#I had to talk italian last week for the first time in months and only spanish kept coming out of my mouth

[oreegaanoo]

Got most of my art works from the drawing course back, I'm really happy with them!! Also finished the one portrait I made, I feel like I'm going to add that to my portrait project :>

[meangirls-imagines]

Leap of Faith

Description: Part 2 to "Best Friends?" The roommates call an audible when they see how much the aftermath of the Incident™️ is affecting both girls. Help comes in the form of the Murray family.

WARNINGS: buckle up, this is a 2.4k word RIDE, realizations of love, reader being sad, sports injury (reader breaks her ankle), first kisses.

a month.

that's how long it had been since what leighton had deemed "d-day".

this was the longest she had ever gone without talking to y/n and leighton was hurting. she broke things off with alicia after the incident happened. it wasn't pretty. 

hurtful things were said, alicia flipped a coffee table and had to be escorted out of the dorm building by jackson, who kimberly luckily had at the ready when things turned south.

her roommates could see this was taking a toll on the blonde, the trio trying their best to keep leighton's spirits up. whitney was really the only one who got to see how it was affecting both girls. 

y/n, in whitney's opinion, was doing worse than leighton was. whitney rarely saw the girl outside of practice and the one class they had together. she had heard through the grapevine that y/n hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks. all she had been doing was going to class, practice and the gym.

had she tried to talk to y/n? yes. but to no avail. the girl had brushed her off every single attempt. whitney had no idea what to do. she talked to bela and kimberly and they formed a plan.

they were going to get the girls together.

leighton was pleasantly surprised when she saw her dad and nico sitting outside her dorm on a bench, seemingly waiting for her. she walked up to them and immediately was pulled into a hug by nico.

"leighton! there's my beautiful sister." the blonde was confused but hugged her brother back. once he released her, her dad pulled her into his arms. "hi guys. not that i'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?" the two shared a secret look with each other. "we wanted to visit and say hi. your mom is here too, but she went to talk to the kappa president about something."

the blonde looked suspicious but shrugged it off. the two men kept talking as they guided leighton to their suv that was parked near by, planning on taking her to lunch. the blonde allowed them to, finally relaxing for the first time in weeks. 

y/n shot another ball into the back of the net at full force. practice had ended over an hour ago and she was still kicking penalty shots, trying to get her frustration out. her body was exhausted and threatened to shut down at any moment, but y/n stayed fueled with energy drinks. she had jogged after the ball she had been practicing with when a voice yelled out.

"i knew you'd be here." 

y/n froze. she hadn't heard that voice in a while. she slowly turned to see a woman taking off a pair of designer sunglasses, staring into y/n's soul.

there she stood, in all her glory. mimi murray. y/n audibly gulped at the woman staring at her. she slowly walked towards the woman, kinda like a scared puppy. the woman looked at y/n and cupped her cheeks. "have you been sleeping? eating?" y/n opened her mouth to answer when mimi put her hand up to stop her. 

"no. you don't need to answer, i already know. grab your stuff. we have plans." y/n nodded and quickly grabbed her stuff, not wanting to disappoint the woman more than she probably had.

with leighton, nico, and henry, the trio were out eating at an italian restaurant half an hour away from campus. the two men noticed how quiet leighton had gotten, asking her if everything was okay. she spilled everything to them, the men looking at her sadly. "leighton, i'm gonna be honest with you, i'm surprised it took you this long to catch on."

leighton looked at her dad surprised. "what do you mean?" her dad sighed. "i had a feeling a while ago that she had feelings for you. and then the feeling was confirmed last year. remember when that alex guy came to our house to ask you to prom?" leighton frowned. "yeah?"

y/n and leighton were hanging out in the living room of the murray household. since it was the spring, soccer season had taken over most of y/n's schedule, leaving her barely any room to hang out with the blonde. so, every rare weekend that y/n had off, she spent at leighton's house. 

as the two sat on the couch cuddling and watching a movie, the doorbell rang. thinking it was one of nico's friends, the girls ignored it. until leighton's dad came in. "hey leight, there's someone here for you." confused, the two girls got up, walking to the front door where alex hightower stood at leighton's door with a huge sign and a bag of leighton's favorite treats. the sign read "it would be a treat if you went to prom with me". y/n's heart dropped to her stomach as leighton smiled at the boy, accepting his invite. 

she was hoping to gather enough courage to ask leighton if she just wanted to go together as friends. she visibly deflated as leighton spoke excitedly with alex about prom plans. henry was standing off to the side watching it all unfold. he saw how y/n reacted to the proposal and his heart broke a little bit. 

alex eventually left as leighton dragged y/n up to her room to have the girl help her plan her dress. henry saw as y/n plastered on a fake smile and allowed the girl to drag her up the stairs. 

when he woke up the next morning, y/n had already left. a few weeks later, as leighton danced with her date and scanned the room looking for y/n, her heart breaking when she didn't see her anywhere. y/n sat at home alone, looking on instagram and seeing how happy leighton looked. in that moment, y/n made sure that leighton kept that happiness with her, no matter how much it hurt her.

leighton's heart broke at the revelation. she had no idea she was the reason y/n didn't go to prom. it broke even more when she thought of y/n wanting to ask her to prom. she definitely would've had the perfect prom with y/n. nico and henry looked at leighton. nico spoke up. "leighton, y/n has been in love with you since you guys met. she has dedicated this friendship to making you happy, even though it kills her. and i think you love her too."

leighton was crying at this point. henry scooting closer to her and pulling his daughter into his side. "leighton, honey. you wanna know what i think you should do?" the blonde sniffled and nodded. "take the leap. go after her. you two are made for each other. you need each other more than you know. take the first step and get your girl." leighton sniffled and nodded. 

they paid for lunch and headed back to campus. on the drive back, ideas ran through leighton's head on how she could take the leap. a light bulb went off in her head and she smiled. 

she knew exactly what to do.

with mimi and y/n, the older woman took the girl to the best spa in town. after she had received a mysterious phone call from leighton's roommate, she listened as the girl told her what happened between y/n and her daughter and how y/n wasn't taking care of herself. her protective mom side came out and she cancelled any meetings she had for the rest of the day and headed to essex. 

now, the two sat in the steam room together, fresh out of their swedish massage sessions. mimi decided to break the ice first. "so, what happened between you and leighton?" y/n froze again. "we had a fight last month. i haven't talked to her since." mimi nodded. "did this fight have to do with the fact that you're in love with my daughter?"

y/n's head whipped around to look at the older woman nervously. "w-what?" mimi looked at the girl smirking. "i know more than you think. i also know that my daughter is also in love with you." y/n's jaw dropped. "no she doesn't. she's dating someone else." mimi shook her head. "nope. she called me the night you guys had the fight and told me that she broke up with that anna girl." 

y/n chuckled. "you mean alicia?" mimi waved the girl off. "same thing. she told me that the breakup didn't go well with alicia." y/n's heart dropped to her stomach at the thought of what might've happened. she shook her head. "so what if she broke up with her? she's not in love with me." mimi sighed. "yes she is. don't you remember what happened a couple of years ago?"

leighton murray was NOT a school spirit person. 

except when it came to y/n. 

when it came to y/n, leighton and her parents would be in the front row of the stands. leighton would be draped in whatever jersey y/n wasn't wearing, her soccer letterman, and the blonde would even go the extra mile and paint her face in school colors. she loved watching y/n play soccer. especially when y/n got extra sweaty. (leighton would daydream about other instances where y/n would be sweaty but she would never admit that.) 

this certain game, spence was playing their cross town rivals, st. john academy. the game was intense, both teams receiving multiple cards before halftime. y/n was getting pushed around and tackled more than usual and every time she hit the ground, leighton would lose a little off her life.

it all culminated in the 40th minute of the game. y/n was sprinting down the field with the ball at her feet, no defenders in front of her, ready to put spence in the lead. a defender from st. john had caught up to her and slid into a dirty tackle. y/n was blindsided as the defender's cleat came in at full speed and force to y/n's ankle.

there was a pop, a scream, and a thud as y/n fell in a heap to the ground, not before bouncing her head off the field. leighton couldn't breathe. she squeezed nico's hand extremely tight as the boy tried to calm her down. the second the ref waved her hand for the medics, leighton was out of her seat, sprinting to the field. 

coach smith met her at the sideline and ran over to y/n with her. the girl was writhing in pain on the ground, tears streaming from her face. the medics began prepping her ankle to transport her to the hospital. leighton kneeled next to her head. "y/n. hey, you're gonna be okay. i promise." the blonde took y/n's hand, squeezing it gently to let her know she was there. y/n squeezed back as her head pounded and her ankle throbbed. 

the medics eventually moved her to the ambulance where leighton demanded to ride with them, texting her parents to meet them at the hospital.

leighton never left y/n's side during her recovery. so when senior year rolled around, leighton was where she always was, front row, letterman on, watching her best friend take the field for the last time in her high school career. 

y/n was pulled out of the vivid flashback by mimi. "i knew leighton was in love with you when that happened. she was glued to your side that whole year you recovered. she had multiple guys ask her out on dates and she always shot them down. she always drove you to physical therapy. i knew then that if leighton, who refused to go near one of us when we're sick, was doing all of this for you being hurt, she loved you." 

y/n's heart raced. maybe mimi was right. but, had she ruined it with the fight they had last month? mimi noticed the hesitation on her face and stood. y/n looked at her confused. "where are you going?" mimi turned and smiled at the girl. "i'm taking you back to campus to get your girl."

y/n walked back to her dorm, more relaxed than when she left that morning. maybe she would sleep on it and make a decision from there. she pulled her keys out to unlock the door, eagerly wanting to get into bed. when she opened the door, the sight before her took her breath away.

leighton had crafted a blanket fort in the common room of y/n's dorm, fairy lights and all. y/n could see that leighton had gotten her favorite takeout, including dessert, she had a bottle of wine (that she convinced her dad to buy), and her laptop had disney plus queued up with the movie they always watched together, cinderella.

y/n looked at the blonde, who stood nervously by the couch. she was wearing one of y/n's soccer hoodies and some sweatpants. y/n had never seen her look more beautiful than she did in that moment. leighton smiled shyly at her. "hi. i know you're probably still mad at me but i've missed you and i couldn't stay away from you any longer so i did all this so hopefully you would forgive me? it's totally cool if you don't-"

y/n strode across the room and pulled leighton into her arms. she was taller than the blonde so she buried her face in leighton's hair. the blonde relaxed into y/n's arms, tucking her face in the crook of her neck. "i missed you too bubbles." leighton smiled at the nickname. they pulled away from the hug as leighton looked up at y/n. 

in a last second idea, leighton leaned up and kissed y/n, catching the girl off guard. y/n quickly relaxed into the kiss, sparks flying behind her eyes. the two kissed for a few minutes and pulled away. 

"i love you. i think i always have but i was too scared to admit it. but i've always had this weird feeling when i'm with you. i can't explain it, but i know it's a good feeling. and it's a feeling i don't want to ever lose. i wanna be yours, y/n. forever, if you'll have me."

y/n smiled wide and pulled leighton in for another kiss, this one more passionate than the last. "you have no idea how long i've waited to hear those words, bubbles." leighton smiled at the girl. "well, buttercup, get ready to hear them forever." the two kissed again, their passion slowly bleeding into the night.

the couple could never figure out what came over leighton's family to show up that day. 

they would find out years later.

in a speech, surrounded by their friends and loved ones.

with matching rings on their left hands.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Nonna Rosa fixes it

[Now on AO3!] Okayyy, it's officially not the weekend anymore, but only for like five minutes, so technically I'm on time! This got totally away from me, and I had to actually force myself to end it where I did. Nonna Rosa took the narrative from my hands and said 'I'll take it from here', and good for her. Not to be dramatic but I love her. Anyway, if any Italian-speaking people read this: I AM SO SORRY. This is all Collins dictionary or Google Translate, I don't speak a word of Italian and I'll be very glad to correct any mistakes you might notice ♥ I hope you guys enjoy it! if you want to know more about Nonna Rosa, send me an ask, I have looots of headcanons for her (and Tommy's childhood). Here you go:

A week after breaking up with Evan, Tommy is still feeling like shit. He can barely sleep, anything he tries to eat tastes like sawdust, and he feels like he’s living on autopilot. He goes to work, he comes back home, he tries to eat, he tries to sleep, rinse and repeat. Nothing else matters, there’s nothing else he feels like doing. He doesn’t answer Howie’s texts asking how he’s doing (he answered the first one, telling Howie not to worry about him, but can’t do more than that); he completely ignores Eddie’s invitation for Muay Thai and basketball, and he comes up with an excuse as to why he can’t make karaoke bar that Thursday. And yet, there’s one thing he can’t put off, as much as he wishes to: talking to his Nonna. 

Tommy calls his grandmother at least once a week; she still lives in Indiana, in the same house he spent most of his childhood in, and he knows his uncle Bart visits often. But he likes to hear from her himself. Visiting her was a rare occasion, and the last time he was able to was about four months ago. The minute he had stepped in, Nonna had asked him if he was ‘innamorato’, because he was looking so much happier than usual.

And he knows she’ll perceive his sadness just as quick, if not quicker. The woman has always been able to read him like an open book. She’s probably the only person alive who can; he’s always made sure to keep his layers hidden from everyone else, even from… 

Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? 

Fact is, that if he misses his call with Nonna, it’ll be even worse. She’ll know something’s up, and he doesn’t put past her to fly across the country to check on him (he’s always been the favorite grandson and everyone knows it). So it’s best to get it over with. With a heavy sigh, he sits down on his couch (and tries not to think about how empty it feels when it’s just him in there) and rings her up, bracing himself.

“Pronto? Tommasino?” She answers the call, as always with the camera too close to her face, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

“Nonna, you need to stretch your arm a little. Remember, like Charlie showed you?” He asks with a chuckle; Charlie being his cousin’s daughter, Charlotte, who taught Nonna how to FaceTime so she could ‘see Tommasino’s pretty face more often’, in her own words. 

She stretches her arm and Tommy gets a good look at her. Nonna looks the same as always, sharp blue eyes in a soft face that’s wrinkled both from age and from a lifetime of smiles. Her hair is wrapped in hair rollers and tucked safely behind a red bandana. Tommy misses her fiercely, and wishes more than ever that he could get wrapped in one of her hugs. 

They always did wonders for him when he was a little boy who used to climb trees and get scrapes and bruises; when he was a scared eleven-year-old missing his mother (and as a grown-up he can appreciate Nonna was hurting at least as much as him, having lost her daughter, but still never let it show) and dealing with an angry abusive father; when he was a scared eighteen-year-old, before leaving the only home he’d ever known to join the Army. And when he was a scared 33-year-old man, coming out as gay to his 75 year-old-grandmother, afraid of being rejected by the one person alive who truly loved him, and Nonna had stood on her tiptoes, pulled him into one of those hugs, and told him all she ever wanted for Tommy was to see him happy, and that she would always love him. 

A hug from his grandmother had always made Tommy feel like the world was an easier place to be faced, and right now, that’s exactly what he needs. And his longing must show in his face, because she’s frowning at him, her eyes full of concern. 

“Oh, Tommasino” She says softly. “What’s wrong, bambino mio? You look so sad” She asks, and to Tommy’s horror, he finds his eyes filling up. Nonna has that way of bringing out every emotion he tries to repress.

“Everything’s wrong, Nonna, and it’s all my fault” He blurts out before he can stop himself, and the look on his grandmother’s face tells Tommy she’d be placing a sizable plate of cake and a cup of strong coffee in front of him if she could.

“You have a habit of saying things are your fault even when they aren't, so I'm afraid I'll need the entire story, my boy” She says gently, and Tommy watches as she sits down by her kitchen table (the same kitchen table where he did most of his school homework, the same kitchen table from where he always used to steal a biscotti while they were still warm), supporting her face in her hand and turning those sharp blue eyes at the phone screen. Tommy swears he can feel them pierce through his very soul. “What happened? Is it your Evanino?”

The question sends a knife right through Tommy's chest as he imagines what could have been. Gosh, Nonna would have loved Evan (who doesn't love Evan, you idiot?, he tells himself), and he knows deep in his heart Evan would have loved her as well. Every time Tommy would talk about her (which he did fairly often; he was a grandma's boy and had no shame about it), Evan would get a wistful expression on his face and tell Tommy that she sounded awesome.

He had been planning on taking Evan with him next time he managed to visit her, not wanting to introduce them through the phone. Now it's for the best he didn't; at least Nonna won't have to miss him like Tommy does.

“He… he's not mine anymore, Nonna,” He admits, his voice thick with emotion. “We broke up”

“What?! Ma comme?! You were so happy last time we talked!” She asked, and of course Tommy was happy; it was the day before their six month anniversary, and he had been so full of excitement. “Was he not happy? Is that why you're blaming yourself, Tomasino?”

A smile as bright as sunshine crosses Tommy's mind. A smile that only started to fade once Tommy told him he knew how it ended. A smile that had become his personal beacon of light in the past six months. A smile he misses like a lost limb.

“He… he was happy” He says, because that much he knows to be true; Evan was happy with him, Tommy made sure of that. His grandmother frowns at that, and Tommy doesn't blame her; the story seems convoluted, feels convoluted, even to himself, and he lived it.

“Thomas, you have to help your old grandmother, because I cannot understand what is the problem. If you were happy and he was happy, then why are you not together anymore?”

“Because he asked me to move in with him” Tommy says, and that doesn't seem to clear the situation for her. If anything, her frown deepens, and she reaches for a piece of bread, fiddling with it; Nonna could never keep her hands still, especially when she was nervous, and Tommy had inherited that from her. 

“Does that mean something different when it’s two men?” She asks, completely genuine, and that earns a surprised chuckle from Tommy. 

“No, Nonna” Tommy says, and all of a sudden the urge to laugh is gone again; it never lasts long, not after Evan. “It… It means the same”

“Very well, and you said no? That’s why he ended things?” She asks, and Tommy sighs brokenly, the memories of the night no less painful than when it happened.

“No. I… I broke up with him, Nonna. He asked me to move in with him, and I didn’t just say no. I… I broke up with him," Tommy admits with a heavy heart. 

“Tesoro, you do realize you are not making any sense? You and your boy were happy; he asked you to move in with him, and instead you broke up with him. Then you show up looking like your heart was broken and tell me it is your fault. What am I missing, bambino?”

“I have a house, Nonna!” He snaps, finally being able to voice the things that have been stewing in his heart and mind since that night. “I have a house, and he lives in a rented loft, and it makes no sense for me to move in with him!”

Nonna doesn’t answer right away. She chews thoughtfully on her bread, letting a small silence fall between the pair of them before she eventually sighs and answers him.

“Benne, you have a point, it wouldn’t make sense. But that isn’t the whole problem, is it, Tommasino?” Nonna adds shrewdly. “You could have talked it out, explained that to him. So what made you walk out of the best thing that happened to you in years?”

Tommy can always trust Nonna to lay things down exactly as they are, no matter how painful it sounds. She’s right, he did walk out of the best thing that happened to him in years, maybe ever, and it’s getting harder and harder to justify that decision to himself. 

“N-Nonna, I was… I was falling so in love with him” He tells her, and feels tears starting to prickle the corner of his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve known that since last time you were here” Nonna says impatiently. “That’s not a reason to leave, Thomas; that’s a reason to stay”

“Only if he loved me back” He says automatically, and Nonna crosses her arms, unimpressed. 

“And who says he doesn’t? Did you ask him?” She asks sharply, and Tommy sighs. This conversation is taking a completely different route than what he expected. 

“I didn’t have to, Nonna. I… I just know it, okay? I was his first relationship with a man. I cannot be the last, that’s not how it works. And I… I thought I was okay with it, that I could enjoy it while it lasted, but… But I didn’t expect to love him this much” He admits, as much to himself as to her. It’s all his fault, really, for falling so deeply, flying too close to the Sun. “I-it’s safer to break my own heart now than to let him do it when I’m way too deep to recover. N-not that I’m recovering all too well, but… could be worse” He finishes, already wiping the few tears that inconveniently decided to rush down his cheeks. 

If Tommy expects his grandmother to nod sympathetically at that and coo at him (he kinda does; she has a habit of doing that when he cries), he has another thing coming. Nonna scoffs loudly, hitting the table with her hand, strong from decades of kneading bread. The noise is enough to startle Tommy out of tears.

“Thomas Domenico Kinard, I didn’t know me and your dear Mamma, may God have her soul, had raised an estupido vigliacco!” She exclaims, her hand flailing loudly to emphasize her words. 

Tommy will be the first to admit his Italian is rusty, but he’s pretty sure she just called him a stupid coward. And. Ouch.

“Nonna!” He exclaims back, but she isn’t dissuaded. She tuts him with a sharp ‘Silenzio!’ and a raised finger, and Tommy shuts up right away. He knows that when Nonna starts, the best he can do is take the scolding, so he leans back on his couch, trying his best not to look like a chided boy who got caught stealing fruit from the neighbor’s orchard.

“You are my grandson, and I love you more than anything in this world. You are a good man with a wonderful heart, but you have one big problem, Tommaso. You always assume you know people’s feelings better than they do, and then you make your own decisions based on that without actually asking anyone. Remember when you decided I should move to California because you thought I was lonely here?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, and Tommy nods sheepishly. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“That if and when you wanted to move to California, you would let me know, but you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions” He mumbles back, the epic scolding from five years ago still fresh on his mind. 

“Esattamente. Now, I think your Evanino deserves the same courtesy. He is not a silly child, Thomas. If he wants you to be his last, if he loves you, who do you think you are to decide that he doesn’t?”

“But he never said he did,” Tommy replies stubbornly. “He… He never even told me he loved me, he just asked me to move in with him. It’s like… It’s like he wanted to prove a point, Nonna. That he could be… committed, or queer, or whatever, I don’t know. But he never said he loved me”

“Did you say it to him?” Nonna asks, and Tommy stares at her with his mouth agape. Damn this woman and her ability to ask the most uncomfortable questions. 

“N-no” He admits. “I… I was too afraid of him not saying it back”

“Hmmm” Nonna hums thoughtfully. “That’s your other problem, bambino mio. You think you don’t deserve to be loved. I blame that man for that” Nonna says with a scoff, and they both know exactly who she’s talking about; there’s no lost love between Rosa Lucciola and her ex-son-in-law, Brian Kinard, and the way he treated Tommy and his mother before she passed is the sole reason for it. 

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, Nonna” He says with a shrug, always uncomfortable when his father becomes even a small topic of conversation, but she tuts disapprovingly.

“Ah, isn’t it? Has it never occurred to you that maybe your Evanino could have the same problem? That he was as afraid as you to show his heart and have it broken?”

Tommy desperately wants to say that he thought about it, that it occurred to him; but it hasn’t. Evan is such a sunshine of a man, always so prone to smiles and loving gestures towards anyone he cares about, that Tommy never thought there could be insecurities there. Now it makes him feel selfish and stupid (or estupido as Nonna had so accurately called him). 

“Nonna…” Tommy says, his mind catching up to everything she said and a horrifying realization dawns on him. “What if he did love me back? Oh my God, did I fuck this up?!” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“Language! Do not take the Signore’s name and swear in the same sentence!” She chides him, and Tommy mutters ‘sorry’, but her look is impossibly fond. “But, well. Maybe you did; maybe you didn’t. Are you going to sit around and mope or try to find out?” Nonna challenges him. 

“W-what if he never loved me, Nonna? Or what if he did, but me walking out made him stop?” Tommy asks, not knowing which possibility scares him the most.

“What if he still does, Thomas?” Nonna counteracts. “What if he loves you and is too afraid to reach out because you already rejected him once, hm? Someone has to be brave, and he already was when he asked you to move in, bambino. Maybe it was a little impulsive, but his heart was in the right place; it was in your future together”

Tommy realizes Nonna is right. He can’t expect Evan to reach out (he realizes he was at some level, and he would have rushed to it; one call from Evan and Tommy would be right back to his life, ready to reheal his own heart when things inevitably went wrong, just for another glimpse of Evan Buckley’s personal sunshine); it’s his turn to fight for them. It’s his turn to be brave. 

“Ah, you finally realized it, hm?” Nonna says; something must be showing on his face, because there’s a satisfied smile on her face. “Fight for that boy, Thomas. Fight for your happiness, tesoro. Prove to your Nonna you are not estupido”

“Nonna, you are most definitely the best person on the planet, and I promise you didn’t raise a estupido. I’ll do right by Evan. By… By me. By both of us” Tommy promises to her, promises to himself. He blows a kiss to the screen of his cellphone, desperately wishing he could kiss her cheek in person. “Ti amo, Nonnina” (I love you, granny) 

“Ti amo, nipotini del mio cuore” (I love you, grandson of my heart) She tells him back, and a mischievous smirk appears on her face. “You better bring that boy here to try my rondelli before the year is over, you hear?”

“Dio, I hope so, Nonna” He tells her, and they say their goodbyes before hanging up. Tommy already misses her.

He holds his cellphone close to his heart, wondering if he should text Evan, but decides against it. This is too big for a text, too big for a call. He’ll go over in the morning, probably with a bouquet of flowers or whatever other extravagant gift he can come up with, ready to grovel and explain himself and beg for a second chance, even if it’s only to hear a ‘no’. Even if it’s only to let Evan yell at him and get the closure he deserves. Even if it’s only to get his already shattered heart broken into even more pieces. Tommy has to be brave.

After all, nonna and mamma didn’t raise a coward. 

(Evan doesn’t say no. And when Tommy explains, after several rounds of make-up sex, what made him change his mind, he promises to send Nonna a present. The present ends up being him and Tommy, because they go to Indiana for Christmas, and Evan falls in love with Nonna and her rondelli. Just like Tommy knew he would)

--

Tag list (let me know if I missed anyone! also if you want to be removed or only tagged in Little Blobs' Verse):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie

(Although here's a lil spoiler - Nonna Rosa will probably show up in Little Blobs' verse cause I'm not ready to let go of her and she'd whack me in the head with a spoon if I didn't let her meet her great-grandchildren)

[joonie-beanie]

Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends. 

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals. 

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around. 

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants. 

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to. 

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like. 

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off. 

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh. 

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons. 

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go. 

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is! 

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode. 

So…he goes snooping. 

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything. 

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”. 

Hi there! 

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling. 

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door. 

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights. 

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway. 

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word. 

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet. 

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that—especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction. 

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water. 

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion. 

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move. 

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you. 

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it. 

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back. 

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.  

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed. 

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting. 

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving. 

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants. 

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves. 

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers. 

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen. 

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

“My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him. 

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face. 

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you. 

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him. 

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him. 

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!” 

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom. 

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot. 

But…you like him.

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Day In | Vox x Fem Gen Z!Reader

A/N — f/c = favorite color. It's used like once, but I thought I should clarify for anyone who might get confused <3. Just a little nonsense drabble showing what a classic day off could look like.

Warnings: Valentino existing

Word Count: 440

Summary: Spending a day with the Vees in the tower — only so much could happen

"I hope when you microwave those leftovers later, the container is piping hot but the center of the food is colder than your dead heart." Your cool tone pierced the silence of the room, with your arms crossed over your chest, noting how Vox didn't even look in your direction, instead glancing to Valentino to see his reply.

After what happened in your first month, you weren't all that surprised that he was avoiding you as much as humanly possible.

"I can just mix it up and put it back in for a couple more minutes, I thought you were smarter than that." The moth demon replied.

"That's not the point I'm trying to make, asshole. And you know it."

You had been forced into spending 'quality' time with everyone on the very rare day off.

Avoiding talking to Velvette about the design concepts you drew up for her, and your obvious problems with Vox that stemmed from you being, as he put it: 'a disrespectful little shit'; your only other option was to immerse yourself in spending time with Valentino.

Not your greatest moment.

The bitch wouldn't let you touch the f/c jewels to bedazzle your phone case because he was insistent on using them for his new gun.

It was downright hoe behavior.

"You should calm down, Miel."

You cringed and reached for the glue and the jewels that happened to be your second favorite color. "Don't call me that."

"Why are you taking those ones?" Valentino questioned, glancing at the box of jewels that now laid before you.

"Because I fucking can, Mothman."

"Voxy ~ she's being mean."

The TV demon groaned and looked as if he wanted to slam his screened face into the table until he blacked out from damage to the motherboard.

Velvette snorted and took pictures 'for memories'.

"I wouldn't be mean if you weren't hogging the best color." You huffed, annoyed.

"That's a lie, you and I both know it, babes." Velvette piped up, the sketches before her long abandoned.

"Fine, I'd be less mean. . . What should we eat?" You questioned.

"The flat faced prince picks tonight." Velvette announced.

"Go fuck yourself." Vox said smoothly, although he glitched.

You groaned.

"Pick something good. Or else." You threatened lightly. The boys had a habit of picking stuff only they liked, which left you and Velvette to be the more considerate ones so that you didn't have to hear their bitching.

"Italian?" Vox questioned the table.

"Sounds good." Valentino hummed, placing the last jewel on his gun.

Sounded better than steak for the second night in a row. . . For the second time that week.

[bluetimeombre]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀Wanting you, under the Italian sun

You and Timmy have most been working hard. For the summer, they decide an Italian getaway.

[a little something that's been sitting in my drafts while i work on some other things, i hope you enjoy. I'm thinking of taking some requests, cause i'm lacking inspiration so if that's something you'd like, let me know and maybe, you'll get lucky]

The car dropped you off at your private villa for the weekend, the wheels rolling onto the stone.

You step out first while your beautiful boyfriend, timothee paid and took the bags from you. You both stare at the old but wonder ours villa which would be your home for the summer.

Timmy threw an arm around you shoulder, drawing you in and kissing your temple. It was an endearing move you revelled in. ‘Are you happy, amore mio?’ (My love)

You smile up at him. ‘Very.’

His lips Slide Over yours before leading you over to the door. You guys had already picked up the keys to the place by the owner. All summer, this would be your own private haven.

The two of you were hidden, surrounded by tall trees to shield you and it was at least a mile walk from the nearest town. You had a stocked kitchen, a pool for your own enjoyment and each other.

You and Timmy had only been dating six months, but it felt like the most blissful forever. Already you knew there was nothing more you could want, you had everything. But still, you both had been working hard over the last few months and knew to keep you both sane, you needed to escape.

You had been working hard on a movie you’re especially proud of with Emerald Fennell (the director of Saltburn). It was premiering at the end of the year and was a high talk of Oscar buzz, but it was taxing. And Timothee had been busy promoting dune two and preparing for Bob Dylan. The only time you’ve shared is surprising each other in different countries, stealing moments of hurried movements of bodies in hotel rooms and several hundred facetimes.

You'd both agreed to get away, knowing it could snowball into stress and terrible times. He was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, a household name and everyone loved him. Meanwhile everyone was looking to you, a trend-setter, so what your next big move would be.

Italy, it would just be you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

You spent your first week sleeping in, bathing in the sunlight that came through the windows, left open for a cool breeze and curtains blowing gently. His hands would run over your bare skin, tracing marks his lips had made the night before. Then he'd roll on top of you and continue the evening.

His lips trail down your neck, biting and licking over a spot. 'Can't get enough of you.'

Then your mornings continue slowly. Sometimes you'd go for a walk around the countryside, or walk into the town and buy some flowers for the villa and Timothee would insist on buying you pretty things.

'A pretty girl deserves pretty things,' he always said.

So, when you brought a bouquet, you always spared a flower for him.

Most mornings, you'd be found in the pool while Timothee made breakfast, bringing it out for the two of you. You'd sit at the set table, next to each other, your legs stretched into his lap as he traced patterns on your skin. Or his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.

You guys talked, talked about anything. Your careers, your hopes and dreams for the future, together-obviously. You talked about books and poems and movies and family. It was so easy with him. And at the same time, everything was exciting.

Your bodies knew each other, and in the summer, with so much skin, you had many chances to explore each other, but you also explored each others minds, picking out anything you each wanted to know.

Timothee, on rare occasions, even on holiday, slept in. You spent your time admiring him, his lips parted with soft breaths and his curls fresh and soft. He was naked under the sheets but the white covers were pulled over his chest. He still had an arm draped over your stomach, but it was weak in sleep.

You slipped away easily, taking your books and making yourself coffee and heading to the poolside to relax in the morning glow.

Only half an hour slipped by before you boyfriend wandered out, in his trunks, still stretching out the sleep that held his body.

'Good morning, baby,' you greeted with a smile.

Timothee smiled down at you before urging you to shuffle to the end of your chair. He slipped behind you, legs on either side and arms wrapping around your waist. He kissed one the tattooed marks he left on you last night. That's what he loved about the villa, the two of you wearing barley anything. 'Morning, mon amour. How did you sleep?'

You lean your head back on his shoulder. 'Like a babe.'

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you. It was never quick with him, never swift. His lips were hard against yours, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip to taste the coffee on your tongue.

You pulled back before you could lose your place in your book. But, you pulled your coffee cup from the ground and offered him some.

He took a sip and leant his head on you shoulder, reading over while his hands messaged your stomach and hips. 'Even on holiday you're working.'

'This isn't work, i'm reading.'

'About the architecture of Italy?'

'It's a beautiful place.'

He hummed. 'It suits you, beautiful place for a beautiful girl.' He wears a smirk as his fingers slide over your swimsuit and slowly slip under under it grazes your bare hipbone.

'Timothee,' you warn with the most conviction you could.

'What?' he asked innocently.

You peck him on the lips, pulling away and leaving him to chase them. 'You have a problem.'

'Yes, I do.' Slowly, he slides the book of the chair, leaving it to thud on the ground and he slowly settles you down, as he slides along your back, slowly taking the straps down with his teeth. 'Will you help me?'

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

As the sun sets on your simple day, the two of you sit at dinner outside as always. You listen to Timothee strum the guitar he brought along, mumble along to some songs he'd learnt for Bob Dylan.

Then, he passed it to you, letting you strum what songs you knew from other movies you'd done.

Once you set the guitar down, it fell quiet.

'You know I want to marry you, right?' said Timmy out of nowhere. 'Not here. Not now. When it's right, for you.'

You look at him. You spoke about futures, but never had he said so blatantly that he will marry you. 'What about you?' you ask.

'I'll be ready when you are,' he says, gently brushing your hair behind your shoulder. 'And this could be our lives. Here. Every summer this could be our villa. You and me. Then one day, our kids. Then, when we've made enough movies we'll do what the old movie stars do. Retire, direct or produce a movie or something. We'd be like those cooky neighbours who throw the craziest parties.'

'Cheeseboards,' you suggest. 'Watching sunsets and sunrises, walking to town to buy ingredients for supper. Then complaining about the kids running around our feet while trying to cook.' you say, playing pretend for your future lives.

Timothee nodded, leaning closer to you, like he could see the future in your eyes. 'We'll hide away here, in the trees, and swim together, naked- when we're alone of course-' you laugh at his. 'and we can spend all day together, I'd get to touch you whenever I please,' his hands slowly caressed up your legs, careful and light.

You blush, smiling and resting your chin in the palm of your hands. 'All day every day touching you.'

'Could you think of anything better?' he smirked, lips brushing yours.

'Well, right now, a few things.' you kissed him and kissed him, thankful forever for the Italian sun.

[smoooothoperator]

What Was I Made For?

24: All For Us

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers (👀)

Warnings: fluuuuuff

a/n: New chapter!!! As you canread it, the ending of the story is coming closer...

if you want to play a game and ask things about Dafne

Masterlist

Pinterest

previous part | next chapter

If you want to be tagged don't forget to message me!

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

One month to meet Dorian. One month to finally hold him. One month to show the world the most beautiful baby they could ever see. 

It's been half a year since Charles and I started dating, and even if at the start everything was a rollercoaster, I couldn't be happier with him. Even if he was away for the races, he always called me whenever he wasn’t in the car, doing FaceTime or just talking through the phone, making me feel like I was there with him.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand resting on my belly, feeling the steady kicks under my palm. I smiled softly, imagining his tiny feet pressing against me, eager to join the world. My back ached, and my ankles were swollen, but none of that mattered right now. All I could think about was Charles. 

He has been texting me all morning since he left home to go to the hotel close to the track, sending me pictures of everything the fans gave him for us and the baby. And while he was sending texts, I was packing a suitcase for some weeks, getting everything ready and placing the hospital bag we made, just in case Dorian decides to come join us earlier than expected, in the back of the car with the baby seat.

I had been following Charles' races from afar, glued to the TV, my laptop or my phone, cheering him on from the comfort of our home. I hated missing out, but with the doctor advising me to take it easy, I had no choice but to stay at home. Or so I made Charles believe.

Imola was just a few hours away by car, and the triple-header was starting this weekend. I knew how important this triple header was to him, with an Italian race for Ferrari and then, some weeks later, his own home race in Monaco. And even though I told him I wouldn’t be able to make it, I had other plans. There was no way I was going to miss them. Not this time.

“Don’t worry, Dorian. We’re going to surprise papa, hm? You’re going to hear those engines roar again” I smiled, rubbing gently my belly, feeling excited about going back again to the track after some months.

I have been texting Lewis for a while, and thanks to him, I would have a paddock pass without Charles knowing about it. 

I could almost picture Charles' reaction. He’d be stunned, maybe even a little annoyed at first because he was protective because of my pregnancy, but once the shock wore off, I knew he would be happy. Having me there, especially so close to the due date, would mean everything to him.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I glanced over, smiling immediately after reading the contact name.

Charles: Miss you already, love. I just arrived to the hospitality, the fans gave me so many gifts for Dorian ❤️

I smiled, biting my lip. I could practically hear his voice through the text, making me smile and sigh softly. If only he knew what I was up to…

I grabbed the suitcase and the hospital bag, looking one last time at our bedroom, with the crib already ready next to the window, and smiled to myself. Maybe, just maybe, the next time I’ll be in this room, Dorian will be here with us.

After double-checking that I had everything, I carefully lowered myself into the driver’s seat of the car. Getting in and out was no easy task these days, but I managed with a little of patience. I adjusted the seat to make room for my belly and took a deep breath before starting the engine. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me, the same kind of excitement I used to have before retiring from being a driver.

As I pulled out of the driveway, the familiar hum of the engine calmed me. The drive wasn’t long, but I had to pace myself. I knew Charles’ schedule like the back of my hand, so if everything went according to plan, I would catch him recording some content for the media or even doing interviews.

The road ahead stretched out, and with each kilometer, I felt the anticipation building. Dorian squirmed a little, as if he could feel it too.

“It’s okay, little one” I smiled, rubbing my belly softly and putting the music higher on the radio. “We’re going to see papa soon. He’s going to be so happy to see us”

By the time I reached the outskirts of Imola, the sun was high in the sky, making everything look brighter than before. I followed the signs toward the track, knowing where to go after years of racing, feeling my heart beating faster with every passing minute.

I smiled, driving through the parking lot and stopping the car near the place where the drivers park their own cars. I found Charles’ car easily, knowing that the team gave him the last car Ferrari dropped, looking at it parked in the reserved place with his name on it.

I grabbed my bag, hanging it on my shoulder after getting out of the car, slower than usual. As I walked towards the paddock doors, fans found me and started taking pictures of me, as well as calling me. I smiled politely at them, waving my hand and smiling, letting them take pictures as always.

As I walked through the paddock, I could feel the curious glances around me. It wasn’t like I was trying to not be seen. After all, it’s hard to blend in when you’re nine months pregnant, walking like a penguin. But I didn’t care. The excitement of surprising Charles carried me here, and I won’t let a few stares bother me.

I made my way towards the Ferrari hospitality, my heart racing faster than my feet could keep up. Every step felt like I was getting closer to Charles, and I could already imagine the look on his face when he saw me. He had no idea I was here.

As I turned a corner, walking past the familiar red and white trailers, I looked around, smiling when I started to hear the familiar sound of mechanics getting the cars ready for the weekend. 

It was hard not to feel nostalgic. I had spent so much time in this paddock over the years, racing and competing against the best drivers out there, and now I’m one of the many people that have to stay behind a barrier watching them race.

"We’re almost there" I whispered, smiling down at my belly.

Just as I was about to step into the Ferrari area, I heard a voice call out from behind me, making me smile and turn around slowly.

"Dafne?"

For a second, neither of us moved. He looked like he was trying to process if it was really me standing there, and I could see the mixture of confusion and joy written in face. His hair was a bit messy as if he just rushed out of a meeting. And then, as if it finally clicked, a smile broke out across his face.

"You’re... here" he smiled. His eyes moved between my face and my belly, as if he couldn’t decide what to focus on.

"I’m here" I chuckled softly, biting my lip to keep from laughing at his stunned expression.

"I thought... you said..." he frowned, his hands resting on my belly as if he was afraid to let go. "You told me you weren’t coming"

"Yeah, well…" I smiled softly. "I wanted to surprise you"

Charles blinked a few times, then broke into the biggest smile I have seen in weeks. He pulled me into a gentle hug, careful with my belly, but still holding me tight. We could feel the kicks of our baby, like he wanted to remind us that he came too.

"You’re incredible" he murmured into my hair. "I can’t believe you’re here"

“I missed being here” I whisper against his chest, rubbing his back softly. “And I didn’t want to be alone this last month… So that’s why I came”

“I’m sorry” he sighed, pressing a kiss on my temple. “But what if…”

“I brought the hospital bag too, don’t worry” I smiled. “I have a feeling that baby Dorian will come sooner… So that’s why I’m going to Monaco after Imola”

“Monaco? Are you sure?” he sighed. 

“I am, love” I smiled, kissing his jaw. “Our family is there. My parents, your mother and brothers… I want to have Dorian in a place where I know we won’t be alone in case you are away…”

“Oh, believe me” he sighed, pressing his lips on my forehead. “If you go on labor while I'm away, I'll drop the team just to be next to you”

I chuckled softly and nodded, hugging him tightly. Somehow, it scared me going through labor without him by my side,and even if I could count with our family, I only wanted him with me in the room.

“Then I'll try to keep Dorian with me a little longer until you can be free from work” I joked, chuckling softly.

He laughed softly and grabbed my bag from my shoulder, hanging it on his shoulder and holding my hand while we walked inside the hospitality, being welcomed with wide smiles and hugs from the team crew.

The motorhome felt like a little sanctuary in the chaos of the race week. It was cozy and quiet inside, offering the perfect view of the track from the large windows. I sat on the comfortable sofa in the balcony of the hospitality, with my hand resting on my belly as I watched Charles’s practice session on the TV screen in front of me. The sound of the engines in the track and the people in the paddock filled the space, but my attention was locked on Charles.

I felt Dorian moving around a bit more today, his kicks strong and rhythmic, almost like he could feel the energy around us.

“Your dad is going to do great today, just wait and see" I whispered, rubbing my belly gently as I smiled to myself.

The camera followed Charles around the circuit, his Ferrari a blur of red and black as it darted through the chicanes. He had been in good form all weekend, and I could tell from the smoothness of his driving that he was in his zone. 

The sun was beginning to get higher in the sky, making the paddock look brighter than a few hours ago. I took a deep breath, the familiar scent of rubber and fuel mixing with the fresh air. It was a strange comfort, this chaotic world of racing, a place where I spent most part of my life.

Charles had always been good at keeping his emotions low since the start of the season on the race weekends, but I knew that having me here, especially so close to our due date, meant a lot to him. He wasn’t just racing for himself, he was racing for our future. 

I caught sight of a few fans in the distance, waving Ferrari flags and cheering as the cars zoomed past. It was still surreal to think that soon, Dorian would be part of all of this too.

As the session ended, and I saw the cars retiring to the garages I stood up slowly, my hands pressing into my lower back as I stretched. Dorian gave another strong kick, and I chuckled softly.

“You’re excited too, huh?” I whispered.

A few minutes later, the door of the balcony opened, and Charles walked in, still in his race suit with his face flushed from the adrenaline of the session. His eyes softened the moment he saw me, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Hey, you two" he said, walking over and placing a gentle hand on my belly. "How’s Dorian doing today?"

"Kicking like crazy" I grinned, watching as he rubbed his hand affectionately over my bump. "He’s definitely excited to be here."

"I think he’s going to love race weekends as much as we do" Charles let out a soft laugh, his other hand sliding around my waist to hold me closer.

"You're really strong out there today" I said, resting my head against his shoulder. "The car seemed to be handling well"

“Yeah, it’s feeling good" Charles nodded, his voice steady with that familiar determination. "We’re still making a few mistakes, but I’m feeling confident. I’m glad you’re here to see it"

We stood in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of activity outside a gentle reminder that we were still in the heart of the race weekend. But here, in this moment, it was just the two of us, and our baby growing inside me.

“I can’t wait to show Dorian this world” I whispered, smiling softly. “To bring him to the races, to let him grow in this place…”

“Me neither, Daf” Charles smiled, rubbing my shoulder. “Just thinking about coming back to the hospitality after getting out of the car and knowing that I would hear his giggles… That makes me so incredibly happy”

The atmosphere in the hospitality was charged with excitement and anticipation as Charles prepared for qualifying after having lunch and going to meetings. The scent of fresh coffee mingled with the faint hint of burnt rubber wafting through the open windows, making me smile and take deep breaths while rubbing my belly.

“Are you nervous?” I asked, breaking the silence that hung comfortably between us. 

I could see the concentration on his face as he adjusted his race suit, his brow furrowed in determination.

“A little” he admitted, looking  over his shoulder at me. His green eyes softened softly  and I could see a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But I'm more excited than anything. It feels good out there today”

“You’ve been flying all weekend, Charles. This track is good for the car this season” I said, shifting slightly to get more comfortable on the couch. Dorian seemed to sense the energy too, rolling around in my belly.

I watched him nod and move around the room, his body fluid and confident as he picked up his helmet, running his fingers over the glossy surface.

“You know, it’s just qualifying” I said, shrugging my shoulders.  “No pressure, right? Just go out there, have fun, and do your best”

“I know” he sighed. “Just… I want to do better. McLaren is getting better every race, and we can only watch them go…”

“Good thing I came to be your lucky charm, huh?” I chuckled softly. “Come on, don't worry. It will be okay”

With a final glance in the mirror to check his appearance, he straightened up, the familiar intensity returning to his gaze. He turned around and looked at me, smiling softly. I followed him with my eyes, watching him walk towards the couch a dn stand in front of me, leaning closer to press a soft kiss on my lips.

“I’ll be thinking of you and Dorian the whole time”he whispered against my lips.

“Just be safe and give it your all, okay?” I smiled, feeling a mix of pride and anticipation.

He nodded, giving me one last kiss before helping me to stand up. We walked hand in hand towards the tables where other team members would be watching the qualy and he hugged me one last time before leaving.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too,” I replied, smiling softly. “Good luck, love. Dorian and I will be watching”

The commentators’ voices filled the hospitality as the cars drove out of the pit lane one by one, the camera panning across the vibrant colors of the cars as they prepared to take on the circuit. I watched closely as Charles’s name flashed on the screen, the number 16 Ferrari ready to attack the track.

My heart raced along with the cars as the session began, the roar of the engines filling the air both inside and outside the hospitality, making my own mind think that I was out on the track too. Charles’ first flying lap looked smooth, precise.

“Good, good” I nodded to myself.

Q1 finished, then Q2. And Charles was finally in the Top 10, fighting for the first position. The onboard camera showed his view, going through every corner of the track, pushing the car to its limit.

The session was nearing its end, and the times were coming in fast. Other drivers were getting competitive laps, but Charles was still up there, still fighting for pole position.

When he crossed the finish line on his final lap, the screen lit up with his time, faster than anyone else, making his number clim to the highest position of the graphic.

The crowd roared, and I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. A huge smile spread across my face as I saw his name solidify at the top of the leaderboard.

“Pole!” I exclaimed, laughing softly as Dorian kicked in response. “Your dad did it!”

The cheers from the paddock outside echoed in my ears, and I felt a rush of pride swell in my chest. Charles had done it. He had secured pole position, and I could almost feel his excitement from here.

As the session ended, I stood up slowly, my hand still on my belly, and made my way to the garage. I wanted to be there when he came back, to be with him. The paddock was buzzing with energy as I walked toward the Ferrari garage, my steps slow but steady. A few team members smiled at me as I passed, their faces glowing with excitement.

I reached the garage just as Charles was climbing out of the car, pulling off his helmet. His face was flushed, his hair damp with sweat, but the grin on his face was unmistakable. He turned, scanning the crowd, and when his eyes landed on me, they lit up even more.

“Dafne!” he called out, running to me.

The second he reached me, he wrapped me in a careful but tight hug, mindful of my belly but full of warmth.

“You did it!” I laughed, squeezing him as best I could. “P1!”

“I told you I’d give it everything.” he pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes shining with pride. 

“I knew you would,” I smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. “You were incredible out there, Charles.”

He glanced down at my belly and grinned. He rubbed my belly and kneeled in front of me, pressing a soft kiss on it.

 “And how’s this little guy? Did he enjoy qualifying?” he smiled looking up at me.

“Enjoy? He was kicking the whole time” I chuckled. “He’s definitely proud of you.”

 “We did it, little man” he whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion. “We’re going to win this weekend.”

I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling the love and determination radiating from him. I brushed his hair with my fingers, ignoring how sweaty it was, and then I brushed his beard, cupping his cheek.

“We’ll be cheering you on every step of the way,” I said, my voice just as soft. “You’ve got this.”

He stood back up, his eyes never leaving mine as he leaned in to kiss me gently, a tender kiss that held all the emotions of the day.

“I’m going to make this weekend unforgettable” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine.

And in that moment, standing there together in the heart of the track, I knew that whatever happened next, we were ready for it. This was our moment, our family’s moment, and I couldn’t wait to see how it all goes.

The morning sun was just starting to rise over the Imola circuit as Charles and I arrived at the paddock with our car.. There was this emotion in the air, the excitement of the Tifosi hoping to be the spectators of how the red team wins in their home,  but everything still felt calm. 

Charles was unusually quiet as we walked side by side, his hand resting protectively on the small of my back. I could feel the nervous energy radiating from him. Every driver feels the weight of the moment on the morning of a race, but for Charles, especially today, it seemed heavier. Pole position meant high expectations, and with Imola being a historic track, the pressure was palpable.

"How are you feeling?" I asked softly, glancing up at him.

"Nervous" he admitted, his voice a little more rough than usual. "It’s strange. I’ve done this so many times before, but today feels different. Everyone is expecting me to win, and… What if I mess up?"

I stopped walking for a moment, holding his hand to make him stop too. The noise in the paddock continued around us, but right then, all I cared about was calming him.

"Charles, look at me" I sighed, trying to sound calm. When his eyes met mine, I could see the storm of doubt there, something I hadn’t seen in him in a long time. "You’ve worked so hard for this. You’ve been driving brilliantly all weekend, and no one deserves this win more than you. You've faced pressure before, and you come out stronger every time. You need to trust yourself today"

"I just don’t want to let anyone down" he sighed, looking around us.

"You won’t" I said, stepping closer to him. "And even if things don’t go perfectly, I’ll still be proud of you. Dorian will be proud of you”

His features softened, and I saw the tension start to disappear from his face. He gave me a small smile, the kind that barely lifted the corners of his mouth but said everything. Taking a step closer to me, he pressed his lips on my forehead, taking a deep breath.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know that?" he whispered softly.

"Lucky for you, you don’t have to find out" I chuckled, cupping his cheek with my hand.

We made our way to the hospitality and he quickly mentally prepared himself for the upcoming race, attending the meetings and then going with his personal trainer to get ready.

While he was getting ready, I was working on my laptop, getting everything ready before the race starts. When I saw Charles walking out of his room with the suit hanging over his hips, I closed the laptop and looked up at him, smiling.

"Hey," I smiled softly, holding his hand. He looked down at me, and I saw the hint of nerves in his eyes again. "You’re ready for this, Charles."

"Yeah… I just need to stay focused. Stick to the plan and pray that Ferrari doesn’t fuck up the race…" he sighed, shaking his head.

"You will do an amazing performance" I reassured him. "You’ve worked hard for this. And no matter what happens out there, we’re all proud of you, me, the team, and Dorian too. He’s probably kicking in excitement right now" I added with a small smile, placing a hand on my belly.

"I’m glad you’re here" he whispered, kneeling in front of me,pressing his forehead against mine for a brief moment. "It means everything."

"Go out there and show them what you’ve got" I whispered back. "This is your race."

The moments before the race always felt stressful, with too many things to do and many things in the head. While the drivers have to stand for the anthem, their minds are full of information and what the have to do. Everytime I had to do that, I tried to stay silent and not talk with anyone else except my team, only to confirm things I already knew.

I found my place in the Ferrari hospitality, sitting on a couch with a direct view of the track from the screen in front of me. My heart raced alongside Charles’ car as the formation lap began. His car, gleaming red under the sun, was positioned at the front, pole position. It was the best place to be, but also the one that gave more pressure.

The lights went out, and the race began.

For the next hour and a half, I was glued to the screen, barely paying attention to my surroundings as I watched Charles fight for every second, every corner. It was a tough race, with both McLaren right on his back, pushing him at every turn, but Charles held his position. His driving was precise, his strategies perfect. He defended when he needed to, attacked when he had the chance, all while managing his tires and keeping his focus razor-sharp.

With every lap, the tension grew. Charles was in the lead, but only by a small margin. One mistake, and it could all slip away.

"Come on, Charles" I whispered, gripping the edge of my seat as Dorian kicked hard beneath my hand, as if sensing the urgency. My heart was pounding as the laps ticked down.

And then, the final lap. Charles was still in the lead, butOscar was right behind him. The gap was getting smaller with every corner, but Charles was holding his position, defending every corner and pushing in every straight.

Then the checkered flag came into view.

I held my breath as Charles crossed the line. 

First.

The Ferrari hospitality broke the silence with screams and clapping, the sound filling the air as everyone celebrated. I felt a wave of emotion wash over me, relief, pride, joy, all of it blending together as tears welled up in my eyes. He’d done it. Charles had won.

I stood up slowly, clapping and cheering as the team around me celebrated, their voices filling the hospitality with shouts of joy and disbelief. The camera zoomed in on Charles as he slowed down on his cool down lap, the team radio crackling through the speakers as his engineer congratulated him. I could hear Charles’ breathless laughter through the radio, and it made my heart swell.

I made my way out of the hospitality and immediately walked through the garage towards the pitlane, trying to make space for myself between all his mechanics.

“Dafne, come here” Fred smiled, holding my hand and helping me walk to the front of the crowd, standing right behind the barriers.

As he pulled into the pit lane and climbed out of the car, I started clapping with tears running down my cheeks, smiling when I saw him jump out of the car and walk towards his team. Then, when he pulled away from them and walked towards me, he took off his helmet, smiling widely at me.

"You did it” I smiled,  my voice trembling with excitement as I wrapped my arms around him.

"We did it" he said, grinning ear to ear, his breath still coming in short bursts. He held me tightly, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I couldn’t have done it without you."

"You were amazing out there" I whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "I’m so proud of you."

"Your dad's bringing home the trophy "his smile softened, and he placed a hand on my belly. In that moment I felt all the cameras on us, taking the perfect picture of us.

"He’s definitely excited," I laughed, resting my hand over Charles when I started to feel the hard kicks. "We both are."

As the celebrations continued around us, I leaned into him, soaking in the moment. After all the hard work, all the pressure and nerves, he had done it. Charles was a winner today, and we were here, together, to celebrate it.

taglist

@elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05 @theseerbetweenus @vizzzashley @auawdo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @leptitlu @green-thots @caterinemirandax_ @mid5nights @harrysdimple05 @nofingjustaninchident @mendes-bae

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART VIII

Summary: As Nina and Tommy slowly appear to come to terms with their feelings, they realise they might not be as discreet as they thought they were. An unexpected visit complicates things.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, harassment, violence, Stefano, no proofreading, English is not my first language. This is set between season 1 and 2.

A/N: alright it has been awfully long since I last updated this, but believe me when I say I was stuck. Hopefully I’ll be more active from next week on.

As usual, there are some dialogues which are supposed to be in Italian, but I chose to write them in English for the sake of the readers (and mine, ‘cause otherwise I should’ve translated lots of stuff). I just kept some words and sentences here and there to give the idea.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credit

Dividers credit

If there was one thing that Maria Ferrante took very seriously, it was the Sunday lunch. She was already up and about at dawn, free to walk from place to place in her kitchen without the rest of the family in the way. She only left it to attend Mass, and once she was home again, there was nothing that could distract her from her cooking. It was known that a good ragù needed to be cooked for hours in order to be perfect, after all.

When Nina walked into the kitchen at eleven a.m., after almost twelve hours of well-deserved sleep, the delicious smell of the sauce filled her nostrils, making her stomach growl.

“You missed church this morning,” her mother scolded her, agitating a wooden spoon in her direction.

“Did I?” She absentmindedly murmured, peeping into the pot. The boiling red sauce, mixed with the finest meat one could find in town, crackled exquisitely, appealing to her empty belly.

“This family lacks discipline,” Maria asserted, moving to cut some vegetables. “I cannot remember the last time we all went to church together. We’re losing all the good habits.”

Too captivated by her new target to pay any attention to her mother’s rants, Nina stealthily took a slice of bread from the basket on the table and put it in a plate. Then, taking advantage of her distraction, she dipped it into the pot.

“Nina!”

With a grin on her face, Nina moved away from the stove, unbothered by her mother’s curses. She took a bite from the bread, and hummed in appreciation when the sauce-covered crumb melted on her tongue. There was nothing like dipping fresh bread in ragù on Sunday mornings. However, her breakfast was soon forgotten when she caught sight of Tommy outside the kitchen, fully dressed and perfectly groomed as usual. Her father was explaining something to him, but they were too distant for her to listen to what they were talking about.

There it was, that strange, funny feeling that seemed to pervade Nina every time he was near. It had grown stronger, since what they had called their “moment of weakness”, and she could no longer lie to herself. She could no longer deny that she was intensely, inevitably drawn to him. She longed for a gaze, a word, an accidental touch, anything that could grant her a fleeting moment of connection. And she couldn’t comprehend how that man, who she had met as recently as a month ago, had managed to invade her every thought, her every desire. She had to force herself away from him. She had to push him out of her mind, so that when the time came to watch him leave, it wouldn’t hurt as much as the thought alone was hurting her now. It wasn’t right. It was fair to Agnese, it wasn’t fair to her family, and it wasn’t fair to herself. She had to let those feelings pass.

She looked away from Tommy, coming back to herself, and when she turned to her right, she noticed her mother was looking at her with a strange look in her eyes. Nina averted her gaze in discomfort, the woman’s inquisitive stare never failing to make her feel like an open book. She walked past her and put her plate in the sink, a poor attempt to escape her piercing eyes, but she could still feel them on her, following her every move. So Nina grabbed the wooden spoon, hoping that making herself useful would do the trick. “The sauce needs stirring.”

Her brothers bursted into the kitchen, diverting her mother’s attention away from her, and Nina almost breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Where have you been?” Their mother asked them, placing her hands on her waist.

“We had some things to take care of,” Pietro said, and Nina figured the vagueness of answer was an answer itself.

“On a rest day?”

“There’s no such thing as a rest day when it comes to business,” Salvatore brushed it off in a playful manner, approaching his mother to place a tender kiss on her cheek. That gesture seemed to make her soften, cause the annoyance slipped out of her face, replaced by an expression of resignation. “You look too beautiful to get angry, mum,” he continued, walking towards the stove.

“Bootlicker,” Nina mumbled, earning herself a kick behind her ankle. “Ouch!” She exclaimed in surprise, sending her brother’s way a sore look. Salvatore, in return, was blatantly smirking to himself. “Stronzo,” she spat out, giving him a shove.

“Keep your hands off me,” he shoved back.

“You started.”

“It was my foot, not my hands.”

“Enough you two,” Maria interrupted them, raising her voice. “See, this is what I mean when I say that this family lacks discipline,” she said to no one in particular.

With the shadow of the smirk still present on his face, Salvatore brought his index in front of his mouth. “Quiet,” he teasingly whispered.

Feeling her blood boil, Nina raised the wooden spoon in the air in a silent threat, but Pietro was quick to take it from her hand. Clearly, he didn’t trust his sister to restrain herself from actually using it. Nina inhaled deeply, telling herself that the angrier she got, the more Salvatore would find satisfaction in bothering her. Much to her luck, her brothers soon decided that the content of the pot was way more deserving of their attention. Making sure their mother was too distracted to stop them, they took a slice of bread each and dipped it in the sauce.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Maria snapped, putting down the knife she was using. With long steps, she walked over to her children. “Out,” she ordered, pushing all three of them towards the door. “No discipline, no discipline at all.”

Vincenzo Ferrante, who just like Tommy had heard all the commotion, shook his head in a mixture of resignation and disapproval at the sight of his snickering children getting out of the kitchen. Concealing his embarrassment, he murmured some excuses to his guest, half relieved by the fact that at least he hadn’t been able to understand the foolish reasons of that fuss.

“Nina!”

Shit. Nina squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, still with her back to the very reason why she had tried to get back into her house as fast as she could. She didn’t have the stomach to face her cousin, not after what she had done, not with the things that she had been hiding from her. That she was still hiding. She had stabbed in the back the only person in her family who had ever shown her an ounce of recognition, who had treated her like a person and not like some bad seed to be rogued out. But maybe that’s exactly what she was. A bad seed.

“Hi,” she faked surprise, turning to face her.

“What have you been up to?” Agnese asked her, adjusting the empty basket she was carrying on her hip. “Feels like you’re ignoring me.”

“I’m not,” Nina replied, maybe a bit too quickly. “I’ve been… busy,” she lied, the pathetic excuse making her feel even worse.

“My mum asked me to go buy some groceries, and I need someone to accompany me,” Agnese said, seemingly oblivious to her cousin’s fib. “I was going to ask Rosa, but why don’t you come with me?”

“Sure.”

Truth was, Nina didn’t want to go. How could she keep on talking to Agnese, spending time with her, all while pretending she hadn’t done something awful to her? And what made her despise herself even more was that guilt wasn’t the only reason why she didn’t want to see her. There was a stinging, but almost imperceptible feeling deep inside her, too close to annoyance, and resentment. Resentment. As if she were in the position to be resentful. Out of all people, Agnese didn’t deserve it. So she swallowed those feelings and went with her cousin.

“Don’t you wanna know how things with Tommy are going?” Agnese asked her as soon as they had passed the gates of their shared garden, her voice tinged with excitement.

“Of course,” Nina nodded, keeping her eyes on the unpaved road beneath her feet.

“You know he had lunch with us a few days ago right?”

“Yes.”

“We all thought he’d finally propose, but he didn’t.”

Nina raised her gaze on her cousin, studying her expression. She still remembered the strange wave of panic that had gone through her when her mother had stormed into the kitchen to give her the news. The poor girl’s desperate, she had told her. “How did you take it?”

“I was worried,” Agnese admitted, moving her basket to her other arm.

“And now?”

“Not anymore. My father talked to him, and he said he just wants to do it the right way. He thought it would be more proper to wait for a month to pass since we met. If everything goes as it’s supposed to go, he’ll propose by the end of the week,” she explained, and the emotion she had tried to hold back came to the surface in all its strength.

“Good,” Nina forced a tight-lipped smile, unable to ignore the vice tightening around her heart.

“Mr. Shelby’s reputation scared me, at first, but he’s a real gentleman. I mean, he’s a bit cold,” she let out a chuckle. “But he has been very kind to me, and never overstepped in any way,” she assured. Then her eyes lit up, and she began talking again. “Did you know he’s a war hero? He won medals.”

And he threw them in the cut, Nina thought to herself. A part of her just wanted to put an end to her cousin’s rants, to tell her that there was nothing she could say about him that she didn’t know already. And that she was so, so wrong about Tommy. That he could be cold, yes, but also so very ardent. That the walls of ice he had built around him weren’t impenetrable, that they could in fact be melted. That he had strong beliefs, and his own sense of justice, and that on such things he’d never compromise. She had learned all that and even more on the nights they had spent together in her kitchen, in front of cups of tea slowly growing cold. But she didn’t have the right to tell her that. Because Tommy didn’t belong to her. Because it was Agnese who would get to see every part of him, and to Nina he would become nothing more than someone she had once deluded herself she could know.

“I’m…” she paused, the insincere words refusing to come out without some insistence on her part. “I’m happy for you.”

Agnese must’ve noticed that something in Nina’s dark eyes didn’t match her words, that a feeling far from happiness was gnawing at her from the inside, because she stopped walking and placed a hand on her arm. “You’ll find someone too,” she said softly. “Be patient.”

Nina shook her head, a bitter smile making its way on her face. “I don’t want anyone, Agnese.”

“Do you really want me to believe that you wish to be alone?” She took on a scolding tone, widening her eyes in disbelief.

“My aspirations are different than yours,” Nina said firmly, holding her gaze. “And I’d rather be alone than caged.”

“Marriage is not necessarily a prison,” she insisted, her lips curving up in reassurance. “I know I haven’t known him for long, but I can tell Mr. Shelby is not a brute. You might find someone like him.”

No, she wouldn’t. Tommy was like no one she had ever met. There were so many layers to him, so many contradictions that she could live a hundred lives and never meet someone like him. But on one thing Agnese was right: deep down, as preposterous as it sounded, he was good.

“He’s the exception.”

“What are these?”

Putting down the vegetables she had bought for her mother, Nina looked at the bouquet of red roses resting on the table. She was pretty sure they weren’t there before she left the house.

“What do they look like to you?” Her mother asked rhetorically, raising her eyebrows. She looked significantly calmer than a few hours ago, and Nina wasn’t sure whether that was because she was almost done with the lunch or because of the flowers. “Stefano brought them for you,” she explained, going to grab the grocery bag.

It took Nina more than a moment to register her mother’s words. She blinked, her mouth going dry as the memories of what had happened the last time he had been at her house came to her mind. She shifted her gaze from the roses to her mother, then to the roses again.

“He was coming back from church, when he saw them at the flower shop,” Maria continued, taking the vegetables out of the bag. “He said they made him think of you, and thought about making a little deviation to bring them here.”

At that point, Nina wasn’t even listening to her anymore. All she could do was stare at the roses in front of her, her heart racing at the realisation that Stefano was actually moving in that direction.. “This can’t be fucking real…” she murmured. “He’s not seriously doing this.”

“…so I invited him for lunch.”

“You did what?” Her head snapped in her mother’s direction, Maria’s statement harshly pulling her back to reality.

“He’s in your father’s study, talking to him. The boy’s serious about you Nina.”

In a sudden fit of rage, Nina grabbed the flowers and strode toward the bin, but before she could throw them away, her mother snatched them from her hand. “I didn’t raise you to be rude,” she scolded her. “It’s a gift, and gifts must be accepted.”

“I don’t want his gifts,” Nina spat out. “I don’t want anything from him. And I don’t want him. He can make his peace with that.”

Maria let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Nina,” she started, putting down the flowers. “He’s a nice guy-”

Nina scoffed, causing her to stop mid-sentence. So nice that he dared touch me in my own house.

“He’s a nice guy,” her mother repeated, louder this time, a way to tell her not to interrupt her again. “He talked to your father, brought you flowers. You’re twenty-two, it’s time for you to find someone. And this is an occasion. He’s willing to marry you despite-”

This time it was Maria who stopped herself. She bit the inside of her cheek, searching for better words, but Nina didn’t give her the chance to. She crossed her arms over her chest, squinting her eyes. “Despite what?” She asked, watching as her mother averted her gaze. “Despite what, mum? Despite who I am? Despite what I think? Despite what people say about me?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“I think that’s exactly what you meant,” she said coldly. A silence full of tension fell between them, and deep inside Nina hoped her mother would say something to make up for what she had just said. But she didn’t. So she put on the mask of indifference that had become so natural to her, and pretended that those words hadn’t gotten to her.

She was used to it, after all. All her life, Nina had watched her mother hope she could just be different. She had never missed the embarrassment on her face when someone pointed out her child’s peculiarities, nor the subtle envy she could see in her eyes when she looked at her nieces. All beautiful, well-mannered, pleasant, suitable for marriage. That’s what she expected to have when a daughter was finally born. Instead, she got her. She didn’t need to say it out loud for Nina to know that she wondered every day why her daughter couldn’t be a bit less like herself and a bit more like them.

It was tiring, to constantly feel the pressure to live up to everybody’s expectations, to know that she would be considered a disappointment no matter what. And although she wasn’t waiting for anybody’s approval, it would’ve felt nice to have at least one person who understood her. She didn’t want the life her parents wished for her, and at the same time she had no way of living the life she wished for herself. She wasn’t even sure what it was that she wished for herself. She only knew what she didn’t want. Yet it felt like every effort she made not to end up like her mother was inexorably guiding her to that fate.

Tommy didn’t understand the reason why Nina strode out of the kitchen with a face like thunder until lunchtime. The whole family was sitting around the table in the garden that separated the two houses. The arrangement was pretty much the same as every time they had lunch together. Vincenzo Ferrante was at the head, his wife on his left side, Pietro on his right. Salvatore was sitting between him and Nina. However, something was different this time: next to Nina was sitting Stefano. His jaw clenched at the memory of what he had walked into the other day, and his hands itched with the urge of doing what Nina had stopped him from doing. Spinietta must’ve sensed his staring, cause he raised his gaze on him with a hint of smugness on his face. He didn’t know why he was there, he didn’t know exactly what Nina’s past with him was, but it was clear there was some kind of pressure going on. She was keeping herself closer to her brother, in an attempt to put as much distance as possible between herself and Stefano, and apparently pretended he wasn’t there. Tommy could only imagine how hard it was for her to sit next to that poor excuse of a man.

Mario Ferrante, who was sitting at the end of the table with wife on his right side and the other two of his daughters on his left, glanced at him and Agnese from time to time.

Agnese. Tommy had lost track of their conversation long ago. It had become more of a monologue on her part. But how was he supposed to listen to a single word she said when something so unfair was happening right in front of him?

The one thing that brought him some relief was that Nina could find some distraction in her conversation with her brother. Salvatore said something to her, and her frown was replaced by a laugh. It enlightened her whole features, and Tommy couldn’t keep himself from lingering on the way her irises, hit by the sunlight, were marked by golden flecks. A pink tinge warmed her cheeks and two dimples were showing at the corners of her lips. For a moment she looked relaxed, off-guard, even. Lost as he was in that rare sight, Tommy didn’t even notice that a faint smile had appeared on his face. But Agnese did. Her words slowly died out, and her brows furrowed as she followed the trajectory of his eyes.

Before she had the chance to say something, Vincenzo Ferrante got up, causing the chatter to fade.

“Before the wine starts speaking for us, I’d like to say a few words,” he announced, his Italian accent threading through his words. His eyes travelled around, stopping briefly on each person at the table. “You see,” he began once everyone’s attention was on him. “Our family and Mr. Shelby’s family had…” he paused, looking for the right word. “…Misunderstandings. But we were able to communicate with an open mind.” He set his gaze on Tommy, who in return agreed with a single nod. “Now we’re sitting at the same table. Soon, we might even have something to celebrate.”

“Who could’ve guessed it, eh?” Mario Ferrante joked, eliciting laughter from those who could understand him. Maria and Rita Ferrante, whose English was too broken to understand much of what their husbands were saying, simply smiled in support.

“To peace,” Vincenzo said, raising his glass. But when he pronounced his next words, his eyes looked right in his daughter’s. “May we all make our choices with an open mind.”

The lunch proceeded smoothly enough, but it was impossible for Tommy not to sense a general feeling of discomfort. Even the eldest of the Ferrante siblings, Pietro - whose placid expression never gave anything away -, seemed to be upset. There was something going on, and he could just hope it didn’t also involve him. He hadn’t forgotten the dangerousness of his position, alone in a foreign country, surrounded by former enemies with no men on his side.

A sharp noise pulled him out of his thoughts, making him raise his gaze in front of him. Nina had dropped her fork on her plate, visibly bothered by something. More like someone. Because Stefano had been adamant in his attempts to engage her in conversation. Chuckling at her reaction, he pinched her chin with fake playfulness, a gesture that might’ve looked affectionate to less attentive eyes. Tommy tried his best to keep his face straight as his grip on the cutlery tightened. As much as he wished to intervene, there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t raise suspicion. He could just be glad that, surrounded by her family, Stefano wouldn’t be able to try anything again.

For her part, Nina was trying hard not to lose her calm, but they weren’t exactly making it easy for her. Her father’s toast had been the last straw. She hasn’t missed the way he had subtly made it clear that his words were meant for her. She was right, at last. She had been right all along. All that talk about leaving the choice to her was nothing more than empty words, than a way to make her feel like she had some kind of control, when in truth she was just another pawn in his schemes. Because at the end of the day, he was still a man. A man who wanted power, and would’ve done anything in order to achieve it. Even sacrifice his own daughter.

She wanted to leave. She needed to leave. How could everyone pretend everything was fine? How could they sit together and eat when everything was so wrong? How could they digest the hypocrisy? She couldn’t stand them, any of them. Now more than ever. She couldn’t stand their voices, she couldn’t stand their laughter, she couldn’t stand the way they talked and talked and talked. She hated the way they suddenly seemed inhuman. They were all hunching over their plates, chewing and slurping, the awful sounds almost painful to her ears. Even Stefano, who always carried himself with composure and dignity, seemed to have transformed into some feral animal, hands and fingers dirty with crumbles and sauce. Those same hands he had put on her not many days before.

“Excuse me,” she blurted out, abruptly standing up. All eyes were on Nina now, but she ignored the murmurings and crossed the garden to go back to her house before anyone could stop her. She couldn’t stay there anymore. She couldn’t tolerate the little games, and the lies. Even her own lies. Her lies to her family, her lies to herself. She couldn’t.

She grabbed the kitchen counter for support, taking deep breaths to put an order to that vortex of overwhelming feelings.

“What’s wrong, huh?” A familiar voice resounded behind her, making her snap her head up. When she turned around, Stefano was there, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. “You’re not having fun?”

“Leave,” Nina commanded, and she didn’t even need to put on a brave facade to spit those words out with all the hatred she felt for him. She had sworn she’d never let herself be scared of him ever again, and she was determined to keep that promise. He had no right to make her feel unsafe in her own home.

“Are you going to embarrass me like that when we’re husband and wife?” Stefano moved away from the door to approach her with slow, measured steps, hands in his pockets. It came as a surprise, how easy it was to end up alone with her. He had just needed to act all concerned and offer to go check up on her - out of apprehensiveness and affection, of course. However, he was aware he had always had a certain influence on people.

Not on Nina, though. She was the one person he had never managed to fool. She had always been able to read right through him. Just like she was reading through him now. He wanted to intimidate her, to prove to her that it was him the one in power, that he was used to take what he wanted, and that he wasn’t above deception.

“Fuck off.”

Stefano tutted. “You really must be taught your place, don’t you?”

“By you?” A laugh escaped her lips, but it held no humour. She was openly mocking him, and that was enough to get under his skin. A veil of darkness seemed to cover his gaze, and he snatched her arm with a swift movement.

“Careful,” he murmured through gritted teeth. Even though her heart was racing in her chest, Nina held his stare, a mixture of anger and mockery in her eyes. She was walking on thin ice, yet she couldn’t help but push his buttons, see how much effort it would take for him to snap. She wanted to be a nuisance to him, to torment him like he had tormented her for all those years, to haunt him with the reminder that it didn’t matter what he did or said, he wouldn’t get what he wanted.

“What’s happening here?” Maria Ferrante entered the kitchen, interrupting that staring match.

Stefano promptly brought his other hand on Nina’s arm, making it look as if he was supporting her. “Nina’s not feeling very well, signora Maria.” His hard expression softened as he put on his usual mask of affability. Nina grimaced, taking a step back, and a wave of relief washed over her. Her skin almost burned where he had touched her, and she felt the sudden need to scrub the imprint of his fingers off.

“Go to your room, then,” Maria said sternly to her daughter, and this time she was not surprised to see her comply without hesitation.

She didn’t believe a single word Stefano had said. She had seen her Nina’s face. She was her child, her blood. And although their relationship seemed to be made of misunderstandings and words left unsaid, she knew her like the back of her hand. She could read through her every expression, every gesture. And she had seen something in her eyes she had never seen until that moment, not even once. Fear. That brave, reckless girl who had never been scared of anything since she had drawn her first breath was afraid of Stefano.

That same guy who always behaved so nicely, who helped her carry her bags, who showed the outmost respect to her husband, who spoke words of affection for their daughter. Now it didn’t seem like an innocent infatuation anymore. Because when he looked at Nina earlier that day, he had the same look in his eyes she had seen in hundreds of men. And when he touched her, he did it as if he was entitled to it. His mask had slipped, and she could finally see him for who he was, behind the pleasant smiles and the charm and the courtesy. Maria could only be thankful to Mr. Shelby for asking her for some more water at just the right moment.

Her gaze went to the knife lying on the table. Men like him, like her husband, like her own sons - mafia men - only understood one language. Stefano’s guard was off, and Maria was quick enough to catch him by surprise. In a matter of seconds she had the knife pointed at his throat, and she was unknowingly pressing the edge of the blade against the small scar that her daughter had given him a few years earlier. He clamped his jaw, keeping himself as far as he could from the blade.

“Tocca di nuovo mia figlia,” she said lowly, gritting her teeth. “E ti sgozzo come un maiale.”

(“You put your hands on my daughter ever again, and I’ll gut you like a pig.”)

NEXT CHAPTER

Heart, Body and Soul taglist

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

General tag list:

@iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat

@red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

Tommy Shelby taglist:

@50svibes

[theragethatisdesire]

dall'inizio - eren x reader, 18+!!!!

welcome back to the ti penso universe everyone!!!! this is a continuation/prequel of the little series we've followed from my first eren x reader fic. i was really interested to see how they met and ....unsurprisingly, it's a one night stand that doesn't turn out as planned. this one is also super fun because we get to hear from both eren AND reader alternatively, plus reader is a confident, bad bitch and we love that for her. this one goes out to @philliam-writes bc ik you love this eren as much as i do!!!!!! here's ur part 3 bestie >:)

if you'd like to catch up and meet our eren x reader, find them here:

(1) ti penso ogni giorno

(2) nel bene e nel male

pairing: eren x afab reader

wc: 6.7k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol/drug use (just weed nothing crazy), cussing, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a lovestruck idiot (and so are you if you're being honest)

title (as always) means "from the beginning" in italian i'm obsessed with them <3

-

“You look like a whore,” Ymir says bluntly, dragging her eyes over your outfit– or, lack thereof.

“It’s not that bad,” you wave her off, turning back to the mirror to tug at the hem of your little black slip. You do look like a whore, but it’s intentional. You haven’t gotten laid in three months– your friends have been calling you dramatic, but that’s a lot, okay? You’re in college, you’re supposed to sleep around, right?

On top of that, your last few situationships just haven’t quite…well, they weren’t bad, but they didn’t scratch the itch. You desperately need a fuck– not just a fuck, a good fuck, and you have a feeling tonight’s going to be the night. It’s Halloween, the international holiday for running around in basically zero clothes, and you’ve taken great care to adhere to that tradition.

“Are you a mouse?” Historia wrinkles her nose at you from her spot at the vanity in the corner. She’s in a dalmatian costume; cute, spotted ears sticking up from her blonde hair, blue collar tinkling when she cocks her head at you.

“I’m a fucking cat,” you mutter, drawing a black triangle of eyeliner on the tip of your nose, “I didn’t have time for a real costume.”

“She just wants to get laid,” Mikasa announces, pushing through the studio apartment door with a huff, arms laden with plastic bags that are making a tell-tale clinking sound, “it’s been like, two whole weeks.”

“Three months!” You correct her, defensive.

“I understand,” Ymir, appropriately dressed as Cruella de Vil, grins, “it’s been…what, Stor? Two hours?”

“Ymir!” Historia, scandalized, flushes a furious red. Both you and Mikasa are unphased; in the last four months they’ve been together, the three feet they’re sitting from one another now is the farthest apart you’ve seen them.

“I’m not a whore,” you turn around, hands on hips, “I just…it’s been awhile since I had good sex. Floch was–”

“The worst?” Mikasa finishes for you. You hate how well she knows you; even after less than two years of knowing each other, she can practically read your mind.

“Yeah, you may have mentioned that once or twice,” Historia turns back to the mirror, immediately disinterested. “Or a thousand times.”

You throw your hands up, turning back to the mirror to finish your whiskers. “So none of you can blame me.”

“While you two,” Mikasa points between Ymir and Historia accusingly, “have been screwing like rabbits, and you,” her black-painted fingernail finds its way to you, “have been trying to figure out how to sleep with half of Manhattan, I took the liberty of actually making plans for us.”

“Jean’s?” You raise a knowing eyebrow at her, grateful to put someone else in the hot seat for the night. Mikasa’s cheeks tinge pink. Busted.

“He’s throwing a party, yeah,” she answers slowly, trying to talk her way around her obvious attraction to him, “but it’s not those douchebags he usually hangs out with. My best friend from home, Eren, just got into town, and,” she looks at you pointedly, “some of his friends are actually cute.”

You’re unconvinced. “Pictures?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Mikasa bites her lip mischievously, “but if you take a few tequila shots with me, I might be persuaded to show you one or two.”

You’re dubious. Mikasa’s definitely shown you a photo of these guys before, and you don’t remember a standout in the lineup. This Eren character, however…Mikasa has a framed picture on her bedside nightstand of them in high school, and you remember him being sort of cute. Dark, short-cropped hair, big green eyes so wide and earnest that he almost reminded you of a movie character. That picture was three or four years old now so…who knows? Maybe he’d grown into his features.

“Eren’s a no-go, though,” Mikasa continues, knowing your exact train of thought of course, pouring out shots of lukewarm, cheap tequila. Your stomach gurgles in protest at the smell as you accept yours. “He’s a nightmare to women, trust me.”

“Who knows,” Ymir pipes up, nodding her head towards you, “she’s a nightmare to men, so.”

“I am not a nightmare,” you narrow your eyes, “I just don’t like to be tied down, that’s all.”

“You’ll have to be at some point,” Historia argues, smiling when Ymir slips a hand into hers. You wrinkle your nose, uninterested.

“It’s 2018, Stor, not very feminist of you,” you tut, throwing back your shot and practically choking it down. Ick.

“I’m a lesbian, how much more feminist can I get?”

“Touché.”

“Just promise me you won’t get wrapped up with him?” Mikasa eyes you, still not trusting the glint of curiosity in your eye.

Ymir crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you positive you like Jean and not this Eren dude?”

Mikasa makes a fake retching sound. “Eren’s practically my brother. I’ve seen his bare ass more times than I can count. Way past the attraction threshold, trust me. I just…I know him. And I know you,” she glares at you, “it’s a toss-up as to who would do more damage to the other.”

“I’ll behave,” you placate her, throwing your arms around her shoulders, “…maybe.”

-

Eren might puke. No, wait, he’s going to puke– oh, no, just an unbelievably loud burp. Eren smiles contentedly, feeling much better even as it stinks up the entire taxi. Connie leans over Armin, scrunches his nose and squints his eyes.

“That fucking reeks, dude!”

“Sorry,” Eren shrugs, turning his head back to the window and ignoring Armin and Connie’s complaints. They were all a few beers deep- what did they expect? 

Eren’s lived a few hours outside of New York City all his life, but he’s never been, except maybe once or twice for field trips as a kid. He never remembered it looking like this, though: each little apartment twinkled like a star, giving the wall of skyscrapers the appearance of the night sky. Even as the cab screeches and jerks in the Lower West Side traffic, Eren feels like he’s in a spaceship, free and flying amongst the stars. 

Maybe he could talk to Zeke, convince him to move their little operation out of their garage and into the city. There was money here, right? And plenty of musicians who weren’t quite good enough to get signed by any major labels…

“Mikasa says she and her friends will be over in five,” Armin squints at his phone screen, holding it far away from him like an old man to type a response. Eren nearly rolls his eyes.

“Would you just get some fucking glasses already?”

“Annie said they made me look nerdy,” Armin shrugs. Connie groans.

“You two broke up like, a year ago–”

“Six months,” Armin corrects him, eyes growing sadder by the second.

“Okay, six months, whatever, we’ve got to get you laid tonight, dude.”

Eren lets the two slip into an argument about the “appropriate amount of time” to wait to sleep with someone after a breakup, much preferring his unusually contemplative mood to Connie and Armin’s bickering after their four-hour train ride together. He smiled to himself; God, it would be good to see Mikasa again. He wouldn’t have admitted it at gunpoint, but she was practically his mom growing up, and she’d been gone for over a year, only visiting for Christmas. Rumor had it that she’d been spending a lot of time with Jean as of late, so he needed to see what that was all about, too.

And who had Eren been spending a lot of time with lately? No one but bar rats and slim pickings from the frat parties at Trost University near his hometown. When was the last time he’d even gotten laid? A month? Two? Her name had been Jenna…no, Jenny? Josephina? Fuck, he should remember that. Eren needs to get laid, regardless, but if he dares to step near any of Mikasa’s friends, she’ll kill him, he knows that from experience. Then again, maybe this weird-ass Jean situation would come in handy. If Mikasa ends up distracted…

“Excuse me!” Armin disturbs his thoughts once again; Eren scowls. “Excuse me, sir? I think we’re here.”

Eren pays for the cab. Armin had bought the train tickets and the chain-gang costumes they were all currently sporting, and Connie was always flat broke, insisting his music career would work out soon. That could be Eren’s fault, though: Connie was one of his and Zeke’s first “clients”. None of them even bothered keeping up with the money exchanged between each other anymore; Connie had been in their kindergarten class, Armin’s mom had changed all of their diapers, Mikasa’s parents were the “cool parents” that let them smoke weed in the backyard, Jean’s mom made the best potato salad. They were a little family, separated by life and college at the moment, but a family all the same. Eren felt a little tingle of appreciation in his stomach as they climbed the stairs to Jean’s walk-up.

“Jaeger!” Jean was dapping him up and smacking a fist against his back before Eren could even properly look around the dark apartment.

“Kirstein,” Eren returns his embrace and has to shout over the music, suddenly smacked with a wave of homesickness at the familiar smell of weed and Jean’s tacky Hugo Boss cologne.

“Make yourself at home, dude,” Jean’s nearly inaudible over the thumping house music. He’s got some stupid mummy costume on that exposes his lean stomach, basically just shirtless and wrapped in toilet paper. Eren stifles a laugh, looking around the apartment for any other familiar faces.

Reiner approaches him next, a goofy, drunken grin splitting his face wide open, tackling Eren in a bear hug. Most of the greetings go like that; I miss you! How are you? How’s the business? Are you still in Shiganshina? It makes Eren’s chest tight, makes him miss the closeness of the people he loves. He was just always fucking working, helping Zeke with paperwork, running around town talking to clients, pulling at his face late at night looking over the finances of everything. He feels wound up, ready to burst, but the blunt and beer Bertholdt just handed him should fix that, at least somewhat. He needs…fuck, he needs to get laid.

His eyes search the room, looking for the one person he’s looking most forward to seeing, but he doesn’t find Mikasa where he expects.

She’s perched on Jean’s lap, giggling over her drink as Jean waves his arms wildly, telling her a story. That bizarre sight only holds Eren’s gaze for a moment, though, because there you are beside her, grinning wickedly with one of those stupid vapes between your teeth.

Eren stops dead in his tracks, speechless. Where do they even make women like that? He goes bottom to top, letting himself be impressed with how well you’re balancing on those high heels, ravishing every naked inch of your exposed legs until he reaches the hem of– fuck, is that just lingerie? Whatever little black thing you’re wearing, it makes his heart race, makes his pants tight. It’s low-cut in the chest enough to tease, a little collar around your neck, and your face…even your face makes him hard, so beautiful in the low lighting, eyes glimmering. You look evil and fun and sexy all at once, and Eren’s sold within the first ten seconds of seeing you.

Before he can make a beeline in your direction, he realizes he’s taken his gaze off of Mikasa and Jean long enough for them to approach him, Mikasa throwing her arms around his neck.

“Eren!” She squeals in his ear, clearly already drunk. Eren chuckles, trying to rein himself in enough to hold a stable conversation. The little black dress flashes behind his eyes as he smiles down at Mikasa.

“Hey Mika,” he ruffles her hair, making Mikasa grumble and reach towards her head to right what he’s ruined. His eyes wander back to you; you’re watching him too, sizing him up. He wonders if you like what you see, pulls at the zipper of his orange jumpsuit to inch it down, reveal some of his stomach. Eren’s not conceited per se, but he spends an unhealthy amount of time in the gym, and he knows it shows. As your gaze travels down to where he holds his zipper, Eren can’t look away, knows it must be obvious that he’s distracted.

“Bro,” Jean snaps his fingers in front of Eren’s eyes, looking over his shoulder to see what Eren’s staring at. He turns back with a smirk. “Yeah?”

Fuck, now Mikasa’s looking off in the same direction, returning her eyes to him with a scowl. Drunk or not, she never fails to scare the shit out of him. “No. No fucking way, Eren.”

“What?” Eren sips his beer innocently, shrugging. He was only staring…for now.

“She’s my best friend, Eren, no,” Mikasa says, firmer this time.

“Thought I was your best friend?”

“Didn’t she just break things off with Floch like…” Jean trails off at the withering glare Mikasa shoots him, turning red.

“She’s off-limits.” Eren nods, her words going in one ear and out the other. Mikasa’s scolded him before, and she won’t stop anytime soon, so what’s one more? She can read his mind, evidently, because she reaches up and pinches his cheek, yanking him down to her level.

“Ow!”

“Off. Fucking. Limits.” Mikasa seethes. “Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah I- fuck, let go! I hear you Mika,” Eren rubs his sore cheek, frowning. He can see you laughing at him, eyes barely visible over the edge of your drink. Great, Eren thinks; getting a talking-to from Mikasa like a child was not the first impression he wanted to give you.

Mikasa’s grabbing Jean’s hand and pulling him back towards the crowd, presumably to play guard dog for you, but before she can get him too far, Jean leans back towards Eren, cups a hand around his mouth.

“She’s single, bro,” Jean manages to get out before Mikasa pulls harder, “go for it!”

Eren grins. If Mikasa wanted to bite his head off for this, now he could blame it on Jean. What the hell was he supposed to say to you, though? You’re leagues above the girls he’s been pursuing. If Eren’s honest with himself, he’s intimidated by you, but his only solution is to throw some more of his beer back for liquid courage. He’s always loved a challenge.

When he pulls the cup away from his face, you’ve appeared in front of him, smiling demurely and nearly making him jump out of his skin.

“Hi.” 

-

The second you saw him, you were hooked. He was gorgeous, dark hair pulled into a little half-bun on the back of his head, pretty eyes, and tall and broad to boot. He was almost stern-looking, dark eyebrows shielding his eyes. Dark and mean, just the way you like them.

Mikasa had given him a massive hug, interrupting the clear eye-fucking you were engaged in across the room; so that was Eren? Her long-lost best friend that was always too busy to visit? The happy kid from the picture? You watched her scold him, giggling to yourself at how childlike he became, crumbling under Mikasa’s pinch and pouting when she let him go.

You had no choice, really. Your promise to Mikasa had flown out of your mind the moment you saw those full lips pursed around the blunt, blowing out a puff of smoke, stretching into a wide, dangerous smile. You’re an only child and admittedly, a bit spoiled, so when you want something, you get it.

“Hi,” you can’t manage anything more clever, not face to face with his bare chest. Jean’s apartment is stuffy, and you catch the gleam of sweat on his chest in the LED lighting. You lick your lips.

“Hi,” Eren responds stiffly, looking as surprised as if you’d just punched him in the gut.

“You’re Eren, right? Mikasa’s friend?”

Eren hits his blunt again, nods slowly. “I don’t think we’ve met though, you’re…?”

You give him your name. He smiles and repeats it, rolling it around on his tongue and getting a taste for it. You can already see little hearts in his eyes, it makes you grin to yourself. You had expected him to put up more of a fight; there’s a dozen girls in this room alone that would fall all over themselves to get him in bed, but he’s enraptured by you, eyes never leaving your face. You’ve got him. 

“A cat, huh?” Eren addresses the costume, dipping his head in the direction of the little black ears on your head. You’re suddenly embarrassed, feeling a bit silly.

“I, uh, didn’t really have time to shop,” you shrug, pulling at the hem of your dress. Eren’s mouth quirks up. “A prisoner?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get to pick. I like yours, though, it fits you.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “A cat fits me?”

“Yeah,” Eren says, growing surer by the second, “I don’t know. Just fits. S’cute.”

You’re embarrassed by the giddy flutter in your stomach. God, he’s delicious. “You think I’m cute?”

“I think lots of things about you,” Eren replies, voice low and sultry and hardly audible over the music. His eyes widen like he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud, but it’s too late now. You grin, all teeth and bad intentions.

“We just met,” you point out. Eren’s confidence has returned, he boldly brings a hand to the spaghetti strap of your dress. His fingers are hot– why do men always run so hot? His touch almost burns.

“You wore this,” he rubs the fabric between his fingers, “and expect me not to have a few thoughts on it? Wasn’t that the point?”

The breath leaves your lungs. Your confidence fizzles at the same rate as your arousal grows. There are plenty of hot guys here, but you might have jumped into the deep end with this one. Something flickers in his eyes, something hungry.

“Why don’t you tell me about these thoughts of yours?”

“I will,” Eren nods, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, “later.”

“Later?”

“We’re at a party,” Eren takes the empty cup from you, replacing it with his own, much larger hand, “shouldn’t we at least dance a little?”

Before you can argue, he’s pulling you out into the center of Jean’s obnoxiously spacious living room, into a jungle of sweaty, gyrating bodies. You’re close enough to the speakers now that the bass pounds through your body to the same rhythm as your heart thudding in your chest. The crowded, makeshift dance floor pushes you into Eren, skin against skin. You have a fleeting moment to be grateful that you’re likely now obscured from Mikasa’s view before a pair of strong hands around your hips prevent any more conscious thoughts from taking shape in your brain.

“One of my thoughts,” Eren’s right beside your ear now, voice echoing in your brain, “is that I like you. Like this body.”

“T-thank you,” you stammer out, wanting to facepalm at not only your stupidly simple response, but the weakness in your voice.

“Move it for me.”

You obey him, letting your body move with the music, trying not to get too caught up in whether or not you look ridiculous with how you’re pressing your body into his, arms thrown around his neck. Eren seems to like the way you move on him, pushing and pulling your hips in the rhythm you’ve set, looking down his nose at you with bloodshot eyes.

Your panties are growing wetter by the second; he’s intoxicating, the feel of him against you, firm and tacky with sweat. His hands are tracing up your sides, dragging slowly as if he’s memorizing the curves of your body. You haven’t known him long enough to want him the way that you do, humiliated by the carnal desire simmering in the pit of your stomach, but you’ve had enough tequila not to care. The whole thing is too similar to what you really want, and you make it through a solid seven or eight songs before you can’t take the stifling tension between the two of you any longer, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You lean up on the tips of your toes, wobbling in your heels, and grab him tight around the neck, pulling him to you. Your lips finally meet; Eren’s slow to respond as you’ve caught him off guard, but he catches on quickly, lips falling open so you can kiss him deeper. His lips are softer than you expect, supple and giving as they move with yours. You trace your tongue through his teeth, hardly suppressing a whine. He tastes good, like cheap beer and weed and lust. You drink him in, a satisfied hum buzzing in your chest.

Without warning, Eren practically rips you off of him. “Not here.”

He’s dragging you through the people around you, knocking them out of the way and not stopping to apologize when he gets offended looks. He pulls you into what you know to be Jean’s room, wastes no time in shoving you up against the door and blocking you in with his wide shoulders.

You swallow hard; you’ve underestimated him.

“Another one of my thoughts,” Eren mouths at the area beneath your ear, makes you groan, “is that you’re pretty. Like, very fucking pretty. Bet you’re twice as pretty under this dress.”

“I think you’re pretty, too,” you manage to say, forcing the words from your mouth. Eren chuckles, smiling against the shell of your ear.

“C’mere,” he tilts your chin up, kissing you again. It’s troublingly gentle, long and languid as your mouths move against one another. He kisses you like he loves you; the thought makes alarm bells ring in your head, and you nip at his bottom lip to break up the emotional momentum, sink your teeth into it. Eren pulls back, chuckling down at you. “You’re mean.”

“Only a little.”

“Is that what you like?” Eren thumbs at your mouth, slipping his finger between your lips. You suck greedily, rubbing your tongue against the roughness of his fingertip. “Like it a little mean? Between you and me, I like ‘em a little mean, too.”

You nod, gently biting on his thumb. Eren groans, a low rumble deep in his chest. “Oh, I’m going to have fun with you.”

He’s pulling your dress over your head before you can stop him, sucking in a sharp breath when he gets an eyeful of your lace-clad breasts, the tiny thong you’ve slipped over your hips. Stronger than you’d expected, Eren pulls you up to wrap your legs around his waist, slamming your back against the door with a loud thud and knocking your stupid cat ears to the floor. You can hear a few sounds of surprise from outside; surely that got a few people’s attention, but you’re lost in him, whimpering at the feel of his jumpsuit costume rubbing against your clothed center.

Eren’s sloppy, placing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to suck a bruise underneath your ear. You gasp, canting your hips into his stomach, desperate for friction. You’re normally not so uninhibited, but Eren’s doing something to your head, has your mind spinning. He’s carrying you over to the bed, dropping you down onto Jean’s sheets. Eren leans down to pull your heels off, a sweet gesture if you could find the presence of mind to acknowledge it. You feel a flicker of guilt about doing this in Jean’s bed, but when Eren starts sliding a hand up your thigh, it flickers away into nothing, swallowed by your bottomless want. 

“Look at that,” Eren smirks, rubbing his fingers over your panties, “soaked. This all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, hips jerking up towards his touch. It is for him, it was from the moment you laid eyes on him, and you both know it. His hands are everywhere: unclasping your bra, pulling your panties down, palming at your tits. You arch your back up to him, offering him your chest; he responds by closing down on one of your nipples with his teeth.

“So pretty,” Eren’s murmuring around the mouthful of your flesh he’s got, twisting the neglected nipple of your right breast between his fingers, “so pretty.”

“Eren,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of its bun and wrapping the hair band around your wrist. His mouth is hot, scalding, even, but you pull him closer to you anyway, pressing his face into your tits. Eren doesn’t seem to mind, letting you move him this way and that, show him what you like and how to pull those pretty moans out of your mouth. Before long, he’s kissing his way down your stomach, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline.

“Want a taste,” Eren sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to you, “need to taste this pussy.”

“Eren,” you reach for his hair, trying to pull him back up to you. While you’d love to see what the mouth that had just kissed you breathless could do between your legs, the thumping music outside is an annoying but consistent reminder that there’s an entire party outside and you’re in Jean’s bedroom. The clock’s ticking. “Want to feel you, we don’t have time for–”

“Don’t have time?” Something wicked lights Eren’s face up as he shimmies your panties down your legs. “Believe me, it won’t take long.”

“Eren,” your protest is feeble but earnest, and you make another attempt to reach for him when a long, thick lick up your center renders you near-unconscious. You moan, a little louder than you would have liked to.

“See? Gonna make you feel so good, trust me,” Eren’s punctuating each word with a little kiss somewhere on your pussy: your clit, your lips, right over your fluttering entrance. You have no choice but to whimper and nod, canting your hips up towards him. You look down, immediately regretting it: Eren’s wiggled out of his costume, naked and beautiful and staring up at you from between your legs. You’re hardly able to swallow the inhuman sound that threatens to rip from your throat.

Where he’d been cool and calculated pulling you onto the dance floor, you quickly learn that Eren eats pussy like he can’t control himself, like his life depends on it. His massive hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, securing you against his face as you try to squirm away. He licks into you enthusiastically, moaning against you at the taste, sending a succession of vibrations through you that go straight to the fire in your stomach.

When his lips close around your clit and suck hard, you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stop a wail from reaching the ears right outside the door. Eren takes the opportunity to sneak a finger into you, curl it right against that gummy spot in your walls that has you seeing stars. As he works his finger in your cunt, he kisses his way back up to your mouth, greeting you with a sloppy kiss.

“Feels good, right?” Eren’s face is literally dripping with you, a sharp-toothed grin barely visible in the dim light.

“Feels good,” you whimper, daring to look down to where he’s grinding his palm against your clit. You can see the veins of his muscular arm straining as he pumps in and out of you; it’s a lewd sight, one that makes your head spin. “‘S so much Eren, I— fuck.”

“Yeah?” Eren’s smile grows darker, another finger slips into you easily. You’re practically dripping onto the sheets at this point, rolling your hips against his hand with your mouth hanging open. It’s humiliating but too gratifying to stop. “Gonna cum for me? You can do it, give it to me.”

“God– close, so c-close,” you can barely find the words to respond, the pressure in your belly swelling at an alarming speed. You’re going to squirt, you know you are, should move off of Jean’s bed or warn Eren or do something, but it’s too late.

You thrash in Eren’s grip, cumming so hard you think you can taste blood where you bite your lip. You can feel the wetness spraying from you, soaking Eren’s hand and the sheets and your inner thighs, can distantly hear your pitiful cries, but you’re powerless to do anything about it until the mind-numbing orgasm’s run its course. Eventually you do settle, babbling incoherently into Eren’s shoulder about Jean’s ruined sheets, about how you’re sorry for making a mess. Eren shuts you up with his mouth on yours; you can hear the distant rip of a condom wrapper.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he laughs, rolling on top of you and lining himself up, “gonna have to keep you.”

Before you can even think to offer to return the favor or make a sarcastic remark about how you’d never let anyone keep you, Eren’s pressing into you, and your mind short-circuits. Shit, maybe you’d let him keep you.

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the darkness, but he’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had before, and big enough that you realize this when he’s not even halfway in.

“Eren…it’s so– s’big,” you hiccup into his shoulder, fingernails clawing into his biceps.

“Is it too much, baby?” You hate pet names, hate them, but from the greek god splitting you open right now, you love it, want to lick the word right out of his mouth and taste it on your own tongue. The genuine concern glittering in his eyes, the little furrow between his brows as he pauses, frowns down at you, fuck, you might be in love.

“No, not too much– feels good.”

Eren’s grin is feral. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“Feels so fucking good,” a little giggle sneaks out from your clenched jaw, Eren smiles wider and cups your face to kiss you again, far too gently to match the way he’s stretching you, bullying your cunt into the shape of him.

“Feel full?”

“Mhm,” he’s bottomed out now, impossibly deep, and you give him a little roll of your hips to show him just how okay you are, that you’re ready to see what he can really do.

“You’ve got–” Eren rolls his hips experimentally, punches a moan from your chest– “the best fucking pussy. So tight for me.”

Ordinarily, dirty talk makes you cringe, but something about the way he words things, as raw as if his inner monologue is spilling out of him, turns you on, makes your cunt clench down around him. That makes him happy, he sucks in a breath of air and starts pounding into you hard enough to make tears well in your eyes, hard enough to make you squeal in a way no one else ever has.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby,” Eren’s hands are grabbing your face, his lips pressing into your forehead, “never gonna let this pussy go.”

You grant him a long moan of agreement, so cockdrunk that for now, you’re more than happy to sign your freedom away to stay in this bed, pinned underneath him for all of eternity. He’s fucking into you so deep he’s practically in your throat; your breath comes out in short little huffs, choking on the brutal pace of his fucking. And god, he’s so big, but you’re taking him somehow, like you were made for it.

Eren moves one of his hands away from his face to swat your fingers away from where you’re digging into his arms, surely close to drawing blood.

“Fucking hurts,” he hisses, “just as mean as you are pretty, y’know that?”

He easily manhandles your arms above your head, pinning them above you by your wrists. The way he stretches his body to do so changes the angle he’s fucking into you at; now he’s hammering into the spot inside of you he’d found far too quickly with his fingers. Your eyes shoot open at the change, and Eren doesn’t miss it. He smirks.

“Right there?”

“God, yes, please– right there,” you sound pathetic, the few surviving rational brain cells you possess are laughing at you, but there’s no help for it. He’s already got you spiraling towards cumming again, the wetness from your cunt creating a sucking sound where he’s moving in and out of you.

“Fuck, m’close. Think you can cum again for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, tilting your head up to nip at his neck, a tear or two running down into your hairline. You can do anything he asks, you think, anything in the world just for him, for how he’s making you feel. Eren practically growls, pistoning his hips faster.

“Need you to cum for me, okay beautiful? Cum right now.”

“S-so close– I– Eren, oh my god,” you’re babbling, eyes rolling back into your head. Eren smashes his lips to yours, grinding his hips into your clit and shoving you over the edge for the second time that night. You sob and convulse around him, back arching desperately and pressing your chests together. You’re seeing stars as he fucks you through it, grunting in your ear and growing sloppy as you tighten around him.

“Fuck!” Eren bites into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, stilling his hips as deep inside you as he can manage. Your fucked-out brain wants the condom off, wants to feel the full warmth of him as he cums inside of you, grinding his hips against yours. Before he’s finished, Eren moves back to your mouth, kissing you deep and slow, a kiss that means a whole lot more than what you’ve just done together as a party rages just past the door.

As you’re panting beneath him, trying to ground yourself and come back to reality, Eren rolls off of you, whips the condom off, and to your surprise, takes you into his arms, pulls your head to his chest.

“You okay?”

You’re so blissed out right now that it’s a laughable question, and you giggle, watery and light into his chest. “More than okay.”

Eren laughs at that, a real laugh from deep in his stomach. The sound of it makes something warm and happy spark in your chest. “That good, huh?”

“You’re alright.” You’re trying to keep your eyes open, more than aware that your teeny tiny thong is on the floor and you’re naked in the arms of a stranger in Jean’s fucking bed, but Eren’s so warm, so comfortable, your eyes are fluttering despite your protests. 

“Oh?” Eren’s voice raises in pitch, gets breathy. “Yes, Eren! Right there, Eren! I’m cumming, Eren!”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You smack at his chest, cheeks burning, but you make no move to roll away from him, preferring your snug little hovel against him to the loud, smoky party that awaits you should you leave.

“S’okay,” Eren presses a kiss to your hairline, “I like that you’re loud.”

“Not loud,” you grouch, resolving to let yourself enjoy just a few minutes of keeping your eyes closed before you return to the party. The last thing you remember is Eren humming, tracing circles into your shoulders with his fingers. You think you recognize the tune; it’s a love song.

–

“Jaeger!”

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god, is that Jean? What time is it? Eren!”

Eren’s first peaceful sleep in months is disturbed rather rudely, in his opinion; he shields his eyes from the brightness of the overhead light, peering through his fingers to see you, hair a rat’s nest and smudged makeup in rings around your eyes. He scowls at the warm, empty spot next to him in the bed that you’ve already leapt out of, frantic with energy even through your hangover. You’re alternating between running around the room naked, trying to find your dress, and shaking him urgently. He bites back a grin; so you are real, and just as hot as he remembered.

“Chill the fuck out, Jean!” Eren shouts, using far more energy than he can afford to expend if he’s leaving the bed anytime soon. The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 7:01am. Shit. “We’ll be out in a second!”

“Get your ass out here, Eren!” Shit. Mikasa’s here too? Oh, he’s dead the second he leaves this room. All the better to stay put, then.

“Get up,” you hiss at him, looking every bit of a pissed-off racoon as you scrounge around on the floor.

“Need my hair tie back if you want me to get up.”

“Ugh, here,” you fling it at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. Eren chuckles, pulling his hair off of his neck and into its usual bun. He feels empty, feels alone, realizes that he wants your touch, the same body-to-body contact that he’d enjoyed last night.. 

“They’re fine,” Eren grumbles, hoping you can’t see the amusement written on his face, “we’ve got a few more minutes.”

He reaches sleepily for you, pulling you back into the bed with him amidst your whispered protests, pulling your lips back to his where they belong. He kisses you slowly, indulgently, convincingly. Your skin against his does wonders for the soul-crushing anxiety he’s been putting up with over the last few months. You’re like a drug to him; just one hit and he feels worlds better, feels like he can actually get through everything weighing on him for now. Jesus, even your morning breath doesn’t turn him off; his cock twitches in interest beneath the covers. Cute when you’re angry, he thinks to himself. He has a feeling you’d smack him if he said it out loud.

“We can’t,” you breathe into his mouth, pushing weakly at his chest. Eren loves the feel of your palms on his chest, necessarily resistant in the name of a one–night stand, but lacking the force to prove your point. You want him too, he realizes. The thought goes straight to his dick, and he takes a deep breath to keep his composure, to stop himself from jumping all over you with Mikasa and Jean right outside. He’s rather impressed with his efforts, rubbing small circles on your lower back instead of grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you into his lap like he wants to.

“We can,” Eren murmurs back, already ten times happier than he was a moment ago, “just want to kiss you, that’s all.”

That makes you pull back, fix him with a stern look. “I don’t want to come off as a bitch, but I don’t really do the morning-after thing. Don’t you live, like, five hours from the city anyway?”

Eren’s not the brightest when he’s tired, and he’s even stupider around beautiful women. He cocks his head at you, smiling. “Mikasa didn’t tell you? I’m moving to the city in a few weeks.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eren’s bullshitting, bullshitting very badly and he knows it, “just have to get some things worked out with my brother and our business. Get the operation moved here, that’s all.”

He knows your type: flighty, heavily anti-commitment, and meaner than a snake when you’re cornered. But Eren hopes, he hopes stupidly and against all reason because even if it was just a night, he meant what he said in the throes of passion. You’re funny, you’re interesting, you’re sexy, and he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to fuck you stupid, just like he did last night, for the rest of his life.

He can’t say any of this out loud, of course, but what if he’s not bullshitting? What if he can convince Zeke to move their amateur record label into the city, where they can pick up real artists, and he can fuck you stupid whenever he feels like it? Maybe he can even learn how you like your coffee, what your bra size is, where the junk drawer in your apartment lives. Eren doesn’t know you, he knows that, but he inexplicably wants those things, wants the mundane parts of you for himself.

“Get the fuck out here, Jaeger, that’s my fucking bed!” Fists pound against the door, threatening to barge into your little sanctuary. Mikasa’s calling your name from outside too, voice harsh and angry. Eren waits for you to scold him, waits for you to shove him off of you and tell him to fuck off.

To his surprise, you make no move to get up and offer him a sheepish grin, shrugging shyly as if you’re not fully naked in his arms. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Eren’s heart swells. “I’m not chancing that. Give me your number.”“You can earn my number if you buy me breakfast,” you scoff, “and help me find my dress before Mikasa kills us both.”

[the---hermit]

Babel by R.F. Kuang

I got this book last year, and then procrastinated picking it up for months. I don't know what made me feel intimidated, but I was a bit blocked. And then I decided to finally give it a try. I spent a whole month on it and though my reading was slow I loved this book. I was a bit unsure about the historical fantasy before reading the novel, because I know that as an historian historical fiction doesn't alwasy work for me. But it worked so well, the author did an amazing job and I loved the setting. The fantasy element was so clever and flowed perfectly with the story providing a lot of thought provoking conversations and reflections. It is definitely a dark academia book but to be honest that was not what stayed with me at all. Its themes of language and translation as well as colonialism and racism are at the core of this novel, academia is the setting and it is very much influential but it's not the first thing that will come to my mind when thinking about Babel in the future, and belive me I will be thinking about this book a lot. I really like R.F. Kuang's writing and I will be keeping an eye out for more of her fantasy in the future. I have finished this book over a week ago and I am still unable to for coherent thoughts on it, simply because I have too many thoughts. I truly adored it, the ending was very good, though if I could change something I would have the epilogue moved before the last scene of the last chapter as I think that was a stronger ending. Aside this, my only other negative thought is that the pacing felt a bit weird at times, but it's really not a big deal. I definitely do recommend reading this novel. And I think it could work even for people who don't normally read a lot of fantasy, so don't let intimidate you. I wish this book had been published when I was in high school studying languages I think it would have been even more influential for me at that time of my life. I have also been going insane over the subtitle of the book "the necessity of violence". Talking about it would mean a lot of spoilers so I won't get into deep, but after finishing the novel that in particular really stayed with me and it's been at the core of most of my thoughts about the book. I do wonder why the Italian translation didn't keep it, as the only subtitle in this edition is "an arcane history". This review feels more like a post-reading rant, but this is everything my brain can produce at the moment. Hopefully it was enough to convince a few people to add this novel to their tbr pile.

[feistypuppythatwantstowatchball]

okay. i'll bite. give me the tea on these italian lesbians please???

Here is a little attempt at a full explanation of everything. It's complicated and I only got into it on Monday but here it goes, just skip to the parts you wanna know, i ended it with a nice edit (there are hunderds on twitter);

Show information:

Grande Fratello is the Italian adaptation of big brother, so about 20 people are stuck in a house 24/7. The current season got people who are slightly famous and some are exes from before the game. They broadcast 2 livestreams 24/7 and have one gala each week to eliminate people. The house picks the nominees, the public votes who leaves. So the growing twitter obsession can carry the girls real far.

The Lesbians:

Helena is 34yo, I think a model and minor TV personality, Brazilian, in the game for 3 months and sick of it. Never been with a woman. Has reservations about starting a relationship because of Zeudi's earlier actions and her young age plus she went through a pretty brutal breakup that she is still dealing with. The entire house has been against her for a long time, only now she seems to build a solid support system.

Zeudi is 23yo, former Miss Italy 2021, from Napoli, in the game 1 month and only happy when she is good with Helena. Openly bisexual has an older female ex (not in the house). After doing some dumb/messy shit is now the one chasing Helena. Seems to get along with most people.

Story:

I don't know their history too well but I will give it a go. The general thing is that they fight and make up in a 3-4 day cycle because these bitches cant talk feelings with each other. They can with everyone else but they make each other dumb.

Since Zeudi entered the game there has been a connection between the two, but mostly just friends. Zeudi is in there with an ex and that shit has been messy for the first part of her stay. They have grown closer and closer mostly physically (remember, they dont talk), some light kissing as well.

I dont know the drama from that time so will start from where I jumped in. So last week they had done some kissing outside, and later Zeudi went to her ex and kissed him quite thoroughly. During the gala clips of the week get shown to the contestants so Helena knows about this now too. Turns out, Zeudi did it to make Helena jealous and to see if she would care (girl is afraid helena doesnt feel the same way) . Helena pretends not to care but now that kiss is the reason she doesnt trust Zeudi and is apprehensive to start something with her because she doesnt believe it would work.

Two days ago they had a screaming fight after cuddling for hours. They didnt speak at all yesterday till 2am and then suddenly everything was good again. And today they are acting like a married couple. After the kiss with the ex there is no longer mouth kissing. Helena is afraid Zeudi only wants that part of the relationship and Zeudi says she wants more but would be okay if it was to be only that... THEY JUST DIDNT SAY THIS TO EACH OTHER.

And here is the bestest part, these people sleep in one big bedroom in double beds... ZEUDI AND HELENA SHARE A BED. They have been for the entire time. At night the camera focuses on one bed and no sound. So we simply dont know what they do during that time....

There is so so much more but this is what came to me in the moment, here you have a cute edit:

If you want to follow them and dont know how to get started, here is a twitter list with about 60 accounts that live post everything (clips, edits, translations, memes):

[alexsoenomel]

Kiss The Girl (Joel Miller x Reader fluff)

Summary: A Friday night brought something sweet and unexpected. 

Warnings: reader is a smoker (because same), wine consumption, no use of (Y/N)

Word count: 1.7k

Note: I was indulging in my own scenarios and this happened. It is literally a self-insert fanfic about my favorite dilf because I needed comfort. Enjoy!

It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn't wish that he was your man. It would be a lie if you told your friends you didn't like anyone. There was someone – and that someone was living right across the street from you. That someone had a name – Joel. Joel Miller. His name would roll down your tongue like honey and would make your head turn every time someone would say it. His tall frame, broad shoulders, messy dark hair, and soft puppy-like eyes would make your eyes fixed on him and only him. There was something so captivating and hypnotizing about Joel getting into his truck every morning for work, you couldn't look away. You would sit on your porch, having your first cup of coffee in one hand, book in another, and with a cigarette between your lips, watching him between reading. Your roommates would usually sleep in, or be already on their way to the campus so mornings were perfect for processing your existence while also doing some reading in the morning sunlight.

The view was also nice; the view being soon to be a 35-year-old man with seemingly soft and kissable lips.

You would occasionally tutor his daughter, Sarah, mainly helping her with essays and assignments in English. Your heart would always beat a little bit faster whenever he would text you or call you to ask if you were available. Of course, even if you weren't available, you would clear your schedule because those few minutes of interaction with Joel were more important than whatever you planned to do that day. You knew you were desperate, but since no one knew how much, it was fine. His soft brown eyes scanning your delicate features and making your cheeks red were moments you would replay over and over again like a broken camera in your mind every night before bed, wondering if you had a chance with him. He didn't seem bothered by your presence like you were by his. He seemed to like chatting with you, listening to your every word but that wouldn't last long since he was always busy with something or had to go to work.

On a rainy Friday evening, your roommates decided to get completely smashed in the local club since finals week was over and you were finally free to breathe, but you were too tired and drained to join them. You were too tired to dance, too tired for small talk with random dudes who were desperate for sex, and too tired to be a designated driver, since your two friends liked to pretend to be Lords and chug alcohol like water.

You weren't tired of a cheap bottle of wine though, and a new book you bought a few months ago that has been collecting dust on the shelf above your bed. Also listening to the sound of rain pouring under the blanket in your favorite spot in the house that wasn't your bedroom

– the porch – was your way of having fun on that particular Friday night.

Since it was almost 10 pm, and your dimmed porch lights weren't enough, your little book lamp finally came in handy. You put a cigarette between your wine-stained lips, since cheap wine without nicotine wasn't wine, and lit it up. You inhaled the smoke, feeling the sour taste of alcohol slowly turn into an expensive Italian liquid gold – or so your taste buds thought it did. You were about to turn the page of your book when you heard the familiar sound of someone's truck. Joel Miller came back from work. You glanced at him across the street just as he was closing the door, inhaling another smoke, already feeling yourself getting nervous. Instead of staring and being a creep, you decided to focus on your book – if only you knew what happened in the previous line.

"Enjoying your Friday night?", you heard his voice from a distance.

You lifted your head to see your favorite dad approaching you. You swallowed nervously, taking a big sip from the wine bottle.

"Oh yeah," you said, wanting to sound proud. "How's work?"

"Same ol' same ol'," he answered you.

"Care to join?" You asked giving him the wine bottle. "Finals week is over and I'm celebrating."

You noticed through dimmed lights a small half smile on Joel's tired face. He took a bottle and sat on the chair next to you. "Was it successful?"

"Yeah, passed everything with overall good grades."

"Good girl."

Good girl.

You could feel your palms and legs under the blanket getting cold as your heart started running a damn marathon. His husky voice was smooth like a fine glass of old whiskey, and you were getting intoxicated. You took another smoke, before putting out the cigarette on the ashtray.

"Y'know that ain't healthy?" His eyes glanced at the ashtray before looking back at you.

You were in the process of lighting another cigarette. When nervous, you would become a chain smoker.

"My vice, I guess."

Joel took another sip of wine as you inhaled the smoke into the air. "What's yours, Joel?"

"My vice? I would rather not."

You knew he didn't like to share personal information so you let him be. It would be strange if he did.  

"What are you readin'?" He asked, looking at your book.

"Kiss the Girls by James Patterson."

"One of those romance books?"

"Not really," you chucked. "Thriller, someone is inducting beautiful talented girls all over the country."

Joel's eyebrows went up, not expecting that to come out of your mouth. "Interesting taste, darlin'," he said.

Darlin'

That one you heard before and it still made your body stiff as a statue from nervousness. You struggled to look him in the eyes; to try and see what was behind those beautiful brown orbs; to try and read him; even though that was almost impossible since Joel Miller was an old book full of dead metaphors. You desperately wanted to know if he would kiss you back if you dared to drunkenly place your lips on his. You wondered if he would cup your face while doing so…you wondered if he would lay in bed with you if you told him to stay.

"How's Sarah?" You asked, wanting to shake off the shyness that was slowly creeping in.

"Good, she got an A on her English essay, thanks to you."

You smirked remembering the deal you had made with Sarah. She noticed (kids always do), something was up with you since you would blush every time Joel would call you darlin'. She noticed you acting too friendly around her dad so naturally she decided to confront you about it.

"So, you like my dad, huh?" She asked you on a Wednesday while doing homework.

Your heart went in your throat when your ears registered her question.

"No, I don't." You lied.

"Yeah, darlin' you do. You're too obvious."

"Fuck!" Left your lips. You instantly regretted it.

"HA!"

"Please don't tell him!"

"I won't, but you have to write me this essay."

"Sarah!"

"I'm too lazy! Plus you don't want me to get an F and disappoint my dad, right?" She winked. Cheeky stunt she pulled.

"Fine!"

****

"I'm glad!" You told him. "She's a smart kid!" Yeah, she was alright…

The thing with Joel was certain parts of him were sealed shut, but only certain. He liked talking to you especially because you both shared the same love for music. He liked talking to you about your favorite songs, bands, historical music events, guitars… You knew he played guitar and you asked him numerous times if he wanted to play you a song; he would always decline. After a couple of tries, you stopped asking.

"You know, – you started, taking a sip of wine followed by cutting your life short by 7 minutes with a smoke – "I've always wanted to learn how to play guitar."

"Is that so?" You could see a half smile forming on his face before he took a sip.

"Yeah, but I never did. It was always something, school, homework, too broke to afford guitar lessons…too broke to afford a guitar."

"I can teach you if you want."

"That means you have to play in front of me, and you always say no to that."

"I can make an exception." His gaze was fixed on you and yours was on him. A pleasant science was lingering in the air as you both enjoyed each other's company. You were feeling tipsy while Joel was sober as a judge.

"That would be awesome." Alcohol in your system was giving you a warm hug, telling you to go for it, to say the unsaid, to do the forbidden. Your body was finally relaxed enough, but your mind was in a haze. You had a feeling you were going to do something stupid and you liked the idea of doing something stupid at that particular moment.

The undying need to know, to find out – it was simmering and about to explode.

You put out the cigarette, taking a deep breath, before leaning in and placing a kiss on his cheek. Joel froze for a second, not understanding what happened for a few seconds before his brain caught on. He gave you a soft look, admiring your courage before he returned the favor and kissed your drunken lips. It was a soft, gentle kiss just to make you wonder what it would be like to devour him whole. You wanted this little innocent pack to turn into something sinful – but it didn’t.

“A little bird told me your secret, honey.” He confessed.

“Of course she did,” You chuckled.

Joel’s fingers went in your hair, tucking one strand behind your ear. He found your red cheeks cute.

“You know, you’re obvious when you stare.”

“Stop lookin’ like that, and I won’t.”

Joel laughed. It had been a while since he did.

“DAD!” A voice yelled across the street. It was Sarah, standing in front of the front door of their house. “WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“COMIN’, BABY GIRL!” Joel yelled back and looked back at you.

“Go,” –You said – “And tell her I said thank you.”

“Will do!” Joel gave you a wink and left.

[coimbrabertone]

Who is the Ferrari of the Motorcycle World?

A bit of a short blogpost this week since this is that time in my writing schedule where I've just posted a chapter of Fastest of the Prancing Horses, have to post this month's chapter of Racing in the Golden Age, and then back to Fastest of the Prancing Horses for that story's biweekly uploads. Self-imposed fanfic upload schedules aside, let's talk motorcycles.

Who is the Ferrari of motorcycles?

Ducati comes to mind first, being Italian and red and heavily associated with racing. The fact that when Ducati entered MotoGP in 2003, it had a very Ferrari like set of sponsors didn't hurt either. Marlboro and Shell at first, then Telecom Italia's Alice brand got involved in the late 2000s, and after diverging a bit in the early 2010s - when Ducati had a sponsorship with Mercedes-AMG of all people - they both wound up with Philip Morris' Mission Winnow as a sponsor.

And around the same time as Mission Winnow, both gained Lenovo sponsorships. Ferrari's Lenovo deal seemed to only last for 2018 and 2019 and has recently been replaced by a title sponsorship from HP, whilst the ties between Ducati and Lenovo have only grown stronger, becoming a title sponsorship from 2021 onwards.

So, the sponsorship is very similar, but it's not the same.

Plus, there's now a pretty big stumbling block to the whole Ducati = Ferrari thing.

That being that Ducati is owned by Lamborghini. Yup, in 2012, Ducati was acquired by Audi - which itself is part of the Volkswagen Group - and Ducati was placed under the control of Lamborghini. So, in a funny little shell game, Ducati was owned by Lamborghini who was owned by Audi who was owned by Volkswagen.

So yes, Ducati may have the superficial resemblance to Ferrari, but being owned by Ferrari's greatest rival kinda breaks the whole comparison.

Another thing that doesn't help is that Ducati's Grand Prix racing history is rather recent. Sure, their history with superbikes and the Isle of Man TT, with famous riders like Mike Hailwood and Carl Fogarty, but they did not have that MotoGP pedigree until 2003 onwards. Even then, Ducati only had a single 2007 championship until their recent (2022-present) success.

So, how about someone who does have GP pedigree?

MV Agusta.

The massive amount of success that MV Agusta had with the likes of John Surtees, Guy Hawking, Mike Hailwood, the great Giacomo Agostini, and Phil Reed gave MV a stranglehold over the 500cc class from 1958 to 1974, a level of domination that Ferrari could only dream of.

The problem is that, since then, MV Agusta hasn't really had the money to race.

They've tried a couple of times, with various Superbike and Supersport efforts, most prominently with Reparto Corse who is still in WSSP, as well as a brief partnership with Forward Racing in Moto2 between 2019 and 2022. None of this compares to MV Agusta's past greatness, and none of it is really comparable to Ferrari either.

That being said, on the road bike side, I think MV Agusta matches Ferrari in terms of being these rare, expensive, incredibly desirable things. Ducati is no slouch either in that regard, but, come on, just look at a MV Agusta F4 or Superveloce and tell me those aren't some of the most beautiful motorcycles ever made.

So MV Agusta and Ducati both meet some criteria, but both fail at some others.

So here is another contender: Aprilia.

Now, Aprilia's racing history started rather recently, but they've done a lot in that time - their 125cc and 250cc bikes dominated the lower classes of GP racing in the 90s and 2000s, with riders like Max Biaggi, Valentino Rossi, Loris Capirossi, Marco Melandri, Alvaro Bautista, Jorge Lorenzo, and Marc Marquez all taking championships on board their bikes and then going on to have massively successful careers.

Even once the two-stroke success dried up, Aprilia took the fight to World Superbikes, winning the 2010 and 2012 titles with Max Biaggi and then the 2014 title with Sylvain Guintoli. The likes of Eugene Laverty and Marco Melandri also took wins on the Aprilia WSBK bikes at this time.

Their factory team efforts ceased in 2015, but that was because Aprilia was entering MotoGP.

First with Gresini, Aprilia began a long preparation period, but come 2022, Aprilia was ready. Gresini went its own way as a Ducati satellite team, while Aprilia entered a full factory effort with Aleix Espargaro and Maverick Vinales.

Aleix would win in the third race of the season at Argentina and finish fourth in the standings while Maverick took three podiums and an eleventh place finish.

In 2023, Aleix would win at Britain and then sweep the weekend at Catalunya to finish sixth in the standings, while Maverick Vinales was just behind him in seventh. That Catalunya race would also mark Aprilia's first 1-2 finish.

2024 wasn't as strong, but Maverick Vinales still swept the weekend at COTA on his way to a seventh-place championship finish, whilst Aleix Espargaro won the sprint race at Catalunya for the second year in a row, a fine feather in the cap for his retirement year, even if he did slip to eleventh in the standings in the process.

Now, with Marco Bezzecchi and Jorge Martin as their riders - and Jorge having the option to put the #1 plate on the Aprilia if he so chooses - Aprilia is certainly on the way up in MotoGP.

Oh, and the team is run by former Ferrari man Massimo Rivola.

If that's still not enough to convince you, then let me take you back to the 90s when, for a brief period of time, it seemed like the Piaggio Group (Aprilia's parent company) and Fiat (then Ferrari's parent company) were on the verge of a merger.

Giovannino Agnelli - the nephew of Fiat supremo GIanni Agnelli and the son of Antonella Becchi Luserna Piaggio, the adopted daughter of Enrico Piaggio - became President of Piaggio in 1993. In 1995, Gianni Agnelli officially named Giovannino his successor...only for Giovannino to pass away from cancer in December 1997.

Gianni Angelli would die in January 2003, with the Ferrari F2003-GA named in his honor.

Had Giovannino not predeceased his grandfather, Aprilia and Ferrari could well now be sister companies.

Another side effect of the whole Piaggio ownership thing is that Aprilia's sister companies include Moto Guzzi, Gilera, and Derbi, and those brands certainly fill out Aprilia's racing history.

Gilera was the first giant of 500cc motorcycle racing, winning six titles between 1950 and 1957. while Moto Guzzi wasn't quite as successful with its 500cc V8, it did win the very first 250cc championship in 1949, as well as five consecutive 350cc titles from 1953 to 1957.

As for Derbi, it had a ton of success in 50cc and 125cc GP racing with Angel Nieto in the 70s, and then later on during the golden age of two-stroke Aprilias, Aprilia had some of their bikes badged as a Gilera or as a Derbi.

Marco Simoncelli won the 2008 250cc title on a Gilera whilst Marc Marquez's aforementioned 2010 125cc title was on a Derbi.

So, when you put it like that, Aprilia does have a pretty consistent history in GP racing after all, huh?

Well, if none of those convinced you, there's a surprise fourth candidate, because the rumor mill is that, with KTM's financial difficulties, Lewis Hamilton is in talks to invest in the KTM MotoGP team. So, there is a possibility that we'll see a MotoGP team owned by a Ferrari Formula One driver in the near future.

Yup, after all these Italian companies, the Ferrari of MotoGP might end up being the road racing arm of an Austrian dirt bike company.

We live in strange times.

[spaceofentropy]

Last night, the first snow of this winter fell on us.

Last night, my friend Dave died in his sleep.

The more hours pass, the more I realize I've been mourning Dave for the past 10 months.

I've been mourning him since the moment his brother told us that he had been rushed straight from the ER to the ICU, and that there was a chance he wouldn't make it.

I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Dave and I were in the same room.

It's one of those Internet friendships that started on a blog around 2009-2010 and went beyond the screen, if only on so rare occasions.

Dave was… So many things!

He had a brilliant mind and an encyclopedic knowledge of music, books, movies, TV shows, RPG systems. He loved old pulp and new pulp, classic fantasy and hard sci-fi, most kinds of horror, noir movies and Hong Kong action, screwball comedies and adventure flics. He had three movie podcasts with as many friends, because he liked to talk about the things he loved, and he loved so many things, Jesus, so many things!

He wrote for his two blogs, plus novels, short stories, non fiction, rpg material, a whole setting for Savage Worlds. He paid all his bills through his writing, which anyone can tell you is fucking HARD AS FUCK, even more so as an Italian writing in English.

I think I owe some of my sanity during the 2020 lockdown in part to the fact he asked me if I wanted to play with him and his group via non-zoom.

I said yes, immediately.

It became a staple of my weeks, that Friday meeting to play one rpg or the other, and if too many people were not present, to just talk about books and politics and life and tv shows.

Until February 2024 and the first bad news.

And now this news.

I've tried being optimistic, these past 10 months, because he was beating the odds again and again and again.

He was a lucky GM, rolling that impossible roll was par for the course for him.

Until, last night, it wasn't anymore.

I don't know what life is gonna be like now that he's gone. Can the world even go on without Dave in it? Without his brilliant mind and his wit and his voice?

He was a micropaleontologist and a Zen practitioner. He'd be the first one to tell me that yes, the world will go on, Earth has been through several mass extinctions, what is one little death gonna matter to the whole of it? Everything is temporary.

He'd probably say something cool, right now, or quote someone even cooler. Or maybe just talk about the need to let go, even when it's someone as cool as him.

I don't know.

I really don't want to have to discover what the world will look like, now that he's not in it anymore.

I will have to.

It's a new world to explore and chart.

I'm just so incredibly angry that I'll have to do that without my friend by my side, recommending books, or delighting in my hate for obnoxious people, or asking what my character is gonna do next. Life feels emptier already.

[dishearteningmediocrity]

June 25th, 1937

Eighty-seven years ago, on June 25th, 1937, Colin Clive died in Los Angeles, California. This was a column that appeared in the Monday, June 28th edition of the Hollywood Citizen News, written by Edwin Martin--columnist, press agent, and acquaintance of Colin's. If I remember correctly, Gregory Mank quoted excerpts from this in his biography, but the article is worth reading in full. There's a poignant tribute underneath all the name-dropping.

Yeah, I know, not enough misery in the world these days, so it's time to dredge up more from the depths of the past. Still, it's an interesting glimpse into his life and death--and some of the people left behind.

Source: Hollywood Citizen News, Monday, June 28, 1937. Accessed via www.newspapers.com.

Transcript below.

CINEMANIA by Edwin Martin

JOURNEY'S END

"Think of all the chaps who've gone already. It can't be very lonely there--with all those fellows. Sometimes I think it's lonelier here."

Night after night we had heard him deliver those lines, and they never failed to touch us.

On this day they came back to us again--more poignantly than ever.

A few of us had gathered for a round-table at our favorite spot in Travaglini's--it was also his favorite corner that we occupied.

Just a few weeks before we had sat at this same table with him and planned a radio interview.

Soon after, when he went to the hospital, came a note in this manner: "Must have this old pump repaired a bit. Sorry we'll have to postpone our interview until I come out. Keep the corner warm at Travaglini's."

We had known him for many years--known him and admired him since they first brought him from England to star in the picture version of the same play he had made famous on the stage.

Later, when the play was revived by E.E. Clive, we enjoyed a most pleasant association while handling the publicity on the show during its run here at the Hollywood Playhouse.

During this time we got a little closer to this quiet, rather lonely man, who made famous the role of the hard-drinking Captain Stanhope in the stage and screen productions of "Journey's End."

Few knew it, but all during the past few months, even when he made such a hit in his outstanding part in "History is Made at Night," he had been carrying on under the constant shadow of a long illness--an illness which was gradually eating his heart out...but he never complained.

Sometimes there was a faraway look in his eyes as he talked--just that--nothing more--he was Captain Stanhope to the end.

A few of us were keeping the corner warm for him at Travaglini's that day when we heard Colin Clive had reached his journey's end.

WALTER BYRON, another fine young British actor, was studying his lines at the bar for the splendid part he plays with Sarah Padden in "Chilikoot Lou," with which Miss Padden soon returns to the vaudeville stage.

Eric Blore, inimitable English comedian, still in make-up, was also there...and Larry Kent, Hollywood's wandering actor, just back from directing and acting in England, was telling about a picture he wanted to make in the South Seas...Eddie Lee, known as England's "Donald Novis," was resting from his triumphant opening at the Century Club...and we were listening to the gentle elder Mr. Travaglini tell about stirring days when as a young man he was an officer in the Italian army...while Tony Travaglini, Jr., looked over a radio script planned as a welcome home to Harry Langdon.

Into this crowd of men came a saddened figure--a lovely woman who had been a friend of Colin. She was the last member of that gay trio who often occupied this same table together...from which another splendid young British actor, John Buckler, had left one night only to meet his journey’s end in Malibou Lake in a tragic auto accident.

She was the last one left—and she dragged her weary self up to the bar and ordered a double brandy.

Everyone wanted to ask about his condition, but Larry Kent was the only one who had the courage… “How is he?” he asked.

“He is going,” the woman said. “When I left he was already in the oxygen tent. They wouldn’t let me see him,” she said, trying desperately not to break down.

Because she knew that even a friend of Captain Stanhope must face unknown adventures with head held high.

A phone rang—it was for her—she answered it. Somehow the ominous tone of that ringing let us know the message. “He’s gone.”

Silently the glasses were filled…then Eric Blore lifted his glass. “I give you Colin Clive,” he said simply, and a toast was taken in his memory…and eventually each man filed out and went his separate way.

Somehow we believed that Colin Clive would have liked to know that his journey’s end had been accepted with such a gesture…as he went to that last rendezvous with his old friend, John Buckler...and as we walked out into the sunshine we remembered that we had other things to do--other things to write--but the only words we could think of were his gallant words from "Journey's End."

"Think of all the chaps who've gone already. It can't be very lonely there--with all those fellows. Sometimes I think it's lonelier here"....we are keeping the corner warm for you--Adios, Colin Clive.

[emmatgc]

Wonderful World Chapter 10

Slow Dancing With You

Seon Yul stared and stared. His chest is tightening at the sight of her. Soo Hyun and sunsets, he never knew it was possible. 

But here they are at Incheon. Spending the weekend as that “date” was promised ny Soo Hyun. Sure, they had dinner, tea and late night talks over the phone but this is better, he says. Anything to be near her. Before they decided to stay over the night at the beach, their day started at a pottery ceramics village. They held hands in making 1 pot. At first Soo Hyun didn’t want to, she wanted 2 separate pots to be made but Seon Yul insisted, and there was tension as Seen Yul covered his hands on top of hers while she is making the clay. Soo Hyun felt something since Seon Yul smelled so good and much like her favorite smell now of his, probably a Lacoste brand she thought. In their weeks of being together as “exclusively” dating, she now know some little things such as what perfume he wears, his work schedule, favorite stuff and more. One day at a time. One step at a time, she keeps reminding herself that. Soo Hyun visits him at the hospital at least once a week and brings him food. He, on the other hand, goes to the orphanage over the weekend. 

Soo Hyun’s family are happy she is finally letting herself be happy. They saw her pack her things while smiling. The kids and staff at the orphanage saw new aura in her. She was sometimes singing, humming of lovely tunes and though at the back of their minds, things can still go awry, they are fully supportive of their “Mom” and “Boss”. Seon Yul too, especially his friends are always teasing him everything time he received food from her. The food is to be shared to them but Seon Yul gets really selfish of his favorite dish of hers, a teokbokki with egg, some greens and her organic fruit drink. There is always a note saying “Have a nice day and take care always” and he keeps all notes, each and every time. 

The rolling waves, the warm sun, the smell of salt water, the feel of salt on their skin, and sand under their feet couldn’t challenge the feelings that starts to brew between the two. They held hands all the time and cuddle, too. Though they both agreed to take it slow, both are seemingly and easily falling in love heavily everyday. They wanted to see each other everyday but its impossible due to their work schedule and Soo Hyun can’t help feeling selfish and crazy thinking how a woman at her age act like a teenager. But, this makes her happy, it can’t be that bad, right?

Their last and 2nd night at the beach, while waiting for their dinner, Seon Yul asked “You seem to be thinking deep, Soo Hyun, wait, its been a month we are dating, we don’t have a name yet, like an endearment name”. Seon Hyun replied, “does it matter? I don’t want to call you honey, it was what I called my ex before”. Seon Yul suddenly felt annoyed at the mention of her ex husband and Soo Hyun feeling it, too said “Im sorry” while smiling and touching Seon yup’s cheeks. Seon Yul not giving up said “Mine”. She asked, what? Can I call you mine? Soo Hyun turned red. For her it was too sudden and he was too brazen to say it loud. But Seon Yul didn’t care. As their food came and wine, a mixed of oriental, Italian and sea foods menu, they started eating and enjoying the music behind. The music turned into a violin tune and soon enough, they saw it was really a violin tune. The song is “Can’t help falling in love with you”. A classic love song , one of the greatest of all time. 

Seon Yul stood up and went slowly to Soo Hyun and said “May I have this dance?” Soo Hyun accepted his hand and stood up. 

They were slow dancing. “Take my hand, take my whole life, too” as the song goes. They stared at each other like they are the only people in the world. Not caring about the past, about their fears of the future and hesitations. For right now and right here, in this moment, this is their moment. Soo Hyun move quietly in his arms. Her head rests against his chest. The wine pulsates through their body and casting a warm glow upon them and allowing the magic of true chemistry to expand between them. No words, just movements and the dance. Seon Yul wanted to move closer and in this moment, wants to do something he always wanted to do ever since he felt love towards her.  The feel of warmth in both of them and the moment is starting to get slower. Safe to say they are not worrying of halting the dance or stopping. There is no hurry.  They can’t help but both think that after this dance, reality sits in. The fear of “what will they say?” , What if they knew? And so on… but tonight, they decided not to dwell on it like the past month they had been together. Its gonna come but not tonight.

Tonight is perfect, Seon Yul in his mind uttered. As they continue to dance and across each other, he simply takes pleasure in being close to her and knowing the boundaries between them are getting smaller and smaller.  Seon Yul, having 2 glasses of wine, lift Soo Hyun’s face towards him to search in her eyes, her twinkling eyes, he moves his head, and their foreheads touched. He kissed her forehead gently and waiting for Soo Hyun to step back but she didn’t, oh she didn’t.

He took it as a sign. A sign to continue and do more. He moved his head and lips lower to meet her face and looked at her beautiful lips. He held his gaze and gently kissed her and tasted her lips. Slow kiss. Gentle but deeper. Their first kiss! The raw emotions hit them at once. He never felt like this ever, he thought he could do this forever. Her lips are divine like exactly what he thought it would be. Soo Hyun felt the rush of electricity in her veins like this is something new for her. Its been a very long time she felt sensuality, romance and even intimacy. She loves the smell of his skin, his touches are soft and she wanted to step back to breath but Seon Yul didn’t allowed her to. His hand held her neck firmly. She thought how sexy this young man is and she is breathless!

Only when there was an applause from the crowd, the two broke their kisses. Some people giggled at them. They were flustered and somehow shocked of what they did! The applause was because another artist performed and they on the other hand, didn’t have a clue. Slightly embarrassed, they both went back to their table. Both had red cheeks all through the night and neither talked about it until they decided to rest and go to their rooms.

They had 2 separate rooms. Seon Yul walked Soo Hyun to her room and said “Soo Hyun, I…I’m sorry about tonight, I might have been sudden or forceful, I don’t know must be the wine but…” Soo Hyun raised with raised eyebrow said “But what?” He answered “I wasn’t sorry about the kiss, it was the best kiss ever”. She replied “Oh, why was their other kisses before me, then and you compared?” She is teasing him and she laughed looking at his face which was so flustered and he can only look down. He whispered in her ear “I won’t stop kissing you until I make you mine, Soo Hyun, remember that”.

He smirked. He is so shy but he needs to be aggressive and before he can speak goodnight, she kissed him on the cheek and said breathing heavily “I’m not sorry either, I think I am….in love with you, too”. Without missing a beat, they kissed again and she whispered “Don’t stop kissing me, Mine”.  

Finally, she called him "mine", he is hers and hers his. They can’t help but fall in love for real this time. A month of being exclusively dating, Seon Yul and Soo Hyun became an official couple that very night. 

(Note: Whew Chapter 10 already! Finally, the kiss! A real and proper Kiss! What do you think?❤️ 😘🤣👀

So sorry for the delay. I am so busy these days. This is shorter, very much a slow burn but it is intended that way because of their personalities but this is one of my favorites to write. This is starting to go deep and trust me, its gonna get deeper. Be ready! Be ready for a jealous Soen Yul and some drama. There will be another fluffy and much more romantic and hmmm sexy chapter next time. But like I said, there will be major drama and sad moment still, maybe 1 chapter of that but don’t worry it will be worth it for both our couple and the story.  Hold on tight loves! Thank you for you support!)