept him on his toes, though unwillingly.
He skipped out on patrol and started using the drop-off option for groceries while he locked himself up in his apartment like a feral animal. It wasn’t right to walk around the city with a raging boner and he wasn’t going to have his mugshot on the Daily Bugle captioned New York’s Newest Perv. He went two full days without leaving, but by Thursday his life as a student had caught up to him. The semester had just started and biochem wasn’t something he could skip out on. Not unless he wanted to go from a hard-earned A to a disappointing B.
During the lecture, he tried really hard to pay attention, but her succulent lips haunted him. 
He was entertaining his dream from last night, a salacious fantasy that kept replaying in his mind. His hands were tied up against the headboard, leaving him completely helpless. No matter how much he pleaded her to stop, she continued to approach him. He shut his eyes until he felt her tongue lap up his precum. By the time he opened them back up, she was bobbing her head up and down on his poor cock for what seemed like hours. When he woke up he was left with cum stained boxers and a pounding heart.
Just imagining it made him hard.
Luckily, his uniform for the time being was an oversized hoodie and sweatpants to hide his looming member. He was past feeling guilty towards the public. If anything this was a medical incident that he couldn’t stop if he tried. His guilt was saved for her.
He attempted to focus on what the professor was saying, but a conversation behind him took the forefront of his hearing. A feminine voice attempted to be discreet, but whispers never got past Peter.
“How much for a couple of ounces?” 
“Jesus, who told you I sell?” Peter recognized the other voice as CJ, someone he had previous classes with, but never talked to.
“Who cares? I got the money,” she said.
CJ scoffed at her pompous remark. “What are you, a narc?” 
“I have a party on Saturday and I promised weed galore.” 
Overhearing the conversation about weed gave him a bright idea that nearly knocked the perma-boner right off of him. Not only was Peter a virgin, but he was also substance free. In spite of that, the prospect of weed sounded exceptional when the excruciating blue balls that he had dealt with for the last seventy-two hours were still going strong.
After class, he shamelessly went up to CJ.
“I heard that you have stuff?” Peter whispered.
“Fuck, you heard that?” CJ laughed.
“Sorry, she was kind of loud,” Peter said modestly. “Can I buy from you?”
“I didn’t know you liked stuff, Peter.”
It was a quick interaction, but it was efficient. They exchanged contacts and scheduled their meet-up for later tonight, being that Peter couldn’t succumb to his cock any longer.
It felt like forever as Peter sank into his bed, waiting for the time to pass by.
Was it possible to crave another person? Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of her. Every time he slept, he dreamt of her. It was a painstaking burden for Peter to have. She changed his whole brain chemistry, igniting this visceral need within him. It was like his body just had to have her. 
He hoped that whatever CJ provided would take his troubles away.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
“Trying to black out?” The bartender had asked when she requested a long island iced tea.
She shook her head as she handed him the cash she was supposed to use for dinner. She almost didn’t give him the tip after his comment, but her pent-up aggression was out on the world for making her sexually frustrated, not him. Maybe she was trying to black out with the most notorious drink on the menu! Or it was more like she didn’t know what else to order, being that this wasn’t her scene and completely out of her comfort zone.
She sat in the far corner of the space, nursing her potent drink and observing the crowd. Normally people watching was something that she enjoyed and did with ease, but she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with her. She stopped feeling like herself. She felt mentally out of balance like her consciousness was slipping past her fingers like granules of sand and the fact that she was here was all the verification she needed.
She had never gone to places like this. Bars, clubs, parties. Ever since the whole spider thing, that crowd overstimulated her out of her mind. Hurt too much. Sometimes she even imagined getting out of New York to somewhere quieter.
But there was something pulling her into Pyramid, a flashy bar at first glance, but through the window, she was able to see the lack of young adults. Perhaps, it was that eerie name that made people her age steer clear because it made her want to steer clear from the illuminati-esque name. Yet the irresistible feeling to step in there was present and it wasn’t exactly due to the sign glowing in red that said, GIRLS DRINK FREE ON THU. It flashed brightly, temporarily staining her lids. It didn’t matter what was on the sign. It could have said, SENIORS BINGO NIGHT or ORGY IN PROCESS and she would’ve entered. All that she cared about was that it was an interruption to her sex-crazed mental state, the ruby neon blinding the memory of his large hands on her waist. And for that, they deserved her “service.”
Maybe she did need a drink after the past couple of days. She felt like a puppy in heat. Her skin felt itchy and in the middle of the night, her hand would teleport to the inside of her underwear. She was obsessing over some boy on the train so intensely that it transcended her consciousness, him making a feature in her tantalizing dreams. 
Thinking about the train situation made a chill run up her spine. Just the thought of the throbbing ache from that day brought physical discomfort. 
It was the first time she had left her apartment in days, the overwhelming sense of anxiety and arousal weighing heavy on her chest, and she was spending it at a bar. Initially, she was on a mission to pick up tteokbokki from a neighboring restaurant after realizing she couldn’t DoorDash for a third time today but got distracted by the flashing lights that promised free drinks. She was truly desperate to feel anything other than dread.
Luckily, the atmosphere wasn’t as eerie as its name, but it did feel like she was a part of a secret club with the older crowd fanned out along the tables. It was like only a small set of people in New York knew about this place and that brought it some validity. It was special and it was here, whether she came or not. 
She gulped a couple of ounces down, before placing her cheek in her palm and let her anxiety-ridden knee run free. She felt the alcohol simmer in her body along with the thoughts of the boy on the train that circulated in her mind for the hundredth time today.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
“Jesus man, you really haven’t gotten any sleep, huh?”
Peter knew he looked bad, but he didn’t think he looked that bad. He was hoping he had that sexy Pete Davidson exhaustion rather than whatever he looked like now, but he was sure Pete Davidson wasn’t governed by his dick like he was.
“Basically,” Peter said before handing CJ the cash. 
The September air was a punch in the stomach, promising a harsh winter in a few months. The back alley where they were doing the exchange was in the perfect position to allow the brisk wind to come and go as it pleased. Peter was glad that the weather had turned from a blistering humidity to a nippy chill, making his thick apparel more than appropriate. Before leaving his apartment, all he could think of was that he should have worn a trench coat to tie the whole sleaze-bag aesthetic together.
“Wanna come in? I can make you a drink, my treat,” CJ smiled warmly, throwing a thumb back to the door that said EMPLOYEES ONLY.
“Ahh you don’t have to do that, I already got everything I wanted,” Peter said, shoving the plastic baggy in his jeans. He felt bad barging on CJ at his place of work, but CJ had been the one to urge Peter over and get his fix. And now that Peter got what he asked for, he just wanted to go home and figure out how to deal with his perma-boner.
“Come on. Best in his class, Peter Parker, spacing out and getting the wrong answers? You sound like you need a drink.” 
“What are you? My dad?” Peter laughed nervously because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. Was it that bad? That his classmate whom he only started talking to for drugs realized his absentmindedness?
He was in no shape to be at a bar right now when he was prone to random boners and heat flashes like a middle-aged woman going through menopause. But when CJ nodded his head to the door and told Peter, come on, his feet followed CJ through the back door.
“Thank you,” Peter said.
“Don’t thank me. Just know that I’m blowing up your phone for biochem questions,” CJ laughed.
Peter didn’t know how to feel about getting scammed into being his weed dealer’s personal google, but at least it didn’t give him a boner. That was a win for Peter.
CJ worked at a small-scale bar, but for a Thursday night, it had a handful of people. It was mostly middle-aged women and senior men, but business was business.
When Peter sat down on the stool to watch CJ he realized that this was his first time in a bar. When you were Peter Parker and Spider-Man on the side, you didn’t have time to enjoy being legal or even a normal young adult. He didn’t know whether to soak it in or shrug his shoulders with nonchalance, but he couldn’t even confront the topic. The air turned hot, impeding his ability to think.
The longer he stayed in the bar, the more he perspired and felt like he was subjugated to poison ivy. It arrived like goosebumps, a faint and chilling sensation, and then the impending irritation to his skin started to flare. He ran his nails across his neck and nearly, yelped at the sensitivity.
He held in an aggravated sigh, feigning normalcy as he could feel a fever forcing its way into him. He wished he had the words to explain what was happening. Was this like a second puberty? Did spiders even experience puberty?
He tried to focus on the various bottles that were behind CJ in hopes of suppressing all of the emerging pain. Bacardi. Pink Whitney. Tito’s. Jack Daniels. Just looking at them made him feel uneasy, despite never having liquor before. It was like mentally reciting the brands was a spell that made him inebriated. Grey Goose. Patron. Hennessey. In Peter’s peripherals, he noticed CJ’s mouth moving.
“Huh?” He said, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
“I said, she’s kinda cute. Don’t you think?”
When Peter looked back to the place where CJ’s eyes lingered, his spike in temperature and overall delirium made sense.
In the back of the bar, there she sat alone. The girl who held his accusations and grief. The girl who fired up the appetite in his loins. His heart was a lost puppy reuniting with its owner. He could feel the pulse in his throat as if his heart was ready to evacuate from its cell. His chest was ready to tear, letting the poor heart of his ravage her.
She looked better than she did in his dreams. He was hardly surprised by the spike in his heartbeat and the twitching of his cock as he skimmed over the black mini skirt riding up her bare thigh. He feasted on the sight of her, perhaps for too long, but CJ didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh. That’s weird,” Peter finally said.
“What?”
“I think I know her…” When he said that, he realized that he was a liar. He didn’t know her. Not really. He knew of her face and of her searing touch that stemmed from his dreams. He knew her in a way that wasn’t good enough for him. He needed more. “I think I’m gonna say hi.”
“Before you do that… Shot of courage, and that drink I promised you,” CJ said, sliding the glasses across the countertop.
“Fuck. Thanks,” Peter gulped at the beckoning alcohol.
Peter looked at the shot glass of amber, then at her, and then at the shot again. Fuck it. He snatched the weighted glass and swallowed the liquid in one go. He felt cinnamon in his sinuses and the swell of tears in his eyes. If he focused too hard he could feel the liquid swish in his belly and the likelihood of him hurling became exponentially high.
“Why does it burn so much?” He said past the coughs. 
“You’ve never had Fireball?” 
Peter grabbed the other drink and pushed himself out of his seat while CJ chuckled. If CJ said anything else, Peter didn’t hear it. He was zoned in on the sting in his chest and the insatiable need to be near her.
Peter felt like his legs were of lead as he made his way to her. If not for the sweating glass in his hand, he would have sprinted to her, but it was filled to the brim and ready to spill. That’s how he felt— A sopping mess trying to keep the equilibrium from going out of wack. He was ready to overflow.
Was it possible to be drunk after one shot? And did being drunk mean he would feel like he was dying? He didn’t know how this worked with his super genes, but the excruciating pain in his groin was festering and a handful of thumbtacks were piercing into him like a cork board. He tried his best to control his breathing, but as the distance between them lessened, his heart frantically shook against his ribcage.
Once he was within reach of her, he swore he could feel the alcohol leaking out from his pores. A small piece of him was shaking, questioning, now what?
Now, you take her, said a divine intervention. She reached out for her half-filled cup, and his instincts overpowered him. He finally took in her wrist, relieving him but only partially. It was an ice cube to the palm while his whole body was covered in lava, leaving him charred and ready to turn into ash under her command.
It felt good until he realized she was real and palpable. Someone with personal space and boundaries. Someone that was a complete stranger to him. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” 
Her eyebrows knit under confusion until she recognized him. The short-lived fear was replaced with a sheen of wonder. “Oh, it’s you.”
“It’s me,” he said almost breathless.
Her wrist was lost in ownership. It was clearly connected to her and yet it felt like it belonged to him entirely. She felt like velvet. He wondered if her skin felt like this everywhere.
When he came back to his senses, he finally let go, but there was a piece of him that was yelling at him to take it back as if it really belonged to him. “I’m sorry for grabbing you,” he said as he watched her hand slink back into her possession. Just barely, he noticed the way that her other hand touched the spot he grabbed before placing them below the table. His throat felt dry as her eyes sank into him. 
“Again,” she deadpanned.
 “Again,” he repeated. The tips of his ears were warm with shame.“I swear I’m not following you-”
“I know,” she interrupted with a faint smile. “What’s that?” 
Peter looked at the drink in question. He hadn’t really looked at it before until now, being that all of his focus was on her. The liquid was a red-to-tangerine gradient with an orange wedge on the rim. In truth, he couldn’t even make an educated guess. “I don’t really know.”
“Can I?” 
He passed her the drink, grazing her hand in the process. The contact caused a rush of adrenaline to surge through him, the hairs on his neck rising and his throat left dry. 
His lips parted as he watched her take the straw between her lips. In his dreams, her lips were sangria stained, but now at this moment, her lips were more of a subtle rose and flesh. His jaw clenched at the sight.
“I also don’t know.” She smacked her lips before tilting her head in curiosity. “Not a big drinker.”
“Me neither.”
“Did you try it?” He shook his head no. "Chug it, so it’ll be gone faster. That’s what I do.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he laughed nervously.
“Here. I’ll do it with you,” she flashed a tender smile while reaching for her cup.
When she brought the rim to her lips, her eyes flicked open to glance at him, as if to say, well?
Before he knew it, his hands were wrapped around his cup and downing the liquid like he was under her control. 
He finished before her. It tasted like a tropical vacation with an electric punch. His body wanted to recoil at the prominent taste of alcohol. Not even the assumed pineapple could neutralize its potency, but when he saw her his spine went stiff. She swallowed her marigold-colored drink and a teaspoon trickled down from the corner of her mouth to her neck. The drop got lost in her midnight grey sweater, either soaked up by the knit or running down her skin. There was nothing more he wanted to be than that drop of liquid running down her body, pressing kisses from her jaw to her chest. 
She wiped her mouth with her thumb in a fist and her glazed-over stare sucked him in. Their eyes locked and it felt infinite.
Masochist had suddenly become a word to describe Peter. In amidst the inexplicable pain at the tip of his fingertips and torturous anxiety, there was her. And everything was clear. It felt like staring at the sun in the middle of July, basking in a sweltering heat with no care for his sight— the only importance was that he was to look at her no matter the cost. 
He wanted to peel her open like an orange, tasting the nectar from her flesh. The taste of her would revive him. He could feel it in his bones. She was the ambrosia he thirsted for, the remedy to all of his problems. The joint in his pocket was nothing compared to her. He knew then and there, he would devote himself to her if she let him. 
Peter found himself drawn to the golden pendant around her neck and meditated on the fluctuation in her chest and her fragmented breaths before his eyes wandered back to her pretty face.
He took in her brightness, the way she twinkled. The shimmer in her lips and the mischievousness in her stare. There were glistening remnants of the liquid on the corner of her mouth. It was like every part of her was teasing him with each glimmer and wink.
Cautiously, he slowly brought his hand up to her face, giving her the opportunity to slap his hand away or yell at him. Instead, her mouth became agape releasing a sigh when Peter swiped his thumb against the edge of her mouth.
He opened his mouth to say something witty or beg for forgiveness, whichever came first, but she pushed herself out of the chair and stood up before he could even try.
“I’ll be right back,” she blurted out and didn’t wait for a response. She headed for the hallway past the bar counter, her strides long and quick. Peter could hear a voice in his head scream at him to follow her, and after the past few days that he had to endure, Peter’s mental strength was little to nothing. He hurried after, the fear of her leaving him heavy on his stomach.
He went down the hall and watched as she disappeared into the bathroom. His knuckles tapped against the green door. “Hey? Are you okay?”
He waited for an answer. Nothing.
“I’m sorry, I grabbed you,” he professed as he chewed on his cheek. If she could she read his mind, then he was fucked. He was already fucked, but he would be even more so. Making her uncomfortable was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t stop the images of all the positions he wanted to fuck her in and the thought of how she would sound as he railed her to the brink of ascension. He really tried, but he couldn’t and that’s how he ended up here. To find the cure to his perpetual arousal. Not to make her uncomfortable. “I’ll just go, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
As he was about to turn on his heels, the sounds of feet shuffling and a click of a lock paralyzed him. Amongst that, he could hear two heartbeats. One was heavily sedated, leisurely pumping blood like it was a hard thing. Skipping along his ribs. Running off of anticipation. Patiently waiting. In contrast, the other was untamed and wild. A beast trying to get out of its cage at all costs.
The strange thing was he couldn’t decipher which one was his as the empty air around him suffocated him.
When she opened the door, he felt like he was seeing her for the first time again.
Under the dim light, she looked glowing as if there was a radiance within her. The subtlety of the golden hue would make a normal person look sickly, but as it caressed her cheek and deemed her desirable, she looked like a star. A delight to Peter’s irregular heartbeats. 
“Now, you’re following me,” she said glaring past Peter like a ghost.
“I- Yeah. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He admitted earnestly.
“I’m anything but.”
Peter’s worries were festering as he watched her body language express her clear hate for this situation he put her in. Her attention had found her feet and cemented itself there, and it took everything for him to not grab her face and beg to look at him. If her eyes weren’t on him, he wasn’t breathing, and if her hands weren’t on him, he wasn’t living. Being without her was painful. He knew that since the first day he saw her. “Did I do something?” 
“Not exactly,” she murmured.
As he observed the painful expression on her face, he noticed the quiver of her bottom lip. She fidgeted with trembling fingers and he swore she was about to cry. He felt like he was transported to that day on the train, watching her hands uncontrollably shake. He wanted to take them in his own shaking hands and kiss each fingertip till she felt better.
“I know you don't know me but you can tell me,” he practically begged. Peter needed her to tell him, then he would know whether she thought of him as a creep or not. He was ready to leave and never see her again if that was what she wished for, despite the yearning his body felt for her that he was yet to understand. He was prepared to undergo psychiatric treatment and go as far as requesting a lobotomy because he was sure there was no cure for his neurosis.
She couldn’t help but to laugh past the approaching tears. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.” She went to rub the rogue tear on her cheek, but Peter was taking a hold of her wrist again.
“What happened?” He said.
Her palms were blemished with indentations from her fingernails, so deep that the affected skin was a garnet hue. This was the fourth time he touched her like she was his property, and he was ready for terror or annoyance to appear on her face, but it never comes. Her eyes sparkled with tears and longing.
“I feel like I’m going insane,” she laughed, but her eyes begged for compassion. “I think I’m being burned from the inside out or something.”
Her words swam in his belly. The preciseness of it slicing through him. That’s all he had felt for days and that’s how he felt now. He released her wrist and placed his palm on her forehead, feeling the radiating heat. “You just might be.”
She shut her eyes, basking in his touch, her chest elevating and cascading. “I think I’m sick.”
“We should get you to a hospital,” he whispered.
“That’s not it...” She trailed off. “I just…”
“Tylenol? Nyquil? You name it and I’ll get it,” he said softly, afraid that if his voice was anything less than a whisper, she would run away like a frightened rabbit.
She studied him, her mind the battleground for whether she could disclose her truth to him or not. She licked her lips before speaking. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since Monday. So bad, it hurts.” 
“Then, fuck me.”
The words hung in the air thick and harsh. Peter heard the words, but it never occurred to him that the words came from his mouth. 
For a moment, all they do is stand in the door frame with fervent eyes, waiting for the other to make a move. The static between them was sharp and beckoning. There was the same anxiety-ridden fever crawling on his back, extracting every liquid particle in him leaving him high and dry. Peter felt like he was drowning in fire, his body itching to move off of pure instinct and find relief.  He was hungry for her and she was giving him the green light, but he didn’t know if she knew what he would do to her. What he was capable of. His jaw clenched so hard he thought it would shatter at any second. 
But then he could feel her breath of sweet tea fan over his jawline as she looked up at him and within milliseconds he was like a shark, a single drop of blood enough to seize him. 
Peter’s body propelled him forward and took her lips into his. 
It consumed him— the way she tasted and felt against him. She was sweeter than he expected. More velvet than soft. Her body sank into him and he absorbed her, taking every piece of her that he could.
There’s a certain expression that came across his mind— the feeling you get when you kiss someone for the first time and sparks fly. Except Peter felt more than sparks. It was like his whole body was a human shield for a firecracker, firey shrapnel cutting into him all the while his body undergoes first-degree burns. It seemed that she felt the same way, her body jolting at his touch.
He thought it was just a saying, not this real, tangible ache in his skin and drunkenness weighing heavy on his chest. It was just a heady kiss, but it felt like his neurons were snapping into place, the taste of her perfecting his genetic alphabet. The excruciating pricks on his skin and the overall mental torture that he had experienced since Monday had muffled as he melted into her, and he then experienced a new pain. The pain of hunger and thirst.
“Close the door,” he rasped. 
They tore each other apart within a moment’s notice, staggering against each other to enter the single bathroom. Peter locked the door with a free hand as the other gripped her waist.
The hunger for her was clear since day one, but now that he had a taste, a switch in him flipped. He surpassed the ache of hunger and it evolved into starvation. He had this animalistic instinct to have her, something so ferocious that he couldn’t deny it any longer. There was nothing that could stop him from getting his fix.
They were stumbling to find their balance like they were both forces to be reckoned with, seeing who can touch the other more. Peter was completely enraptured with her, kissing until his lips were swollen and her throat bruised. He was forceful, slamming her back against the wall, a gasp being pushed out of her. 
Peter was wild and merciless as if he would never have this opportunity again. And as much as his brain begged him to take his time and explore her, his hands were relentless. He took a handful of her ass and ushered her body closer to him. Her flesh was like perfect dough in his hands, something he could knead and caress for hours.
His senses were overtaken by her. It was a symphony, everything perfectly orchestrated for Peter’s gratification. One palm held her steady at the small arch of her back while the other gripped onto the back of her thigh, opening herself to his grinding bulge. The whimpers and the wetness of her kisses crawled into his ears and made a home in his brain, as he sucked the salt off her neck. He breathed her in, hungry eyes observing his sweet lamb.
Her lips abruptly abandoned him, drawing him awake from his drunken state. His hazy eyes followed her, waiting for their lips to interlock again. Instead, her lips attached to the soft part of his neck, coaxing a rough groan from his mouth. She pressed chaste kisses against his neck, each peck a bucket of water to a wildfire.
He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of her tongue swirling against the nape of his neck. His head hung back in pleasure as she nipped at his earlobe and a fuck left his mouth from the maneuver. His hands squeezed at her waist, seeking any piece of relief for his fractured breaths.
He brought her face to his again, finally lapping that syrupy taste of hers. He inhaled her, devoured her. She was all he dreamt of and now he was sticking his tongue in her mouth and caressing her thighs.
“Touch me, please,” she mewled helplessly, guiding his hand to her underwear.
As he felt the damp fabric, his heart twisted with awe. ‘Fuck…” He dragged his thumb along her covered bud and anticipated her body language. Her hips buckled at his ministrations, giving him the confidence to go farther. Peter pulled her panties to the side with his pinky and trailed his middle finger along her slit, the pool of slick at her entrance saturating his fingertip. Inch by inch he slowly buried his longest finger in. 
It was his first time touching a girl like this, he didn’t know whether to be delicate or rough. His fingers moved gingerly in her, reaching for the antidote in her. She was sighing profanities like an incantation, her breath like magic coursing into him, making the neediness swell.  He could feel her pulse around his finger, the warm slickness glazing his knuckles. 
Touching her was like touching heaven. A sliver of mercy.
Peter pressed his forehead against hers, intensely watching her move under his command. He slipped another finger in. A line formed between her eyebrows and her mouth hung slightly, her face contorting from the rapture as he stretched her needy cunt. She sucked him in, all the way to his knuckles, and he began to pump them in and out. Each withdrawal of his fingers awarded him with desperate whimpers and each insertion gave him a sigh of relief.
“I want to try something,” she whispered, flirtatiously licking her lips. She took the hand that was fucking her and guided it back to her face, taking his coated fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around his fingers, sweeping them clean.
Peter’s eyes stalked her in anticipation, and when she got on her knees and started tugging at his waistband, he thought he was going to die. “God, you’re not really going to do that, are you?” 
“You don’t want me to?” She purred.
She pulled out his dick that was tucked behind his waistband, a trail of precum shining under the low light. She began to palm his sensitive cock, her lazy grip enough to make him groan. Her thumb dragged along his tip, rubbing his precum around the head.
“Oh, it’s more than I want, but you don’t have to- Oh, fuck.” 
She eagerly took his whole cock into her mouth without any warning. Her head bobbed enthusiastically, her nose grazing his lower abdomen each time she pushed his cock to the hilt of her throat. It was a sensation Peter had never felt before, and he was addicted. She really was going to be the death of him.
The impulse to kneel and praise her was as strong as his hunger to ruin her. He took a handful of her hair and held it to the base of her head to ground him, to keep him strong. To keep him from not falling to his knees and profess a misplaced love for her. He couldn’t thank God for this, it was all her. 
Before he knew it, his mouth was hanging open and his ejaculation was overflowing in her mouth. She swallowed his load enthusiastically, pulling a guttural moan from him while she kept sucking. 
When he couldn’t handle the overwhelming work of her tongue, he pulled her back with her hair causing her to release his cock with a pop and whimper to follow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cum so quick,” he said panting.
She dragged her tongue along her bottom lip to remove the sheen of white. “You can make it up to me by fucking me.” 
Peter pulled off his sweatshirt and placed it onto the plastic bench that was directly across from the sink and mirror, coincidentally the perfect spot to watch her take his virginity. “Condom in my wallet,” he said, reaching for the leather wallet in his sweats.
“We don’t have time for that,” she muttered as she nudged his chest for him to sit down.“I want you, now.”
He pulled his cock out and rubbed his length, feeling her saliva along the base. “Are you sure?” 
She saddled up on him, her hands resting on his shoulder. “I’m on the pill and if you don’t put your cock in me right now, I swear- Fuck!” Her voice had shattered along with her brattiness by the head of his dick.
“What were you saying?” He groaned at the feeling of her soft spongy walls.
She sighed as she slowly sank onto his thick member. “Nothing…” 
Peter was immobilized, letting her use him as she saw fit. Once he was balls deep she steadily shifted her weight, beginning to move her hips.
It didn’t take much time until she was riding him to her heart's content, and the sight was so terribly obscene. He held her skirt up with his hands glued to her waist and watched as his cock would repeatedly disappear as her hips buckled. He nuzzled into her shoulder, eyes mesmerized by the view in the mirror. 
Peter heard it felt good and knew it looked good but he didn’t know sex was going to feel this electric. It felt better than he imagined. He had a harder time keeping his focus on the mirror than he thought he would, the rhythmic moving of her hips stirring him distracted. She gyrated her hips, ensuring that Peter had marked every wall and every flesh of her pussy. The pleasure sutured his eyes shut tight. It felt like he was dreaming. He must have been dreaming, that was the only way he could explain this.
Peter gripped onto the soft flesh on her hips, holding on like it was a lifeline. He gritted his teeth, drawing blood from the inside of his cheek in the process. Peter couldn’t move in fear that once he started rocking into her, he couldn’t stop. He feared he wouldn’t be able to control his strength. He let her use his cock, milking it with her tight hole.
She leaned back, giving Peter a better view of her wet cunt, and she started to rub her clit as she moved up and down on him. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Peter groaned, his hands rolling her sweater up to reveal her bare chest. He watched as her breast recoiled before taking them into his hands and guiding them into his mouth. He marked her with hickeys along the inner side of her breast as she used him for her self-gratification.
“Harder,” she whimpered, the sound traveling down his throat like cough syrup.
“I-I can’t,” he stuttered. He was in agony. He really wanted to, but he knew himself well enough to know that he could tear her apart. He ground his teeth together, the muscles of his jaw straining at the tiring tension. “Don’t want to hurt you.”
“I like it rough,” she whispered with a pleading voice.
At that moment he evaporated into the core of man. He encased her waist in the constraints of his muscular arms and held her down as he began to ram himself into her. If she liked it rough, she was going to get it rough, whether she could handle it or not. He warned her.
The particles of Peter Parker and Spider-man had simmered into the air becoming one big nothing and all he was, was a pair of hands and a devouring tongue. His primal instincts that begged for authority had finally swallowed the grip of judgment. This wasn’t his first time and this wasn’t a stranger. This was another meal that caused no interrogation. It was the most normal thing for Peter to drill her full of his cock, going balls deep.
He couldn’t think about if he was adequate enough for her or how this was his first time. And it never crossed his mind that he was losing his virginity in the bathroom of the first bar he ever went to and he definitely couldn’t pay any mind to how conspicuous her moans were. He didn’t because he couldn’t. Nothing mattered when her lips were on him, stamping purple bruises on his neck.
“Just. Like. That,” she gasped between breaths. Her hand roamed around his back, nails digging deep. He thought that his back would end up looking like her palms, etched red with her distraught.
Her desperate cries and the rapid sound of fapping bounced off the walls, echoing through his body. His eyes were gaping, watching with such intensity as her folds enveloped him. It was like something out of a porno, this girl in heat just falling right into his corrupted hands. With her short skirt hiked up to her waist and her desperate rosy expression, she seemed like she was made for this. 
He was masochistic and a narcissist and perverted in all the worst ways and it was all her fault. She ruined him with her begging eyes and burning touch so he ruined her back, fucking her till she could see stars. Railed her till she couldn’t walk.
“Yes, fuck me dumb!” she cried at his brutal pace. 
He stood up with her legs still wrapped around him and let gravity force her down deeper onto his cock. “Fuck!” She slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her incoherent babbles.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He whispered with a smug grin. “Fuck you dumb?”
He used her like a slot that had no purpose but to be filled up, cruelly ramming himself in and out of her. Moments ago, he was aware of how frail she was under his hands, but now he was remorseless, unable to care if he broke her or not.
He fucked her like there was a knot in her belly, each pump to the hilt an attempt to loosen it. Each thrust a step closer to his climax.
Peter could feel the tears fall onto his back as she cried into her hand. Her stifled moans traveled through his marrow, vibrating within the depths of him. He savored her velvet walls and the way she opened up so well for him. She had him reduced to nothing but a man with innate needs. His want for her had burned in the back of his eyelids. His hands seared into her body to satiate his desires for her. 
The collision was a mess from the start, he should have seen this coming. The train incident was like seeing smoke diffusing in the sky amongst layers of mountains and he looked the other way, ignoring the omen. And now he was in the heart of the firestorm, a blistering pain that felt so good. It was a rebirth through the means of a flame, one that Peter didn’t run away from anymore.
Somehow he wanted to reach deeper, feel the parts of her that no one else had. He bottomed out and rolled himself into her, his groin putting pressure on her clit, and sucked on her neck.
“Oh, if you keep doing that…” She trailed off feverishly, buckling her hips before breaking out into a trembling fit.
He could feel her pussy convulse on his cock, her hips winding through the coil. He didn’t think he could wrap his arms around her any tighter, but he does, squeezing the orgasm and air out of her. Peter could feel his own heatwave roll into him. 
“I’m cumming,” he groaned, mercilessly winding himself into her. As he shut his eyes and he could see stars much like the ones in her eyes. He buried his face into her shoulder, attempting to have more of her. His second orgasm surged through him like a flash of lightning, fast and sharp. He could feel his milk fill her up, saturating her walls.
As he stood there with her in his arms, trying to catch his breath, he could hear their hearts racing in tandem and her soft pants. He could hear the way her lungs filled and collapsed. He wondered if her lungs were filled with him like he was with her. His lungs were overfilled with the roses on her wrist and the salt on her skin and all of her breaths since that first day on the train. He was like a generator running off of this girl that he strangely, yet desperately needed. 
The flame slowly dwindled down, his pace slowing down until it was nothing. The smoke had let up and the fog fully dispersed through his body, and that’s when he could feel it. The visceral realization of the gravity of this beautiful little thing in his arms. It was clear and frightening all at once. The way the needles in the air disappeared and the sudden clarity in his mind. She fixed him and yet he felt it in his chest that he wasn’t done with her. She had burned herself into him, a permanent tattoo on his chest with her handprints seared onto the flesh of his ribs.
With his eyes closed there were flashes of a picnic amongst a rose garden and the tender waves of the sea and a timid bonfire at dusk. When he opened them, the vivid images were still there, but with another image of her now weary, yet ever so twinkling eyes.
For the first time he hoped he would dream of them.
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want more? here’s my most recent one shot: moon river (tasm! bf peter)
a/n: planned for this to be a one shot, but we’ll probably see peter and silk again if this does well heheh xoxoxo as always, thank you for the support! keeps me motivated to keep writing! <3 mommy
reblog and comment for more xx
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kindleaf · 6 months
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in rolan's head, he invites rand to come with him to chicago. at the beginning of senior year, as he secretly fills out applications he has tucked in between his character sheets, while rand rambles about some movie he'd caught playing in the cinema, hanging upside down, feet dangling over the top of his couch next to rolan's head. (he's high, of course, because when is he not, nowadays? rachel's gone for good; what's the point of being sober?) when winter break comes, and they catch some alone time in between the festivities at the rands'. hanukkah has fallen late in december this year, and rolan is always welcome to join in on the festivities, even if they aren't particularly festive anymore, it's nice to be there, with warmth, and food, and music, and rand, wrapping an arm around rolan's shoulders as he recounts some story about mr. dickman in the janitor's closet. in those last few weeks, before graduation, before the plan goes into place; he and rand are in his car, sharing a cigarette and laughing in the back seat. if rand turned his head a little, he'd see the duffle bags hidden under a blanket in the trunk, stuffed to bursting with clothes and shoes and the books he couldn't bare to part with, and he'd ask what it was, and rolan would have the perfect chance to open his mouth for once and grab rand's hand and beg him to come with him; they'd find a way! rand would get a job, writing that novel he'd always talked about writing late at night, when the high mellowed out and the air got colder in between, and rolan would find them a place and smooth things out with the landlord, and they could be together, and most importantly, get out. out of galloway, out of the bayou, out of the sharp, gleaming teeth that line the jaws of the town border, waiting to clamp down on whoever gets stuck in between.
of course, this is all in rolan's head. it doesn't actually happen. maybe he's scared, scared of rejection, scared of rand saying no, or even worse, telling (he never would. rolan knows that. but the very notion grips onto the back of his head and doesn't let go, whispering turns to shrieking whenever he's close enough to rand to smell the camels on his breath.) so, rolan goes alone. he ditches his cap and gown in the back seat and rolls down willot street, towards that town border. of course, he catches the rands' in the review mirror, unpainted shutters and donna's milkweed patch shrinking as he gets farther and farther away. and he thinks about what gets left behind. he thinks about running. and he thinks that maybe this time, when he turns over his shoulder to merge lanes on the freeway, that somehow, miraculously, he'll be in the backseat, a camel held loosely in his teeth and a notebook in his lap, jotting down things he sees on the road, things he's never seen before, like bright corporate lighting and nicely upholstered sedans and a dry taste to the air.
he always had liked to write, after all. maybe he'll still start that novel. rolan knows he'll never call to ask. he wishes he would.
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reasonsforhope · 11 months
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"California just cracked down on pollution from transportation in two major moves, part of an effort to improve air quality and cut carbon emissions at the same time. 
On Friday, the California Air Resources Board unanimously approved a rule that would ban the sale of diesel big rigs in the state by 2036. The mandate, which will apply to about 1.8 million trucks — including those operated by Amazon, UPS, and the U.S. Postal Service —  is reportedly the first in the world to require trucks to ditch internal combustion engines. The news came one day after California became the first state to adopt standards to limit pollution from trains. 
Trucks and Diesel
The regulations are intended to improve air quality and trim carbon emissions from transportation, the source of about half the state’s greenhouse gases. Trucks and trains spew diesel exhaust, full of soot that contains more than 40 cancer-causing substances, responsible for an estimated 70 percent of Californian’s cancer risk from air pollution. 
The trucking rule requires school buses and garbage trucks to be emissions-free within four years. By 2042, all trucks will be required to be “zero-emission,” meaning there’s no pollution coming out of their tailpipes. The deadline comes sooner for drayage trucks, which transport cargo from ports and railyards to warehouses — typically short routes that require less battery range. New drayage trucks must be “zero-emission” beginning next year, with the rule applying to all drayage trucks on the road in 2035. 
Currently, medium and heavy-duty vehicles account for a fifth of greenhouse gas emissions statewide. In August, California clamped down on pollution from passenger vehicles with a plan to end the sale of new gas-powered cars in the state by 2035.
People breathing pollution from freeways and warehouse hubs have long called for stricter air standards. In the port cities of Long Beach and Los Angeles, some 6,000 trucks pass through every day, exposing residents to high levels of ozone and particulate matter, pollutants linked with a range of problems including respiratory conditions and cardiovascular disease. Long Beach residents who live the closest to ports and freeways have a life expectancy about 14 years shorter compared to people who live further away...
Trains and Locomotives
According to the new rules, the state is banning locomotive engines that are more than 23 years old by 2030. It also bans trains from idling for more than 30 minutes, provided that they are equipped with an engine that can shut off automatically.
The stage for the rule was set by a single line buried in the Biden administration’s proposed auto emissions rules, in which the Environmental Protection Agency said it was considering allowing states to regulate locomotives. Still, California’s new rules may spark a legal battle with the rail industry, which argues that the state doesn’t have the authority to make such sweeping changes.
Though railroads only account for about 2 percent of the country’s carbon emissions from transportation, switching to trains powered by batteries or hydrogen fuel cells would provide some benefits in the effort to tackle climate change. The public health gains would be even bigger: The California Air Resources Board estimates its new rules for trains, passed on Thursday, would lower cancer risk in neighborhoods near rail yards by more than 90 percent.
“This is an absolutely transformative rule to clean our air and mitigate climate change,” Liane Randolph, the chair of the air quality board, said ahead of the vote on the trucking rules on Friday. “We all know there’s a lot of challenges, but those challenges aren’t going to be tackled unless we move forward … if not now, when?”"
-via The Grist, 4/28/23
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catdotjpeg · 17 days
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About a thousand protesters converged on Hollywood on Sunday ahead of the Academy Awards ceremony to call for an immediate cease-fire in the Israel-Hamas war. Their presence frustrated Oscars organizers and traffic control. Shortly before the ceremony was set to begin at 4 p.m., dozens of black vans carrying attendees stood at a standstill on Highland Avenue. “Go, go, go!” one organizer yelled as he frantically waved at cars to move through the intersection at Sunset Boulevard and Highland near the Dolby Theatre, where the ceremony was set to start. Some Oscar-goers ditched their cars and walked toward the venue. By the time the ceremony began, police had cleared access routes. Three hours earlier, demonstrators began gathering by the hundreds at the intersection of Sunset Boulevard and Ivar Avenue, about a mile east of the theater on Hollywood Boulevard.
The demonstrators then spilled out to Sunset Boulevard, waving Palestinian flags and occupying the eastbound side of the street. “Let’s shut it down!” protesters chanted as they swarmed Sunset. The crowd began moving westward on the boulevard, led by a white van with half a dozen people on top chanting into a microphone and megaphone. About 40 police officers in riot gear stood vigilant at the intersection of Sunset Boulevard and Las Palmas Avenue, one block west of the approaching crowd. “Free free Palestine!” the crowd chanted to a drumbeat — waving posters showing a movie slate painted in black, white, green and red, the colors of the Palestinian flag — with a message addressed to the Oscar audience: “While you’re watching, bombs are dropping.” Demonstrators also gathered earlier around the Hollywood Boulevard exit off the 101 Freeway and at the intersection of Sunset and Vine. Still others rallied on La Brea and Franklin avenues, near the Dolby Theatre, waving signs saying “Cease-fire now.”
[...]
Miguel Camnitzer, a member of Jewish Voice for Peace of Los Angeles, said he recently joined the pro-Palestinian cause. The grandson of Jews who fled Germany during the Holocaust, the 44-year-old said he could not stand by while Palestinians are killed. “I just can’t sit home today watching an awards show when a genocide is going on in the name of my people and with a previous genocide having happened to my people,” he said. “I was raised believing it’s a collective responsibility from preventing that from anyone else.” For Sarah Jacobus, a mentor for young writers, protesting the Israel-Hamas war is more about getting food, water and other necessities to her mentees, some of whom are in Rafah in southern Gaza. “They’re hanging on for dear life,” Jacobus, 72, said. “Two are in Rafah, one in a tent with his family and another in a room with about 50 people.” She said one of her mentees needs diapers for his 2-month-old, but “what they need more than anything is freedom.” Joining the demonstration on Sunset, several members of the Screen Actors Guild and the American Federation of Television Radio Artists showed their support for Palestinians and a cease-fire, holding a large SAG-AFTRA poster at the front of the crowd. One of the protesters was a 35-year-old actress whose aunt and uncle are sheltering in a church in Gaza, she said. She requested anonymity for fear of retaliation against her family in Gaza and herself in the entertainment industry. “Hollywood is complicit,” she said, as she marched west toward the Dolby Theatre with the crowd. “There is this racist ideology running rampant inside [SAG], and there is no punishment for it.”
-- From "1,000 Gaza protesters rally in Hollywood ahead of Oscars, blocking traffic" by Ashley Ahn for Los Angeles Times, 10 Mar 2024
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ufolliegy · 1 year
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how would benrey transformer meet gordon?
Ok, I have to preface this by stating I am not a writer. So if any of this sounds dumb. That’s why.
Anyway, I'm gonna infodump to you about my tf au now. This is gonna be kinda like an outline for a fic if I ever would write a fic about it. Don't take it too seriously.
Benrey is a defected Decepticon living on Earth. He arrived on Earth with a couple other bots, but they found him annoying and ditched his ass pretty early on. Not that he really cared much, he prefers to be on his own anyway. 
Benrey hangs around on Earth for a while. He finds human culture fascinating and decides to observe it from a distance. 
Unfortunately for Benrey, Energon is pretty hard to come by on Earth. He soon realizes that being a Cybertronian living on his own on Earth is almost certainly a death sentence without a proper source of Energon. 
So, he begins searching for a source. He knows he can’t really go back to the Decepticons, after defecting there's no way he’d expect any sympathy from them. Going to the Autobots is obviously out of the question. He’s desperate, but he’s not low enough to go crawling to the Autobots begging for help.
Through his searching Benrey eventually catches wind of a certain research facility located in New Mexico, USA. From what Benrey is able to gather, Black Mesa Research Facility has either located a rare on planet Energon source, or has developed technology similar enough to Cybertronian technology that they are able to synthesize their own Energon. 
While this is wonderful news to Benrey, he also learns that Black Mesa may have captured several other Cybertronians that had been living on Earth similar to himself. He has no doubt that whatever Black Mesa is doing with these Cybertronians, it doesn’t seem pleasant. Unfortunately, this is Benrey’s only lead, he has no choice but to go through with it. Carefully. 
Then like a dumbass, on his way to Black Mesa his Energon reserves run dangerously low. This forces him into a semi-comatose state in the middle of an abandoned desert freeway.
Enter, Gordon Freeman. Gordon is a 27 year old new hire at Black Mesa Research Facility in New Mexico, USA. He has just recently moved across the country, leaving behind his friends and family to grab this once in a lifetime chance to work at the mysterious research facility. He’s finally found a use for the stupid degree that he worked so hard on. By god, is he gonna use it. 
Just a little while after getting settled into his new life, his trusty old "dad car" finally kicks the bucket. A begrudging and sad Gordon gathers up what little savings he has and heads to the nearest used car lot. 
When he arrives Gordon is less than thrilled. He wasn’t looking for the fanciest car in the first place, god knows he can’t afford that, but so many of these poor old cars look beat to hell and back. 
Eventually, Gordon does find something that catches his eye. It’s a big dark blue SUV. It’s absolutely caked in dust and has a couple good scratches and dents, but other than that it seems to be in alright condition. It drives and that’s all Gordon’s really looking for. Though, he does notice a strange looking purple logo on the steering wheel. He decides not to pay it much mind. 
When Benrey wakes up he’s somewhere he’s never been before. Not that he’s been to very many places on Earth, but this place is completely unfamiliar. It's an uncomfortably tight space with gray walls and a cold concrete floor. He figures he’d been offline for at least a couple weeks, his Energon reserve’s weak attempt to keep him from burning through it completely.
He decides to stay put, not wanting to waste what little Energon he has left, and also because he’s genuinely curious about where he’s found himself. He assumes it could be some sort of human domicile?
After a few hours of waiting around, Benrey hears a door swing open and the overhead lights flick on. Standing in the doorway across from Benrey is a human.
This human has long frizzy auburn hair pulled up into a tight ponytail, a scruffy beard, cute little square glasses, and oh. Oh man. Are those freckles? Aw, he’s kinda cute. Haha- whuh, oh shit, he’s walking over here?
Gordon drives Benrey right into Black Mesa, unaware that his new car is a sentient alien trying to steal from the facility. 
Benrey is thrilled that he’s made it into Black Mesa and he didn’t even have to do anything. But, his excitement is short-lived. Now comes the hardest part, actually getting to the Energon source inside. 
After observing his human captor(?) enter the depths of the facility without problem Benrey devises a fool proof plan to get what he wants. 
While on his way home from Black Mesa Gordon notices when his new car starts to act strange. Very strange. Abruptly, all control of the vehicle is ripped away from Gordon as it veers off the road on its own accord. Speeding through the sparse foliage and rough terrain of the New Mexico desert, Benrey takes Gordon far away from prying human eyes. 
Once Benrey is certain there are no other humans around for miles he unlocks his doors and boots Gordon out of the driver seat onto the dusty desert ground.
Gordon stares up in terror, shock, and genuine confusion at the sight unfolding (literally) in front of him as Benrey transforms. Benrey looms over Gordon as he puts on his very best “scary Decepticon looking to get what he wants” face.
Benrey tries his hardest to get Gordon to fear him, to submit to his master plan of forcing the human to grab the Energon for him. For a bit it works, Benrey is HUGE compared to Gordon and could easily squash him like a bug. Not that Benrey would really wanna do that, that would be kinda icky. 
Then, in classic Benrey fashion, he says something ridiculous that has Gordon going from cowering in fear to doubling over with disbelief and laughter. 
'Benrey: C’mon man, i'm trying to be scary here. Stop laughin’ at me. You even got the credentials to be out here driving, man? Pretty shit at it. You got the papers? You got a, uh- a passport? 
Gordon: I- I’m sorry it's just- Wait, passport? Do you mean like a- a driver’s license? 
Benrey: huh?
Gordon: What the actual fuck are you talking about, man?'
The two of them eventually calm down enough that Gordon isn’t screaming in fear or babbling in disbelief. Benrey explains to Gordon his predicament and why he needs him to go through with his “expert plan” to get to the Energon.
Gordon, for one, isn’t buying it. Gordon argues that there’s no way he’s putting the dream job he just got on the line to help the weird terrifying evil car that kidnapped him. 
Benrey looms over Gordon again, Benrey’s metal face coming closer to Gordon’s than ever before. He leers him down at him, which Gordon very much takes as some sort of threat. 
Then, Benrey stands, stretches his metal joints, and turns around to start walking the other direction into the desert. He tells Gordon that’s fine, and to have good luck making his way home on his own. 
Gordon sputters and yells out after Benrey, shouting for him to wait. He considers his options, as much as he really does not want to help Benrey, dying alone in the middle of the desert is not on his bucket list. Not to mention that even if he does somehow make his way home on his own there's no way he could afford to buy ANOTHER car after he just bought this one. So very cautiously and begrudgingly, Gordon agrees. 
In the end the two form a sort of symbiosis.  Gordon gets to risk his job to help Benrey get the Energon he needs to survive, and Benrey gets to have fun driving Gordon around on cute little trips to the grocery store and stuff. The two of them might get caught by Black Mesa for their crimes in the future, but it will be fine. They should be able to handle it.
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bookbrokelibrarian · 8 months
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Going for a Drive
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A/N: Hi! it has been such a long time since I last posted. TBH I've been through hell n back (I'm overexaggerating here) and well I think it speaks volumes that I went from the ATLA and MHA stage straight to fkn COD. LMAO have fun reading. Reader speaks Spanish cause I wanted her to be Hispanic, so this is sort of an OC just...not exactly. Also, I did not proof read this shit.
(TW: there are mentions of blood and murder and violence so be wary and be careful friends)
(not so TW: the dialect and punctuation in this are fucking terrible.)
Part two
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The air was scorching against your skin as you walked. You managed to find a nice little food cart with seating outside and it was still pretty secluded. ‘Perfect.’ You thought.
Pulling you’re phone out, you dialed the same number you called at least once every month just as whatever you ordered was put in front of you.
“Beuno?” a tired voice sounded from the speaker of the phone against your ear.
“Buenos días, hermanita.”
A chuckle sounded, “Ahhh. Look who it is. My big sister. My only sister she finally called me.”
You roll you’re eyes, smiling to yourself. 
“I’m sorry, Sofie, I forgot to call a few weeks ago.”
The sniff and small voices on the other end told you that you’re nieces and nephews were bothering your sister for something. Probably got in trouble.
“I already said no. You both know better than that.” You hear her scolding. “Ay these kids, man.”
“What’s going on?” You lean back on you’re the chair, “They not acting right?”
The conversation stayed casual, asking about her husband, her job, how the rent is, and if it’s raised since the world went to shit (or continued to go to shit.)
“I got another payment through. I left it in your P.O box at the post office.”
“Cuál?”
You smirked. “It’s the old one. By the mall. Remember by our high school?”
“Yea. Okay, I’ll stop to get that after I drop off the kids.” There is a pause, but she lets out a long sigh. “Are you okay?”
You furrow your brows. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well…” the phone is held tighter in your grasp. You’re straining your ear to hear your sister from the traffic of the curved freeways above. “You’ve been giving us a lot more money lately. You’re not taking any jobs that are like…a lot more right?”
You press your lips together. “That's for me to take care of. I don’t want the money. And honestly, I know you don’t either but I know you need to take care of those kids.”
There is another long pause.
“I wish we were normal kids again.” she says, the sadness seeping through the speaker.
You nod you’re head. “You wanted to fight and beat the fuck out of each other like real sisters?”
“Ha!” You heard. “No. I just. I don’t know. You deserve to be here. With us. With you’re sobrinos.”
As you hear her speak, you didn’t notice you’re attention shifted to a black pickup truck turning into the street where you were staring at.
At first, you didn’t understand why you even noticed it.
But when your mind started racing, you’re heart sank.
“Sofie.” You interrupted, “I know you don’t like it when I stop you like this. Pero, I need to lay low for a bit, somethings up.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” You turn, paying for your untouched food and trying your best to calmly walk away to the freeway staircase that leads to a bridge connecting to the main city.
“I'll probably need to ditch the phone, Sofie.”
“What?!” She practically yells in your ear. “Again!? (Y/n) just come to us!”
“Get your money, tell the boys to tone it down on spending and use it sparingly.” You pause, noticing, a gentleman getting out of the truck from the passenger side. The sides of his head were shaved, save for a stripe of hair still on his head, curving to the nape of his neck. He’s talking to the cart owner, as he points to where you sat.
You watched as he peeked at the plate of food, jogging to the truck and pointing back to the city. He stayed, walking in the direction where you headed. 
The truck turned around, and from where you stood, you saw a glimpse of the driver, a man in a black mask covering his nose and below. 
“(Y/n)!” Sofie is shouting on the phone. “Fucking answer me, idiota!”
“Sofie, only respond to our little safeword the next time you hear from me, I’ll call you soon.” You take the phone away from your ear, making eye contact with the man that got left behind. His blue eyes widen, as he hurries to the staircase.
“I love you. I’ll see you soon. Keep up with the news.” You hang up before she can speak, putting the phone in your pocket and booking it down the bridge as you hear a very loud, “Stop!”
There are times when you’re grateful for the people you meet in your work. And then there are times were you just wish you weren’t in this line of work.
This is one of those times when you don't know which to love or hate, but when you dodge and weave your way through people with ease you're leaning to gratefulness.
The stinging in your lungs is harsh but not harsh enough to prevent you from booking it through the alleyways, cutting through the broken and bent patches of the wire fencing.
Heavy footsteps are heard behind you, hearing an accented voice yelling at you to stop.
You turn out of the alley, going into a restaurant, and knocking over the table behind you.
“Oh, you little-” The man shouts behind you, assuming you successfully did something to slow him down.
You make it out of the back, hurrying into the busier streets.
You find time to slow down and catch your breath, thinking of where to turn to for safety. You walk by a few stores before looking up and meeting those piercing blue eyes a few yards in front of you.
“Ah fuck.”
You rush into a hotel building, running past security and making it into an elevator that was closing.
This elevator had that clear window in the door of the shuttle, so you saw the man run in, looking right at you, and running towards the staircase. 
‘No shot he makes it to me right?’ You think.
The elevator stops at the 8th floor of the 12-story building. You make you’re way to the opposite end of the hallway from where the door to the stairwell is.
As you near the opposite end of the hall, you’re heart sinks for the second time today, hearing heavy footsteps as the door bursts open and the mans figure appears again in front of you.
“There ye are lassie.” He grins.
Just then, as if there is someone lending a hand from the damn heavens, a house cleaner comes out of the room with her big cart blocking the path.
You book it back to the stairwell.
“Hey!!” There is a loud scream from the housekeep and a louder crash as the footfall steadily and quickly catches up to you.
“Fuck off!” You scream as you make you’re way into the stairwell. You manage to make it a few floors down before you open the door and the elevator door next to magically begins to close as you squeeze in. The man reaches the door right as it closes again, hitting the door with an open palm. “Dammit!” He shouts.
He watches you lower from the window spot, and when he's out of sight you let out a sigh. You’re almost certain he’s back in the stairwell, chasing you down. When you get to the bottom floor, you hurry to the front of the door, where security tries to intervene.
“Please, there’s a man chasing me!” You quickly say, feigning innocence.
The guard looks to the side of you, hearing footsteps and panting, and pulling you behind him. “Him!” You shout, pointing at the man following you around.
“Please he said he was going to hurt me if I didn’t go with him, I don’t know him!”
There is a quick set of confusion before he shakes his head in disbelief. “I what-?”
A loud crash of glass breaking, before an even louder ‘bang’ is heard from your right, and smoke begins to cover the lobby. The screeching of tires is heard as you use the distraction to book it outside.
The security prevents the man from following but when you watch this man, shorter than the security, lift this guard and slam him into the floor, you don’t even bother sticking around to see if he’s going to continue after.
You manage to get to a wide alleyway a few blocks down, the commotion creating so much attention that police were heading that way, so it was not easy to keep running without looking suspicious. You managed to get to a wide alleyway, looking behind you to see if you were being followed when a loud roar of an engine sounded in front of you.
The color drains from your face as you make eye contact with another set of steel eyes, but that's all you see. His eyes. This skull mask covers the bottom half of his face. And from what you can tell, there’s a sadistic tinge in his face.
“Stop.” You hear behind you.
Turning, you see the man holding a gun at you, approaching you. “I won’t tell you again,” he states.
You sigh. Putting your hands up, in surrender.
“Atta girl.” He tells you, as he tucks in his weapon, and grabs your wrist, pinning it behind you. “Come on lass, we’re going for a drive.”
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A/N: Kay thankkks
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ignoremyworld · 2 months
Text
Remember me
Part two
This is part one^^
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Eddie froze and stared at Steve for a bit.
“Go…home with you? Like, as in sleep with you”
Steve rolled his eyes “ oh GOD no. Just to get out of the cold.” Steve said adjusting his jacket
Eddie stopped for a bit. It had gotten colder since he had gone into the subway. Probably didn’t notice because he’s panicking about Steve Harrington.
“Yeah. Yeah okay I can do that” Eddie said. Nerves crept down his back and Into his stomach. Feeling butterflies was something he hadn’t experienced since he left hawkins.
Steve turned and started to walk. Eddie followed suit, making sure to stay somewhat behind in case anything were to happen. He watched as Steve pulled out his keys and unlocked his car. He got in and looked at Eddie
“You gonna stand there all night or are we gonna do this?” He joked.
Eddie smiles and says “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He gets in and Steve drives off.
They got on the freeway and no words were spoken. It was all silence except for the light sound of the radio. Eddie felt even more nervous than he already was. Thinking through all the things that could happen while they drive. A car accident? What if they fall into a ditch? What if Steve isn’t taking him to his place but instead somewhere dangerous?
He knew that last one wasn’t very likely but it’s good to be cautious. They arrived at Steve’s house and Eddie wasn’t surprised at how big it was. Two floors with beautiful arched windows on either side of the front door. To the side he could see what looked like a railing and assumed Steve had a balcony.
“You sure do freeze a lot for a rockstar.” Steve said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “You coming in?”
“Yes! Yep! Sorry just…admiring the house.” He said walking to the front door.
“Eh it’s just one of my parents. They insisted on me having a nice house instead of a ‘crusty old New York apartment’. Their words, not mine” Steve said, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it up.
Eddie watched as he began to untie his shoes. “So is it just you here? No Robin? No roommate?” He asked. Looking around
“No. Robbie wanted to have her own apartment so she could bring girls home without worrying about a roommate. She’s really spread her wings since we moved here.” Steve chuckled remembering his conversation with Robin.
Eddie nodded and started to untie his shoes. Assuming that Steve didn’t want to get his parents carpet dirty with outside shoes. Steve went and sat on the couch not too far from the door, waiting for Eddie to join him.
Eddie walked over and sat on the couch. “So Steve. Why did you bring me here?” He asked. Refusing to look into Steve’s perfect brown eyes.
“I want you to actually tell me why you left. I know, I know you left because Hawkins was small and it would be difficult for a rockstar but why did you leave. You left your family. You left your friends…you left me.” Steve said. Looking down at his lap fidgeting with his fingers.
Eddie’s head snapped up. “No! No Steve I didn’t want to leave you. It’s just that- you already had so much going on. And I knew that if I told you it would just cause a big tumble of emotions. I didn’t want to make you cry.”
You didn’t want to make me cry?! I did cry Eddie! For weeks! It wasn’t until Wayne told me where you had gone that I decided to move on! To get on with my life instead of being stuck in bed wondering where I went wrong!” Steve shouted. Tears were now forming at his eyes, threatening to spill out.
“I know what you’re thinking Steve. How could I have done that. To you, to our friends. I know what I did was wrong. I thought you were better off without me! And-and I was wrong. I see that now but you have to understand how I was feeling too. You barely had time for me with all your tests and papers you needed to write. I thought you just…didn’t want me anymore.” Eddie said. Tears slowly slipping down his face.
Steve paused. Eddie knew that look. He was thinking. He always made the same face. Little lines above his nose in between his eyebrows, bottom lip tucked in so he could chew on it.
Steve finally spoke up. “I can’t forget what you did to me. What you did to everyone. But…I can forgive you. I think I already have.”
Eddie was overjoyed. He finally had his Stevie back. He rushed to hug him and pulled him into a tight squeeze.
“There’s gonna be some rules if we’re gonna do this again okay? We can talk about those later though. For now I just wanna hold you” steve said into Eddie’s neck.
“Yeah I know Stevie. It’s okay if I call you that now right? Can I call you my Stevie?” Eddie pulled away and looked for any sign of no in Steve’s eyes.
“Yes you can Eddie. I’m your Stevie again.” He smiled and put his hand on Eddie’s cheek, rubbing his thumb across his cheekbone.
“Thank you Stevie. For everything. For forgiving me and giving me another chance.”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
hi! Sorry that took so long to make and I’m sorry if it’s shorter. I’ve been incredibly busy with work and it’s currently 3 in the morning. I had a burst of creativity.
Should I make a part three or just leave it as it is here?
Let me know if you liked it! Also constructive criticism is helpful as I’m still pretty new to this!
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fryedgreentomatoes · 2 months
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did u guys know that liana hates me and wants me dead in a ditch on the side of the freeway ?
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spookberry · 3 months
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reading ur tags on the near death experience poll and uhhhhhhhhhh that is too many instances for a single person i think
That was only one incident too. Crazy thing about that accident (we heard about this later on the news) was literally TEN minutes after we had gotten our car moved out of that ditch and off the freeway there was a 9 car pileup in that exact ditch. Like other people died that morning. We got extremely lucky.
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frozenwolftemplar · 8 months
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Writer's Month Day 11: Road Trip
Fandom: TTS (Modern AU)
Rating: G
Summary: When she first planned out their big cross-country roadtrip, Rapunzel knew there'd doubtless be hiccups along the way; life was like that. She didn't anticipate hitting the first before they left the driveway, though...
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Rapunzel flopped back on the sun-warmed lawn with a sigh, idly tracing wispy shapes in the cirrus overhead. She was an optimist by nature. Glasses were half full, every thunderhead had a silver lining, and even the most crotchety neighborhood grump could be won over with enough time and the right cupcakes (she would get through to Monty...eventually). Everything would *always* work out for the best. Which was fortunate, because-
“No *way* am I agreeing to that.”
“Yeah? Well no *way* am I taking my life in my hands and getting in a car with *you* behind the wheel.“
Because otherwise, she’d be worried.
Months of planning a cross country road trip, and she somehow hadn’t counted on Eugene and Cass going at it before they’d even left the driveway, butting heads over the all important question of who would drive the first leg of their trip.
“What, can’t stand the thrill of having a master behind the wheel?”
“More like I’d rather avoid the ‘thrill’ of speeding tickets and you nearly turning the car into an off-road vehicle at every literal turn.”
“Oh for the love of- that was one time! And that thing hardly counted as a ditch!”
“Enough of a ditch for me. Face it, Fitzherbert.” Cass crossed her arms smugly before Eugene could start on what exactly qualified as a ditch versus a very ambitious aspiring pothole. “Even your *girlfriend* doesn’t feel safe in a car you’re driving.”
Eugene scoffed, cocking a self-assured hand on his hip. “Shows how much *you* know. Tell our 'friendly' neighborhood Ice Demon, Blondie: I am a *fantastic* driver.”
Rapunzel blinked. “Uh.....” (not that she was taking sides, but she’d had drivers ed with Eugene his second time around).
Eugene gasped, knowing exactly what that very diplomatic “Uh...” meant coming from his girlfriend, and slammed an affronted hand to his chest. “Sunshine?!?”
Completely ignoring the theatrics, Cass dug into her pocket and whipped out a notepad. “We have an itinerary, Fotzherbert.” He stared unimpressed at the college-ruled sheets waving in his face. “And we need to stick to it if we want to hit all the places on Raps’ list.”
“I don’t mind if we skip-“ (honestly, Cass and her itineraries...).
“Which,” Cass continued undaunted. “We won’t do if you’re driving.”
“And what makes you so sure, Miss Can’t Make a Left Turn?”
Cass counted herself as the mature one (no matter how much Rapunzel tried to argue in her boyfriend’s favor), so she ignored that (Rapunzel too since, well, she’d also seen Cass drive). “Besides if you drive, even if we don’t get pulled over every five minutes, we’ll be getting off the freeway every ten miles for Lance’s ridiculous pet project!”
“Hey!” Lance looked up indignantly from where he was raiding the cooler (wait...wasn’t that supposed to be in the trunk?) “The Cross County McDonald’s tour is *not* ridiculous!”
(Again, not taking sides, but it quite honestly was)
“It’s the definition of ridiculous!” Cass rounded on him, oblivious to the face Eugene was pulling behind her back. “All McDonalds’ are the same *why* would anyone go out of their way to hit one in every city on our route?!?”
“And how do you know they’re the same?” Lance scoffed as he popped the tab on a Fanta. (Hmph, see if he let her get away with bad mouthing his scientific research...)
“Because that’s the whole point of a chain restaurant!!!”
“Then explain why the one the next town over has better Coke than ours, eh?”
“Better shakes too.”
“See?“ Cass snapped back to Eugene. “This is *exactly* why you’re not driving!”
“Ooh, hey, come to think of it Lance:” Unfazed by fury incarnate standing before him, Eugene shot an aggravating grin over Cass’s head at his friend. “Next town over has the better Starbucks too.”
You could *see* the lightbulb click on over Lance’s head as Cass slapped her palm across her face (how had she agreed to this...). “I can see it now:” He spread his arms theatrically, framing an imaginary billboard and nearly upending his can of soda in the process. “Cross Country McDonald’s *and* Starbucks tour!”
“Oh, *come on!* I am *not*-“
Rapunzel turned her attention back to the clouds with a sigh. She was an optimist. Things always worked out for the best, and this would too.
“We are *not* stopping for a macchiato on top of a Coke in every city! Do you have any idea how much caffeine tht would be?”
“So what I’m hearing is we *are* doing Lance’s McDonald’s thing?”
“I didn’t say that!!!”
Eventually. Maybe she’d just drive.
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morganofthewildfire · 2 years
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Same Time Thursday - Rowan's POV Part 24
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masterlist
CW: brief mentions of sexual assault, blood, death, mentions of domestic abuse
this one is important for part 25, so basically treat it as a regular installment of STT
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Rowan’s plane landed in Rifthold a little past two in the afternoon, and he didn’t give himself any time to be overwhelmed by the huge airport before immediately heading toward the exit. People were bustling all around, a loud voice booming over the intercom, and everywhere he looked there were more suitcases, more bags, more footsteps rushing past him. 
Rowan didn’t even have a bag with him, he’d just rushed to the Doranelle airport as quickly as possible, and bought the first flight to Rifthold he could find, shelling out a good amount of money he didn’t have for it. He got most of his income for college from a scholarship, but his uncle had given him access to his credit card for “emergencies”. He’d say this qualified as a fucking emergency.
When he’d woken up that morning… it’d been devastating. Not feeling Aelin’s warmth in bed with him, feeling her long hair tickling his skin, her arms wrapped around his waist as she tucked her face into his chest, how they’d started sleeping recently. He’d woken up - and he’d known.
There’d been no noise in that apartment, and Rowan knew that sudden silence would haunt him forever. 
He should’ve known, that’s what he’d been beating himself up about since. He should’ve known she wouldn’t stay, not when her daughter was at stake. He should’ve known that no matter what she’d told him, she wouldn’t risk losing Elia, not to that monster. 
But no matter what sacrifice she was trying to make, Rowan wasn’t just going to sit by and do nothing. Not when his girls were in danger. 
He’d ditched the heavy coat he needed in Doranelle, leaving on a light long sleeved shirt and jeans, perfect for the mild winters of Rifthold. But he barely felt the chill anyway as the sliding doors opened to the exit, and he stepped outside, immediately looking to hail a taxi. That sense of urgency inside of him only grew the longer it took, and by the time one pulled up to the curb next to him, he was nearly shaking with the need to do something. 
“Hamel-King Real Estate, please,” he asked the driver flatly, slamming the door behind him. Rowan wanted to go directly to that bastard’s house, and find Aelin and Elia, but if he was being honest, he had no idea where to fucking go. He’d never been to Rifthold, and he didn’t think Arobynn would let his address be public knowledge. Not with the dirty secret he’d kept locked inside for a year.
So his company would have to be where he started. Surely someone there could give him a little bit of information; and maybe he could recruit some help. Aelin had mentioned something in passing about a man named Darrow? He could try to talk to him first.
He just needed to get there first.
Rowan assumed that the office building would be downtown, but with no real context for what the city was like, he had no idea how long it would take to get there. At least, until he saw the skyscrapers piercing the sky in front of him, as his driver joined the lines of traffic on the freeway, all heading into the city. It wasn’t early enough for it to be morning rush hour, it was well into the afternoon, but he supposed in a huge city like this, it was always rush hour.
It just made his frustration grow, every minute they barely moved down the road, but soon enough the driver was pulling off the interstate into the city itself, heading down the crowded blocks toward one skyscraper in particular. Rowan could see clearly on the side of the glass building:
Hamel-King Real Estate
An abomination of a mashup, leaving him wondering whose building this originally was. Or did both companies move into a new one? Abandoning the past to move toward a dark future? The company was slated to break records of financial growth this year, but with that kind of skyrocketing performance, it usually meant that there was some sort of unethical behavior going on on the inside. And with the identity of the boss… Rowan would be surprised if there wasn’t. 
He loosed a tight breath as the taxi pulled up to the curb, using his uncle’s credit card yet again to pay for the ride before stepping out onto the sidewalk, looking at the building in front of him. People were bustling in and out, not even pausing to look at the guy who clearly didn’t belong. Though this was the world he wanted to belong in. 
Business.
It’s what he’d studied, interned in, dreamed about. He wanted to be a CEO or a founder of a company one day, not to make millions of dollars like every other corporate black hole, but to make a difference, to do something meaningful. He wanted to take his knowledge of the corporate world, and use it to make the world better.
He just didn’t know how yet.
But that wasn’t his concern at the moment, and he shoved it aside as he walked inside, the glass doors sliding apart for him. It wasn’t much quieter than the street outside, but he just strode up to the giant desk at the back of the marble encrusted lobby, walking up to one of the receptionists talking on the desk phone, chugging along like everyone else. 
But Rowan wasn’t very patient, his mouth pressed in a firm line as he walked up in front of her, clearing his throat. The adrenaline running inside of him was brutal, tearing at his every vein from the inside out, begging him just to go do something, not wait for these people. 
But he was also a civilized human, not some caveman on a bloodthirsty hunt to go rescue his family, though he supposed he kind of was. He just needed to avoid getting arrested in the process. So he waited until the receptionist was done with her phone call, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as he opened his mouth.
“I need to talk to Weylan Darrow, the chief legal consultant,” He asked, keeping his voice firm. He’d looked up the company directory in the car, getting the man’s full name. But the receptionist didn’t look impressed.
“Do you have an appointment?” She quizzed, her voice lazy like she knew the answer already. “He doesn’t take walk-ins, he’s a very busy man.” Rowan sighed through his nose.
“This is very important,” he insisted, resting his hand on the edge of the counter, unconsciously curling it into a fist. “I need to talk to him right away.” 
“Like I said-”
“Just call him,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “call him and say I need to talk to him about Aelin Galathynius. And that I have reason to believe she’s unsafe right now. Just tell him that and see what he says.” 
At the words, the brunette receptionist’s eyes grew a bit wide, and she only pursed her lips before tapping a few numbers on the dial, lifting the phone to her ear.
“Hello, Mr. Darrow,” she said, her voice crisp and professional, “I have a man here who says he has information about Miss Galath-” a pause, “send him up?” Rowan relaxed a little bit, loosing a breath. “Alright, he’ll be up in a few.” 
She hung up the phone, turning a critical eye on him. “Take the elevator to your right, up to the 40th floor, then follow the hallway down to the right. You’ll see his office.” Rowan nodded crisply, barely giving her another glance before turning and walking toward the elevator. 
The trip up felt longer than it probably was, and when it dinged, the metal doors sliding open, he was already halfway out. He ignored everyone else at their desks, looking at him curiously, and just headed straight toward the back, eyes on the doors until he saw the name he wanted.
Weylan Darrow
He didn’t bother knocking before pushing the door open, a pulsing in him forcing him into action before he could think about the consequences. Aelin was more important than the consequences. Elia was more important than the consequences. 
Darrow, he assumed, pushed out of his chair, a tight expression on his face. “What do you know about Aelin?” He asked, his voice firm. He looked like he could be a very severe man, and probably seemed that way to others, but Rowan could pick out that hint of softness, that hint of concern and fondness for the only Galathynius child.
“She’s in danger,” Rowan replied, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t know what everyone in this office thought about Arobynn, and he didn’t need the rest of them hearing this. “Do you know Arobynn Hamel’s address?” He asked, turning back to face the older man, whose face suddenly went dark.
“What does he have to do with this?” He nearly spit, venom in his tone, clearly conveying what he thought about the supposed boss of this company. Rowan opened his mouth, trying to figure out how to best explain everything, but closed it again, reaching for his phone instead.
He swiped to unlock it, swiping a few more times before getting to what he needed. And then he set it on the desk, a clear view for both of them to see what was on the screen. It was a picture he’d taken recently, after Aelin had gone on her whole tangent about wanting more pictures of them all. It was of her and Elia sitting on the couch, Elia in her lap with her arms wrapped around her and her chin placed lightly on her head. 
Both of them were beaming. 
It was one of his favorite pictures of them, but the red hair was clear, and that’s what he needed Darrow to see. 
A million emotions went over the man’s face, before it settled on one thing: anger. 
“That bastard,” Darrow cursed, leaning his weight forward onto the desk, his arms braced against it. He shook his head once, sighing heavily. Rowan gave him a moment of silence, letting him process it. It’d taken Rowan a while, he couldn’t imagine what kind of impact the knowledge would have on someone who’d known Aelin for much much longer. For practically her whole life.
Darrow rubbed a hand along his forehead. “How old is she?” He asked faintly, like he almost didn’t want to know the answer. 
Rowan’s heart panged as he replied. “A little over a year. Her birthday is August 3rd.” Darrow sighed again, resting his hand on the desk.
“I knew she wasn’t in Eyllwe,” he said under his breath, before finally looking back up at him. “Has he been hiding her away this whole time?” His voice was pained.
“No,” Rowan said quietly, stepping forward, “this picture was taken in Doranelle, where she’s been for the last two years. She managed to get away, and… she’s enrolled in college, I was her tutor,” he tried to clarify, “but now… I - “ he loosed a heavy breath. “I love her, I love her and I love Elia and they’re not safe. So I need Arobynn’s address.”
Darrow just looked at him, and Rowan could see how much he was trying to process behind his facade, how much he was trying to hide. 
“Why is she back?” He asked quietly, his jaw clenched. “What did he do?”
“Custody,” Rowan said simply, sadly. “The law isn’t on her side right now.” He fidgeted where he stood, the restless energy inside of him keeping him moving. 
“I should’ve known,” Darrow said under his breath, “I should’ve done something. She was here two hours ago!” He exclaimed, suddenly louder, gesturing loosely to the door. Rowan perked up.
“She was here?” He asked quickly, “how was she? How did she look?”
Darrow hesitated, and Rowan’s heart sunk. “She had a bruise on her neck,” he answered quietly, “It looked like someone had tried to cover it up with makeup, but it was still a little visible. I was suspicious but I didn’t do nearly enough. Gods.” He shuddered, resting his head in his hand. 
“His address,” Rowan tried one more time, speaking softly, and Darrow nodded, turning to his laptop. 
“I’ll get it for you right now,” he said, before looking at him, a desperate expression on his face. “Help her, please. She’s already gone through so much.”
Rowan nodded succinctly, speaking an oath he held close to his heart. “I will.”
-------
Darrow let him take his car, and by the time he got to Arobynn’s house, it was dark, and raining heavily. Heavier than it ever did in Doranelle. Rowan wasn’t dissuaded though, he just drove quickly but carefully, turning the headlights on to try and see through the poor weather.
The other cars on the road slowly dissipated the further out of the city he got, until it was just him, driving down a dark road, before turning down a dark driveway. 
Once he saw the house, it was like some ethereal narrating musician played an ominous chord, his gut sinking as he stared at the place that had been such a prison. There was landscaping lighting cutting through the dark rain, casting a glow over the edges of this contemporary monstrosity. It looked very much like a house you’d spend all your money on, before realizing that all that money didn’t make it a home.
Not that Arobynn would care. Just from their brief interaction, Rowan knew that that man didn’t have a single ounce of empathy or warmth in him. 
Unlike his Fireheart, who cared so deeply and so much, the very definition of warmth, who was now trapped once again in this icy cage. Well, Rowan wasn’t going to let that slide. 
They’d figure something else out, Darrow was on their side, he’d be able to get some evidence to show that Arobynn was unfit for custody, unfit for life. There was just no way in hell Rowan could go back to his normal life, celebrate Yulemas in a couple of weeks, knowing that the love of his life was stuck in hell. 
And that was what was running through his mind as he pulled the car to a stop, slamming the car door shut behind him as he stormed up to the front door, uncaring about the rain soaking him. He slammed his fist against the wood a few times, making the knock as loud as possible to combat the noise of the heavy downpour. 
If Arobynn answered the door… well - he wasn’t quite sure what he’d do. He hadn’t been sure of that this whole time. But he knew the moment he saw that smarmy, arrogant face, he’d do something. 
But - the moment the door opened a young woman with dark hair and shockingly bright green eyes appeared in the space instead, a wary look on her face. She looked surprised to see him, but hid that surprise quickly, steeling her face behind a mask. 
“Where is Aelin Galathynius?” Rowan asked without a second thought, the heavy rain dripping onto his face, his hair flat against his head. “And Elia Galathynius?”
“Who the hell are you?” The brunette spit back, though he could tell it was lacking a bit of fire. 
“I’m…” he trailed off, not sure how to answer the question. “Someone who cares about them,” he finally settled on. “Who are you?”
“I -” the woman said, turning her face to the side, as if listening for something back inside the house. He could barely get a glimpse of the inside, but what he did see was what he would expect: sharp, cold, modern, the opposite of what he knew Aelin would want.
“Are they inside? Is that bastard inside?” Rowan insisted, stepping forward, but she whipped up a hand to stop him, craning her neck. 
“Shut up for a second,” she hissed, her eyes wild with an emotion he couldn’t identify. So he shut up, letting the only sound be the pouring rain. The only sound. Which the brunette seemed to realize, her eyes going wide. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cursed, pushing past him, stepping barefoot into the pouring rain. 
Rowan’s eyes went wide, turning his head to watch as she practically ran toward the side of the house, looking to where several cars were lined up and parked. “Fuck!” She cursed loudly, turning back to him quickly, her eyes shining bright with what he finally recognized: fear.
“What?” he asked lowly, a bit afraid of the answer himself. The girl shook her head, back and forth slowly, like she couldn’t bring herself to accept it.
“I cut the brakes,” she whispered after a moment, her hands clenching into fists. “He’s the only one who ever drives that car, so I cut the brakes. I saw how he was treating her and I just - couldn’t do it anymore. So I looked it up online and I cut the brakes.” She shook her head again, her dark hair beginning to stick to her skin from the rain. A sickening heavy feeling of utter dread settled in his gut, only worsening as she uttered those damned words. 
“They’re going to crash.”
Rowan let the words permeate through the air, his own head beginning to shake at the utter horror of the idea. No. No. “No,” he finally breathed, “I won’t let it happen.” He gripped Darrow’s car keys tightly as another cord of horror shot through him. “Is Elia in the car?” 
“I don’t think so,” Lysandra answered, her voice still practically a whisper. “She was upstairs last I saw her, in the nursery.” Rowan’s eyes darted to the front door to the house, and he debated if he should race in there now, and run upstairs to the nursery, finding his daughter as quickly as he could. 
The words slipped into his mind before he could stop them. His daughter. Because it was true, wasn’t it? Aelin had practically confirmed it herself. He was at least much more of a father than the man who’d biologically conceived her. Who raped her mother to do so. 
But Elia wasn’t with him right now, Aelin was. Aelin was in a car with him, that was doomed to crash, and Rowan was still standing here like a fucking useless idiot. 
“I’m going after them,” he said without another moment of thought, turning back toward the car he’d just gotten out of. 
“Where?” The woman asked incredulously, her arms crossed in a show of vulnerability. “We have no idea where they went.” Rowan gritted his teeth as he shoved open the car door.
“I do,” he answered grimly. The cabin. 
It made sense, Aelin had said that that was the only real time she ever left the house after a certain point. Where else would he be taking her?
“Wait,” the woman said, stumbling toward the car. Rowan paused. “Let me come, let me help. I can help navigate.” 
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know how to get up into the mountains from here?” Hopefully they’d find them along the way. The woman just nodded, and he gestured to the passenger side, waiting for her impatiently as she climbed in. “What’s your name?” He asked, already pressing the gas to drive out of there.
“Lysandra,” she answered, buckling her seatbelt as Rowan pulled out onto the road. 
“I’m Rowan,” he replied, adrenaline and anxiety and deep deep fear racing through him. He needed to get to her, he needed to make sure she was alright, he needed to hold her in his arms and just know she was safe. 
He couldn’t lose another person he loved. He wouldn’t survive it. So he just needed to find her before she could slip away from him forever.
-------
The rain only got heavier as they drove, Rowan following Lysandra’s directions up the main road into the mountains, and he was beginning to feel more and more hopeless, countered with a strange pairing of determination the longer it took to find anything. 
But eventually… headlights. That’s all it took for him to just know. 
They were flickering, and off to the side of the road, and as they got closer, he just knew something was wrong. He began praying to every god he could think of, just begging for Aelin to be safe. For his Fireheart to be safe. 
He felt numb as he pulled the car to the side, turning on the hazards as he parked out, nearly stumbling as he swung the door open, fighting the heavy wind and rain. And Rowan didn’t wait for Lysandra before hurrying over to the crashed car, nearly vomiting at the sight of the completely demolished windshield.
“CALL 911!” He called back to the other woman, racing toward the passenger side door. He fell to his knees as he pried the door open, his hands shaking at the sight inside the sports car. 
Arobynn was dead, he could tell that with one glance. 
But Aelin… Aelin… she looked dead too, blood streaming down her thigh, too much blood, her face a ghostly white and her hair dangling in front of her slumped forward face. 
“Come on, fireheart,” he breathed, reaching for her wrist to check her pulse, “come on, you can’t die on me now.” He couldn’t feel anything, so he dropped her arm, reaching for her neck instead. “You can’t leave me, Aelin,” his voice was thick with unshed tears, and worry and panic. “You can’t leave me now.” 
There was blood smeared on his hands as he smoothed her hair back from her face, from where he didn’t know, but he didn’t care as he placed two fingers on her neck, trying to check her pulse there. 
Gods, oh gods. His heart was beating out of his chest as he fought to hear just a flicker of her own heartbeat, that steady sound suddenly the most desirable thing in the world. 
“Come on, baby,” he whispered, finally leaning in to press his ear to her chest, desperately hoping to hear something. Tears dripped down his face, mixing with the rain, and he felt the chasm in his mind start to open, about to send him spiraling deep down, so far he’d never be able to climb his way back out. 
Not without her.
“Come on, Aelin,” he said one more time, one last desperate plea. “Come back to me.” 
And there. There it was, just one faint flicker of a heartbeat, one beat of a pulse beneath his fingers, so light he could barely feel it. But it was something. 
He let out an incredulous laugh of relief, tears streaming down his face. “Thank gods,” he breathed, even though they weren’t out of the clear yet. She needed help, now. “Help is on the way, Aelin, help is coming soon.” 
Rowan had no idea if she could hear him, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t stop trying to comfort her even if she was already halfway into her grave. 
“Just stay strong for me, Fireheart,” he kept whispering, holding her hand, “Stay strong like you always are.” He didn’t feel the wet ground beneath his knees, nor the heavy rain pelting him from above. All he felt was her hand in his, her heartbeat against his ear. “I love you,” he breathed, repeating it over and over until he could hear the faint cry of sirens in the air, promising just that little bit of hope. 
“I love you,” he said again, speaking the words from his soul into hers. “I love you.”
-----------------
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mdemontespan1667 · 2 years
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AND I FEEL FINE
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-SHANE WALSH (TRUCKS/MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE AU) X READER (3RD PERSON)
-SHANE'S POV
WARNINGS: VEHICULAR VIOLENCE/HOMICIDE - MENTIONS OF DEAD BODIES - GORE - BLOOD - HORROR - VAGINAL SEX - ORAL SEX (MALE AND FEMALE RECEIVING)
18 + ONLY/NO MINORS
No one ever in the history of fan fiction has asked for this AU. But here it is. It's based on the short story Trucks by Stephen King and the cocaine fueled Maximum Overdrive directed by the same. I copied the following synopsis from Wikipedia:
"Trucks" takes place in a truck stop in the United States. The truck stop is located off a freeway and it features a diner, a gas station, and a convenience store.
The story's narrator and a handful of strangers find themselves trapped together in a freeway truck stop diner after semi-trailers and other large vehicles are suddenly brought to independent life by an unknown force and proceed to gruesomely kill every human in sight.
A great big humongous THANK YOU to the uber talented and always fabulous @caffiend-queen. Without you I doubt I ever would've posted this.
“We’re gonna die.”
Her voice was composed, resigned but even.
The hysterics of 2 days ago had settled, much like the remains of her friend.
Shane had watched as their lime green VW Bug fishtailed into the parking lot, narrowly missing the concrete embedded pumps, an old International Harvester on their ass.
The driver had overcorrected, pitching the vehicle forward in a sickening roll.
Both occupants had escaped the wreckage, bloodied and disorientated.
The woman standing behind him had made it inside.
The IH had clipped her friend’s leg.
She’d spun, falling under the truck’s 24 inch wheels.
Others had followed.
All that was left was a vague dark shape, the oil stained limestone parking lot absorbing most of the gore.
It wasn’t the only body.
An elderly couple staring lifelessly from their Lincoln Towncar.
A boy, who couldn’t have been more than 16, half in, half out of his primered Nova’s windshield.
The balding, middle aged Bible salesman who had lost it last night around the time the electricity went out.
Babbling about End Times and God’s wrath against the sinners, he had bolted out the double doors. 
A cement truck had pounced.
The impact had fling him a good 20 feet, flinging him in an overgrown drainage ditch.
His agonized wails had carried in the air despite the burbling diesels, putting everyone on edge.
No one would admit they had been relieved when it stopped.
Shane’s own patrol car was unrecognizable.
Each truck had a turn like a group of sailors with a cheap whore. 
He’d been inside, shooting the shit after filling his tank when the first trucks arrived.
Trucks with no drivers.
Motion to his right brought him back to the present.
The woman had set down on the faded vinyl seat that now faced the tinted plate glass windows.
The dim glass showed her reflection.
Her eyes were still swollen and bloodshot from sobbing, lips chewed raw, a drawn, pinched look to her cheeks.
She reminded him of one of his Grandma Jean’s Limoges figurines, fragile and ready to shatter at the least provocation. 
The short Flamingo pink sundress she wore was dotted with blood, hem torn.
“Make love to me.”
“Huh.”
Her words caught him off guard.
He glanced at the woman, trying to gauge her sanity.
She continued to stare straight ahead.
“Make love to me.”
There was no mistaking this time.
Faint, tinny music from an ancient battery operated boombox floated from the kitchen.
Time is the essence
Time is the season
Time ain’t not reason
Got no time to slow
Time everlasting
Time to play B sides
Time ain’t on my side
Time I’ll never know
Burn out the day
Burn out the night
I'm not the one to tell you what’s wrong or what’s right
I’ve seen suns that were freezing and live that were through
But I’m burnin'
I’m burnin'
I’m burnin' for you
“I’m not sure this is the right time or place darlin.”
She reached over, placing her hand in his lap.
Her fingers traced Shane’s dick under his uniform.
“It’s the end of the World.”
Despite the circumstances, he felt himself react.
Fucking her might be a Grade A Asshole move but it wouldn’t be the first one he’d ever made.
“Where to?”
He made to stand up but she stopped him.
“Here. I don’t care who, or what, sees.”
She dropped to the worn, pitted linoleum, situating herself between his legs.
Shane expected her to be fumbling, desperate.
Instead she was calm, drawing his shirt over his head, unzipping his pants, pulling his hard length free, her eyes glazing at the size.
She licked him from base to tip, swirling her tongue around the head, taking more of him with each swipe.
The woman hollowed her cheeks, bobbing her head, hand pumping in a  synchronized pattern.
Shane hissed, leaning back.
He lifted his foot, dragging her dress down.
She dipped her head over and over, saliva pooling on her chin.
Tittering on the edge, he gently pushed her away.
She stood, shimmying her dress to the floor.
Shane ran his knuckles through her slit.
“Damn girl, sucking my dick got your pussy all kinds of messy.”
The urge to bend her over and slam his dick home was strong, but if this was the last time he wanted it to be good for her too. 
He bent forward replacing his knuckles with his tongue.
Her breath caught.
He grabbed her ass, bringing her closer.
He lapped at her cunt circling and sucking her clit.
Low moans spurred him on.
He worked her faster, inserting two fingers, sweeping her nub, raising her to her tiptoes.
She braced her hands on his back, nails digging in, her legs starting to tremble.
Shane doubled his efforts.
She came hard, incoherent cries bubbling from her lips.
He held on as she ground her pussy on his tongue, dragging out her orgasm. 
Gradually the shaking resided.
He set back, lifting his hips, pushing his uniform pants down.
“Climb on.”
The woman straddled him, knees spread wide, hands balanced on his shoulders.
His hands settled on her lips, guiding her.
She whimpered as he slipped in.
A small smirk formed on his lips.
“You can take it all darlin.”
Her legs slid further apart, taking more of him.
“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”
With a pained sigh she enveloped him to the hilt.
Shane gave her a moment to get accustomed to his size then slapped her ass.
“Ride me girl.”
She rolled her hips, hesitant at first, more confidently as her walls adjusted.
He caught a nipple, his mouth hot on her cool skin.
Arching her back, she tangled her hands in his hair.
One hand snaked from her hip to her sopping cunt, thumb caressing her swollen nub.
Shane’s other hand held her, his hips rising to meet hers.
Her pussy clenched around him, a sure sign of her impending orgasm.
“You gonna cum all over my big dick?”
The woman nodded, biting her lip.
He stroked her clit quicker.
Her rhythm was chaotic as she came, squeezing his dick so hard he growled.
Before the aftershocks faded Shane caught hold of her hips again, fingers digging in her flesh.
“Hold on.”
She leaned forward, clasping the back of the seat.
Shane lifted his hips, thrusting inside her velvety warmth.
He fucked her mercilessly, bouncing her on his dick, her tits swaying.
He caught one, then the other, sucking and nipping.
She dropped her hand between them, fingers twitching violently at her overstimulated nub. 
“That’s it darlin.”
He gritted his teeth.
“That’s it. Show me how bad you want it.”
The bench springs squealed in protest. 
She let go, her cunt clamping, head falling back as she came. 
Shane hooked his arms under hers, holding her to him.
He pistoned his hips, driving up into her, harder, faster.
Beyond control Shane used her body like a fuck toy, her head flopping like a rag doll.
Grunting he came, his cum dribbling from her abused cunt.
When their breathing slowed, she shifted, settling beside him.
He situated himself, zipping his pants.
The woman retrieved her dress.
Headlights splashed across the windows.
A faded yellow bulldozer had joined the others, smoke stacks belching fire.
She wiped a silent tear from her cheek.
“It won’t be long now.”
Shane wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. 
He kissed her forehead.
They watched………..
And waited.
Burnin' For You / Blue Oyster Cult 1981
It's been so long since I've written anything I have no idea who to tag so if I tagged you and you don't want to be tagged in the future let me know. Likewise if I didn't tag you and you would like to be just in case I actually write something else let me know.
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artificialqueens · 9 months
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🏳️‍🌈 The Miracle of Living Pt.2 - Lita
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In this world we're just beginning To understand the miracle of living
Lmao I had you in the first half, this is not just a cutesy slice of life family AU and actually gets fucking awful and tragic from here on out, you have been warned. This was originally meant to be a single story but I decided to chunk it into two halves just so it's not unreadably long, which means ALL the suffering gets to be consigned into whatever this is. Anyway, see other part for author notes and shit, apologies in advance xo
Summary: Adore is an adult now, and life is simpler for Bianca. Until an unexpected tragedy shatters her world, and her relationship with her daughter. 
TW: Major character deaths, parental loss, accidental overdose, suicidal thoughts
[1] NEW MESSAGE Ben Putnam ✨🏳️‍🌈 12/9/46 19:08  jinkx is about to call you freaking tf out - don’t listen to them, im basically fine. got into an accident driving home, i look kinda banged up and i think my shoulders dislocated but nothing serious. pls call adore and tell her - if she says shes gonna ditch her concert or anything like that dont let her, she doesnt need to worry. if ur not busy and feel like coming to see me id like that (and i think jinkx could use some moral support lol, theyre taking this harder than i am) but don’t let j convince u that im on my deathbed. love ya, bitch! b xoxo
*****
November 12th, 2046
“Bea…”
Jinkx stands up as Bianca enters the waiting room. Their voice is cloying - too sickly. Too sympathetic.  
Of all of Ben’s various partners since the divorce, Jinkx was definitely Bianca’s favorite. Bianca had been Ben’s maid of honor (or ‘cunt of dishonor’ as he’d affectionately christened her) at their wedding last spring. Jinkx is kind, sensitive - their eccentricities line up perfectly with Ben’s, they’re a good step-parent to Adore, as resistant as she’d been to having a step-parent. However, Jinkx under pressure is prone to amateur dramatics - Ben’s text prediction regarding the nature of their impending phone call had been totally spot-on. 
So Bianca is surprised to see that they look drained - not sad. Not scared. Just tired - their shock of red hair disheveled, eyes puffy and face moist with half-dried tears. Bianca grips the strap of her purse a little tighter. She hadn’t expected this. They had been all catastrophe and hysterics on the phone - sobbing like their life depended on it. Why are they so calm? 
Per Ben’s instructions, Bianca hadn’t dropped everything to go to him. She’d been working late, supervising a bunch of bored, annoyed teenagers doing stocktake - she hadn’t exactly bided her time, heading straight for the hospital as soon as she’d clocked out, but she also hadn’t exactly rushed. 
Two lanes of the freeway were closed because of a car wreck. She figured it wouldn’t be the same one - it couldn’t have been that bad if Ben was awake, coherent, and texting her. As the backed-up traffic crawled past the remains of the scene at five miles an hour, she’d tried not to look. She knew she shouldn’t have looked. But she looked anyway - she’d caught sight of the remnants of Ben’s car at the front of a pile-up, crushed from behind by a smoldering pickup truck, and felt the sting of vomit rising up at the back of her throat. The driver’s side door looked intact. That was something. Ben was fine. Ben had told her himself that he was fine. So Ben was fucking fine. 
On the drive to the ER, Bianca called Adore - anxiety twisting below her ribcage, visions of shattering glass and crumpling metal scorching into her eyelids every time she blinked, desperate for a distraction. The phone had been picked up by her weirdo manager, Winona or Wilma or whatever her name was, who’d decided that a call from her mom, regardless of the matter at hand, wasn’t important enough to bother Adore with before a gig, and had hung up. 
And now she’s been taken into a side room that feels like a fucking morgue, and Jinkx is acting so calm and kind that it’s nauseating. This feels weird. There’s a bible on the table in the middle of the room. What the fuck is happening? 
Jinkx reaches out, and pulls Bianca into an oppressively tight hug. Bianca squirms, determined to extricate herself from the stifling embrace and start asking questions. She’s never known Jinkx to act anything but weird, but this was bizarre even by their standards. When they break away, Jinkx takes Bianca’s hand. It sets her teeth on edge. 
“Jinkx, what’s going on?” Bianca’s voice comes out sterner than she would have liked. 
“Did you call Adore?”
What kind of fucking response is that?
“I tried. Her manager picked up - she’s at a gig, I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” 
“I really think you should try and talk to her now.” 
Bianca really doesn’t like Jinkx’s tone. She also doesn’t know what to do with herself. She figured she was here as emotional support for Jinkx, who seems fine if a bit off-kilter and cryptic - or as a proxy for Adore, who was performing and/or wasted in Austin, enjoying the sudden and somewhat random success of her previously struggling music career. 
“Jinkx, where’s Ben? What happened?”
Jinkx grimaces. They try to convince her to sit down - urging her towards a ugly upholstered chair with their lips pursed. Bianca doesn’t move. 
“Jinkx.” Bianca repeats herself more insistently, folding her arms. Jinkx sits down, clenching their jaw and breathing shakily. “Where the fuck is Ben? I need to see him." 
“…he died, Bea.”
Bianca’s blood turns to ice in her veins. She takes a sharp breath in. 
“What do you mean he died?” Bianca’s voice is thin. Jinkx doesn’t say anything. “He texted me - he was fine like, an hour ago.” Jinkx stays silent. Bianca feels like she’s going to throw up. Why won’t they say anything?  “He’s- Jinkx, what do you mean he fucking died?”
“They thought he was fine,” Jinkx sniffs. “There were other people from the wreck who were hurt worse than he was - he kept saying he was okay so the doctors would focus on them, and then he coded out of nowhere. I think they said he was bleeding in his abdomen or something - nobody realized until it was too late. He was sitting up and talking to me, then he…” Jinkx stops, swallowing hard. Their eyes have welled up. 
“Why didn’t you call me? I would have tried to get here faster.” Bianca’s knees are shaking. She can’t move - can’t admit to the failure of her emotions. Frightening and all-consuming as they are. She’s still wearing her work lanyard, and it feels utterly stupid. Why hadn’t she just fucking left? Why had locking up a goddamn store she could burn to the ground without losing sleep been more important than this? Than Ben? 
“I didn’t know how to.” Jinkx won't make eye contact with her. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone - it didn’t feel right.” 
Bianca sits down before she collapses. Her hands are shaking. Her throat hurts like she needs to cry, but there are no tears. She isn’t crying, and she won’t - not until it’s essential. 
“But you were- you shouldn’t have waited all this time on your own. I would have been here sooner.” Bianca is barely able to talk. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t even know what she’s talking for - trying to fill the awful, empty air with some sort of noise, even if it is wilted platitudes. She’s horribly aware of her own breathing; how hard it is, how much effort it’s taking, how it feels like she’s choking. It’s like she’s drowning in the air and the silence - like a goldfish dropped out of the bowl. 
Jinkx puts an arm around her shoulders. There are tears rolling down their cheeks. 
“I really think you should call Adore again.” 
Adore. Adore didn’t get to say goodbye - Adore didn’t fucking know. That was her fucking dad, and she loved him, and she’d never-
Bianca stops. Something in her brain ticks. A somber conversation at the kitchen table. 
“His, uh- his advanced directive. San Juni-whatever -  Cookie heaven-“ Bianca blurts out, ejecting the words as soon as they appear in her head. The comfort feels cold, but it’s comfort nevertheless. 
She looks at Jinkx. Their face has crumpled. They’re shaking their head. No. 
“They tried - it all happened too quickly, it didn’t work. He was gone before they could…” Jinkx bites their lip. “I’m sorry - I know how much it means- meant to him, I know he wanted…”  
Bianca shakes her head, trying to get Jinkx to stop talking. It isn’t fair - they’ve just lost their husband, and yet it’s them trying to comfort her?  
“It’s okay.” 
It’s not. But Jinkx rests their head on Bianca’s shoulder anyway, and Bianca takes their hand, even though she feels like she’s only making everything worse. What warmth is she capable of? Her presence isn’t doing anything besides forcing Jinkx to stir up their own raw emotions, and reminding them both of the cavernous space between them that Ben’s daughter should be filling. 
Bianca fumbles her phone out of her purse with her shaking hands as Jinkx cries a wet patch into her collar. She needs to call Adore.  
*****
November 24th, 2046
The silence in the kitchen is uncomfortable. Neither Adore nor Bianca knows how to fill it. Ben’s funeral was yesterday morning. Bianca doesn’t know if Adore is okay, but she doesn’t know what to say to her either. She hasn’t seen her cry yet. 
She’s exhausted. The last couple of weeks have been a terrible, sleepless headfuck. All of the funeral planning and formality had fallen into Bianca’s lap - Jinkx had been too distraught to try and think about it, and she couldn’t ask Adore. It was the only real help she’d been able to offer; if there’s one thing that Bianca knows for a fucking fact, it’s that she’s awful at providing comfort. But as usual, she’d taken too much on, and she hadn’t had time to process what had happened - time to grieve, or even just to fucking take a breath and figure out where her own head was at. 
Bianca feels hollow. And Adore won’t speak to her. She’s sitting at the dinner table, with her bright blue hair piled on top of her head in a sloppy ponytail, wearing some tattered band shirt that doesn’t really fit her, and she seems…fine. She’s been home since Ben died, but they’ve been floating around the empty house on two completely different planets; barely making eye contact with each other, let alone talking. There’s a mug of coffee turning cold in Bianca’s hand, and her daughter won’t meet her gaze. 
Adore fidgets with the hair-tie around her wrist. She looks nervous. 
“Listen, Mom-”
“Are you okay?” Bianca blurts out, and then cringes - Adore looks at her with frustration in her glazed-over eyes. 
“I need to tell you something.”
“What’s up?” Bianca tries to inject some warmth into her voice. 
“I know I said I’d stay for a little longer, but I’m…”
Oh god. Bianca already doesn’t like where this is going. She clenches her teeth, trying to contain the stupid, defeated little whimper she can feel rising into the back of her throat.
“I got a call from my manager this morning. My new single drops in a week, and there’s- this big-deal band wants me to open for them on their tour. It’s two months on the road, and I know that I shouldn’t- I mean, it’s a huge opportunity, and the money is really fucking good, and I’m…” Adore’s words are stilted and awkward. 
Bianca takes a second to compose herself. 
“When would you be leaving?” Bianca eventually says. It’s the most neutral question she can think of, and her words come out flat and unbothered. She can’t say what she really wants to - can’t beg her to stay, can’t argue back. Can’t take this from her. 
“Day after tomorrow,” Adore says to the floor, still wringing her hands awkwardly. 
“And why do you sound like you’re asking for permission to go?" 
“Because- I don’t know.” Adore says, equally lacking in emotion. It’s felt for the last couple of weeks like she and Bianca have just been going through the motions of their relationship without any feeling. “I mean- fuck, you’re my mom. And everything is just- I can’t leave you right now. If you said no, then I can’t...” 
“Why do I have to say no?” Bianca tilts her head. Her neck is stiff from the sleepless nights. 
“Because I don’t want to.”
That answer frustrates Bianca, and she can tell from Adore’s body language that she knows it. Adore picks at a loose thread on her shirt - she’s never been able to sit still. Bianca pinches the bridge of her nose.
“I’m not gonna be the bad guy, Dorey - even if you want me to. We’re talking about your career here - not doing it would be fucking stupid,” Bianca says, toneless and insincere again. She pauses. “Do they know that your dad just died?” 
“…No,” Adore grimaces. The first small twinge of emotion flashes across her face for a second, and then it’s gone. “They might give it to someone else. They’ll think I’m gonna be unstable or unreliable or something.”  
“Are you?”
“Maybe,” Adore purses her lips. “It’s kinda still not real. Maybe it’ll stay like that if I’m distracted.”
“And maybe it’ll get real when you’re on the road - you need to think about yourself.”
Adore murmurs something unintelligible by way of response, shakily trying to affirm that she can do it. Bianca stares into her coffee cup. They seem to have reached some level of nonverbal understanding that they’re not gonna talk about this any more. Adore is leaving tomorrow, and Bianca better make peace with that. 
“You’re not mad about me leaving you by yourself, are you?” Adore’s meek voice cuts through the icy reticence. 
“What? No - I’m a big girl, I’ll survive,” Bianca shrugs her shoulders. Why does Adore default to the assumption that she’s always mad? Why does she have to be the villain all the goddamn time? Can’t she just be upset? 
“But like…do you have friends?" 
“Yes, I have fucking friends, Adore.”
And then she thinks about it. Her family doesn’t give a shit, and Raja had broken things off with her a couple of weeks before Ben dropped dead out of fucking nowhere - and yeah, maybe she’s close enough with a couple of people from work that she’d be able to talk to them, but the thought makes her squirm.
She’d not so much asked Adore to stick around for a couple of weeks after the funeral as she had begged her to. The loneliness is choking her, and her daughter is the only person she can face - because they never really talked about their feelings, and even this wasn’t enough to make them start. She just needed someone to be quietly sad alongside. The more that she thinks about it, the more she realizes that the only person she wants to talk to about the pain inflicted by Ben’s death is Ben himself. 
Which she should be able to do. She’s grown more attached to the San Junipero concept than she ever wanted to be. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’d gotten comfortable with the two of them never having to live without each other. Except that didn't work, and now he’s gone. Forever. 
Bianca had friends. A friend. She’d never needed anyone else, and so she’d never bothered trying to find them. She hadn’t planned for an eventuality in which he’d be dead by forty-six. 
Bianca is crying. Horrible, huge, ugly floods of tears. Adore looks nervous - like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. This isn’t fair. She can’t make Adore deal with her like this. But she can’t stop. Twelve days of awful emotional blockage are clearing themselves all at once, and Bianca’s face is soaking wet and there’s snot running down her chin, and she feels about as disgusting as she probably looks. Adore’s chair scrapes the tiled floor, and she’s standing behind Bianca - wrapping her arms around her, resting her sharp chin on Bianca’s shoulder. 
Adore’s body is starting to heave against hers, and as Bianca tries to blink through some of the blur to her vision and catch her trembling breath, she realizes Adore is crying too. Is this progress? 
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, baby.” Bianca takes one of Adore’s hands in hers, running a thumb across her tattooed knuckles. “It’s okay - it’s okay to be sad.”
“I’m not sad.” Adore’s voice is thin. “And I have to go. I don’t want to be here. I can’t be here without him.”
Adore mutters the admission like it’s blasphemy, and Bianca doesn’t like it, but she knows. Ben’s ghost lingers in every brick and board and fiber of this house. It hurts - that she isn’t capable of being what Adore needs right now. But she understands. 
*****
June 7th, 2047
“Don’t fucking put that on me - don’t screw up my childhood and then keep making me miserable as a fucking adult, it’s not fair-" 
“Ob, cry me a fucking river - you had a great childhood!”
“Did I? Getting dragged up by some fucking idiot who didn’t know what she was doing-" 
“I was a fucking kid, Adore - I was trying my fucking best-” 
It’s dark outside. Bianca feels like shit. She wishes Adore hadn’t left. 
She hasn’t been able to sleep without sedatives since Ben died, and she hates it. She also doesn’t know why - she wasn’t there. It didn’t happen to her. It’s not her tragedy. She fishes the blister pack of xanax out of her purse and swallows one with the tail end of her glass of wine. Sleep. She needs sleep. She needs this shitty, awful, horrible day to be over. Maybe when she wakes up, Adore will be over her tantrum. 
She drops the pills on the kitchen counter. The last dregs of the wine are eyeing her up through the bottle. Bianca hesitates for a moment, refills her glass, and swiftly empties it down her throat. 
She walks through the empty living room, put off by the silence. It’s too quiet in this house. She wishes she hadn’t kept it. Ben deserved it more - he had a partner, and a good life, and hope for the future. Not the pathetic remains of half a dozen short-lived, shitty relationships, and a dead-end job. Adore loved him - she clearly can’t fucking stand Bianca. There would still be life in these walls if he’d taken it, and Bianca had hiked all her stupid clothes and coffee table books and vanity and venom to a crappy bachelor apartment.
It was Ben’s fucking house - it was his career that had paid for it. Bianca felt sick enough with guilt and frustration that he’d insisted she stayed and he left, and then kept ‘forgetting’ to cancel the mortgage auto-payments when he was still alive - just like he kept ‘forgetting’ to stop making her car payments, or kept sending her cheques from some ‘investment account’ they’d apparently set up years ago that she had no memory of. She’d stolen a better quality of life than she was owed from a guy that she was tethered to based on one night of bad decisions when they were in their twenties. It would have been easier on her conscience if Ben had resented her for it. But he didn’t. He’d looked out for her and loved her right up until the ugly end and she didn’t deserve any of it. 
If Ben had stayed here, he would have had to drive a different route to work. That’s why they bought the house - it was close to his job. Maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe it would have been her that died after a rush hour car wreck, of an internal hemorrhage that every medical professional in the vicinity was too busy and too stupid to notice. Maybe things would be better that way. 
The house is too quiet, and there’s too much space - Bianca traipses up the stairs, her fingers brushing over the lingering texture of Adore’s childhood crayon-on-wall scribbles, long since painted over. 
The wine is making her feel worse. She’s angry - hurt, frustrated, upset. But not with Adore. With herself for making her this way. 
Ben was warm, Ben was supportive. Ben could never see a single fault in her - not like Bianca. Bianca was the Bad Cop; the enforcer, the prison warden. Bianca nagged Adore about her homework and her curfew and her room being a mess - Bianca questioned her judgment, Bianca shat on her fashion choices. Bianca tried her best to make sure the kid didn’t turn out like she had. And she’d done it - Adore was successful, she was living a life she could look back on and be proud of. So, no fucking wonder Adore’s ideal future was one that didn’t have Bianca in it.  
“Bull-fucking-shit. You weren’t a kid, you were in your twenties-“ 
“I was two years younger than you are, you think you’d be great at raising a child now? Forget about finding out you’re pregnant when you were twenty-one and having to give up everything you’ve ever wanted in life for-“
“Nobody asked you to do that.”  
“No, they didn’t - but I had to do what was fucking best for you. Fuck my dreams, fuck what I wanted. You think anybody is working in a goddamn Urban Outfitters age forty-fucking-seven because they want to be?”
“I’ve been out of your house for five years, you’ve had time. Go live your dreams, since I’m not a fucking burden on you any more-“
“You’re not fucking getting it - the ‘living my dreams’ ship has sailed, since I had to drop out of fucking college for you. I had to put my life on hold indefinitely for you, and so did your father, so stop being such an ungrateful little shit-“
Bianca keeps replaying the fight in her head. Tonight had started well. Adore was back in town between tour dates and album sessions - not for Bianca. To see friends, and to meet with some record execs that Bianca was too uncool to know the names of. But when Bianca had asked if she had a free night, Adore had humored her. They’d ordered pizza, bought a couple bottles of wine, and for a moment, things felt the way they used to. Bianca was happy, for a fleeting second. 
Adore had been her best friend until she was thirteen. Then some awful melting pot of Adore’s pubescent bitch tendencies and Bianca’s stubbornness and short fuse had kicked off a bizarre ongoing war between the two of them that only seemed to mellow out once Adore left home and they weren’t constantly in each other’s way. It was normal teenager shit - Bianca remembered things being the same way between herself and her mother when she was in junior high. Her mother that she doesn’t fucking speak to any more. 
Bianca loves Adore so much that it’s physically painful, and she felt like a monster the entire time they were at odds. But she didn’t know how to stop it - she didn’t know how to be whatever Adore seemed to need from her. 
Not that there hadn’t been good moments. Adore’s first concert. The family vacation to Cancun. The weekend shopping sprees. Every so often, Bianca caught a glimpse of the fully-formed human being that Adore was starting to become, and she…well, adored her. But sooner or later, the shit would start again; Bianca could feel herself failing her daughter in real time. 
Just like when Adore was a teenager, things had fallen apart tonight just as Bianca was starting to enjoy the good.  
It was her fault. Like usual. Bianca had too much to drink too quickly, and she got emotional. She’d phrased some stuff poorly. She’d upset Adore. It was always her fault - it was always her that made the first wrong step. Adore just reacted to her shitty parenting.  
She’d made an off-handed comment about Adore ‘abandoning’ her. Which, in her crappier moments, she often felt but resolved never to say to her. Adore was an adult with her own life and her own burgeoning fame to deal with, and she’d lost her dad less than a year ago. Bianca’s feelings didn’t matter; she should be seeking her emotional support from someone her own age. So fucking what if Adore had better things to deal with than her mom’s grief and loneliness? 
But she’d said it anyway, and then she’d doubled down. Just like she always did. Adore started crying. Bianca got frustrated. God, she misses Ben. He wouldn’t have let this happen. 
“Leave Daddy the fuck out of this, he’s the only person I never doubted cared about me and I-" 
“Yeah, he did. He really, really fucking cared about you - enough to spend nearly his entire adult life closeted because he wanted to give you some semblance of a normal childhood, enough that the night he fucking died he didn’t want me to call you because he didn’t want to worry you-“
“That’s not a good thing! I wish I’d been there! I wish I knew, instead of coming offstage to find out that my dad had fucking died and my stupid, selfish, uptight bitch of a mother didn’t think it was worth her time to tell me that he was in that accident-“ 
“I told Willam - she said it wasn’t important enough to get you on the goddamn phone! Blame her!”
“You should have tried harder!”
“I didn’t think I had to. Your dad didn’t know how bad it was, he didn’t know what was going to happen - none of us knew, obviously if we did I would have put you on a flight as soon as I-“
Bianca has been trying to write that stupid fucking San Junipero bullshit out of her will for months now. If Ben wanted it and didn’t get it, she’s sure as shit not doing it now. However, the process is a fucking nightmare - eight hundred stupid phone calls to eight hundred useless morons who need to refer her to the next person, to try and sell her on an upgrade or ask her if this is because she wants the payout for the unused credit on her plan. It’s demoralizing and exhausting - the evil spiritual stepsister of canceling fucking cable, but a hundred times harder and with constant reminders of her fucking dead ex-husband and the last request he never got. 
Everything is depressing and shit, and she’s tired. She wants it to end - she wants to return to a normal that she can never get back. 
Bianca lingers at the open door of Adore’s teenage bedroom. It’s a shitshow. She hadn’t tidied up after herself when she left after Ben’s funeral - if anything she’d made more mess, rummaging around in her things and packing and unpacking for that fucking tour she had to go on. Which had done good things for her. In the last six months, her opening spots had turned into festival headliners and talk show appearances; she had an album in the works, and was watching her teenage dream blossom in real time to heights she’d never imagined it would reach. Bianca is glad that she went. Even if she hates her for it a little bit.
Bianca doesn’t want to touch anything. She treads carefully across the messy floor, trying not to disrupt anything; trying to preserve her daughter’s chaos, learn to live in it and love it as she did. Adore’s bed is unmade. The sheets smell like her. 
There’s a framed picture by her bed - a print of a blurry selfie taken at Ben’s niece’s bat mitzvah. She remembers that night. Adore had just turned twenty-one and her hair was purple. They’d gotten irresponsibly drunk on kosher wine, and Adore had climbed into Bianca’s lap to take the picture, pressing her gloss-sticky lips to Bianca’s cheek and telling her she loved her. They’re both smiling like maniacs. 
Adore had just turned twenty-one. That picture hadn’t been there when Adore last occupied that room - she’d moved into her college dorm a few days before her nineteenth birthday. She’d brought that here. And left it here. Bianca feels queasy. She picks it up gently, like it’s a precious artifact. The frame is bright red hard plastic, shaped like a heart - painted on one side, in Adore’s endearingly shitty handwriting: LOVE YOU MOMMY XO
Bianca’s eyes well up. It was a fucking gift that Adore never gave to her. Probably because she’d ruined Adore’s last visit home. Just like she ruined tonight. Just like she ruined her. Bianca drops the frame like it burns to touch, and she hears the glass shatter against the hardwood floor.  
She closes the door as she leaves, hearing it slam and her own breath becoming frantic. She feels that familiar ache, a sob building up in the depths of her chest.  
She’s pressed against Adore’s wall and staring directly into Ben’s old room. She’d transformed it into a pitiful sewing workspace that she’d barely used when he moved out - a weird attempt to kick some sense of purpose back into her life when Adore had flown the nest and Ben was out living his own life, picking up an old hobby that had dominated her teens and fuelled her plans for the future. Plans that had died a death in the bathroom of her old apartment downtown. The mannequin torso sits gathering dust, half-finished sketches litter the table. A waste - like everything else. 
She can’t do this. She doesn’t want to be here. She wants Adore back. Wants to hold her in her arms, breathe in her scent and her warmth, and tell her she forgives her for every horrible thing that had come out of her mouth tonight. 
No, she wants to tell her that she’s sorry. For everything. 
Sleep. She needs to sleep. 
“You just don’t want to admit that you screwed me out of a chance to say goodbye! You feel like I’ve abandoned you? Fuck you! You didn’t love him!” 
“I did-" 
“He was your friend - he was my fucking dad. Don’t try and pretend that what you’re feeling right now is anything like what I’m feeling, because it’s not.”
“It doesn’t have to be - Dorey, we can deal with this together. I want to be there for you. I want to help you. And I miss you, is that such a fucking crime?”
“You miss being a bitch to me - you miss telling me that I’ve wasted my life. You miss having someone else to boss around, because that’s all you wanna do.”
“Adore, I tried my fucking best for you. I didn’t have it in me to be a perfect mother - I didn’t have one, I wasn’t set up to be good at this. I tried my best, and if you feel like I’ve failed then I’m really fucking sorry. But I love you, and-“
Why the fuck are her pills on the kitchen counter? Bianca pops one out and swallows it dry, desperate for her mind to shut the fuck up. She’s drunk and confused and alone and fucking sad, and she wants to sleep.
Should she call Adore? No, that feels desperate. She needs to leave her alone; let her get over this at her own pace, let her come back on her own. If she wants to come back. She’ll come back. 
Bianca didn’t come back. Bianca didn’t forgive her mom for the sin of setting her expectations too high, so why the hell would Adore do the same? Maybe her mom feels the same way about her - maybe she feels deprived of a presence in the life she created, and maybe she loses sleep and paces around the house at night like a madwoman and cries over her too. That feels vindicating - so why does it hurt so much that Adore is probably gonna commit her to the same fate? 
Bianca collapses into the couch. Her body feels heavy. The clock on the wall says it’s just after midnight. There’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table. Adore’s lipstick is stained onto the rim of her glass. 
“God, can you not go five minutes without trying to make me feel like shit? I know. I know you tried, I’m sorry I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to-“
“Do you think this is what your dad would have fucking wanted?”
“Don’t talk about what he would have wanted - what he would have wanted doesn’t matter. He’s dead, mom. He’s fucking gone. He’s gone, and I’m never gonna get him back, and now I’m stuck with you.”  
“The fuck do you mean ‘stuck with’ me?”
“You know exactly what I fucking mean.”
“What, you wish it was me? You wish I was the one that had fucking died? If that’s what you mean, say it.” 
“If I have to choose one of you then yeah. Yeah, I wish it was him that was still here.”
The couch is soft and warm and Bianca is falling asleep. She’s comfortable - but she feels wrong. Her head is swimming. 
It’s getting dark outside. Bianca watches for headlights in the driveway. Maybe Adore will come home and forgive her. Bianca is tired, and her head is heavy, and she wants to go to sleep. Sleep and forget. Maybe Adore will love her again when she wakes up. 
*****
[1] MISSED CALL  Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:21
[3] NEW MESSAGES  Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:23 mom im rlly sorry. i love you. can we talk <33 mom are you okay? talk to me 
[3] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:29
[4] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR  00:34 mom PLEASE answer ur phone  im sorry  talk to me please im coming over
[5] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:58
[3] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:01 im outside answer the door  mommy i know ur mad at me but i want to talk to u, im rlly sorry i love u so much pls answer the door mom MOM
[8] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:07
[2] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:11 mommy please  im sorry. i love you. 
****
Pride Challenge Points: 6662
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