#Stacy’s mom au

[tennessoui]

Director's cut (for Foolproof, again, because <3): Council pov on Anakin during OWK's teen years, maybe? Or, like, Qui-Gon hiding in an empty Jedi Knight apartment post-Zygerria because he's too young to die, only to scream when Yoda pops up from behind the sofa to tell him the hiding spot is already taken.

let’s be honest the council probably meets with qui-gon once a month during obiwan’s apprentice ship and they’re just like so we may have fucked up a little bit about this whole not allowing anakin to be obi-wan’s master because we’ve noticed he’s being like….really weird about this whole thing

and qui-gon is like. well obviously. good thing I decided of my own free will to take obi-wan as my padawan or else you’d be dealing with anakin skywalker as the most violent and feral AgriCorps farmer in galactic history.

and the council is like whatever. what do you think we should do about anakin skywalker?

and qui-gon is like. Give him a padawan that isn’t obi-wan 🤷🏻‍♂️ and the council is like huh. maybe. okay. sure.

and both qui-gon and the council think the other one told obi-wan that anakin wanted to train him but was told he couldn’t and actually neither did lol

imagine the absolute devastation obi-wan feels when Ahsoka tells him she’s gonna be anakin Skywalker’s padawan and obi-wan’s gotta pretend that’s such exciting news, the poor boy

[lululawrence]

Last Line Challenge

Thank you to @wabadabadaba @chai-hat-tea @haztobegood @bananaheathen @satvrdays @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @alwaysxlarrie for tagging me!!! I’m trying to keep up better so here I am! Doing it! Haha this is the last line I wrote a few hours ago on my fic for this year’s @onedirectionbigbang woo!! It’s gonna have art by the amazing @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk too so I’m PUMPED hehe anyway, the line…

“Fine, let’s put it this way, which episode do you know best? That you could possibly even quote word for word?”

Hehe I’m just gonna tag a handful of people cause I can lol @jacaranda-bloom @beanno28 @satvrdays @shimmeringevil @beardyboyzx @haztobegood @kingsofeverything @greenfeelings @louandhazaf @allwaswell16 and that’s enough for today lollll

[rogerswifesblog]

Stacys Mom 3

Previous part

A/N: Y’all have no idea how bad I feel about forgetting to post the last part of this little au😮‍💨 I finished it months ago and….well, forgot it. I’m sorry. I Hope you still appreciate the very late update and will enjoy it anyway! Many kisses to y’all❤️

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

Pairing: young Steve Rogers x older reader (friends mom reader)

As soon as you heard your daughter's voice you knew one thing-Steve wouldn’t make it out of the house unnoticed.

“Steve-wake up-Steve”, you whispered, shaking his shoulder while he was cuddling up to your chest, wrapping his arms even tighter around you and nuzzling his nose against your skin.

“Just a Minute-“ “we don’t have a minute! Stacys home!”, you hissed, shaking him more forcefully. Finally his brain caught up and he sat up abruptly, his eyes alarmed as he nearly jumped out of bed, quickly collecting his clothes.

His hair was tousled, his eyes still sleepy and you could see an imprint from the pillow on his face. “Mom are you home!?”Stacy called out, already being close to your bedroom as you stumbled out of bed yourself, putting on a night gown.

Just then did the door open, in time for you to put on your gown-but not for Steve to put a shirt on or even zip his pants. “Oh my god mom-I’m so sorry I didn’t know you had comp-Steve!? What the fu-” “Stacy Sweetheart, you weren’t supposed to-“ “to know? Since when was this-thing happening-? Is it like-it wasn’t back then, right?”, your daughter started asking, crossing her arms and looking at you both while Steve grabbed his shirt and started buttoning it up, his whole chest up to the very tips of his ears blushing like a tomato.

„you know what-I’ll just wait in the kitchen you two…get dressed”, that’s a sentence you’d never imagined to hear from your daughters lips.

When the door closed you sat back on your bed, sighing loudly and resting your head on your arms. “Oh god….”, you mumbled, hearing Steve walk over to you and kneel before you, his hands gently brushing along your thighs. “Hey…it’s okay, she didn’t seem mad…we’ll just…you know, say it was the heat of the moment or something…and if you don’t feel comfortable with all this…it doesn’t have to happen again”, he mumbled, his tone sounding unsure and rather unconvincing.

Yet you still smiled a bit into your palms.

He was really sweet. You knew he wanted something more from this than just a one time thing and yet he’d rather have you feel good about all this than himself.

“It’s not that Stevie”, you whispered, gently taking his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I really enjoyed our time together, but I’m not sure if it’s possible. You’re the same age as my daughter, Steve. I’m too old”, a sigh escaped your lips again and you really didn’t know what to say next without hurting him.

Steve stood up, holding out his hand for you to take, a soft smile on his lips while he shook his head. “That’s such nonsense. Stop talking yourself down. You’re amazing and your age doesn’t matter. Not to me. I like it that way…you’re…more mature. I like that”, at Steve’s words you felt yourself blush a bit, while you took his hand and let him pull you to your feet, so close you fell right against his chest. His short was still mostly unbuttoned so your hands rested against his naked skin, as he slowly leaned down to kiss you.

A slow, gentle kiss that made your whole body tingle.

You knew it wasn’t right, but you had never felt so good with someone. Not even in the beginning of your first marriage.

Without wanting to, you slowly started smiling into the kiss before Steve slowly pulled you a bit closer into a tight embrace. “Please…don’t let it be the last time I can hold you like this…”, he whispered into your hair.

The smile from your lips disappeared slowly. You didn’t want to look at him, knowing how sad and pleading he’d look at you.

You didn’t want it to be the last time either.

You wanted to hold him and being held by him every day and night. Fall asleep next to him and wake up with his arms around you, hear his raspy voice in the morning as he wishes you a nice day at work. Feel his kisses on your shoulders and neck before letting go of you…or maybe have him pull you back into bed, making you late for work after making you come on his tongue. You wanted him to apologise for making you late, even though he wouldn’t be feeling sorry at all, looking rather smug and smitten.

Fuck, you wanted him in your life as your partner and not your daughters friend.

And you hated yourself for that.

You hated yourself for falling for him.

“You can go talk to Stacy and explain a bit and I’ll put some normal clothes on”, you slowly detach yourself from him, not looking at him anymore. Instead you went to your walk-in-closet. Steve's gaze burned holes into your back before he slowly walked out of your bedroom.

It took you twenty minutes to put a simple outfit together. Normally you’d probably only need five minutes, just grabbing random pants and a t-shirt, but today you…took your time. For one too find something pleasant to the eye to look good for Steve (even though you didn’t want to admit that) and also beausvse…you just wanted to stay alone for a bit longer.

How were you supposed to tell your daughter you liked his friend? How were you supposed to look in your daughters eyes after she caught you with her highschool friend after having spent a night with him?

You felt incredibly awful.

When you walked into the kitchen you saw Steve and Stacy drinking coffee and laughing together about something she said.

“Oh mom, I was just telling Steve about the time uncle Ben fell down the stairs and still managed to hold his beer without spilling any of it-I’m telling you Steve, not even a single drop. This guy would protect his beer more than his own life”, she turned back to Steve. Next to Steve was another cup of coffee, so you sat down next to him, immediately feeling his hand on your thigh, squeezing gently as he looked at you from the side and smiled cheerfully.

Why was he so cheerful? It didn’t make any sense to you-why was he that happy even though his heart (and yours too) would be crushed in a few seconds.

“Okay, Stacy, I’m sure you have some questions-but before you ask, it hadn’t been happening behind your back. It was only last evening that we went on a date-“ “oh yeah, I know. Steve mentioned years ago that you said he should come back when he’d turn 21…I didn’t expect he’d actually do it, but I guess he really meant the while liking-you-thing. It’s nice. Steve is really nice. And you’re both adults. You know what you’re doing-just as long as I don’t get a sibling-“ Stacys words made you choke on your first sip of coffee, making you cough immediately.

Steve also blushed a deep red color, as he lowered his head.

“Stacy-that’s-not-we…-what? What do you mean?”, you stuttered, not knowing what to say or think. Or even how to react.

She laughed at you both, shaking her head in amusement. “I should’ve filmed your reaction-mom of course I knew about Steve’s crush. He wasn’t hiding it-and I’m sure you knew it too. I mean-he mowed your lawn for free the whole summer. Who does that? Only a fool-“ out of the corner of your eye you could see Steve frown at Stacy, making you chuckle barely audible.

“-of course it surprises me YOU had a thing for him-I mean-wasn’t that a bit…crimin-“ “I didn’t have a thing for Steve back then. He was too young for us to start anything-not that it had changed much. I’m still too old, a mother and-“ “Mom, stop. If you like Steve I don’t mind it…of course it’s…a bit unusual to find my old highschool friend in your bed but on the other hand…I totally get you. Steve is now hot as hell, like, I mean it, literally just…yummy-“

A loud thud made you jump lightly as Steve’s head hit the counter in embarrassment. “Stacy don’t say stuff like that-that’s weird-“ “you’re sleeping with my mom, I’m allowed to say weird stuff. So, continuing; I think you two shouldn’t be stopping whatever this is on my account. I’m not angry, not at all…”, she said with a smile on her face, sounding more sincere to the end.

You had no idea what to say. Did your daughter just allow you to…date her old friend? She wasn’t freaking out? Because you would be if she’d start dating a friend of yours.

“But I don’t want any siblings and I’m not gonna call Steve Daddy-“ at the mention of the address you and Steve turned a dark shade of red, both looking away from Stacy. “Let’s just change the topic, sweetheart. You don’t have to do any of that and there won’t be any kids-“ “no?” Interrupted you Steve, making you smack his arm. “Of course not. I’m too old for that”, at which Steve nodded slowly. “Okay, noted. I don’t even think I would want kids-all the screaming and waking up in the middle of the night sounds awful.”

You shook your head in amusement and turned your attention once again to Stacy. “Are you…really okay with that?”, you asked carefully, still not believing her.

“I wasn’t at first-when I first noticed Steve’s crush on you I tried to arrange all our meetings when you were away or would get ready for dates…but then I started noticing how he was looking at you-and even something you did too, Mom, I don’t think you’ve noticed it yourself but you have Steve more attention than any of my other friends”, she said, shrugging. “The idea of seeing you two together was weird and even a bit…disgusting-ish. But that was just some immature thinking and I quickly realised that it was totally stupid-at least when Steve told me about wanting to ask you out after he’d turn twentyone. I started thinking about the age gap and then I noticed…many celebrities that I like have the same age differences, if not bigger ones. So why judge? I hope you two make each other happy. You, mom, deserve someone who’s actually romantic and will treat you nice, not like dad. And I think Steve will be a nice change from all the douches in your life.”

Then she looked at Steve, furrowing her brows at him. “So don’t be a douche, because then I’m gonna be mad, but that’s not what I wanted to say-I think you should be with a woman that knows what she wants and isn’t just a stupid chick like half of those girls you meet with your friends during all those night outs in clubs or-” “shh don’t make it sound like that-I’m not going out that often and I don’t sleep around-all I said yesterday was tr-“ he started then rambling, turning his attention to you. “Stevie, don’t worry, I believe you-besides I know how it is to be young and…adventurous”, you chuckled, squeezing his hand softly with your own.

“Ugh Mom but I don’t wanna hear that kind of stuff-I’ll accept you two dating but please don’t make me hear the details”, Stacy mumbled, standing up and walking over to the fridge, taking out a jar of jam out and then bread and peanutnutter from the cabinet. “It’s really funny that my mom and my friend are now banging. Someone wants a peanutbutter and jam sandwich?”

You gasped in surprise, Steve coughed up his coffee, nearly spilling it all over himself and you both just looked at stacys back in surprise while she made sandwiches. “Stacy you can’t just say something like that and then casually ask about sandwiches”, you still sounded shocked, but took a sandwich anyway when she put the plate in front of you.

The next few minutes were spent with casual conversations, eating and drinking coffee.

At one point Steve leaned closer to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before standing up and excusing himself to the bathroom. Slightly embarrassed you looked down at your now empty cup, but you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling-and Stacy noticed that too. She wiggled her eyebrows at you when you lifted your gaze, feeling her starring at you.

“What?”, you whispered, your whole face heating up. “Nothing just…it’s cute. It’s the first time I see you actually…a bit smitten or…you know, happy..or at least happier than before. It seems like you two really like each other, even though you’re denying it”, You had to admit your daughter was very wise. Maybe she had it from you? Probably. Her father was a douche.

Smiling you looked at Stacy for a moment, “thank you…for giving us a chance”, Stacy immediately shook her head at you. “No, you’re giving it a chance. Im just…accepting it. I want you to be happy-and if I have to be honest, from all the younger guys or my friends you could be dating im glad it’s Steve.”

When Steve returned he sat back down next to you, his arm resting around the rest of your chair, a huge smile on his lips as he gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“But I gotta be go with you two-for now wait with all the pda-steve I’m talking to you. I have to get used to all this. Also, no Sex while i’m Home.” You never thought you’d get a talk like this from your own daughter, your face once again feeling hot.

“And you'll borrow me your Nintendo Switch." “What?”, Steve interrupted her while turning away from you and instead giving her his full attention, making you roll your eyes in amusement. How did all this turn into an argument over those games or whatever. This reminded you of the age difference even more, but on the other hand there’d be many moments where Steve would also feel the difference.

Steve pulled his eyebrows a bit together, a little wrinkle appearing between them, while Stacy raised hers instead, crossing her arms. “You want to date my mom. I think I have the right to ask for something instead.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Weere they really-

"Fine." Steve grunted, taking his arms from around your shoulders to cross them in front of his chest, his gaze glued to Stacy as she smirked. "And share your Netflix account too."

“Seriously?? I only subscribed hulu and Disney….fine. Fine, okay, I’ll subscribe Netflix too, but I’ll use the phrase Netflix and chill more often than you think, just to spite you”, he said, making Stacy frown. “Thats so fucking weird, I don’t want to know when or if you two…have a Netflix and chill evening. If you ever use that phrase I’ll personally rip your manhood off and beat you with it-“ “Jesus, you two, stop. I have to get some work in my office done, so I’ll leave you two for now.”

You looked back at Steve, smiling lightly as his eyes lit up, watching you stand up. “You can stay, if you want. I’ll be done in a bit. Stacy, be nice and don’t bargain so much with Steve”, you chuckled at your daughter when she shrugged her shoulders. Just like said you went to your office, already starting to sort some document you had to go over one more time.

Yet you couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting off to Steve. Would this relationship work out? He was so much younger..he was friends with your daughter…people would assume you’re his mother…or that you did something to make him be with you-maybe they’d think you groomed him? God. All of this was awful.

Even though it was hard to ignore all those thoughts you still tried to do so for now. You needed some time to get your work done.

After a while of concentrating and working on the documents you heard the door open. Looking up for a moment you smiled at Steve, before signing another file.

A gentle tap on your shoulder made you look up once again and before you could say anything soft lips were pressed to your, a hand pulled your hair slightly, making you lift your chin even more. A rush of endorphins made the corners of your lips Twitch upwards, your heartbeat quickening. God, you haven’t felt like this in a while.

When Steve pulled away, he slowly pushed your chair away from the desk, turning you around to face him. Automatically your hand found its way onto his thigh, as he gently brushed your hair. “I think you need a break.” His voice was quiet, but you could hear something mischievous behind it.

“A break for what?” You nearly whispered, watching as Steve slowly sank to his knees. “Just lean back and let me make you feel good.”

And boy, did he made you feel good.

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!

Please leave some feedback and reblog this to support your content creators! <3

Should this be an au to continue? Any drabble requests? If you habe any ideas or wishes—> inbox!!

Taglist: @abschaffer2 @abschaffer2 @bornindecember1st @kandis-mom @una-frambuesa-glotona @peaceinourtime82

All posts taglist: @rogersbarber

[glimmerglanger]

wip wednesday

My friends, it is that time of the week. And I've been working on something new. In fact, I've been writing what I have saved as "The Stacy's Mom AU." ANYWAY, here is a little snippet (it's gonna be Rexobi):

“Who taught you to drive?” Rex asked, when he pushed his door open and stumbled out onto - blessedly - unmoving ground. 

“Self-taught,” Anakin said, grinning at him over the hood. “Aw, come on, Rex, don’t complain. We shaved off five minutes getting back.”

Rex would have rather lost the five minutes, but Anakin looked so exuberant about it, coming around and popping the trunk to pull out laundry. “Let’s go. Oh, hey, Obi-Wan’s here. You’ve met him, right? Didn’t he used to babysit you?” 

Rex grunted an answer. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been sixteen the first time Rex met him - at eight - when his parents had needed a night out on the town. He’d been very tall. Lanky, with wavy copperish hair and blue eyes.

He’d been nice - as far as babysitters went - and seemed remarkably unbothered by running around after six children. “It’ll be just like old times,” Anakin said, hefting the bag of laundry over his shoulder. “C’mon, maybe he’ll make us apple slices and give us juice boxes.” 

[bottom-lexa]

STACY'S MOM MILF!LEXA TRANS CLARKE AU?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!!?

🎶 Stacy’s mom has got it going on 🎶

Listen. I think the probability of me writing a fic where Clarke isn’t trans is very low nowadays. All I had to do was write one and embrace how perfect of a character Clarke is to be written trans.

Clarke has a bad relationship with her mom (who is older than Lexa because she was a good bit older when she had Clarke) and it’s only gotten worse since her dad died. So Clarke was planning on spending thanksgiving (and later Xmas) alone because she can’t stand the thought of going home. And her friend is like “yeah fuck that you’re coming with me. It’s just me and my mom at home so it’ll be fine”.

And Lexa knew her kid was coming back with a friend but then Clarke shows up and she’s a little 😳🥵 when she sees her (yes in small because she’s being subtle). And Clarke is like “oh no shes so hot what do I do??” And oh lexa is also so sweet? She’s so sad that Clarke isn’t with family over the holidays and wants her to feel at home. And she’s just so nice and caring and!!! And uh oh there’s feelings now and Clarke is this 🤏 close to jumping her right this moment (and lexa will probably let her). But it’s not just the age difference but the fact that Clarke is her kid’s friend.

They have this massive house. And there’s a couple of times Lexa has caught Clarke walking around in her boxers coz she didn’t think anyone was home. And because lexa didn’t know anyone was home either. Same with Clarke seeing Lexa in just a towel like oh 🥵.

And maybe a little moment when Clarke thought she was alone and talking with her mom on the phone which leads to a fight and her yelling and screaming and crying. But lexa comes home and catches the end of it. Then goes in to check on Clarke.

[egletsfics]

Nyan Neko Sugar Highschool - Chapter 1

STORY SUMMERY: What if Rakuchan, Koneko-chan, Hitoshi-san, Bokutachi-kun, and all your favorite characters from the hit anime Nyan~ Neko Sugar Girls went to... high school?! What if... they were having a School Festival at that highschool? And what if... there was aishiterus and love at steak during that School festival?!!!!!

Read to find out about all the crazy highschool dramas going on at... NYAN~ NEKO SUGAR HIGHSCHOOL! (Highschool AU/ MochiceShipping (Raku x Koneko)/ StockholmShipping (Bokutachi x Hitoshi)

Chspter 1: Neko High School

Authors AN: I used to have a old authers notes 4 chapter 1-2 but for sum reason they got deleted and i forgot wut they were so im writting a new 1 here:

Konichiwa minna-san! 2day Im back with A NOTHER FAFNICTION!!!!!!!! This is about nyan~ Neko suger girls, 1 of my faverite animes. Its a highschool AU story so DONT LIKE DONT READ dont complain in teh coments and stuff if u dont liek it!!!!

Well n e ways… HOPE U ENJOY :D !!!!!!!

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1 day it was a day.

Raku-chan and Koneko-chan, who were just normal neko highschoolers, woke up on that day, and they thought it would just be an ordinary and sugoi day like every day was. But today was NOT a normal day...

...IT WAS DA NEKO SCHOOL FESTIVAL!!!!!!!!!

The Neko School Festival was a festival at Neko High School which was where raku-chan, Koneko-chan and and their tomadachi Hitoshi-San went to school. (translator note: tomdachi means friend)

It was a festival where students did stuff and it happened at school, which was why it was called a school festival.

"BEEP BEEP BEEP" beeped the alarm clock at Raku chans house.

"NYA why r u so loud and annoying u BAKA ALRAM CLOCK!" Rakuchan yeled angerly and she hit the alarm lock until it turned off.

She yawned kawaiily and opened her eyes sleepily and saw the time on the clock:

7:50 am

"N-N-n-N-N_N-N-NANIIIIIIIIII>?!!!!!" Raku-chan said in shock. "I ONLY HAVE 10 MINUTS 2 GET 2 SCHOOL N-N-NYA?!!!!"

Raku-chan ran into da kitchen and put a piece of bread in da toaster. Then she pput on he school unifrom really fastly. It was a sailor uniform with a super short sexy navy blue and pink skirt, a white short sleeved top, a blue and white collar, a pink ribbon, sexy lacy white kneesocks, and pink school loafers. She put on sum kawaii light pink eyeliner and put on mascara and fake sparkly eyelashes and put on a pair of really kawaii wing earrings and a sparkly pink gemstone covered collar with white and pink lace around it and a silver bell in the middle.

Meanwhile, Koneko-chan was waiting outsaide Raku-chan's house (they were nextx door neighbors) and kind of worried bcuz it was already 7:52 and they had 2 go to school by 5 minutes. She wondered if Raku-chan was asleep, or if she had just overslept like she did every year on the first day of school.

Raku chan heard the toaster ding and the bread popped out. She grabbed the bread wit her hands but it was very hot.

"AH! H-h-h-h-hot!!!" The bread bounced around in Raku-chan's hands before she put it in her mouth. She got her kawaii bag and opend the door and went outside.

Koneko-chan was still waiting outside. "Raku-chan! We have to hurry, schol starts in *looks at watch* 5 MINITES!!!!!!" said KOneko-chan.

"Ya I know Nyaaaa desuuuuuu!!!!!!" Raku chan said back.

"Ok lets go!" said Koneko-chan.

Raku-chans super awesome giant sugoi boobs were jiggling up and down as the nekos girls runned to school. Konekos-chans chest wasn't as big but she didn't really care because she was not self conshis.

"Koneko~chan~ aren't you excited for da school festival today???? isn't it SO SUPER SUGOI NYA!?!!!!" said Raku chan.

"Yes, I think it will be super kimochi as well Raku-chan, everyone sure put a lot of effort into making our last school festival at Neko High School extra sugoi," said Konkeo chan.

Suddenly Raku chan was quiet. She was thinking really hard abuot something.

The thing Raku was thinking about was her super giant huge crush on her best tomadachi, Hitoshi San. Calling Hitoshi-san sugoi would be like calling the moon a rock. It was technically true, but the mere word "sugoi" failed so utterly and completely at conveying just how incredible Hitoshi-san was that it made the entire Japanese language seem like a joke.

Raku chan's eyes became misty as she started daydreaming about Hitoshi-san's piercing blood-scarlet eyes, his dark deep ocean blue hair, and his hot steamy shrexy bod. She blushed. Hitoshi-san really was so sugoi desu!

Raku-chan's daydreaming became more serious as she started considering what this school festival meant to her relationship with Hitoshi-san. This was her last chance to confess her feelings to Hitoshi-san!

She started practicing the confession in her head. Romantic music began playing in her imagination as she stood with Hitoshi-san on the school roof, watching the fireworks together. Hitoshi-san... watashi... watashi wa aishiteru anata desu!  (translators note: I... I love you desu!)

Hmm... no, that was too straightforward. And also, she really needed to reexamine her imaginary internal music catalog. Stacy's Mom was not romantic enough.

What about, "watashi wa kimochi daisuki Hitoshi-san desu!"? (translatros note: I really like you a lot Hitoshi-san desu!)

No, it was too weak of a statement to properly convey the depths of her feelings. So how was she going to go about the confession?

She needed to hurry up and think about the best way to confess to Hitoshi-san before the festival was over. She might not get another chance after this one!

"Um, are u ok Raku-chan, ur kind of quiet today nya. Did something happen?" asked Koneko-chan.

"O-oh nya desu, n-nothing much nyahahaha!" Raku laughed awkwardly and anime sweatdropped.

"Oh, okay then. Lets go inside, we're already at school after all," said Koneko-chan, pointing at the school gates. "Just in time! We aren't late after all."

"O-ok let's go nya desu!!!" Raku chan said and then they went inside Neko High School.

๑ஓ-----------------‧₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊‧-----------------ஓ๑

RATE & REVEW 4 MOAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[transfemlogan]

im curious cos you tend to have correct opinions, which pair of sides (or any ts characters really) are your favorite to make parent and child? thinking about this cos of one of the AUs im working on (idk if you have an opinion on this but like i said im curious lol) - @girlboypatton

I actually dont focus 2 hard on parent & child dynamics. I prfr sibling dynamics or found family relationships (or 1 or more sides r the parent of a random child)

HOWEVER. i have... been thinking of an analoceit AU that... Idk how well it will b taken within the fandom, so i havent talked abt it at all (i dont talk abt most of my aus though, 2 b fair) (it involves a legal age difference within a romantic relationship . Theyre all adults its just a somewhat Big Age Difference)

BUT!!! In it janus & virgil r the parents of remy :)

OTHER THAN THAT I DONT... THINK I HAVE ANY OTHER PARENT & CHILD DYNAMICS I ENJOY? I really like making all the sides friends w/ each other.... making 1 a parent Kind Of Ruins That NDHSKDND

[chloeangelic]

the paper salesman

Brother's best friend!Jim Halpert x f!reader Rating: 18+ My masterlist I Max's masterlist

Summary: You spot your childhood crush at a birthday party and end up in his room together.

Warnings: Smut, AU where Pam does not exist, alcohol, oral (f receiving), handjob, semi protected PIV, creampie, squirting.

A/N: Well, well, well, if it isn't me and my froggy friend @macfrog back with another fic. But this time, it's not satire - this one is actually serious, and we are taking full advantage of everyone's teenage crush on season 2 Jim.

Word count: 6k

You pick at the edge of your wine glass, nodding along as the sound of your brother’s girlfriend talking about work turns into a low, buzzing sort of hum, indistinguishable from the other voices in the room. It seems that turning thirty was the catalyzing event for your older brother’s birthday parties to turn from all-nighters at clubs to barbecues at his new house. The attendance changed too — what used to be a crowd of girls in tight, short dresses has been replaced by a landscape of coworkers and childhood friends that he has reconnected with over the past year. 

There’s a couple people singing karaoke by the TV across the room, and although neither of them are singing in tune, you cheer them on as you half-heartedly listen to your future sister-in-law’s story. People are scattered around in groups of two, three, or four, chatting amongst themselves against the tapestry of multicolored string lights and framed photos. You can’t imagine your brother had much to do with the interior design choices, and assume Stacie took him to the department store and filled a shopping cart with lights and lamps and frames that would make the living space for two thirty-year-old men a little less bland and sterile. 

But still, despite the obvious decorative touch of Mark’s girlfriend around the room – you can’t help but wonder which parts were chosen by his roommate.

Jim Halpert – your brother’s best friend for as long as you can remember. Six-foot-something, polite and awkwardly charming. Lingering on your front steps to walk with Mark to school, backpack slung over one shoulder, or waiting patiently in the kitchen doorway while your brother finishes eating dinner, a basketball sat in the ‘c’ of his elbow. Making a whole lot of nothing conversation with your mom about school, about how his brothers were doing, growing bashful when she’d bring up girlfriends.

He’s five years older than you, but that ten-year-old ghost of yourself would sit twirling the fork in her fingers, mindlessly dragging mashed potato around her plate. Watching the way he’d toss the flicks of fringe from his eyes, cross one foot over the other as he answered every incessant question of your mother’s with the dutiful respect of a well-raised boy. Your crush was obvious back then, easily spotted by her whenever Jim stayed for dinner. You’d look away, bite back your smile and try to stifle your laugh at his jokes, hoping he wouldn’t notice. That little crush stayed with you, despite the boys you went on to date in high school, and the ones you slept with and tried to get serious with in college to no avail. Every time you came back from the holidays, Jim would inevitably show up for dinner one day, and you would revert back to that shy ten-year-old, sitting in the same seats as you did back then. 

You watched him become a man in front of your eyes, and by the time you started getting physical with your first boyfriend, little thoughts began to weasel themselves into your mind about Jim. It was entirely inappropriate, and that curiosity should have directed itself exclusively to the boy who had taken you out to the movies, to prom and to homecoming, but you wondered what Jim looked like shirtless, you wondered about his experience, about the size of his cock. One weekend in your freshman year of college, with nothing else to do but to visit your parents, you tagged along with Mark to his basketball game, and sat on the bleachers with your eyes glued to Jim, to the sweat that darkened his jersey and the undeniable bulge in his shorts. He came up to say hi after, his brown hair drenched with sweat as well, looking at you through stunning green eyes as he asked how school was going. You made him laugh with a story about a professor, and the sound of his chuckles echoed in your mind the rest of the night. He had moved out of his parents’ house by then, and started working as a salesman at a paper company in town. 

He still works there – as far as you know, at least, based on what he told you the last time you saw him, picking him and Mark up from their high school reunion two years back. 

Mark had drank a little too much and had needed Jim’s steady arm around his shoulder to direct him to your car. You swallowed down the butterflies which quickly took flight in your stomach as you watched the two figures stumble towards your Honda, the taller of the two lending you a small smile as he slotted your brother into the front seat. You kept your composure right up until he closed the front door, and then you sped all the way home with your heart racing and your blood pumping.

“Some people are just allergic to receiving help,” Stacie announces, yelling a little over the screeching of the karaoke mics. She’s rambling to one of Mark’s coworkers – Hal? Sal? – about one of her co-workers, some new kid fresh from college who can’t work the printer by himself and refuses to let her show him.

You’re about to get up for a refill when a weight slides onto the couch by your side, nudging you with a sweatered elbow.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he mutters, and when you turn, your breath catches at the sight of those familiar green eyes and flicks of brown hair.

“Hey,” you reply, fingers awkwardly lifting to tuck some hair behind your ear. You feel a heat flush into your cheeks and pray it doesn’t show in an embarrassing dewy glow to Jim. “Cool party. Karaoke’s a nice touch.”

“Eh,” he shrugs, giving you his signature smirk. His voice is so deep, a little husky even, as he sits close, “It’s an easy way to keep the guests entertained without me having to do much of anything, or your brother, for that matter.” 

You hum in response, reluctantly annoyed that Mark is already at the front of his mind when he sees you. “Are you still working that paper job?”, you ask, raising an eyebrow and hoping that your nerves don’t come across, that he’ll simply consider you as flirty to everyone if your attempts don’t land.  

“Yeah,” he says, nodding, picking at the label of his beer bottle for a moment. 

“Salesman of the year?” 

“Well,” he chuckles, his head tilting to the side, a little unsure, “Maybe sometimes.” Is he embarrassed? Shy? You watch his eyes as they flicker up and scan the room. “What are you up to these days?”, he asks when his eyes land back on you, flaring open for a split second before they settle on yours. 

“You know,” you shrug, eyes looping once around the room, “Working, the usual.” You feel your chest tighten with an urge to come up with something more fucking interesting than work. Your fingers hooked behind your ear again, you sputter, “Got my hair done last week.”

Jim smiles, reassuringly so. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, “I can tell. It looks good. I like the, uh –”, he points a little haphazardly, “The way you styled it. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” your cheeks swell in a genuine smile, averting his gaze as the compliment seeps into your skin. You twirl the stem of your glass in your fingers, and Jim knocks a knuckle against the rim.

“You need a top up?”, he asks, standing up.

“Yeah, actually,” you reply, taking his hand when he offers it and pulling yourself to your feet.

You follow him through to the kitchen, dodging the erratic arm movements of some guy chittering to Mark about stocks, and over to the fridge. You lean your hip against the counter, watching as Jim carefully refills your wine and slides it back across to you.

You take a tentative sip under his watchful gaze, and raise your eyebrows, nodding subtly in approval as you swallow, “This is pretty good. What’s a guy like you doing with decent wine in his fridge?” 

He lets out a nervous laugh and looks around, takes a sip of the glass he poured himself. “I actually got it for a, uh- a date, a couple weeks ago,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks, looking out through the dining room, “She said it was good so I figured I’d get some for tonight.” 

Oof. A tinge of jealousy makes your stomach curl, and you take another large sip, forcing it down as you think of what to say. You can still hear the out of tune melodies from the living room, though the silence between you and Jim drowns out the noise. “What did you do?”, you ask, hoping you can mask your jealousy with a sneaky tone. 

“Took her to dinner a few times, walked around a bit, came back here and had some wine.”

You want to gag, just a little bit. “And how come she’s not here tonight then?”

“Didn’t really, uh– didn’t really work out, so…” 

“So you’re just sitting here day in and day out with her wine in the fridge, waiting for her to come back?” 

Jim breathes a laugh, pushing the air from his cheeks, “Alright. Wow. That one stung.”

You giggle, taking a step closer, “I’m just messing with you,” you say into your glass. Each splash of alcohol over your tongue filling you with more courage.

He tilts his head, eyebrows cocked, “Tell me about your love life, then, up on your high horse.”

You stifle another girlish giggle, using it to mask your reaction to the awkward question. Your love life – if you could even call it that – has been even more miserable than Jim’s sounds. Messages left on read, painful first dates with jocks still stuck in their high school eras, with uptight career men who only cared to talk about themselves, or with guys who had weird hobbies and left you to pay the bill for a date they asked you on.

You’ve gotten good at avoiding the topic with your mom, turning it instead into conversation about Mark and Stacie, framing it into a question of, When are they thinking of getting married? Having kids of their own, right, Mom?, but standing in front of the one guy you’ve been shamelessly crushing on since you were ten years old – it becomes a little harder to divert.

“Uh,” you mumble, the rim of your glass balanced on your bottom lip, “I’m – I’m just taking some time to myself right now, you know? Focusing on me.”

He grins, almost gleeful. Electricity pulses through your veins. “Nice save,” he tells you, tipping his glass towards you, “I hear what you’re really saying.”

“Oh?” 

“Yep,” he says, matter-of-factly, “You also got dumped at Red Lobster.”

You snort, then apologize, closing your eyes and trying to stifle your grin as you try to collect yourself. “Red lobster,” you clear your throat, “That’s pretty bad. At least it wasn’t Chili’s. And I would know, cause I got dumped at Chili’s.” 

The two of you keep it together for a few moments, looking at the floor, until you meet each other’s eyes and burst into laughter, having this absolutely pathetic little thing in common. The sound of his laugh makes your chest flutter, the sight of his smile and his hand running through his hair. He wipes the tears from his eyes as he looks at you, and you bite the tip of your tongue, trying to halt the uncontrollable giggles that make your stomach hurt. 

When you’re composed, a couple more swigs of wine down your throat, you settle back against the counter and say, “So. When’s the tour leaving?”

Jim’s eyebrows lift, “The tour?”

You nod, “House tour. Mark hasn’t shown me around yet. The most I’ve seen is your downstairs bathroom.”

He scoffs. Pushes off from the counter, the wine in his glass splashing, “He’s a terrible host. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Your heels click along the tile floor as you squeeze between bodies, heading for the hallway where Jim pauses. “Bathroom,” he says, nodding to the door right by the stairs, “But you already knew that.” He steps back against the wall at the first step, holding a hand out to usher you up first. “Ladies first,” he says, smiling genially.

You snort, but waltz by his body, holding onto the handrail as you climb the stairs carefully, the alcohol mixed with your shoe choice making it a dangerous feat. Jim’s close behind, footsteps slowly echoing your own, and you can’t help but think of the tight, short skirt of your dress, the way it hugs your thighs, the placement of his gaze as he wanders up behind you.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you look around at the assortment of doors, waiting for Jim to tell you which room serves as the first stop. You can sense him right behind you, slightly to your side, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him looking down at you, swallowing slowly. “Mark’s room,” he says, nodding to the right and waiting until you look up at him before he takes a step over and opens the door. He lets you peek inside, look around until you nod and step back, before he urges you forward, towards another door. 

“Upstairs bathroom,” he remarks, and you give the room a similar examination, noticing the streak-free mirror. 

“Looks… clean,” you say, as if there’s anything better to say about a typical bathroom. He gives a muttered thanks in return, then points to the last door. 

“And that’s my room.” 

“May I?”, you grin, then step fully inside, looking around at his bed, his dresser, and finally, his desk. You sit down in the office chair and give it a test spin, before your attention is caught by the art on the wall. “What’s this?”, you ask, while he steps in as well, hesitating for a second as he looks at the door, opting to leave it open before he comes over and sits down on his bed. 

Jim’s head wobbles as he searches for an answer. “It’s – well, it’s – you know. It’s…a print that I…liked.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Not a clue,” he responds, quick as a bullet. “I saw it at a yard sale – thought it went with the colors of my bedsheets. That’s how interior design works, right?”

You smile, “Sure. You’re no Stacie, but – sure.”

Jim nods. Your eye is drawn to the dip in the bed where he sits, the weight of his wide frame on the mattress. His open thighs, his elbows resting on his knees, wine swirling as he slowly rocks the glass. He slowly lifts it to his lips, taking a sip without breaking your stare.

You cross your legs by instinct. Your skirt rides a little higher. Jim glances down, and then straight back up. You can feel your blood thrumming through every limb, every part of your body sensitized and alight. It doesn’t help any when he stands from the bed and wanders over, towering over you as he looks at something on the desk.

He reaches over your shoulder, and you can smell his cologne on his sweater, sharp and fresh, a hint of something sweeter. He pulls a photo frame from the shelf behind you and turns it around.

“Graduation,” he says, and your eyes are drawn down to the cheesy grins of him and your brother, donned in black mortarboards and sweeping gowns.

You nod, pretending you’re paying attention. But he’s so close that his jeans rub against your bare legs, so close that you’re staring up just to meet his eye. Your palms begin to perspire, his voice turning into a blur as he points to a couple other frames, photos of people you didn’t recognize in places you couldn’t quite place. The rest of your wine is downed in a single sip, the glass carefully placed behind you, on the surface of his desk. 

Jim seems to have finished recounting memories to you, but he doesn’t move. Stays stood over you, his own drink forgotten on the floor by his bed. A silence falls between you – but not the thick, awkward kind of silence you’re used to around guys. It’s lighter, it’s breathable. It swirls around your limbs like the fluttering feeling in your belly, wraps tightly around them and pushes you to your feet, the back of Jim’s chair rocking against his desk.

You’re eye-to-eye, your chest pushing gently against his. He glances down to your lips, wet with wine and the dabbing of your tongue, and then back up. He leans in, curving around your shoulders to set the photo frame still in his hand back on the desk. When he straightens up again, your hands find his chest.

You stare at one another, seemingly a thousand words exchanged between your soft, drunken gaze and his – and yet, none of them pass your lips. There’s a weight on your waist – Jim’s hands either side of your body, squeezing the tight fabric of your dress. You tilt your head, moving closer, lips parting. And he leans in.

He kisses you, slow at first. Your hands lift to cup his jaw, steady yourself on the weight of him. All of your past selves begin to bubble to the surface, each one lighting your skin, pulling on every nerve. Jim feels warm, his lips wet and sweet from the alcohol. Your nails sift through his hair, tugging gently as he pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth. He groans lightly, seemingly as hungry for you as you are for him, holding himself back, handling you with a care and gentleness you hope he might set aside. You’ve wanted him for so long and you’ll let him do anything, you want all of him, you want him to ravage you and fuck you until you stumble down the staircase and until you can never look your brother in the eyes. 

There’s a smashing sound from downstairs and a squeal, followed by a chorus of disappointment from the other guests. It splits the two of you apart, bumping teeth as your lips disconnect. You’re both panting, hot breath occupying the space between you. You can feel the hardness of his bulge pushing against you, and your arousal building, spreading to the tips of your breasts as your nipples harden. He’s huge, you can already tell, and you swallow around a lump in your throat, trying not to think of how long it’s been since you felt a man inside of you. 

Jim smiles, still holding you close to his body. Your hands wrap around his wrists, and you lean into him again to whisper, “I think we should close the door.”

He nods, and steps back to let you by. You close the door slowly, letting it thud into place as quiet as you can, despite the obvious chaos happening downstairs. When you step back towards him, his eyes are on yours, hands reaching out to pull you closer, one around your waist and one around the nape of your neck, letting you melt into his hold while he locks his lips with yours. You hope he can’t feel the rapid beating of your heart or the dampness of your skin, letting your hands fall to the edge of his pants and starting to fumble with the button. 

You start to unzip his jeans while he walks you back towards his bed, licking into your mouth and nibbling on your lower lip. You slip a hand down over his clothed cock, carefully palming it and feeling the girth and contours against your skin. He lets out a slight grunt at your touch, moving his hand down to squeeze your ass cheek through your dress, his large hand grabbing your flesh and kneading it with the aggression you’ve been hoping for, just a hint of it coming through in the firmness of his grasp. 

He reaches the bed as you draw your hand out of his pants and dip your fingers behind his waistband, feeling the goosebumps spreading across his skin, grabbing hold of the stretchy fabric and lifting it up, over his erection, pulling it down alongside his pants to see his cock hanging free, flushed and wet at the tip. You bite his lip before you pull back to look, and can’t help a whimper escaping your throat as you brush your fingertips along his length. It feels endless, long veins bulging out that you trace with your nails. He's so thick, wide at the root, all the way to the tip. He can't possibly fit inside but you clench at the thought of him trying. Another pearly bead of precome spills out from his slit at your touch, and with his hands still grasping your neck and the meat of your ass, you gently rub the pad of your thumb over this head, feeling the slick slide of his spend beneath your finger, then wrap your hand around him, fingertips not even close to meeting, and stroke him slowly.

Your breaths are shallow, rapid, and when you feel your mouth start to water at the sight of his cock sliding through your hand, Jim pulls you back in to kiss you, grunting and groaning while your hand slides rhythmically up and down, making him throb with arousal. He moves his hips, fucking into your grasp with hushed moans that send your head spinning, your cunt pulsing.

Jim begins to peel the dress from your shoulders, slipping the fabric down until your breasts are exposed, the chilly edge of the air hardening your nipple. He pauses, watches the rhythmic movements of your soft, supple tits as your hand pumps up and down, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath. His fingers dig deep beneath the ruffled fabric, tugging it lower and lower until he’s lifting your hips, disturbing the lace of your panties as he discards the dress to the floor.

You pause as he strips the sweater from his shoulders, tossing it to some corner of the room before he’s back on you, the slick tip of his dick leaving sticky trails on your lower stomach.

“You’re so, so good at that,” he murmurs against your lips, sentence broken in two by another hot, wet kiss. Your eyes roll at the taste of him, the strength of his tongue against yours, the hunger with which he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and sucks, letting it go only to fill your mouth with himself again. You push at the edge of his jeans and boxers, bunching them up in your hands and tugging at them until he takes over, bringing you with him while he takes them off, leaving him bare and you in only your little scrap of fabric you call your panties. 

He pulls you in as he sits down on the bed, placing you on his lap, letting you wind your hips, dragging the silky lace of your thong up along his hard length while you lick across his tongue, while you swallow his saliva and feel the ridges of his cock bumping against your clit. At the sound of your whimpers, he picks you up in his arms, lays you down on his bed, and settles between your legs, leaving wet kisses up and down your neck, trailing down to your chest, taking your nipple into his mouth and licking it slowly. Your back arches, the slick of your arousal beginning to seep out into the panties he teases with his fingers, hooking them under the thin straps and slowly pulling at them as his lips trail down between your tits, slowly over your stomach, reaching the very top of your mound before he drags the straps over your thighs to reveal you for him. 

You open your legs and Jim presses into the underside of your thighs, pushing them wider. His eyes focus on the sight of you, spread open in front of him, his tongue lifting to run along his lips. You sit up on your elbows, glossy eyes watching as he leans in, a trail of kisses dotted along the seam of your thigh, until his lips are hovering over your throbbing cunt.

“Jim,” you whisper, sifting your fingers through his hair, moving it from his face.

He looks up and you share a glance, a message sent wordlessly from your eyes to his. A smirk pulls across his lips, reading your mind instantly. He lowers his jaw and his tongue drags a long, soaking stripe up your slit.

Your grip tightens in his hair, head thrown back to the blue sheets. Your throat catches a lewd moan before it has a chance to cut through the air, exposing you both to the guests downstairs. Sorry, you whisper, but he shakes his head. “You don't have to be quiet,” he reassures, leaving his gaze on you as he leans back and gives your clit a few wet licks, kicking up your sensitivity and making you clench. He must be able to tell, because just as you tilt your head back into the pillow while he kisses and licks at the part of you most sensitive and needy for his attention, he pushes two fingers into your pussy, stretching you gently as he curls them. He presses into a spot so tender you can't catch the moans spilling out between your lips, begging for more when you're already so close, having fantasized about this for years – his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside of you, softening you for the inevitable stretch of his cock, so much thicker and longer than you could imagine, big and hard and bound to let you feel him tomorrow.

He begins to suckle, swirling his tongue until you grip his hair and moan that you're close, so close, and he releases you from his mouth, still sliding his fingers slowly in and out, moving to place kisses to the inside of your thigh. You let out a huff, and hear a faint chuckle from between your legs, licking and kissing at your skin, right beside your outer folds, close to where you need him. 

Another wave of arousal crashes through you when he makes contact with your clit again, a wet drag of his tongue making you whimper and pull at his hair harder, trying to keep him right where he is until he lets you come. Jim pulls around your clit, lips sucking and tongue flicking as his fingers pump in and out, winding your orgasm like the tide withdrawing, only to let it crash forward in a flood of pleasure.

Your back arches, breath freezes to nothing in your throat until your climax passes, washing over you in heavy, shuddering ripples. You pant, your chest heaving as you look down at the smile on his face, the evidence of your satisfaction glistening on his lips.

Jim pushes himself up from the mattress, knees planting firm between your open legs, fisting his cock over you. You blink the room back into focus slowly, feeling the bed dip by your ear. He settles on top of you, looking down to guide his cock to your needy and spent sex. His tip presses against your hole, sensitive and soaking, and he glances back up. 

“Jim?”, you whisper, chest heaving when you feel the subtle intrusion at your opening.

“Yeah?”

“I want you inside me, I want you to fuck me.” 

Mhmm, he teases the tip around your entrance, lets the thick head of him slide up to your clit before he glides back down, gently pushing in, a tiny little bit of pressure, not enough to make you wince but groan instead, hating and loving how he teases you. Another push, his tip lodged inside, stretching you open further than you thought possible, while your pussy drools down his shaft, sucking him in and covering him in your wetness. He grunts quietly, not immune to the wet, warm clutch he’s sinking into, inch by inch, while you wrap your hands around his jaw, looking into his bright green eyes, lids hooded, breaking the eye contact to glance down at where he enters you, letting out a breathy moan when you suck him all the way in and he reaches your cervix. He hisses when he retracts, gliding out so slowly, covered in your shiny slick. 

You arch your back when he reaches the end of you again, leaning down onto his elbows so his lips can press into your neck, kissing you like he has all the time in the world, little licks to your skin while he glides out and presses back into you, letting you adjust to his size, making space for himself and soothing you as you’re overwhelmed by him. Your legs come to wrap around his waist, tilting your hips slightly upward to let him reach deeper, moaning his name and incoherent curses, grabbing the back of his neck and his broad shoulders, feeling your clit rub against his pelvis, bringing you closer so slowly you barely notice it happening. 

You lower your arms, slipping your hands under his and lacing your fingers. Your knees bend, resting against his ribcage. With each brush of his hair against your clit, he moves faster, thrusting harder, pushing deeper. Tiny yelps leave your mouth the more he fucks you, the more the bed rocks, the headboard knocking against the wall. Your head turns, moaning delicately into his ear as he sucks on your skin.

“I know,” he whispers against your pulse, “You feel so good, sweetheart. So tight around me.”

“Jim,” you’re whining, gasping for air each time he pushes all the way in. You let go of your grip on him and drape your arms over his shoulders, fingers toying with his hair, slowly dampening with sweat. Each glide of his cock inside you ends with a sweet bite of pain, his tip hammering roughly into the edge of your cunt.

His teeth graze the sensitive skin below your jaw, leaving behind marks you’re silently hoping will still be visible in the morning. His hands travel downward, taking hold of your waist and lifting you up to his body like you weigh nothing at all.

“Here,” he says, slipping out of you, thick white thread dribbling between your pussy and his cock. He motions for you to sit up, beckoning you with a flick of his fingers. “Come here, put your feet on my calves.” You oblige, planting each foot behind his thighs as he kneels. “Now lay down, just relax,” he coos, wrapping both hands around your waist to pull you up into a bridge, letting you dip your shoulder blades onto the sheets. He lifts one hand away from your side and guides his cock back into you, giving a few slow strokes with his palm, pushing gently on your stomach. 

Then his hands grip your hips tightly, he pulls you back onto him and gives you a moment to stabilize before he fucks into you even deeper than before. Your tits slide up and down your chest with every single one of this deep thrusts, and you watch his eyes as they stay glued to your body, his mouth hanging open, panting, grunting, digging his fingers into your flesh, trying to hold back while you squirm and writhe, moaning and whimpering, not giving a fuck who might hear it, trying to keep his name out of your mouth in case someone needs to use the bathroom next door. 

He pounds into you, hitting the softest, most tender spot inside of your body, your head rolls back on his pillow, tiptoeing the line between pain and pleasure, feeling him in your stomach. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, fuck, fuck,” the words are forced out of you just as a warm stream of liquid squirts out of you, drenching his groin and making him groan. Your orgasm is so intense you nearly howl, feeling more and more of your arousal dripping down his shaft and spurting onto his pelvis, soaking the sheets beneath you, getting wet and sticky with your come and his sweat, watching his hair stick to his forehead while he continues to fuck you, needing every last drop of your climax. 

You’re fucking spent, but he won’t relent quite yet, flipping you over and onto all fours, yanking you back by your hips. He enters you from behind and you groan in satisfaction, needing him right there, just like that, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head. His hand twists in your hair, wrapping it around his palm and tugging at it while he grunts, rough and loud in your ear, nearly drowned out by the lewd smacking of your ass against his hips. 

Your hand dips between your legs, fingers rubbing messy circles around your swollen clit, thinking how many times you’ve dreamt of this exact scenario with your fingers buried inside, bringing yourself to the brink of orgasm by the mere thought of Jim. And now, feeling him, the tug on your hair, the ache between your legs, the hoarse cries jumping from your throat.

“Not gonna last much longer,” Jim grunts, wet slaps cutting between his words, “Fuck, sweetheart, that feel good?”

“Yes, Jim,” you whine, your hand jerking with each meeting of his hips on your ass. Come dribbles down the seam of your thigh as you feel your second high begin to wind, white heat flooding downwards. “So – fucking – good. Ah, I want you to come inside me.”

“You sure?”, he pants, holding on by a thread. 

“Yeah, I – I’m on the pill.” 

Jim pulls you upright by the hair, flush against his stomach, and places his hand over yours to rub your clit together. You lean your head back against his shoulder, body freezing as you come for him again. He groans when you pinch around him, movements becoming sloppy.

“Oh – oh, fuck, I’m – I’m coming, I’m coming,” he moans, lips pushing hard into your neck as he twitches and then stills, and you feel the warm spurts of his come deep inside. The two of you groan, strangled and drawn out, collapsing on the bed with his arms around you and his cock softening inside. You listen to the sounds of the party downstairs, the two of you trying to catch your breaths, and he kisses along the back of your shoulder, brushing his thumb back and forth where it rests over your waist. 

“What are we gonna tell Mark?”, he asks.

You pause for a beat, then turn your head to him, “We’re telling Mark?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve wanted it, I’ve wanted it. I don’t want this to be a one time thing, I want it to be more than that, so at some point–”.

“More than what?”, you respond, your heartbeat returning to its heightened state earlier in the night. 

“More than just sex.” 

“Oh.” 

“I’m really into you,” he whispers, “I didn’t know if you felt the same way about me but it seems like you do, so–”. 

You shift around to face him, push his sweat damp locks away from his face and look into his eyes. Shy heat floods your face as you smile at him and nod carefully, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“You wanna go back downstairs?” he asks, fingertips ghosting down your spine before he reaches your thigh and hooks your knee over his leg, “We have Islands in the Stream on the karaoke machine, I know you like that song.” 

“Sure… In a bit.”

[miguelhugger2099]

Teenager Miguel AU but it’s just TASM universe and you’re his gwen stacy

With one earbud in place, you gnaw on your pencil in thought as you try to understand your homework for the night. You had wanted to get a head start on your hectic pile of studies before dinner. For a split second, you wondered if Miguel would actually come after you invited him.

Your prayers had been answered, a dull thud sounding out on your left side. You turn over to see what had happened and notice Miguel kneeling on your fire escape.

You smile and put your pencil down, shoving yourself away from your desk and walking towards your window. You glance down at him and he looks up at you. Miguel gives you a cheesy wide smile, his sharp canines adding to his endearing presence.

You open the hatch and lift up the window, allowing him inside. “Hi.” You feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You stick your head out slightly and look back down at him to see he still hasn’t dropped his soft smile. “How did you…get up here?”

Miguel doesn’t take his eyes off you. “The, uh, fire escape.” He shrugs. “Your doorman is intimidating.”

“I live on the 20th floor….” You trail off, wondering if Miguel actually did climb 20 stories up just to avoid a simple doorman.

Miguel blinks and ducks his head as he enters your room. “It’s fine.” He shrugs again, wanting to move on from the topic.

He turns his head around as he takes in everything about your room. Pictures of friends and families, a small bookshelf filled with your favorite tropes, shoes casted off to the side. It’s all so…you.

“So…your room.” He nods in approval. He stands awkwardly like he doesn’t want to invade more of your space so he grips onto his book bag strap.

“My room,” You nod and stick out your arms in a vague direction. “Welcome.” You laugh awkwardly, your heart thudding and spreading warmth to your body.

“It’s—it’s nice.” He coughs and you nod again. He seems to remember something, crimson eyes going wide. “Oh! I, uh, got something for your mom.” Miguel slips his bag off his shoulder and zips it open, pulling out a flimsy and crumpled up handmade bouquet of flowers. They weren’t big roses, in fact they were average flowers you could pick at the park. Some stems were bent, petals half torn off and the ends littered with dirt.

“Oh!” You gasp and then giggle. “They’re—lovely.” You say sarcastically. Miguel laughs with you.

“They’re gorgeous right?” He plays along with you. While you stare at the bouquet, Miguel can’t keep his eyes off of the curl of your lips and the smile lines that deepened from his silly behavior.

“Beautiful.” You confirm but Miguel hides his embarrassment with the flowers, bringing it up to his face.

“No, no, no, no. It’s actually—really— amazing it held up like that.” You snort. Miguel stuffs the flowers in his bag.

“Y’know what I’ll just—I’ll keep ‘em.”

You rock on both feet while he wipes the remaining dirt off his hands. “Do you have your suit in there?” You ask.

Miguel freezes and snaps his head up to you. “My…my…huh?” He seems afraid or panicked? You couldn’t tell but it worried you.

“Your suit? For dinner? Are you gonna wear that?” You point to his battered clothes, dirt on his jeans and blue t-shirt with a black hoodie. “Not that it’s bad! Just to be sure—“

“Hey, sweetheart.” You hear your bedroom door open and your father walks in the room.

Both you and Miguel suck in a sharp breath. While Miguel steps back, you step in front like you’re attempting to hide him.

But your father has already seen the boy in your room. His eyes narrow at Miguel staring him up and down. Tongue poking the inside of his cheek in a poor job at hiding his annoyance of a boy in his daughter’s room.

“Must be Miguel.”

“Dad, this is Miguel.” You squeak out, fists clenched at your side. Your smile is tight and you give Miguel a subtle warning look that screams hurry up and make a good impression, we aren’t looking good!

Miguel catches it and takes a step forward with his hand outstretched. “It’s good to meet you, sir.” Your father shakes his hand firmly, pleasantly surprised at Miguel’s grip but his guard is still up.

“Nice to meet you. Dinner’s ready.”

A/N: this scene and the confession scene will ALWAYS get me.

[thatwholethingwiththeduck]

In the year of our lord 2024 I wrote a lot of fanfiction about these stupid medical malpractice guys.

it seemed easier to note the ones that weren't Hilson.

post-series

He Wants

Dying Men 

Suspicious

Favor 

Cocktails 

The Sixth Stage

pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name

eternal themes 

One More Story

Happy [stacy/cuddy]

season 8

the drinks always have subtext

depends on how much you have to drink

season 7

Ten Days

He'd Know 

(He'd want to be left alone) [gen]

between pain and not 

season 6

absolution

Wonder

Manly Heterosexual Beers

Third Wheel

Regular Friendship

Couch Politics

star anise with caramelized onions

cures for insomnia 

Set The Date 

Rings

the secret sits in the middle and knows 

your slightest look easily will unclose me

we dance around in a ring

I'm Your Man

season 5

Personality Flaw 

Someone Always Cries [cameron/wilson with background hilson pining]

Not Friends

season 4

James Wilson and the Cozy Blanket of Denial

season 3

Questions and Answers 

True Hate's Kiss 

a light breeze

season 2

In The Human World

Autopilot

Hypotheticals 

vague timeline

Kinder

Hiring Practices 

5 Feelings 

the thing is 

Drinking Game

Distraction [houseteen]

Data

Fourth Time’s The Charm 

Pain Relief [houseteen]

Souvenirs You Never Lose 

Sensitivity Training 

Diagnosis

pre-series

you love him more 

au

two roads diverged in new orleans and i (i took the road less traveled by) 

crossovers

Flamingos (Boston Legal)

Divorced Men's Club (Friends)

Napa (Mom)

Second Wives Club (Frasier)

assume it will be brilliant (Grey's Anatomy)

Love is itself unmoving (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

[tennessoui]

currently writing a coda to foolproof foolhardy for my August ko-fi fic cause it’s been a year since I finished it and I wanna celebrate somehow 🎉

featuring an obi-wan who is actually the one disgruntled because he and master Skywalker are together and in love but they’re not really living together even though it’s been like a month since the ship and hey, he’s totally over it for real but he’s just saying if master Skywalker HAD taken him as his padawan, they’d have been living together for years already;

and a master Skywalker who thinks everything is going perfectly and it’s all totally fine cause it’s not like he ever really lived with his wife or anything so this is normal and how relationships work especially when you’re dating a 22 year old who is mostly level-headed but also prone to fits of scathing temper;

and a quinlan vos who is trying to be supportive of his best friend’s trainwreck of a relationship while also placing unenthusiastic bets on when they’re going to leave the Order or accidentally destroy the Republic;

and a padawan Ahsoka Tano who hopes that her Knighting ceremony and celebration can just be about her instead of about her weirdo master and weirdo best friend’s weirdo illicit relationship, but she’s not betting on it

[mintkookiess]

It started out slow (Miles x fem!reader)

I saw someone post about writing a fic where Miles is cheating on Gwen with us (I reblogged it like before this post) and I just had a surge of "HOLY SHIT LET ME COOK SUMTH" So here we are I made this like straight out of bed at 7 am.

Not proofread as I was hurrying to squeeze the creative juices out of me before it runs out. Hope yall still enjoy!

Love,

Mint

Summary: Miles had garnered a new friend, but didn't know it would cost his relationship, and start a new one.

Tags: Miles x fem!Reader, Miles x Gwen, cheating au, kind of fast paced, idk what else to put here

Word count: 1.7k

It started out slow.

You first saw Miles at a supermarket and thought nothing of it, thinking it’s just the ordinary stranger you see around the city.

But then you suddenly just see him everywhere.

Like fate wanted the both of you to meet so bad.

You were both given so many chances; finding out you sit beside each other in the movie theater? To find both your families eating in the same restaurant? Or you’d see each other at the supermarket again but with a more familiarity and peculiarity at the same time.

So it started out slow.

With the casual curious glances, or catching the other staring then immediately looking away.

When fate has finally had enough, it forced Miles to accidentally pour juice on your white dress in a crowded mall.

“O-Oh crap, I’m so sorry!” Miles had exclaimed, mentally slapping himself for being such a klutz. You hadn’t even minded a bit in the least when it happened, but you did finally get the name of the boy you’ve been seeing everywhere a lot lately.

“I’m uh Miles. Sorry about the juice.”

You had shook your head at the time, a polite smile on your face as you said that it was fine and that he didn’t have to worry about it. You introduced yourself and that was that, you both became friends.

That polite smile of yours had become friendlier.

When you find out you both were neighbors and you spotted him by his apartment building’s entrance with his mom smooching his cheeks as he was ready to leave for school, you couldn’t help but stop and watch in amusement.

He catches your eye and he grows red with embarrassment, you nonchalantly walked towards them as his mom spotted you and asked if you both were friends earning her a nod of affirmation from you.

So suddenly, you’ve been invited to dinner.

And almost every week after that.

What he didn’t tell you though, was that he has a girlfriend, Gwen Stacy.

You didn’t think much of it, since you were content with being friends with Miles, but there were times where you knew your presence was causing a little rift between them.

He had introduced her to you at one point, but the girl was immediately playing in the defense with you, and you weren’t entirely sure why at the time, till you overheard them in his bedroom one day when you decided to help his mom with her groceries.

“I know you like her Miles,”

“Me? Gwen you’re my girlfriend why would I like anyone else?”

“I’m not blind.”

You immediately knew it was about you, because you were the only other friend he had other than Ganke, and you’re a girl.

You didn’t worry about it since you know you haven’t done anything wrong.

Until you both did.

The kiss was magical.

Miles had swung you on top of a building when he told you about his Spiderman identity. He was so excited to tell you, wanting nothing more but to show you a cooler side of his.

The two of you watched the sunset for a few minutes until you both were hyper aware of this strange tension between the two of you.

You thought something was bothering Miles, and he thought the same with you,

“Are you okay?” You both had said simultaneously, but only made the two of you laugh, the sun seemingly making your faces glow a tinge of orange.

It started out slow.

The way his fingertips touched yours, and his smile faded into a more serious look as his hazelnut eyes stared into yours.

You hadn’t even seen it coming, but the next thing you know your lips were enveloped between his. You remember your mind making siren noises, warning you that this was completely wrong.

He has a girlfriend. But the girl he was kissing right now, definitely was not said girlfriend.

And it all went downhill from that.

Or uphill, depending on who’s perspective you’re looking at.

The two of you were awkward after that kiss, not talking to each other for a week, and Mama Rio of course notices this but doesn’t pry.

But when Miles couldn’t take it any longer, he swung to your window and immediately apologized for what he did.

You had apologized too, wholeheartedly, but…

Neither of you regretted it.

You haven’t said that part out loud and neither did he, but you two knew by the way your eyes danced around each other between the silence and darkness of your bedroom.

The next days were full of poor attempts from the both of you to salvage the normalcy of your friendship, but at the same time wanting nothing but to repeat that kiss again.

But the both of you knew you’ve done something terribly wrong.

Miles had been torn ever since, getting extra jumpy whenever Gwen would suddenly appear in his room unannounced, kissing his girlfriend hello but it felt different.

He couldn’t help but compare your lips to hers. Gwen’s lips were so different from yours, from the feeling to the taste, how soft it was, and how much he wanted more of you.

He knew he was being a terrible boyfriend, but fate had different plans for him apparently.

Falling for someone other than his girlfriend was definitely not a part of his life plan, but here he was, back in your bedroom window once Gwen had left.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so freaking sorry.” He had said, before strutting inside with no greeting and immediately grabbing your waist to pull you against him, lips instantly smashing together.

He didn’t know why he was apologizing exactly, there’s so much to be sorry about and he just wanted to say it out loud maybe to feel some sense of humanity. Like he’s showing the world how sorry he actually was but internally wasn’t at all.

This second kiss was more urgent, held more longing from the both of you.

You had held out for as long as you could, but the moment he was on you once more, all that willpower you had mustered to distance yourself from him faded into dust in seconds.

It started going fast.

The way his hands gripped on your hips as the both of you made out in the middle of your bedroom. So many words hung in the air, but neither of you spoke up.

Your arms locked around his neck, your head tilting slightly and he took this as a silent permission to deepen the kiss. Next thing you know he was pushing you down on your bed, hovering above you as his hands started to roam your sides.

That night went by blissfully, being in each other’s arms without a single word being said and just letting your bodies do the talking. You both knew what was happening.

But you two weren’t ready for the consequences.

The next weeks were full of hidden kisses, secret meetups, or whenever Gwen was sure to be in another dimension fixing anomalies.

There wasn’t a day where you had thought of how shitty of a person you were, and the same could be said with Miles. But the heart wants what it wants right? And fate had both your hearts twisted around each other into something that was just too complex to just suddenly cut off.

Miles had tried. He definitely did.

Tried to destroy his feelings for you as he couldn’t handle the guilt. Gwen had known something was up since he was acting strange, but he’d blame it on Spiderman duties. He was still too scared to tell her, not really ready to lose Gwen.

But also wanted so much more of you.

It started to slow down to a halt.

How the time seemed to have stopped, the world stopped turning, and the both of you with the same horrified expression as Gwen stood by the doorframe of his bedroom door, watching as he was positioned above you, hands on the hem of your shirt.

The color seemed to have drained from his face as he scrambled to get out of bed, chasing Gwen out of his apartment and left you in his bed with tears streaming down your face.

It had finally happened, the thing that the two of you were dreading the most.

You stayed seated, covered by his blanket as you leaned against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as more tears fell down silently.

Miles had come back after two hours or so, you couldn’t really tell as you were busy wrapped up in your self-hatred.

He had told you how Gwen broke up with him, and you could tell it was bad by how his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his nose still sniffing and his lips held a frown you rarely saw on his face.

The two of you didn’t know what to do, but before you could make a decision to distance yourself from him, fate had other plans as he beat you to it.

He wrapped his long arms around you, and the both of you cried that way for the remaining time that the night allowed you until you were sure it was getting quite late.

“Don’t leave me, please.” He had begged, his voice barely above a whisper as he buried his face in your hair. You thought he’d want to push you away for ruining his relationship, but it looks like you thought wrong.

“I need time Miles.” You replied, staining his black shirt with your tears and you felt him nod in silent response. “It’s okay, I’ll wait. No matter how long it takes.”

Soon, it started to move again.

The two of you had ignored each other for months after that, or more like he gave you as much space as you needed. But it was the biggest, fattest mistake you’ve ever made.

You longed for him more than anything despite everything. You know you should be wallowing at how you broke up a relationship, but wanted nothing more to be in his arms once again, and he did too.

You both agreed to meet at the cafe you both had grown accustomed to going to together through the duration of your friendship. You ordered your usual, and he ordered his.

The silence was defeaning, and the noises of the customers around the both of you seemed to have drowned out.

You wanted to say something but as always, Miles beat you to it.

“Can we, start over again?”

And you had nodded, tears forming as a smile danced across your lips. “I’d like that.”

Fin.

Taglist: @ii01vp @laylasbunbunny @missusmorales @fiannee @faeriesberries

(If you want to be on my taglist pls let me know!)

More of my Miles content here babes!

[purrassicjet]

House md AU where Stacy and House were actually married pre infarction and had a kid (or just had a kid). They divorced and have joint custody of this kid who is not only Crafty because her mom teaches her the law, but also because her dad teaches her mischief. House brings her into work on the days he looks after her.

[glimmerglanger]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/CT-7567 | Rex Characters: CT-7567 | Rex, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Other PT Characters Additional Tags: Modern AU, College, Growing Up, Crush at First Sight, Age Difference, Pining, Eventual Happy Ending, Grown Up Conversations, background anidala Summary:

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been sixteen the first time Rex met him - at eight - when his parents had needed a night out on the town. He’d been very tall. Lanky, with wavy copperish hair and blue eyes.

He’d been nice - as far as babysitters went - and seemed remarkably unbothered by running around after six children. “It’ll be just like old times,” Anakin said, hefting the bag of laundry over his shoulder. “C’mon, maybe he’ll make us apple slices and give us juice boxes.”

OR, the one where Rex meets Obi-Wan during his first semester of college and things don't work out at all the way he wanted.

[bottom-lexa]

Trying to find some cutesy pics on Pinterest of stretch marks and 80% of the pins are just how to prevent or get rid of them. Like no!!!! NO!

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 12

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. In the aftermath of Tom's simple but complicated favor, Parker is forced to finally face reality, and decide once and for all what she wants.

Read the story here: prev / ...

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Melissa's voice echoed across the empty store, each syllable raspy and drawn out, tinged with the same sort of disbelief that has been simmering in Parker's chest all day. "But holy fuck."

The disbelief spirals and explodes, and Parker can't the help the laugh that is startled out of her from the unexpected curse.

"Excuse me," she drawled, aiming for levity, but falling somewhere in the realm of pure shock. "But since when do you curse?"

"Since about eleven am this morning," Melissa chirped back. She's slouched in the reading chair, hair piled on the top of her head in a janky bun, mascara smeared all along her cheeks, and if Parker hadn't been so thrown off by her sudden use of French, she might have taken a moment to reflect on the fact that this is the most out of sorts she has ever seen the girl look. "It just seemed like a good time to start. And, honestly? I kind of get it now. There really is no other way to express yourself properly, is there? Because—I mean seriously, Park—what the fuck?"

Parker knew that she should be scolding the young girl for her language. The last thing she needed was to garner the wrath of a disgruntled mom on top of everything else that she's dealing with. More importantly, she really didn't want teaching the youth curse words to be on her yearly karma bingo card. But... honestly, Parker couldn't help but agree.

There really was no better way to put it.

"Touché."

"Did you know that he was going to post that?"

Parker arched her brow at Melissa. "Do you think I would have left you to cover the shift alone if I knew that this was going to happen? I don't even follow his Instagram. Although, guess I have to after this, don't I?"

Melissa rolled her eyes, head lolling to the side as she stretched out her arms, back, and neck. "Only you would get an exclusive shout-out from the Tom Ryder and you aren't even following his Insta. Totally unfair, by the way."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is my sudden luck raining on your plans somehow?"

"It's not luck."

Parker slumped on her elbows, a pen stuck sideways in her mouth as she tried to work through her to-do list for closing down the shop. It was hard to concentrate with Melissa's jabbering, though, and it was even harder to find the energy to sweep the shop when she'd much rather just collapse onto her bed. "What else would it be?"

Melissa blinked at her with a tart expression. "Um, hello? You're dating Tom Ryder. That might have something to do with it."

So surprised by the comment, Parker scratched a line across her notepad, and subsequently decided that her to-do list could wait till later. "We're not—I'm not dating Tom."

"Sure," the girl snorted. "He just hangs around your shop all the time, invites you over for parties, gets dinner with you, and—oh yeah—posts you on his Instagram."

"He didn't post me—"

"But, whatever," she continued, already moving on to the next topic. Parker watched as she bent forward and, with a grimace, tried to rub some feeling into her ankles. "I lost feeling in my toes, like, three hours ago. Is that bad? I mean, I'm not gonna have to get an amputation or anything, will I? Because I'm not missing out on Stacy Jordan's sweet sixteen because of you. Her parents rented out this huge dance hall, and they even hired a DJ."

Parker sighed.

Melissa's train of thought was something that she would never be able to keep up with, and today in particular she did not have the stamina to even try. Sourly, she said, "I told you that those shoes weren't very supportive—"

A book is lobbed in her direction, and Parker ducked behind the register before it can make contact.

The loud fwap of it hitting the ground echoes between the two.

"That better not have been a new edition."

"Oh, fuck off," Melissa said.

Parker returned from her hiding spot—back aching when she sits up, neck hurting when she props herself atop an elbow, eyes burning as she squints at the largest stack of receipts she's ever had before—and clucked her tongue. "You know I think I like this new you. You should curse more often."

"Pf. You just want to get rid of the swear jar."

"Well," she hedged, eyes darting to said jar, "it would save me some money. Unless you feel like paying up anytime soon. That's, what, three f-words? I'm not going to turn my nose up at fifteen bucks anytime soon."

Melissa gave an unbothered snort. "You wish."

"So, it's just a punishment for me, then?"

"You won't even need that thing after this week," she pressed on, sinking deeper into the worn out plush of the reading chair as her gaze slowly drifted across the bookstore. The shelves are the emptiest they've ever been, and the decorations they worked meticulously hard to find are in disarray from the constant throng of customers today. It's not a problem they've had before, having to reset the store after closing, but Parker supposes that's a good problem to have. "My feet hurt because of how busy we were, not because of my shoes—which, by the way, I had to wait in line for two hours to get—they will be supportive if I want them to be. Does this mean you'll finally hire Emily?"

"Emily?"

"My best friend. I've introduced you, like, ten times."

Parker conjured up a blurry image of a blonde girl, identical to Melissa in every way except for their different colored hair and eyes, with matching braces to boot. She thought she was nice, but, honestly, she can't really recall. Whatever. "Why would I hire Emily?"

Melissa scowled. "Well, that's rude. Just because she's my best friend doesn't mean that we're going to goof off or anything. She's just as hard of a worker as I am. You'd practically be getting two employees for the price of one if you hired her. Plus, it would drive Maddy H crazy if Emily got to work at Tom Ryder's bookstore and she didn't."

"It's not—" Parker started, before shaking the thought away. Bigger things to focus on, she reminded herself. "I thought we talked about this. I can give you a raise, but I can't afford to hire someone else."

"Uh, correction, you couldn't afford to hire someone else."

Parker puts the stack of receipts away, mind slowly but surely drifting to the next task as she attempts to lock the register down. She would definitely have to stop at the bank tomorrow to deposit their cash from the day—not a problem she had ever had before—and she mentally adds that to the list of musts. "Did I win the lottery without knowing it or something?"

Her question hangs flat in the air, and in response, Melissa curls a disbelieving look in her direction. "You're kidding, right? Did you see how busy we were today?"

"Right, listen," Parker started, but by how intense Melissa's eyeroll was, it was obvious that the teenager would not, in fact, be listening. "One good day of sales doesn't override an entire quarter of awful sales. This was just—just a fluke. I can't just hire Emily on a whim because we had one nice day. Ever heard of a rainy day fund?"

Melissa, hand in the air as she inspects the damage to her manicure, scoffed. "Yeah, but it's not just one good day."

"Are you secretly working at a different bookstore in your free time or something?"

"Oh my god," Melissa moaned, before dropping her boots to the ground with a heavy thud. "Right, you listen."

"Oh, here we go—"

"Park, I know you're big on self decrepitation and whatever—something I'm guessing you learned from your total has been of a brother—"

"Wow. You know, you two have got to figure out whatever this beef is about," Parker interrupted, only to be promptly ignored as Melissa stood.

"But this isn't just going to die down," she said, the stack of bangles on her wrists jangling as she made air quotes to emphasize her point. "Tom Ryder gave you a personal shout-out on his Instagram. That, like, never happens. The only things he posts are selfies, and paid promotions. In February, he posted a three second video about his Erewhon smoothie, and they're still selling out on the daily."

Parker frowned. "Smoothie?"

"So not the point," Melissa grumbled with another jingle of her bracelets. "The point is that this—" she gestured around them, to the bookshelves and the roof and the chair beneath her with one long sweeping motion, "just hit the jackpot. Kay? This is going to go viral, and when it does, you're going to have crowds like today every day."

That doesn't sound right. Parker knows that Tom is famous, that he has millions of followers on all of his social media, and that there are fangirls out there of his even more obsessed with what he does than the one scowling across the room from her. But just because he posted her store doesn't mean that she's going to have throngs of fans outside, day after day.

That sort of thing just... didn't happen.

Not to people like her.

Right?

"Okay, well, I mean," she started, struggling to put her thoughts into words after all of her braincells effectively went on vacation for the weekend. The cash register snapped shut with a metallic clang, and she dangled the key between her hands mindlessly. "Even if we go viral, we'll be popular for a bit, but not for, like, ever. A month, maybe."

Melissa blinked at her in that sort of way that means she's judging her, and when she hefts herself to a stand, Parker can feel the lecture about to come. "Look, I know you're a millennial and you aren't really active online, so I'll break it down for you."

"How gracious," she snarked, rolling her eyes.

"It's going to be like this—like it was today—for weeks. Until something new or something better comes along, but even then you're going to have Influencers coming in for pictures, wanting to stake a claim on this place just like Tom did. Okay? Which means more pictures, more shout-outs, and more people seeing this place on their FYPs."

"FY—?"

"So, yeah, maybe this place isn't going to stay viral forever, but that just means it's all the more important to capitalize on the attention while you can. If people are flocking here just to get stuck in long lines because there's only one employee during the day, then they're going to lose interest faster."

"I know how business work," Parker interjected, offended on her own behalf, but Melissa didn't seem to care one way or the other about her feelings.

"So you know that you need to dress to impress."

Parker narrowed her eyes at the girl shrewdly. She was staring to get that familiar feeling in her gut that Melissa was winding up for some big scheme, and previous experience had proven that when Melissa really wanted something, Parker was helpless but to give in. "Is this just some big production so I'll hire a bunch of your little cheerleading friends?"

The face she made was lethal. "First off, Emily doesn't cheer, she does dance, and that sort of tone is both condescending and so not cool. Secondly, it's an excuse to hire someone else so I don't get stuck like I did today when my boss decides to go gallivanting around town without her phone!"

"I wasn't gallivanting," she defended. "It was, just, an unfortunate—"

"Parker," Melissa said, leaning on her elbows until they were inches apart. "Hire some more people, or you're going to have to work every shift of this store forever because I don't ever want to experience that rush alone again."

Ugh.

The girl had a serious point—about everything, it seemed—but Parker was in no mood to think about any of that. "I already said I'd give you a raise."

"Well, that is a given," she chirped, gathering her purse and jacket from behind the counter. Parker might have been more put off by her attitude if she didn't think the girl deserved a hearty raise. Afterall, she was a little mastermind in her own right, as terrifying as that could be. "But I'd also like to have extra help, and it's no one's business if that extra help is a couple of my friends from school. I take this job seriously, you know. I wouldn't recommend her if she wouldn't be a good employee."

"You're a menace, you know that, right?"

Melissa smiled, and for the first time all day, it seemed more conniving than tired. "I'll send you her resume."

"No, no, no, that's not what I just—"

"And, anyways, she's just as big of a fan of you and Tom as I am. I mean, obviously, she's never met him, but I tell her everything. She totally ships you two. Probably not as much as I do, obviously," she trailed on, finally getting around to swipe the mascara off her cheeks as she bent even closer into Parker's space, "but she's invested. I think it's totally time you post him on your story."

"My what?"

"I mean, he already posted you. Or, you know, your store," she corrected herself, waving a hand around flippantly as if those were the same thing. And, maybe, in the mind of a teenage fangirl, they were. "Relationships are never official until it's on the page."

"We're not—"

"Have you thought about a ship name, yet?" she barreled on, completely ignoring the fact that every extra word she said was only compounded the migraine growing between Parker's temples. "Because I think Ryvers is so, totally cute, but Emily likes Parom better. Although, that sounds a little—"

"Okay, alright, that's it," Parker stood from her stool, and in the matter of seconds had shooed the teenager outside with as much decorum as she could muster. It was ruined, of course, by the bright red blush sprawling across her face like wild fire. "Goodnight, Melissa. Thank you for your help today, I will see you next week."

"But—"

"Goodbye!"

She shut the door with the jingle of the overhead bell and promptly slumped against it. A few beats passed before Melissa's boots clomped off in the direction of the bus stop, and when it fell silent outside, she glanced around. The store at night, with the main lights switched off and the crackled radio drifting from the corner, felt eerily empty after the busy day they had. And while the trash absolutely needed to be taken out, and the shelves needed to be catalogued for what she would have to put in her upcoming order, for the first time ever, Parker decided that there were some things that could wait until tomorrow.

After all, she had a boy to talk to.

---

"Are we dating?"

Tom, dressed down in some Nike sweats and a simple black tee with sleep marks red on the side of his face, blinked at Parker like she was on drugs. And, honestly, she supposed that was a fair assumption to make. After all, it was nearing midnight by the time she pulled into his driveway, unannounced, her hair mussed like a bird's nest from driving the entire way into the Hills with the windows down, and the anxious energy from the day's chaos had yet to make itself useful other than by adding a shakiness to her hands.

And while she had spent the entire drive over contemplating all the things that she wanted to ask him, the first thing that had come out of her mouth when he opened the door was that.

"What?"

Parker winced, anxiously wringing her hands together, before she pressed inside. She supposed having a mansion in the Hills meant that even the closest neighbors were too far away to hear anything, but the idea that there might be someone witnessing what likely could be considered a mental breakdown was not a comforting thought.

"I didn't mean..." she started, shaking her head, before she stooped to untie her shoes. That proved to be an impossible task with how shaky her hands, were, however, and in the end she just kicked them off with a grunt. "That wasn't what I—well, Melissa seems convinced that we are."

Parker could feel his eyes burrowing into her back, and Parker pointedly avoided eye contact as her cheeks flamed a hot red.

"Melissa," he echoed dully.

Cool, she thought to herself. Just be cool.

But the Seavers siblings were not known for their ability to play it cool, and while he drifted after her, Parker miserably tried to think of a way to explain her squirrel-brained thoughts without sounding like a lunatic.

"Well, you know, you posted me on Instagram."

"I didn't post you on my Instagram," he corrected.

And—shit. Wasn't that exactly what she had argued?

Parker was happy that her back was to him as her face flushed an even more indelicate red. It didn't help that there were lamps on all throughout the living room, orange and yellow hues of lighting casting shadows across her already warm face.

"I know, I know, and I told her exactly that, but she has it in her head that posting, well, my shop is the same thing as posting me and then she wouldn't shut up about it today. And now she wants me to hire her friend who is also convinced that we're, you know, dating, and I told her that she's—that that's not—you know..."

The knit of his brows made it painstakingly obvious that Tom didn't know, and honestly how would he? She didn't even know what she was trying to say.

"I... think I need a drink," she muttered, scurrying to the fridge where she withdrew two ice cold bottles of beer. IPAs were not her favorite by a long shot, but there were far more important things to handle, and without hesitating, Parker popped one open. A long swallow followed before she awkwardly slid the second bottle towards Tom. "Maybe I should start again."

His brows disappeared into his hairline, but the moment she met his eye Parker just knew that he was relishing in this particular conversation.

She planted her elbows on the counter, and caught her head in her hands with a whine. "I really wish that you had given me a heads-up about the post."

Whatever was smug withered and died. "A heads-up?"

"Just so I could have been more prepared, you know," she hedged, fingers nervously plucking at the wet label on her beer bottle. "Between the crowds today and my system freezing and Melissa pestering at me about our—you know—whatever, I feel like I've been running around like a headless chicken. It's been a lot to handle."

He was silent for a long moment, and by the time that she dared to glance at him he had managed to shake off any remaining sleepiness. Now, he scowled at her long and hard. "Right, well, next time I'll make sure to get your approval ahead of time. Should I have changed the picture too? Written a longer post about how much I fucking adore your shitty little store?"

Parker reared back. "Hey, it's not shitty."

"Right," he scoffed, shaking his head at her. "You know, most people would at least hold off on their complaints until after they've said thank you. Common deceny, and all that."

Parker deflated against the counter as Tom looped around the other side of the couch to sit down. There were pillows sprawled across it, a blanket pooling on the ground, and a Tom shaped indent in one of the cushions from where he had been sleeping before she showed up. When he flicked the tv off mute, Parker became increasingly aware of how poorly this conversation was going.

She took a deep breath and a long dreg of her beer before carefully seating herself on the table smack dab in his line of view. When he refused to give in, however, she took the remote out of his hand and flicked the tv off with a huff.

"Tom—"

But he wasn't having any of it, and he rolled his eyes at her so intensely that it must have hurt. "Oh, fuck. Look, if you're going to make this into some big lecture or whatever you can save us both the time and effort. I already spent the day dealing with this bullshit from Gail. I don't need it from you too."

As almost every mention of his producer did, that caught her off guard. "Gail?"

"Yeah, imagine that," he scoffed. "I try to do something nice, for once, and the first thing she does is yell at me because of it. And now you're here doing the same thing, and I don't even know what I expected, but it sure as shit isn't—"

"Why would she yell at you?" she interrupted.

He finished half of his beer in a swallow. "Why do you think?"

She wasn't sure. That was half the reason she asked the question, but when he tensed—as if preparing for that exact sort of answer—Parker's mouth snapped shut just as quickly as it had opened.

Why would Gail be upset?

Sure, she was his producer, and likely was miffed about missing out on her fee, but it wasn't like a percentage of twenty grand would have had any real impact on her salary. After all, Tom hadn't minced his words earlier when talking about how much of his yearly income went to the movie mogul. And Parker had seen her house; the woman wasn't going to be pinching pennies any time soon unless she was robbed at gunpoint. And even then she would probably benefit from her high profile connections.

Which meant if it wasn't the money that she cared about, it must have been...

Realization was a painful thing, and Parker rounded towards Tom with wide eyes. "She's upset because you did this without asking her?"

Another swallow of his beer. "I told you that I don't do stuff without asking her."

"But you did this time."

"Because she would have fucking said no," he ground out, distaste over even having to admit it obvious from his tone. "Which is fucking—I mean, it's my fucking life. I can do what I want. Should be able to, anyway. I'm the one making her money, but I do this one thing and she's all pissed off about it. You know how small that makes me feel? That she would even expect me to get permission from her?"

"Tom," she said, only to have him steamroll on.

"It's bullshit. Total bullshit."

"Tom," she tried again when he didn't seem to hear her.

But whatever floodgate he had opened wasn't closing anytime soon, and Parker felt her chest constrict. "Everything I do is because she tells me to do it. I don't even chose who I sponsor. But I do one post without her permission and get shit for it. And apparently, not just from her. Because you're here too, pissed that I didn't tell you ahead of time, and it's like no matter what I do it's—"

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing that she had to do something, Parker lurched forward to sling her arms around his neck. He went stiff beneath her touch, freezing as she attempted to pull him to her, before his hands slowly bracketed around her waist.

"What are you—?"

"I'm sorry," she muttered. Then, when that wasn't enough—because how could that ever be enough—she tightened her hold on him hoping that it might convey what she didn't know how to say. Parker shook her head into the crook of his neck, swallowing. "Fuck, Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't come over here to yell at you. I swear I didn't. I'm not even mad, I don't know why I said that thing about the heads-up, I just... I just was so overwhelmed today that I didn't know what to say or how to bring it up or thank you that I just—I just word vomited. Okay? I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry."

"Hey," he said, arms tightening around her. "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay, and he had to know that. "But it's not, Tom. You just—you just changed my life, you know? What you did... I've never had that many people in my store before, and they were lined up, and the line didn't dissipate all day! I think I sold, like, half my inventory because of you, and if that continues even for a month then I'll be able to actually finance my store and I won't have to close and... I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

She leaned back to find Tom frowning at her. "It was just a post."

"To you, and to Gail," she said, finally being able to express what she had been stewing on all day. "But to me... it's everything. I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back."

"Pay me back?"

"I mean, I could give you some of the profit, but it probably won't be much. Especially since I still have loans to pay off, and I need to get insurance, and fix the AC, and maybe even hire some new staff, but I'm sure I could give you percentage. Like, a little over time, and it definitely won't be much, but—"

She didn't realize she was rambling until Tom shook her. "I don't want you to pay me back, Park."

"But—"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head at her. One of his hands twisted into the cotton of her sweater, and for the first time that night, as he ducked his head to avoid her gaze Parker realized that maybe he was just as anxious about this entire thing as she was. "I owe you, okay. Not the other way around."

Parker couldn't think of anything more ridiculous than that, and her brows furrowed a divot into her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

He released a chuckle of disbelief, the sound low and raspy in his throat. "I know I'm an asshole. What you said when we first met, that day on the set, it pissed me off so much because... you were right, and no one else had ever bothered to tell me. I'm an asshole to staff and to the crew and to your fucking brother, but do you seriously think I'm blind to all the things that you've done for me?"

Floundering for words—and thoughts—all she could do was blink at him.

Tom glanced away, fingers wrapping themselves into her shirt, skating a burning line over her skin. "You—you're..." he started, before drifting off. Clearly, she wasn't the only person struggling to put their thoughts into words tonight, but Parker was too dumbfounded by the fact that Tom Ryder was admitting to be an asshole above all else, that she couldn't find the energy to interrupt him. "No one has ever... held me accountable before."

Even more bewildered then before, she stared at him. "And that's... a good thing? Because I thought that drove you crazy? I mean—"

"God, of course it drives me crazy," he cut her off with another chuckle. "But you do it because—because you see something in me that no one else does, you know? You see... me. Not the rich, famous me that everyone else sees and takes advantage of, but the asshole on the inside that no one else likes. Do you know how many people have found me in the bathroom like you did? Do you know how none of them have ever cared before?"

Parker's hands skated around his neck, desperate for something to hold onto, to feel, as she gently flattened them out on his chest. "You don't owe me anything for that," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't have to do this just to make up for that. I like being in your life, being your friend, your... I think more people care about you than you think, Tom."

He swallowed, and her eyes tracked the movement of his throat. "And you're the only person in my life that would say shit like that and mean it."

"Of course I mean it. I wouldn't lie to you."

"I know," he said, hands drifting further up her back, a connection that she didn't dare break as they settled into the groove of her spine. "And that's why I did it. So I don't want anything from you, alright? I just... want to give you this. Fuck Gail, fuck my social media manager, fuck all of them. Just this once I want to do something for someone else. Well, no, even that's a lie. Not for someone else, but for you."

Parker bit her lip, feeling her heart thump against her chest, and she was certain that he must have felt it too as she leaned against him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "You're—just... you're not like other girls, you know that?"

Despite the tension growing between them, the softness of the moment and the tender way he was holding her, Parker couldn't keep back a startled laugh. And when she did laugh, Tom's hands paused in their movements, brows knitting a second time as he watched her with something wary struck across his features.

"Sorry, sorry," she said almost immediately, biting her lip, only for another giggle to escape. He looked truly put off then, and she carefully skated her hands back around his neck. "I just... sorry, I'm not laughing at you. That just so sounded like a line."

The wariness vanished, replaced by irritable fondness, and his hands pressed her closer. "Yeah, well," he said, that oh-so familiar smugness of his curling his mouth upwards. "What if it was?"

"Oh?"

He shrugged, pressing on. "Lots of girls would kill to hear that kind of line from Tom Ryder, you know? You should consider yourself lucky."

"I thought I wasn't like other girls."

"You're not. No other girl has ever driven me fucking crazy like you do."

"Flattering," she snarked. But the skate of his hands was starting to ignite a nervous fluttering in her stomach, and as her nails dug into his shirt, Parker could barely maintain a sense of decorum as she smirked at him. "Well? Go on then."

"With?"

"You've given me a line. I'm interested in seeing what other sorts of moves the famous Tom Ryder has to woo the ladies. You want to show me your wine cellar? Art collection? Is there a disco ball that comes down from your ceiling if I clap?"

His entire torso shook as he laughed. "See what I mean? You're drive me fucking crazy."

"Ah, maybe, but that wasn't a no—"

Parker swore that a single kiss from Tom Ryder had the ability to set her entire body alight. Sometimes, she wondered if he felt it too; the way the pads of his thumbs would trail a burning line along her skin or how her hands got shaky as she trailed them up into his hair. His hands certainly didn't shake; not when they pulled her sweater over her head or drifted along the length of her legs, fingers dipping into the ticklish spot behind her knees, tugging her impossibly closer before moving up, up, up...

This time, there was no party to return to, no busybodies to avoid or assistants needing Tom's attention in between fittings on set, and most importantly no phone to chirp at them or brother to distract.

There was just her and him, Parker and Tom.

And when the tension between them—once ugly and mean and festering and awful, now golden and beautiful and, maybe even destined—finally broke, she realized that it wasn't so bad to have someone to drive crazy; perhaps, even, it was the spark that she had been missing.