#and i have to cross other unsafe streets to get there

[artisanalpeanutbutter]

I'm so fucking done with everything jfc

I'm short so I have to step into the bike lane to see past all the cars that are parked in the bike lane

And this time, I saw the bus juuust across the street from me. So I did what's reasonable and stepped back to the curb. Again, still in the FUCKING BIKE LANE, but directly on the curb. But the bus driver decides he has it out for me or fucking SOMETHING and swerves INTO THE BIKE LANE, AND ALMOST HITS ME. I am ONE step off the curb and have to step up so I don't get hit by the FUCKING BUS. The bus then swerves OUT of the bike lane, and to the bus stop. The driver never needed to be in the bike lane btw. I shouldn't have had to be in the fucking bike lane either but people like to park in the bike lane which makes it impossible for me to see traffic from the curb!

So now I have to walk out to see if traffic is coming from the far side of the bus. I do that. I see a car coming on the OPPOSITE SIDE of the road so I step back into the bike lane. I still can't see anything around the fucking bus, so step forward and peek my head out. I still don't see anything bc I'm short. There was actually a car coming on the opposite side of the road. I think "ok, this is fine. I can just wait next to the bus. No one in a small car is going to whip the corner". Lo and behold. A car whips around the corner where I can't see because I'm short, and makes the widest fucking turn known to man. I almost get hit by THAT car because I am stuck between the bus and the car on the opposite side of the street. I can't move forward because I'll get hit by the car going left. I can't go backward because I'll get hit by the car making a wide turn. I have my dog with me. This is not the closest I've been to being hit by a car on this corner because I can't see the traffic past any of the parked cars on this goddamn street and it's always loud on this corner due to its proximity to the highway. I BARELY DONT get hit by the turning car, and I'm free to cross the street. Fuck my life. I'm sure they think it's my fault. They should try to cross this goddamn street. There needs to be a fucking stoplight on this goddamn street. There are so many accidents on this goddamn street.

[ms-demeanor]

If you're new to me yelling about this: my neighbors feed a feral cat colony but provide no other care to the colony like neuter/spay or vaccination. They free feed the cats, which attracts skunks, and they have (at the moment) about 20 cats in the colony, which attracts coyotes.

My dog has been skunked twice, she can't be outside in our yard unsupervised for even a minute because otherwise she'll try to eat cat shit because there's cat shit everywhere in my yard because the neighbors also haven't provided litterboxes or a sandbox for their ferals (their entire yard is paved) and if she has to go outside at night I need to clear the yard for coyotes before I let her out even in the small fenced area by our bedroom.

Also there are fleas fucking *everywhere* and even though my dog is on medication to prevent fleas I need to de-flea her twice a week in the summer; this is the case for every dog owner on the street.

The street I live on has a speed limit of 25mph but I hear cats getting hit frequently, so frequently that we have a resident group of crows who hang out and wait for them to become roadkill.

I have a collection of photos on my phone that show kittens with broken legs, kittens with missing eyes, kittens with horrible ear mite infections, and I have a dedicated shovel that I use for moving cat corpses that show up on my property. The cats that die on my property die from abscessed wounds from fights with other cats, respiratory infections, renal failure, and injuries from being hit by cars.

My spouse is immune compromised, and while toxoplasmosis is not a serious risk for most people, it IS a serious risk for people who are immune compromised (as are all the other infections that cats can potentially carry), which means that it's unsafe for me to grow vegetables in my yard for us to eat and it's unsafe for him to work in the yard.

I'd love to maybe open my windows at night and keep down the electricity costs of using the AC, but I can't because the entire side of my house that faces my neighbor's yard reeks of cat shit and piss year round.

Those are my next door neighbors.

Last week I was walking my dog as a neighbor around the corner was pulling out of her garage; she paused and rolled down her window and pointed at the cats on her lawn and said "Head's up, my cats are weirdly aggressive about small dogs and they just got let out so they're full of energy right now" and I nodded and crossed the street and didn't yell at my neighbor but *the temptation was there* because A) why are you letting your aggressive animals roam and B) Why are you letting your cats shit all over the neighborhood and C) Why are you exposing your owned cats to the risks of the large and territorial feral colony that is a literal stone's throw away from your house?

Anyway, and as always, Keep Your Fucking Cats Indoors.

[baby-yongbok]

Remedies

OT8 x Reader

Genre - Comfort WC - 746

Summary - These are ways that I think the boys would help you to get over your mental and/or physical struggles Content Warning - Themes of mental and physical illness/struggles, mention of hospitals, mentions of medications/needles, mentions of food

A/N - I wrote this on my living room floor just now because I’m sick of being sick. I’m sick of being chronically ill, and I needed some comfort, so I thought I’d share it for anyone else who could use some comfort, too. I based these off of my experiences with my illnesses/disabilities. If you can relate then I just wanna say that i see you and you're strong. Keep fighting 💕+ I tried to write this to be gender neutral, I think I nailed it

✧ Masterlist ✧

Hugs from Jisung when your panic attacks have subsided. He whispers sweet praises of “You're okay” and “You're so strong” while he rocks you in his lap. You're still on the floor where he found you. His shirt soaks up every tear and his soft kisses on your forehead bandage every wound. You tell him that he can go, you apologize for causing a commotion, but he just holds you closer.

Laughing with Changbin while he tries to distract you from your symptoms flaring up. He's loud and silly on the couch with you. He's careful not to go overboard, he watches you to make sure that you're still comfortable while he makes silly voices and dances around for you. He's not ready to watch you cry yourself to sleep from the pain but he'll be ready to make you laugh again when you need it most.

Kisses from Chan while you're at your doctor's appointment. Your leg is shaking and he's soothing gentle circles into your back while he kisses your knuckles. He knows that you're scared, he is too. You have no idea what the doctor will say but he knows one thing for sure, no matter what the results are he'll be right by your side. He'll fight with you every single day and he'll kiss the pain away.

Adventures with Hyunjin when he realizes that you're avoiding going outside again. He knows that you get paranoid. He knows that every corner that you turn feels unsafe so he holds your hand. He skips across streets with you and dances on the white lines of the cross walks. He pulls you into shops that you've been too scared to visit yourself and buys you everything that you touch. He molds new memories with you with his bare hands. He'll do it everyday if he has to.

Cooking with Minho when he sees that you've been watching your diet too closely. He's gentle with you. You taste test everything together, he feeds you with silver spoons and kisses your nose with every hesitant swallow. He stands behind you while you stir the contents in the pots and plucks flour at you to see that pretty smile that he loves so much. He feeds you from his fork and he wipes away the mess. He makes it feel like it all goes down easy.

Reading with Seungmin when he comes to visit you in the hospital. He knows that you feel like you're going mad in here. He knows that you want to get up out of bed and walk out of here with him, that's what he wants too. Instead he holds your hand while you rest your head on his shoulder. He reads you each word with a softness that somehow drowns out the beeping of your monitors and the commotion on the other side of the curtain. He transports you to a place where you aren't sick. To a place where it's just you and him.

Cuddling with Jeongin when you feel that dark cloud consuming you again. He knew what was wrong when you let your alarms ring on for the third day in a row. You're huddled under blankets together, unmoving and quiet. His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer. He weighs you down to reality. He makes you feel something besides the bubbling emptiness in your chest. He hums to you when the tears start to fall. He hums and holds you tighter. He won't let you drift away.

Singing with Felix while he helps you with your medication. There's so many to take that you've been overwhelmed with it all so he puts on a playlist and grabs all your pills. He lays them out and organizes them just how you need them. He uses the TV remote as a microphone, passing it to you when he sees you staring at the medicine littering the tabletop. He has you sing for him when he gives you your injections. He makes them as quick and painless as he can, always joining you for a high note as he sticks the band-aid on for you. He spins and hugs you once you're done for the day. He doesn't have to give you any praise, you can feel the love in his touch. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his actions. He's always going to be there to make it all feel easier.

If you liked this and wanna see more of this content let me know!

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[toxicanonymity]

what abt perverted joel not being able to keep his hands off of u, like whenever hes around his friends he always gropes ur ass/tits and open mouth kisses u

Speakeasy

I ❤️‍🔥 horny Joel. Also covered a fishnets related request from Anon here, so let's see if horny Joel can control himself. . . Master List

1.5k words | NSFW 18+ unsafe PIV sex, very mild dubcon?, drinking, public/semi-public idk what else

Joel has enough trouble keeping his hands off you on a normal day, but tonight, you're wearing something that's really gonna drive him wild. It's a little number you picked up from the abandoned mall when you snuck out of the QZ while he was on a smuggling trip. He's about to leave for a longer trip, and tonight he and the boys are having a send-off at the QZ speakeasy. Joel and his friends are already there. You enter on street level at the back of the trade post and take the spiral staircase down into the dimly lit bar.

You descend the stairs slowly and Joel sees your legs before he sees the rest of you. He's already salivating by the time you step onto the floor. He clenches his jaw and gives you a casual "come here" nod. As you cross the room, he devours you with his eyes. You can tell he's already been drinking. He calls out for the man who's tending bar to get you a drink. When you reach the high-top tables by the darts, the other men try to avert their gazes as you greet each other.

You put your arms around Joel's neck and his big hands slowly slither around you, feeling your back, your waist, your thighs, and coming to rest on your ass. His fingers dig in and he pulls you into him with a soft "Mmm."

Your hand nestles in his hair affectionately and his beard tickles your jaw as he kisses your neck, lightly sucking. One of his hands drifts to your inner thigh and he plucks at the fishnets. He murmurs, “Where’d ya get these, hmm?”

“You’re up, Joel,” Jesse, yells, then looks over and says quieter, “oh, shit. sorry.” He's one of the younger, newer guys and hasn't seen you with Joel before.

You dodge the question and distract him by scratching his scalp lightly. That drives him wild. You feel his cock hard against you.

You give Joel a peck on the lips. “Knock’m dead,” you say. There’s an obvious bulge in his jeans when he goes to take his turn on darts.

"You good, man?" Tommy asks.

Joel takes his turn in silence and still does better than everyone else, even distracted.

When he’s done with his turn, he gets behind you and puts his hands on your hips, pulling your ass into the hardness in his jeans. His lips brush your ear and he lowers his voice.

"What're you try'na to do to me, hmm?"

He grinds his bulge into your ass as he wraps his arms around you. He slips a hand into your low neckline, cupping a breast. Your nipples harden and desire pools in your stockings. He puts his nose in your hair and inhales deeply.

"I'm gonna miss you," you whisper.

"Yeah," he says. His voice is soft, low and horny. "I'll be back 'fore you know it." His hand is still in your neckline for all the room to see.

"Joel," Jesse says.

Tommy looks back at you. Your face heats up and Tommy shakes his head laughing. "I don't think he's playin' anymore, fellas" Jesse looks back and his eyes go wide. You clear your throat and Joel takes his time removing his hand from your breast, then smooths your neckline down and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

"Last turn," Joel says and he leaves you for a minute. You sit down on a stool at the high-top while he's taking his turn.

The guys are ribbing him.

"Gimme a break, we're 'bout to be gone for three weeks," Joel says. Tommy slaps him on the back.

When Joel comes back to the high-top, he wastes no time sliding his hand between your legs. His fingers trace the fishnets all the way to your seam and he inhales deeply through his nose when he feels how damp you are. Then he slips a finger through one of the holes and meets your dripping wet pussy. His lips part and his eyes go dark. He rubs your clit with the side of his finger and you throb with need.

He brings his lips to your ear and his voice is a low, horny murmur. "Go wait for me at the top of the stairs, baby." He kisses you wetly on the neck then lets you slide off the stool. You straighten your dress and he pats your ass as you start in the direction of the stairs.

"Y'all have a good night," you tell the boys.

"You leavin' already?" Tommy asks with a smirk.

"Yeah, be safe out there alright?" You say.

You walk up the stone spiral stairs and stop at the top landing. You lean against the cold, stone wall and wait for Joel. He has the darkest look on his face as he climbs the stairs and your eyes gravitate to the protrusion in his jeans.

When he gets to the landing, you turn to walk out the door with him, but he grabs your hip and spins you back around. Then he steps between your feet and walks you backwards into the wall, pinning you there with his arousal as his lips hungrily latch onto yours and his tongue thrusts into your mouth. He forcefully pulls your dress and bra down on one side, then brings his mouth to your breast.

You say, "I worry 'bout you, baby."

He releases your nipple with a sucking sound.

"Don't you worry 'bout a thing right now," he says, and pulls you off the wall and into his arms.

He hikes up your dress and rubs your throbbing warmth through the front of your stockings as his other hand holds your ass. He breathes heavily, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He reaches both hands under you, digs his fingers into the fishnet holes, and pulls. The rip of fabric startles you and you feel the chill of air between your legs. The cool air also carries the sound of the guys being rowdy downstairs.

You ask, "Here? We're not going home?" Someone could walk through the door or up the stairs at any moment.

"Can't wait, sugar"

You look around hesitantly. He backs you into the wall and the stone is freezing on your ass. You wince. "On the wall?" You ask.

"You wanna ride?" He nods at the stairs. "cause that's your other option. 'less you wanna get on all fours." The steepness of the stairs is too scary.

He kisses you passionately and rubs you just right with one hand while he unbuckles his belt with the other. You can no longer wait either.

Joel urgently frees his massive hard-on from his tight jeans and strokes it a few times, then he hooks his hand under your knee and you wrap a leg loosely around him. He leans in you and aligns his cock at your entrance, then plunges into you with a grunt that slightly echoes. He breathes heavy, slowly rocks back, then plunges into you again and you sigh softly as you're joined completely. Nothing feels as good as him inside you. You wanna cry thinking about him leaving for three weeks. He can see it on your face.

He continues a slow but powerful rhythm as he says, "y'know I worry 'bout you too, baby–" he cuts himself off with a grunt. "take my cock so good, I dunno how you go without it," he half-whispers. "sometimes, I wanna bring ya. do it fuckin' everywhere." He looks you in the eyes then kisses you passionately as he keeps thrusting into you and your body lifts against the wall with his momentum. The men are still yucking it up downstairs. "sometimes I wanna go," you say. "Too dangerous," he says, and you feel your climax getting closer every time he fills you up. He's hitting your g-spot just right. He sucks your neck and you fail to suppress a moan. The hubbub briefly pauses downstairs then there's quiet laughter and they start talking again.

You take a deep breath as you feel yourself on the edge.

"Imma be hungry when I get home, baby. . ."

He grunts again with a powerful thrust, and you see stars. You clench around his cock and float in another realm, pulsing, pounding, savoring the last minute of him inside you because he's never far behind. When you open your eyes his face looks in agony. One more pump and he erupts inside you. "Fill me up, baby," you say, hand in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. His groan echoes off the stone as he pulses into you, and your climax continues as his hot seed coats your walls. When he finishes, you sigh, and it's totally silent aside from both of you breathing heavily.

A few seconds later, there's quiet laughter again and the guys get back to it.

-

Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione

[norrizzandpia]

She Doesn’t Know Who I Am (LN4)

Summary: Lando’s in New York and no one knows who he is. Especially the girl who asks for his number.

Warnings: nothing really, the vaguest inference to alcohol consumption? If that, man, but lmk if i missed any ofc

Lando was always weary of the United States. From the intrusive people to the crazed, horrific politics, he always tried to stay away. However, once a year, or season, he had an obligation to make an appearance in one of the fifty maniacal states. This year, the region in which would be graced with his chaotic presence was that of New York.

Y/n was the typical college student, ruthless and stupid as she went through her days at NYU. Crazy parties and a lack of sleep filled her days as she struggled to get through her second to last year in school. While part of her hated the way New York operated and how unsafe she felt, there was nothing like the beauty of the city. Her whole life had been spent in a small town where she felt trapped and alone, but in the big city, she felt a part of something, almost as if she was finally contributing to something. What she was contributing to, she didn’t know, but, in her mind, that didn’t really matter.

What did matter, however, was her friends dragging her out of bed and forcing her to go out with them whilst on two hours of sleep.

“I can get bagels literally any day. Please,” She put her hands in prayer as she pleaded with her best friend, “Paige, let me go back to bed.”

Paige looked back at her as if she had grown three heads, “No way. You go back to bed now, you’ll sleep all day and then be screwed up tomorrow. Then, you’ll complain about your sleep schedule being off and get mad at me for not waking you up. This is a much easier Y/n to deal with, thank you very much.”

Her response seemed to shut Y/n up as she hung her head low and trotted behind her brunette friend.

—

The walk to the bagel place had been longer than usual as they ran into George, a homeless man who lived at the end of their street and they had come to love. He had been there since the moment they moved in, coming and going as he moved to different places to sleep. After a few years of becoming friends with him, they learned he was a veteran who came back with severe PTSD, and, in turn, had to deal with tumultuous debts for his tries to stop the depressing spiral. While he had successfully gotten over the painful flashbacks, he never came back from the money he owned, the main reason why he ended up on the streets. The girls had found sympathy for the man and whenever he was there, sitting at the end of their block, they gave him fifty dollars each, whether they were struggling with their own financial burdens or not.

His smile had sent them into the rest of their breakfast with happier attitudes as Y/n’s annoyance for being conscious disappeared. However, they returned for the entire duration they spent waiting in the long line in the cramped, stuffy deli. Nonetheless, once she had scarfed down her bagel sandwich and chugged some water, she found life to be much lighter.

—

Lando, on the other hand, had been wandering around Central Park aimlessly with Max and a few other McLaren PR employees. The group had been out shooting content for both the racing company and his own company, Quadrant. Checking out different sights and throwing middle fingers up when they crossed the Trump building, the two boys found themselves having lots of fun in the country they thought so little of.

“Maybe this shit isn’t that bad?” Max chuckled as they stared at the lake that stretched across the park, a piano sounding lightly behind them from a street performer.

Lando nodded, liking the way no one was recognizing him and he could just be, “Yeah, maybe it’s just the politics that dampens the whole thing.”

—

“I’ll seriously never get over how stunning it is in here,” Y/n whispered as she and Paige strolled through a particularly secluded area of Central Park.

“Mhm, me neither.” Paige smiled as the two girls cherished the moment together.

Y/n turned her head to catch the brunette’s brown eyes, “Ever think about what would have happened if we never met?”

Paige pulled a look, “Absolutely not. That sounds like hell.”

“You’re not wrong.” Y/n laughed, “But, seriously, like, how would we even be surviving right n-”

Her abrupt stop to her sentence had Paige turning to look at the girl. With Y/n’s jaw dropped and cheeks ablaze, she followed her best friend’s eyeline, stumbling upon two boys who looked about the same age as them.

“Wow.” Y/n said aloud as she stared, mesmerized, at the man.

“Which one are you looking at?” Paige tried to decipher.

“Brown curls,” Y/n responded immediately, allowing her best friend to finally hone in on the boy of her friend’s choosing.

Paige smiled softly as she pictured Y/n with the boy standing in front of them, a cute couple they would be.

“He’s cute. Go ask for his number!” Paige said excitedly as she pushed Y/n in the direction of the particularly striking young man.

Y/n instantly paled, “What?! No way! Absolutely not!”

“Why?! Y/n, you literally haven’t dated anyone since freshman year. Come on, you’ll never even see him again if he rejects you. Please? For me, at least?” Paige pleaded, giving her best friend a look that she couldn’t turn away.

Huffing, Y/n began walking away, muttering, “The things I do for you.”

—

Y/n first caught Lando’s eye in his peripheral. The quick flash of y/h/c had him turning around to quickly glance at the newfound presence.

He almost lost his footing at the sight of her.

Black leggings and a sweatshirt never looked so good on someone as she approached him. His eyes were followed by Max, the boy laughing at a Lando who was clearly very taken by the girl coming up to them.

“If she asks to take a picture, I’m going to be so devastated,” Lando whispered as she smiled at them, the sight making him want to melt to the ground and beg her to go out with him.

It dawned on him that he didn’t even know her name yet, but that was a passing thought as she came to stop in front of him.

“Hi,” She stared up at him, clearly nervous, “My friend is forcing me to do this, so don’t think I’m doing this willingly.”

Her next few words Lando was already preparing himself for. Either her sentence could send him into a euphoric orbit or she could crush his dreams by being a fan.

She took a deep breath, Lando smiling at her cute demeanor, before she continued, “I just thought you were really cute and thought that, maybe, I could get your number? My name’s Y/n, by the way.”

Max was quick to jump infront of his lovestruck friend, not trusting the girl’s intentions.

“Sorry, he doesn’t give out his number.” He shot out, Y/n grimacing as she took in the embarrassment.

“Is he a celebrity or something?” She tried to recover with jokes, but it just made the faces of the two boys pale more.

The one that she liked, the one with the soft curls, stepped in front of his friend as he shook his head, “No, no. He’s just overprotective,” He sent his friend a threatening gaze, “I’m Lando and I would love to give you my number.”

Y/n was too caught up in the meaning behind Lando’s look to catch the way he was staring down at her, brown eyes big and round as he shot her a toothy grin. Their eyes met, and she flushed under his stare.

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she quickly got out her phone, “Oh, cool! Here you go.”

Lando’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed in his work phone number, not his personal. While he wanted to trust in her cluelessness, he couldn’t be that reckless.

Sliding her phone back to her in a way that allowed for their fingers to brush against each other, Y/n beamed triumphantly, something Lando knew he was going to grow to love.

She stood there for a few moments before nodding her head and beginning her walk back to her friend, “I’ll call you soon. We’ll figure something out.”

Lando nodded eagerly at her, a sign that he liked her just as much as she liked him. When her figure was a dot in the distance, Max turned to him and smacked him on the chest, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!? You can’t just shovel out your number like that! That was way too dangerous, Lando.”

His stern lecture had Lando rolling his eyes, “Max, two things. 1) I gave her my work phone, and 2) I’m willing to bet my seat in McLaren that she has no clue who I am.”

His best friend shifted on his feet as he looked at him, “You really think so?”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. I’ve seen fans try to play it cool, and even then, when they outwardly say they know my favorite flavor of ice cream, I can tell they’re freaking out on the inside. Her nerves seemed more to be the type of just asking a random stranger out rather than meeting her idolized driver.”

Max shook his head, “If you insist.”

—

Paige smiled proudly at her best friend as they began making their way out of the park, “So, what was his name anyway?”

Y/n thought hard for a moment before guessing, “Land? Lanyard? Something like that. I can’t remember. I was too caught up in his biceps to comprehend anything he was saying to me. I just hope he isn’t a murderer.”

NOTE: lmk if you guys want me to make a part 2 to this where they go out on a few dates and a month in or so she finds out or he tells her (something roughly like that)

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.5 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

FINAL CHAPTER

pt 4 - (this a continuation, you must read every part for prior knowledge)

summary - it might be the last time you see the man who helped you write your biology report.

warnings - awkwardness, TINY fallout, i think spencer himself should be a warning but 🤷‍♀️

genre - college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!reid, fluffy, slight angst

a/n - last part. thank you for the support, seriously could not be more thankful. this was originally going to be a debut oneshot, and now i’ve got the longest taglist i’ve ever had and more followers than i could imagine. i hope you enjoy this last part, i hope it lives up to what you wanted it to be ❤️

spencer folds up the steel ladder and places it in the damp, cold storage room in the back of the convenience store. he watches you lock the whining store up before you meet eyes and he takes a step back. an invitation to walk with him, which you happily accept.

his hair is messier, and under the umbrella you stole from the store, the muted streetlight highlights his brown eyes to turn them golden. hidden freckles pop out in places, eyelashes seem delicate and dance-like.

simply beautiful.

spencer grabs you by the elbow and pulls you to him slightly, looking down at the concrete pathway. you look down and back, only then noticing the massive puddle you were one step away from.

his fingers slide off as you smile at him as a thanks. you elbow burns.

a letter you received a few days ago reminds you of a ticking clock and you suddenly feel a rush of adrenaline. you clear your throat before starting, “when will i know more about you?”

spencer placed his hand in his pocket, other hands fiddling with the umbrella. “when you ask more questions,” he answers with a nervous smile.

you nod, arms crossing. “cats or dogs?”

“both?”

you glare but accept it and continue, “how many siblings do you have?”

“0. why does this matter? why do you want to know more about me?”

“well you already know how many siblings i…” you stop in your tracks, and he looks you up and down concerned. “spencer… i never told you i have a brother.”

a wave of anxiety takes over you, eyes wandering the man, heart beating at an alarming rate. you felt like a switch had been flipped in you by the revelation.

he blinks and takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with you once you raise your head. “how did you know my brothers name was ricky, spencer?”

the stranger shuddered at the vermin you attached to his name in confusion. he fumbled over his thoughts, looking around before he felt the umbrella get snatched from his hands. you steps splashed and echoed down the empty mornings street. but all the man could hear was a breaking heartbeat.

you shook the white umbrella off before stepping out of the small elevator, jumping in fright when you were met by logan’s blushed face. and a certain blonde man’s as well. your eyes danced between the both of them, ricky’s hair a mess, before you rolled your eyes and shoved a brass key in your paint-chipped apartment door.

“y/n, what happened?” logan called anxiously.

“i’ll tell you in the morning.” you opened your door.

“technically it’s-“

“shut it, ricky. and fix your hair before anyone else sees you.”

the slam of your door echoed down the apartment hallway, but not in your dark apartment. suddenly your home was quiet and lonely, drab and wet. a drizzle started outside and before you could feel bad you took the umbrella from spencer, you reminded yourself that you had nearly fallen for a stranger.

you dropped your keys on the kitchen counter and headed to your bathroom, rubbing your tired hands over your face in disbelief.

your heart wouldn’t stop yelling in your ears, you felt unsafe in your own home.

and yet the person who caused you to feel endangered was the only person you wanted to comfort you.

you couldn’t forget about spencer, even when he didn’t show up for 5 days.

every time the bell rang at the opening of the store’s door, you glanced up immediately. wanting? yearning? fear? you didn’t know, you never knew. the woman who had the shift before you was out the door before you could talk, though you were somewhat thankful. these days you wanted everything but to talk to people.

as soon as you sat down, pulled the company vest over your purple sweater, and grabbed the sticky note left by the previous worker - isla, or isabelle, her name tag was old - a lady in bright pink layers and bright pink hair clips stomped towards the counter.

great, you thought, two minutes into the shift and i’ve already got a complaint. you should’ve expected it, as it seemed an unlucky streak was beginning.

she placed her loudly coloured purse on the counter and suddenly- smiled?

“y/n?” her voice was sweet, high, like a hug.

“yes?”

and then it dropped, and she placed her hands delicately but passive-aggressively on the counter top.

“first off i would like to say, you are a gorgeous woman, and you work purple like no other- but your actions?”

you had no idea where this was going.

“my boy is sad because of you. he worked hard to start talking to you, to keep talking to you and oh, because i got excited my little genius might have a love interest in his little comic book of craziness you get all, ew he knows everything about me and i know nothing about him and i-. oh. yeah that is creepy.”

you nod, it’s about spencer.

“he is an amazing agent,”

agent?

“and he incredibly smart, and he’s a little cutie! spencer likes you very much, i thought he was going insane when he would suddenly start smiling out of no where while looking at crime scene photos.”

crime scene?

“he did not ask me to do a background check on you, that is completely my fault. i was feeling very protective and wanted to make sure he wasn’t being catfished somehow or tricked into a cult- which isn’t that far from what we deal with everyday-“

“everyday?”

“yeah well- oh.” she covers her pink lips, “oh honey. he didn’t tell you what he does for a living?”

an old couple and two teenagers were eavesdropping now. you nearly forgot you were working.

“he told me he couldn’t say… he’s an agent?” you fiddled with the forgotten note and furrow your eyebrows.

“fbi.”

you felt like you had lost half your body you felt so light, so free. you let yourself smile for the first time since last night, and place a hand over your mouth. spencer likes you very much. finally something made sense.

“that’s why he knew my brothers name?”

“i am so sorry, i totally over stepped and he is like a baby giraffe when it comes to girls. which doesn’t say much because you’re like the first girl he’s been interested in like,” she starts counting on her finger before you interrupt.

“it’s okay. you can tell spencer i forgive him, or something like that. i’m like a baby giraffe as well.” you say repeating her simile back at her.

she giggles at the connection and picks up her purse, smile wide on her sunny face.

“you can tell him later, they come home from arizona tonight.”

you locked the store doors, heart thudding as your count down was ticking down. you had just finished your last shift.

taking a few steps back, crossing your arms to huddle in the knitted sweater, your eyes wandered over the familiar store.

the store’s name in bright fluorescents, the security doors that didn’t actually have a working sound alarm (nobody but the employees knew), the weeds in the pavement and the flickering street lamp just to the left. so many conversations happened under that light, it seemed to be convenient.

“y/n?”

you spin on your feet, a breeze of all too familiar cologne greeting you before the sight of the tall man. his face was air washed, slightly blushed and smooth but chiseled. brown hair waved in front of his eyes in the misty breeze, a purple scarf warming his neck on top of an untidy suit. he was simply handsome. so goddamn handsome.

his eyes wandered your presence. his favourite colour on you, your hair pushed back into a loose ponytail with the two pieces at the front falling out, the cold air reddening your nose. you were unforgettable to him.

“hi spencer.”

he sighed with relief at the sound of his name, no anger attached, only longing. he slowly approached you, fully taking your attention away from the store. “you’re not angry at me any more, for stalking you?”

you smirked, “technically you didn’t stalk me.” he raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “i talked with one of your friends.”

“penelope.” you nodded, the name matching the face perfectly. he smiled to himself and took another step forward, a metre away. “i’m sorry i didn’t try to stop her, and for listening to her when i didn’t.” he replied, sincerity evident through the slightly pained expression he looked at you with.

“it’s fine, spence.”

spencer held his breath for a second, the nickname seeming so special and seamless coming from your mouth. you glanced back at the store, a pang of sadness hitting you before you rocked on your feet. “i should probably get home.”

“no!” spencer winced at his voice, hand reached out and hovering unconsciously, “sorry, you can- i’m not- uh. you should totally-“

“spencer i’m not going to be working here anymore.” you interrupt, receiving a surprised expression in return. “i got an offer to work in a lab with one of the top researchers in my course. so,” you thinned your lips and closed your eyes for a second in an attempt to call on some courage, “i really really need you to ask me out. right now. or i’m totally going to embarrass myself and attempt to do it, and i really don’t think you want that- trust me i do not have any-“

“i’ll ask you out then.” he took a smaller step forward, you adjusted your head to look up. he was so tall. “right now.” you gulped, he fiddled with his fingers with his eyebrows furrowed. it brought out those lines that were permanent not too long ago. “which by the way, you have every right to say no to this question. a-and i was really hoping we would be in a brighter and cleaner- and more romantic- place right now but with the circumstances and how i kind of told you i was going to do this anyways, i feel like i owe you it to you right now and i want to as well um-“

you stepped forward, chests centimetres apart. you could feel his breath on yours as you placed a hand on the previously bruised cheek, other hand grabbing him by the purple scarf, bringing him down softly to meet you in the middle.

“i’ll go out with you, spencer.” you whisper into his lips.

you smiled before kissing him lightly, his hands stopping for a millisecond before one appeared on your waist and the other on your rosy cheek. his heartbeat was thumping in his ears, a rush of happiness causing a wide smile to mix into the kiss. you couldn’t help but mirror it. you pulled away, returning flat on your feet as spencer followed, neck craning before taking his own breath.

“you will?” spencer croaked, cheeks and ears reddening. you nodded feverishly, “that’s great- that’s um.” his hand dropped to your arm, eyes wandering over your face in disbelief he actually pulled this whole thing off. sorta.

maybe it was the fact he would’ve never seen you again that scared him into mumbling, maybe it was the fact he had been yearning for weeks now. maybe it was the fact you admitted you were going to ask him out anyways, maybe it was a biology report you needed help with.

“walk me home, spence?” you grinned, dropping your arm to link with his, body heat embracing the two of you. he turned with you, steps becoming slowly synchronised. and although he had to awkwardly bend his arm at the unfamiliarity at the gesture, spencer felt more comfortable than he could ever imagine.

“so, bookstore? weekend?” he asked sheepishly, looking down at you.

“sure thing.” you reply, bringing him closer and squeezing his arm in happiness.

spencer, definitely nerdy enough.

you hid behind spencer’s kitchen counter, glancing over at emily, garcia and jj and copying their cheeky grins. having your boyfriend work with a found family had its perks, especially when they accept you instantly.

aaron hotchner, the man you had grown less afraid of over the months, was peeling out of spencer’s bedroom door, before he quickly moved out of sight.

the door rattled, it clicked, it opened.

“happy birthday!!!” everyone screamed. spencer was rigid but stood with a great smile, cheeks red and eyes wide.

“hey guys.” he croaked in surprise.

you slowly walked to him with his birthday cake as morgan slipped a birthday hat on the younger man.

spencer looked at you with stars in his eyes, hands itching to hug you like he usually does when he sees you. you placed the cake down, gave him a peck on the cheek and told him, “make a wish, spence.”

and he blew out the candles promptly. and he wished a million wishes. most if not all, being about you.

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @anuncalledbridge @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @screechingphantommaker @c-losur3 @ackermans-angel @lovelyygirl8 @random-kimmy @leabunny @cultish-corner @doigettokeepyou @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @wenttohogwarts @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @drewsandsebastianswife @hoeshissworld @flow33didontsmoke @bookworm124 @violetvsworld @amethyst-marie368 @lizzyk137 @so-chill-mochill @fwzco @queermaxwooo @willywowka @jasf444 @trashmonstersara @amortencjja @belsreid @redmurderbaby @ilikw @v1ckycheesue @scarlettssub @fictionlurker @momooooca @yaboohah @phiadc @the1eyedmonster16 @hinataboke

[birdofmay]

Whenever I see the discourse about disability stalls I'm like "You guys didn't have your physical disability all your life and it shows" because I've been using the disability stall all my life and therefore have seen people entering or coming out of it all my life. It's not a philosophical question for me, it's just a normal fact. I KNOW who uses the disability stall.

I know that it's different when you have a progressive disability or suddenly became physically disabled/impaired as a teen or adult and were told "This is for wheelchair users" all your life and then later learned "Alright, it's also ok for cane users" and then at some point "Well, some people need a hook for their stoma, they're allowed too." You have to constantly adjust your "worldview" about for whom disability stalls are made then.

But whenever I need to pee and someone with no visible disability aids and no carer leaves the bathroom, we just nod in passing and that's it.

And if there's a long queue, those with incontinence who need to change so that they don't stay wet for a long time are let go first. Or those who let us know that it's really very urgent for whatever reason. No questions asked.

When I first realised that this is a real discourse on here I was so confused because I wasn't aware that people who weren't "significantly" disabled all their life have different opinions on that. It's as if you've been crossing the street when the light is green all your life, and suddenly people argue that this light is only for people in green clothes because the "man" is green. And then they say that alright, it's also ok for others as long as you have the shape of the "green man", i.e. don't wear skirts. And later they agree that animals are ok too, as long as they accompany a human.

And you just look at them, absolutely confused, because you learned that it's for those who want to cross the street safely, nothing more nothing less.

Maybe it started because some of us were complaining about people who can use a normal toilet misusing the disability stall. But that doesn't mean "Leave if your disability isn't obvious", it means "Stop occupying the only toilet we can use for your lunch break."

If you can't use a normal toilet, or if the normal toilets are inaccessible/are unsafe, use the disability stall. But please use it only for things it's made for.

That's it. That's really it.

If you're blind and the public toilets are inaccessible, use the disability stall; especially if you can't hear your white cane in crowded public toilets. The sinks usually have sensors, so you don't have to touch too much dirt or accidentally get water all over you. Use the handrails for orientation and balance. You have access to the complete roll of toilet paper, not just one or two strips. You won't accidentally scratch your hand on dispensers.

As long as you only use it for things it's made for, use the disability stall. Just make sure that people who may need it more can go first. How? Just ask.

[ariseur]

Cloud strife x reader parent edition? (Denzel is the kid y'all have.)

Also love your work omfg

you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen denzel smile this wide.

an empty lot in the center of edge now adorned a small playground littered with kids. although some of the equipment was made from the debris of midgar, the kids seemed to love it nonetheless. after marlene had begged you to take her, you had finally given in to her pleas and decided to check the place out with her.

various giggles erupted from a group of kids playing tag while you watched marlene run away from denzel, holding out a beckoning hand as she pitter-pattered away. a soft smile of your own etched itself on your face as you put a hand on denzel’s shoulder while he fiddled with his hands, unsure of whether to follow or not.

he looked up at you, eyes blue like the midday skies. you’d always remind him how nice his eyes were, how it looked like there were stars in them with all the lightly colored flecks in the irises, to which he’d look away and cross his arms in embarrassment.

you looked back in marlene’s direction, nodding your head towards where she now sat on the seesaw and waved denzel over. “go on,” you said, “it’s alright.”

he looked around for a moment, and you didn’t blame him considering he was an orphan and had known nothing else than being on the streets from such a young age. your smile turned bittersweet as denzel observed his surroundings carefully before giving marlene a soft smile and running to the other end of the seesaw, the colorful metal sticking out against the dull atmosphere of the city.

you hugged your arms for at least some warmth as you watched denzel finally laugh in what felt like forever. it was like a breath of fresh air hearing the children’s laughter and squeals as a some of them played tag, others sat on the stone curbs drawing figures and shapes into the sandbox.

“he looks happy.” you hear a monotone voice appear from next to you, one that you know could only belong to cloud strife.

you flashed him a soft grin, “yeah, he needs this.” you responded sweetly. cloud never understood how you were so good with kids. he never understood how you were so good with people— in general. mako-infused eyes followed denzel’s movements, his curls bobbing up and down with him while he played with marlene on the seesaw, squeals erupting from both of them as sometimes they’d get too close to falling off.

arms tightening around yourself, you tried to stay warm. “he’s been through a lot.” you finally say, feeling cloud’s eyes on you. he had an intense stare with the way his eyebrows furrowed and lips press together in a pout.

“haven’t we all.” cloud mumbled, frown tugging at his lips as he looked back out to all the kids playing.

you put a hand on his shoulder cautiously, giving him enough time to pull away if he needed to. your hand was feather light against his bare shoulder, only slightly covered with his sleeveless turtleneck. “he really looks up to you, though.” you smiled at him. why was he feeling warm? is this normal? “so, i think we’ve done a pretty good job.”

cloud hums quietly as a form of acknowledgment before resting a hand on his hip, eyes still trained on denzel. maybe it was just due to how unsafe these streets used to be. maybe it’s because he’s so used to the despair that clouded the streets after the geostigma grew stronger, it’s such a contrast seeing joy for what feels like the first time in forever.

you leaned closer to cloud as you slowly rested your head on his shoulder, your hand drifting down to his bicep. you felt him stiffen, making a small noise of surprise as he fixed his posture.

“is this okay?”

cloud carefully looked down at you before looking back up at the kids. denzel was now on the slide, marlene urging him to come down from the bottom. cloud huffed as he crossed his arms, still letting you lay on him. he knew you wouldn’t let go anytime soon, he knew you’d save him from the grief that withered away at him. that mission to nibbelheim was traumatic enough, his memory never let him forget the horrors that went on in his home village. he never admitted it, but he enjoyed your presence even if you both were doing nothing.

“yeah.” he mumbled, “i guess i’m okay with it.”

you smiled, “losing that hard edge now, are you?”

“alright now, shut up.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ this request was actually so cute tho, baby denzel didn’t deserve all that he was only seven ☹️☹️

kiss kiss 💋

[rottenpumpkin13]

more dad friend Angeal and mom friend Genesis pls I need floof 🥺

Angeal And Genesis Parenting Sephiroth Headcanons

• Genesis brushes Sephiroth's hair for him when he's too exhausted or can't muster up the energy to. He makes Sephiroth sit on the bed and takes slow, gentle strokes so that he doesn't hurt him. Sometimes he'll talk softly, others he'll hum or quote a poem.

Sephiroth likes the way Genesis braids his hair over when he does it himself. There's no difference, but Sephiroth claims "it feels better."

• Sephiroth thinks he's being a rotten friend when he steals Angeal's hoodies. He still hasn't caught on that they're all his exact size and preferred style, and will probably never find out that Angeal buys them specifically for him to "steal."

• Genesis likes to eat apples around Sephiroth so he can share it with him. He doesn't think his friend eats enough fruit, and is more than happy to sit with him, cut up pieces with his pocket knife and hand them to him one by one.

• They always put Sephiroth in the middle when they're sitting together.

• This extends to their sleepovers, where Sephiroth sleeps in the middle, sandwiched between them.

• Whenever Genesis and Angeal go grocery shopping (together or alone) they remember to buy Sephiroth snacks he likes and to keep their cupboards stocked with his favorite things. It's one of the many ways they make sure Sephiroth eats since he's prone to forgetting to feed himself.

• Angeal hugs him and doesn't pull away first.

• Angeal likes to cook, Genesis likes to bake on occasion. Sephiroth can cook, but he's not nearly as adept as the other two. Angeal and Genesis share the kitchen sometimes making dinner and dessert respectively.

Sephiroth helps by chopping and stirring things—that is, when he's not sitting on the counter and watching them. Genesis gives him the spoons to lick. Angeal lets him taste things to make sure he likes them.

• Genesis once bought him an "adult" coloring book to see if it would help with stress. He didn't expect Sephiroth to finish it within the week. "Coloring book for Seph" is now a permanent item on his shopping list and he makes sure to check whenever they're running out.

• They will never embarrass Sephiroth by grabbing his hands to cross the street. But Sephiroth walks too fast and often impatiently crosses the street before the light turns green (he has social anxiety to thank for that). So they've developed the habit of walking on either side of Sephiroth and keeping him close, gently nudging him with their arms.

• One time Hojo insisted on keeping Sephiroth overnight to monitor his mako levels. Genesis and Angeal heard this and didn't think twice before going to R&D to stay with him. Sephiroth figured it was the shock of seeing the two SOLDIERs show up at 1 AM that killed Hojo's protests. The three of them sat on a cold metal slab table for hours—with Sephiroth in the middle.

The sound of beeping monitors were drowned out by soft laughter, conversation, and a half-hearted game of Queen's Blood. Eventually Genesis and Angeal fell asleep, slumped on Sephiroth's shoulders. In that moment, Sephiroth forgot what it was like to feel unsafe in the labs.

• Genesis always keeps a spare hair tie or two in his pocket in case Sephiroth needs it.

• Sephiroth once fell asleep on the couch in Angeal's office one night when they were going over assignment details. Angeal knew how little sleep Sephiroth had been getting lately, so he opted to carry him back up to his apartment. Thank the goddess that the only person he ran into was Genesis, who followed them back and made a fuss of getting Sephiroth's bed ready for him.

• One time Gen and 'Geal are standing in line at a store. The lady in friend of them makes an offhand comment about how she's glad her child isn't with her to ask for something from the candy display.

Genesis: Tell me about it.

Angeal: What is it with kids and mediocre candy?

Lady: Oh! You two have a child?

*Genesis and Angeal look over and see Sephiroth excitedly coming towards them. He has a box of limited edition materia lollipops in his hands*

Genesis: Close enough.

[livingbreathingdreams]

❤︎ Lemon Over Ice

Pairing: Bartender!Captain Syverson x f!Reader

Summary: Sy just wants to adore you.

Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff, some allusions to violence, alcohol consumption.

A/N: This one is inspired by Adore You by my sweet sweet man Harry. It’s a little rough around the edges but I’m just playing around right now. I hope you’re having a nice day 🧡

//

It was packed and loud at the Drink & Jive, like on every other Friday night. Sy was behind the bar like always, drawing beer on tap and pouring whiskey and Jäger shots. His usual customers did not really expect much when it came to liquor, as long as it was cold and cheap.

“Drink & Jive” what a ridiculous name, she had never liked it but right now it seemed especially obnoxious to her. The flickering neon sign in the door declaring to the world that the bar was open. When she came in someone was playing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen on the old juke box in the back. Which almost made her snort at the irony. “I’m having a good time.” Yeah, right.

Slamming her card down on the counter she made eye contact with the burly man behind the bar when she told him to “Make something sweet and strong,” and to “Keep the tap open.” He slung the dishtowel, he had been using to wipe down the counter, over his left shoulder raising an eyebrow, because she usually just ordered a glass of wine and home fries; but he said nothing.

Her pink wide-legged pants were wet from the bottom up, and the rain had made a mess of her probably once neatly tied-up hair. The colour of the bright strawberry red lipstick looked far too joyful compared to her facial expression. If it wasn’t for the rain he maybe would have thought that she had cried before she came in. The spark that she usually had in her eyes was gone and the wanted to punch whoever was responsible for that right in the face.

She watched him cut and squeeze a lemon, pour simple syrup and Tanqueray. Ice and a lemon slice in a glass. Pouring the contents of the cocktail shaker over it and topping it off with some club soda. His hands were surprisingly delicate for their size. Thick dark hair and dark tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt. She always liked watching him work, but today it was more a desperate attempt to distract herself from what had just happened.

“Gin Fizz. It’s sweet but still classy.” When they first made eye contact that day it was intense. His stormy blue eyes, keeping her gaze captive, and yet she didn’t feel the unsettling feeling of dread that creeps up your back and spreads between your ribs when a man is staring at you and makes you feel unsafe without even saying a word. It felt nice and warm.

Vodka shots and the bowl of sesame pretzel sticks he put in front of her and she ate, even though she told him she wasn’t hungry. She knew they must have been from his personal stash because he brought them from the back and usually the bar only served salted peanuts.

When there was finally a short break between orders he casually leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, which made him look even bigger, if that was even possible. “So, what happened?”

“I’ve been stood up. I was sitting there at that pretentious whatever fusion restaurant down the street, which he picked. And I drank chardonnay after chardonnay until I finally accepted the reality that he wasn’t going to come anymore and had to get out of there. The way the waitress was looking at me, like she knew exactly what had happened made it even worse.”

He wanted to touch her. His fingers along her cheek, his hand on hers. Because he’s never been good with words and touch was the only way he could think of making her feel better. She didn’t deserve feeling like this, unwanted. Because he wanted her. With all his being and yet he only ever saw her when she came into the dimly lit bar, sat down at the counter, and after the first glass of wine started talking about the third graders she was teaching, what she had bought at the farmers market and her friends’ horrible Tinder dates.

“You know Sy, you’re the only stable male presence in my life. I can always count on you being here and you always listen to me and you're always nice to me.” At this point, her speech was a little slurred but he could tell she was being sincere. That was the last drop in the bucket that gave him the courage to do what he did next. He pushed himself off the counter and took her hands into his. “You should let me take you out. I will show you how you should be treated if you let me. I would never stand you up.”

She just sat there and looked at him, with her mouth slightly agape for a few seconds, and then the first real shy little smile of the night spread across her face. Then he could see her wavering again. “But I don’t want you to do this out of pity.” He dipped his head down a little to be at eye level with her and looked directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You are the nicest, most genuine, sweetest person I know. I’ve liked you ever since the first time you came in here and sat down on that chair. I would be honoured to take you out.”

Apparently, she believed him because she turned her hands in his, palm up and squeezed back. “Okay, Captain. I'll let you take me out.”

[morningberriesao3]

Dom!King!Steve Harrington X Sub!Eddie Munson

Get High, Go Down: a series of “next time”s

Summary: Steve doesn’t have any money on him, so he offers to pay Eddie some other way.

Word Count: 3.6K

Part: 1 of 4

A/N: this series was one of the first things I posted on ao3, so i want to apologise for any incorrect grammar/awkward delivery. i’ve come a long way since then in my writing (i’m still learning everyday), but this was still received really well 🥹 so as a throwback, she’s joining the realm of tumblr. thank you to anyone who reblogs, comments, likes, messages, or tags me in posts or challenges (even if sometimes I don’t do them ‘cause i’m too nervous lmao). I thrive off interaction so ilu all sm.

Content Warning: this series includes explicit m/m sexual content including oral sex, dom/sub undertones, light S&M, under-negotiated kink, pain play, nipple play, anal play, anal sex, rimming, multiple orgasms, cum & spit play (a lot of wet and messy things), spit kinks, pain kinks, praise kinks, semi-public sex, light feminization, switching, unsafe sex, and impact play. Excessive swearing. Recreational drug use and drinking. All characters are—and always will be—18 or older, whether stated or not. This post is intended for adults ONLY. I am not responsible for the media you consume.

DONE DEAL

Fir Street, Forest Hills trailer park. Trailer number 3401.

Steve sat in his burgundy BMW staring at the flickering lights that danced from inside the trailer’s windows. The familiar rusty van, famously belonging to Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, was parked beside him. Alarmingly unassuming.

He was definitely in the right place.

He nervously maneuvered his body from his vehicle. As far as Steve knew, Eddie didn’t love doing house calls. He mostly conducted business in one of the abandoned bathrooms at Hawkins High, or behind the school in a small clearing of the forest that surrounded it.

But Steve was desperate.

He climbed the metal stairs of the trailer, sure that his weight clanking on the steps already signaled his arrival. He still lifted his fist to the door and knocked three times.

From inside, Steve could hear some shuffling and perhaps what was a grunt from Eddie Munson’s lungs. He tried not to think about how hot his face felt from hearing the simple sound.

Then the door to the trailer swung wide, and there stood Eddie: tall, shirtless, tattooed, and… fuck, pierced? Yes, Pierced. Those were definitely nipple piercings on his pale, bare chest.

Steve felt hotter than before.

“Steve Harrington?” Eddie sung, letting his eyes slowly cascade from the top of Steve’s mass of hair all the way down to his white and red Nikes. Eddie lifted the last of a cigarette to his lips, taking a final long drag, before flicking it past Steve’s shoulder into the gravel outside. His gaze landed on the eyes of the boy in front of him. “To what do I owe this magnificent honour?”

“I…” Steve felt suddenly lost for words. Sure, he was The King of Hawkins High. But nobody, royalty or not, could ever seem bigger than Eddie Munson. He was larger than life. Majorly intimidating. After what seemed like way too long standing on Eddie’s steps (the metalhead watching with a bemused grin the entire time), Steve finally breathed out, “need weed. I came for weed.”

“Mhm…” Eddie crossed his arms and lazily rested his slender form on the doorframe. “And you thought you would bother me on a Thursday night, at –” he looked at the watch on his wrist “– 10:30pm to get said weed, instead of waiting like a good boy until tomorrow?”

Steve’s face felt so hot from Eddie’s words that he thought he might melt into a molten pile of lava right then and there. He was tongue tied, a little embarrassed, and amazingly flustered. All he could do was nod in answer to Eddie’s question.

Eddie let out a sigh – one that would surely win him an Oscar for Most Dramatic (if that was such a thing) – and stepped aside. He flourished his arm in a somewhat inviting gesture for Steve to step into the trailer, but barely left enough room for Steve to push past him. Their chests lightly brushed against each other in the narrow doorway, Eddie refusing to give Steve anything other than the minimum amount of space to move.

Steve felt tight everywhere. His chest, his jaw, his fists. And especially in his jeans. It was unnerving.

“Alright, Harrington,” Eddie started, slamming the front door to the trailer, and pushing his way past Steve into what he could only assume was Eddie’s bedroom. The curly-headed man arrived back at the entranceway not a moment later with a black tin lunchbox firmly in his grasp. He basically threw it onto the countertop of the small kitchenette, which subsequently created a loud clatter that made a skittish Steve jump from his skin. “Half an ounce is thirty. I have half a mind to charge you an after-hours fee, but I’m feeling generous and will spare you. This once.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and hung a plastic bag full of pot from his fingers.

“Uhh…” Steve shuffled from one of his feet to the other, looking between the bag of weed and Eddie Munson’s overly large eyes. Eyes that furrowed at Steve’s reluctance.

“What is it? Want some pre-rolls instead?” Eddie tossed the bud back into the container and lifted a separate baggy with a dozen or so joints perfectly wrapped within it. “Each one is five bucks. Or, for you, five for twenty-five.”

“Five for twenty-five?” Steve scoffed. “That’s not a deal.”

“Exaaaactly.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “So? How many do you want?”

“I… um. I don’t have any money on me.” Steve’s ears were ringing at the admittance. His head felt flooded and hot and muddled.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington!” Eddie tossed the weed back into his lunchbox and slammed the lid closed tight, making a point to shove it far away from Steve like he was no longer even allowed to look at Eddie’s stash. “Why did you come here if you knew you couldn’t afford it, hmm?”

This was it. This was why Steve had been so fucking nervous to come here. He took a breath meant to calm himself, but it didn’t come close to doing its job. “I thought we could… do a trade instead?”

“Pfft!” Eddie huffed, frustrated. “I’m sorry, your royal highness, but I don’t accept trades, or favours, or IOUs, or promises, or anything relating. I accept cash. That’s it. End of story.”

“Are you sure?” Steve stepped forward into Eddie’s personal space and was pleased to see the other man’s round eyes grow impossibly larger. “I feel like I could offer you something that you want, that isn’t cash.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, “and what, exactly, do you think that might be?”

“Come on,” Steve purred seductively, suddenly confident, reaching out to twirl one of Eddie’s curls between his fingertips. “I see how you look at me in the cafeteria. I saw how your eyes lingered in the locker room last week. And how you stare in my direction in algebra.”

“What?! I –” Eddie bit his lip as Steve leaned even closer, the two boy’s faces mere inches apart. His skin flushed a lovely shade of scarlet red from his cheeks down to his chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, man.”

“No?” Steve asked, closing the remaining distance between their bodies so they were flush against each other. He pressed his palm against the firm bulge in the front of Eddie’s jeans and gave it a tight squeeze. The noise Eddie made, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, went straight to his own dick. “Your mouth is telling me one thing, Munson, but your cock has an entirely different story.”

“Look, Steve…” Eddie panted, holding his hand out in front of him in defeat. “I’m sorry. Please don’t… Please don’t say anything to anyone. I just want to fucking survive the school year, man. That’s all.”

Steve tilted his head as he gave Eddie’s cock another firm press with his open palm.

“Ah!” Eddie’s head fell back and he bucked his hips reflexively into Steve’s hand, searching for any type of friction that might be awaiting him. “You can… You don’t have to do this. Just – just bring the money tomorrow. To school. O-or whenever you have it. I’m not picky!”

“Mmm… I don’t think I’ll have any spare cash any time soon,” Steve trailed his free hand down Eddie’s heaving chest until his fingers toyed with the handcuff buckle on his belt. “Plus, I’d rather not have any unpaid debts. You know?”

Eddie nodded, eyes glazed, chest glistening in a layer of sweat from the muggy late-spring air. “Yeah? I mean – yeah. I… get that.”

“I knew you would understand,” Steve whispered lowly into Eddie’s ear, before he flicked his tongue outwards over the lobe. Eddie’s knuckles went white as they clung to the edge of the countertop behind him. Steve pulled the bottom of Eddie’s ear into his mouth and sucked the metal stud that decorated it between his teeth.

Eddie moaned and finally moved one of his hands from his side to fist into the hem of Steve’s shirt.

“Oh... Oh, shit, Harrington” he rocked forward into Steve’s palm once again with more fervor than before. Steve’s hand started to unbuckle the leather around Eddie’s waist, but the latter pulled back from the attack of Steve’s lips on his ear. “I’m serious. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Steve. You really don’t”

Steve paused for only a moment to say, “Shut up, Munson,” before lunging forward to envelope Eddie’s plush lips with his own. A startled gasp came from the older boy, but he immediately overcame the shock and wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle, coaxing him to rock his hips into his now splayed legs.

“Fuck… Steve,” Eddie muttered as Steve thrust himself against Eddie. The two layers of denim did nothing to hide how hard either of them were.

Steve’s fingers travelled up Eddie’s torso and found his little pink nipples. He assaulted one with a rather aggressive flick, which cause Eddie to yell, open-mouthed, into the ceiling.

“Sensitive, are we?” Steve asked, rolling Eddie’s silver jewellery between his fingers before pinching the bud of his skin tightly.

Eddie keened, and Steve could feel his chest tremble beneath his fingers.

“Hurts!” Eddie’s voice cracked, his eyes squeezed tightly, causing a tear to escape from the corner of one.

“Do you want me to stop?” Steve asked, concerned he could be taking things too far.

“No! No!” Eddie’s eyes shot open, his own fingers moving over Steve’s, motioning for him to pinch down again. Steve obliged. “Ahh! Feels so good!”

“Mmm, of course you like it rough,” Steve whispered, lowering his head from beside Eddie’s so he could replace the fingers against the metalheads chest with his teeth instead. He bit down onto one of Eddie’s nipples, rolling the silver barbell with his tongue, and then eased off with his teeth to instead suckle at the sensitive skin.

Eddie sounded like he was sobbing above Steve, but his hands were tangled in the younger’s hair, pressing him against his skin. He was panting a string of words over and over, like a broken record: “Fuck yes, Steve, ahh, ow! Fuck, yes, Steve!”

“I think you could come just like this, couldn’t you?” Steve teased as he pulled back, taking in Eddie’s already fucked-out and completely dishevelled appearance. He was so fucking beautiful.

Eddie’s jaw hung open as he nodded in agreeance, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment.

“Well, maybe next time. I have a little more planned for you tonight,” Steve explained, finally undoing Eddie’s belt. He opened the button of his fly and pulled down his zipper. “Since you’ve been so understanding with me.”

Eddie’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull as Steve wrapped his fingers around his freed cock over his boxers. His skin was hot, even under the layer of cotton that separated them. He could feel a damp patch gathering steadily where the tip of Eddie’s length poked under the tent of fabric. He pressed his thumb there, rubbing the slicked cotton and subsequently Eddie’s leaking tip in teasing circles.

“Steve… St –” Eddie groaned unabashedly into the empty air, apparently unaware, or maybe uncaring, that his neighbours could most likely hear him. He was a noisy little thing, Steve noticed, much to his own pleasure.

His own dick was pulsing painfully under the stiff fabric of his Levi’s, the only relief he was getting was from the occasional thrust forward that he allowed himself into Eddie’s hipbone. It wasn’t doing much, but he was so turned on that it was probably more than enough.

Steve dropped down onto his knees with an alarmingly heavy thud – Eddie’s eyes popping out of his skull to look down on the younger boy in front of him. “If you liked my lips on your nipples, wait until you feel them wrapped around your dick,” Steve said smugly, lacing his fingers under the waistband of both Eddie’s boxers and his jeans, and tugging down.

Eddie’s cock sprang free in front of his face, bouncing once to hit against Steve’s nose, before it stood at full attention in front of his face. The trail of hair that led from Eddie’s navel attached to a thick patch of dark-brown curls that framed the top of his cock – thick and veiny with a slight upwards curve. It looked fucking delicious, like a cherry popsicle. Red and glistening and dripping like it was melting on a hot summer’s day.

Steve didn’t waste any time getting a taste.

All at once, he swallowed down Eddie’s cock until he could feel it pressing firmly against the back of his throat. He gagged and sputtered, not yet adjusted to the intrusion, but it didn’t stop him from pulling back and shoving forward again until his nose was buried in the patch of hair near Eddie’s skin. He shook his head back-and-forth, Eddie still firmly seated in his throat, nuzzling his nose in the soft curls. He wished he could breathe him in, but his airways were currently very restricted.

Eddie’s fingers tugged at his hair as he bobbed his head on Eddie’s length, saliva spilling from his gaping mouth, coating his chin and Eddie in a thick layer of wet that pooled and dripped onto the linoleum.

“Shit, shit, shit, aahhh!” Eddie huffed over Steve as his muscles of his thighs twitched under his fingers. “Your mouth – shit – Steve, it feels so good. So good.”

Steve hummed, squeezing where he rested his hands, and then shoved Eddie’s pants down further until they were pooled by his feet – his lower half completely naked. He tore himself away from Eddie and the older boy gyrated forward at the loss of his hot throat. Steve licked a firm, long line under Eddie’s shaft, trailing against one of the puffy, swollen veins that led all the way to his flushed tip. With the flat of his tongue, he lapped at the translucent white that drooled from its slit.

“You taste amazing, baby,” Steve said breathlessly, swallowing down the salty, musky taste of Eddie mixed with his own spit that gathered under his tongue.

“Steve, what are you –” Eddie gasped as Steve shoved his thighs farther apart, spreading him completely open in front of his face. He made eye contact with Eddie as he sucked two of his own fingers into his mouth, slicking them with the slippery mess within it. When he scissored his fingers apart, thin strings of drool connected them together in an obscene display.

As if asking a wordless question, Steve rubbed high on Eddie’s inner thighs – not quite reaching his ass, but the implications were loud and clear.

Eddie nodded, and that’s all Steve needed before he lifted his spit-lubed fingers up to Eddie’s entrance. The ring of muscle contracted under his tentative touch, Eddie mewling pathetically above him. Sobs racked his shoulders forward. Near tears.

No, not near tear. There were definitely already tears.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby. Just relax for me,” Steve cooed as he massaged his middle finger around Eddie’s asshole. Eddie’s cock – still near his face – twitched in neglect, or maybe in anticipation, as a string of precum beaded and fell from its tip. The droplet landed on Steve’s shirt, and he immediately used his free hand to bring the fabric to his mouth so he could lick it off. “Such a messy boy, Eddie. Getting me all wet, covered in my spit and your cum. Who’s gonna clean this mess, hmm?”

A choked laugh erupted from Eddie’s throat, “I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself, Harrington.”

“Oh?” Steve abruptly stood to his feet and grabbed Eddie’s jaw. The latter squeaked a noise of shock as his mouth was roughly pried open by Steve – jaw wide and lips spread. “Gonna be a brat, are we? Why don’t you take some of your mess back then?”

With that, Steve spat directly into Eddie’s slacked jaw. A whimper escaped from his pillowy, pink lips as Steve allowed him to close his mouth and swallow the saliva – tainted with the flavour of his own cock – down.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself, as he stared with dazed eyes into Steve’s face. Steve couldn’t help but smile at how cock drunk Eddie looked as he licked at his lips. He hadn’t even swallowed down Steve and he was already a slobbering mess. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what the older boy might look like if he fucked into his mouth instead.

Next time.

He dropped back to his knees and pushed his finger against Eddie’s entrance until it sunk into the tight ring of muscle to the first knuckle. Eddie groaned and grunted, and his legs trembled as they struggled to keep him upright as Steve started sinking deeper and deeper into Eddie’s yielding body. Eventually his entire finger was seated inside Eddie’s asshole – he could feel the flutter of Eddie’s walls around him as his body sucked him in.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Eddie,” he moaned, kitten-licking at the tip of Eddie’s straining cock that bobbed and twitched so close to his face. Eddie cried something entirely incoherent as his head fell backwards, smacking against the door of one of the kitchen cabinets. “I want to feel you wrapped around my cock one of these days. Don’t know how I’d ever fit in here though. You’re squeezing the shit out of my finger.”

As if to make his point clear as daylight, he pulled his finger nearly all the way out of Eddie’s body and plunged back in, this time with his ring finger alongside the middle. Eddie wailed, open-mouthed, grabbing at Steve’s hair and tugging. Steve grunted from the pain and his cock throbbed under his jeans. He was ridiculously hard, and it would admittedly not take much to make him come, so he slotted one of Eddie’s legs between his thighs as he knelt on the ground.

He continued to fuck into Eddie with his fingers as he thrust his hips forward into Eddie’s calf, matching the moans of the boy above him. When Steve curled his fingers inside Eddie’s body, he found the bundle of nerves that nearly made Eddie’s legs give out.

“Holy – fuck!” Eddie gasped like a fish out of water above Steve as he stroked his prostate over and over. “Oh! Steve! Whatthefuck?! What – Steve. Ah, ah, ah!”

“Mmm, that’s the good spot, isn’t it, Eddie,” Steve said, smugly. He twisted his finger just right to rub against that sweet spot with an intentional pressure that made Eddie weep above him. “Do you like that?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Eddie blubbered atop Steve. His cock twitched aggressively until it was nearly straight up, and then it bobbed back down again against Steve’s cheek. “Oh God, I’m – Oh. Oh. Oh God, I’m so –”

Steve rutted his forgotten dick against Eddie’s calf, so close to his own release from hearing Eddie’s sobbing desperation. Desperation that Steve was bringing to him.

“You’re gonna come, Eddie?” Steve grunted as he pushed himself against Eddie’s leg over and over, continuing to massage those sinful noises out of the boy above him.

“Yes! Yes… gonna come –”

“Then come for me,” he ordered, taking Eddie’s dribbling dick all the way back into his mouth, and swallowing. As his throat contracted around his cock, Eddie thrusted forward. Hot liquid spilled down Steve’s throat in rivers, nearly choking him, but he managed to swallow down Eddie’s cum without a single drop missed.

“Fuck! Steve! Holy sh – Holy shit! So good, so fucking good!” Eddie’s asshole tensed around Steve’s fingers, impossibly tighter than before, as he fucked in and out of him throughout his orgasm.

With one more aggressive rut of his hips, Steve came inside his boxers, slicking them in a sticky heat that helped him slide under the fabric, rocking against Eddie during his aftershocks.

When he pulled his fingers out of Eddie, the man finally collapsed in front of him. He fell to his knees, and then onto his stomach, barely bracing for impact with his arms. He laid face-down, naked, gulping for air, on his kitchen floor. Used. Spent.

Steve was quite proud.

“You alive down there, Munson?” he quipped as he stood to his feet, trying to readjust in his pants as best as he could to get comfortable. It was no use – the cum was spread throughout his boxers and would be irritating until he had the chance to change them.

Eddie grunted a response against the floor but made no move to get up.

“Take what you want, man,” he flailed his arm in the general direction of his drug pail. “Take it all if you want. I don’t care.”

Steve snorted, giving Eddie’s side a nudge with his foot. Eddie managed to lull his head far enough to the side to look up at Steve, who stood with his arms crossed around his chest and a pleased smirk glued to his face.

“I’m gonna head out. It was a pleasure, Eddie. Truly.” He stepped towards the door.

“Wait – dude – your weed. Honestly. Take what you came here for.” Eddie scrambled to his feet, pulling his boxers up over his abused lower half so quickly he nearly tripped.

So fucking endearing.

“I already got what I came here for, Munson.” Steve said, opening the door to the trailer.

“W-what?” Eddie stammered, looking between the jock and his – still full – drug stash.

“See you at school tomorrow!” Steve called as he flung himself back into his BMW. He might have asked to stay longer if he didn’t desperately need a shower and a change of pants.

But as he thought before, there was always next time.

He smiled to himself as he pulled from Eddie’s trailer, watching the shell-shocked man – eyes ballooning and mouth agape – disappear in his rear-view mirror.

NEXT PART

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 A Palestinian man trying to recover the body of a murdered civilian in the middle of a street in Gaza is shot and killed by an Israeli sniper for his efforts. 🗺️ A map published by OCHA details the various crossings into Gaza, showing most are closed by the occupation, while the approach of the Mediterranean is blockaded by the Israeli occupation army. The few remaining crossings are only opened at the rare discretion of the Israeli authorities. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DAY 223: MORE BRIGADES JOIN RAFAH OP, PALESTINIAN CHILDREN TORTURED BY OCCUPATION FORCES, CROSSINGS REMAIN CLOSED WHILE MASS MURDER CONTINUES IN GAZA

On 223rd day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 4 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of more than 39 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while at least another 64 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted, as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

"For days now, crossings into Gaza have been closed, unsafe to access or not logistically viable."

This is according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), Palestine division.

OCHA goes on to add that "aid distribution is almost impossible, with no regular fuel imports, unstable telecommunications and ongoing fighting."

"The impact is devastating for over 2 million people," OCHA added.

On the 7th of May, the Israeli occupation army stormed the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings, taking control over the Palestinian side of the crossings, immediately closing the two crossings and preventing the passage of humanitarian aid, including food, fuel and medical supplies.

As a result of the closing of the two crossings, the slow drip of humanitarian aid entering the Gaza Strip has further slowed to a hobbled crawl, forcing more than two million Palestinians into extreme food insecurity, while Gaza's healthcare system faces a looming catastrophe as hospitals run out of fuel and medical supplies.

In the meantime, the Defense for Children International (DCI), an NGO established to protect the Rights of children as articulated by the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC), issued a statement which accused the Israeli occupation army of continuing to "mistreat and torture the Palestinian children they arrest in a systemic and widespread manner."

The children's rights organization has documented cases of abuse of Palestinian children detained by the occupation forces, including the story of the child Majd Radwan (14yo), who describes his treatment at the hands of Zionist soldiers.

According to the testimony given by Majd Radwan, he was with a group of friends in neighborhoods west of the town of Azzun, east of Qalqilya and south of Tulkarm, in the west of the occupied West Bank, when they were approached and chased by Israeli military vehicles.

Majd's friends managed to get away, while Majd himself stopped running after fearing he might be trampled by the Israeli military vehicles.

After stopping, Majd told DCI that around 10 Israeli soldiers got out of the two military vehicles, pointing their weapons at him before approaching him and beginning to kick and hit him.

"Then one of them came forward and kicked me in the face with his foot, and I fell to the ground. He continued to assault me with severe beatings for about 30 continuous minutes. He was hitting me with the butt of his gun, his hands, and his feet, and I was screaming. I cried from fear and pain, then he tied my hands with a single plastic tie to the back and blindfolded me, then he pushed me into one of the military jeeps and made me sit on its floor.”

Unfortunately, the abuse didn't stop there, following the initial assault, the child Majd was forced into one of the occupation military vehicles, where the abuse continued.

"Inside the jeep, two soldiers renewed their assault on me, severely beating me all over my body. One of them put the front of his military butt [of his gun] in my mouth, simultaneously stomping on my chest with his other foot. I was screaming and crying from intense pain and fear, and I felt like I was going to suffocate, and the assault on me continued."

"I was exhausted and could no longer cry or scream. I felt very thirsty, so I told the soldier about it, but he ignored my request and asked me to remain silent. After that, I was pulled and pushed into a military jeep, and there the assault on me was repeated. One of the soldiers said to me in Arabic, 'I want to break your hands and your feet' before he hit me hard on my hands and feet,” said the child Majd.

That was just the start of the abuse, occupation soldiers then took the boy to a police station in the settlement of "Emmanuel", where he was forced to stand for hours before being beaten yet again.

The child was further beaten, blindfolded, spit on, and sprayed with water while in Israeli detention, before being transferred to the Megiddo prison, beaten again, and then transferred to the Ofer Prison, where a lack of room led occupation forces to transfer the child back to another colony's prison.

For hours he was blindfolded, deprived of food and water, and deprived of access to bathrooms.

Eventually the child was brought to a village near the Ariel colony, where he was pushed unceremoniously from the vehicle and dumped in the street.

"I could not move or stand and remained on the ground until a Palestinian vehicle stopped next to me, and its driver took me to my town of Azzun after I told him what happened to me. There I was transferred to Azzun Governmental Hospital, where I received treatment and first aid, before I returned home."

This story is just one among thousands like it, where Palestinian children are abducted by the Israeli occupation forces, abused and mistreated, and often imprisoned for years at a time on trumped-up charges, such as throwing rocks towards army vehicles.

In other news today, 5 Israeli soldiers were killed, and 7 wounded, following a friendly fire incident near Jabalia, in the northern Gaza Strip.

According to reporting in the Israeli media, 5 occupation soldiers were killed and 7 wounded, three critically, following the firing of two artillery shells by an Israeli tank on a building occupied by the 202nd Battalion of the Israeli Paratroopers Brigade, an Ultra-Orthodox company.

The five soldiers killed were:

☠️ Cpt. Roy Beit Yaakov, 22, from Eli

☠️ Staff Sgt. Gilad Arye Boim, 22, from Karnei Shomron

☠️ Sgt. Daniel Chemu, 20, from Tiberias

☠️ Sgt. Ilan Cohen, 20, from Karmiel

☠️ Staff Sgt. Betzalel David Shashuah, 21, from Tel Aviv

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) continued their violent shelling of various axis of the Gaza Strip on Wednesday night and into Thursday, killing and wounding dozens of Palestinians while targeting them in their homes, vehicles, and in the streets of Gaza.

The occupation continued to expand ground operations in Rafah, Gaza's southernmost city, where more than a million Palestinians have gathered to take shelter from the Israeli bombardment, but are now facing further displacement and violence as occupation forces move deeper into the city and expand their bombing and shelling of various neighborhoods.

Israeli tanks also advance deeper into the city, with the 89th Commando Brigade being introduced to the fighting, joining the 401st Brigade and the Givati Brigade in their assault on the southern Governate of Rafah.

In on example, occupation forces bombed a house belonging to the Al-Halaqawi family in central Rafah, near the Rabaa School, murdering four Palestinian civilians and wounding several others.

IOF Merkava tanks advanced towards the Eastern Cemetery area, in conjuction with an advance towards the Mall of Arabia, as well as the Al-Salam neighborhood, east of Rafah, while continuous artillery shelling led to the deaths of four more civilians.

Occupation warplanes further bombarded the tents of displaced Palestinian families in the village of Abasan, east of Rafah, also in the southern Gaza Strip.

Earlier on Wednesday night, a civilian was killed as a result of an Israeli bombing on Aed al-Bashiti Street in central Rafah.

In another strike, occupation fighter jets bombed a Palestinian home in the Al-Husaynat neighborhood, east of Rafah, while the Zionist army went on to bomb several residential homes belonging to civilians in the Al-Nasr and Brazil neighborhoods of Rafah City.

Yet another assault killed a civilian, and wounded several others, after Israeli aircraft bombed the Al-Awda roundabout in central Rafah, while the artillery shelling targeted the neighborhoods of Khirbet al-Adas and Al-Geneina.

The bombardment of the occupation's aircraft also targeted several neighborhoods in the village of Abasan, as well as targeting Khan Yunis.

A civilian was also shot with the live bullets of Israeli soldiers' gunfire in Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip.

In another raid, IOF warplanes bombed an apartment complex in Tower 6 of the Ain Jalut Towers, east of the Nuseirat Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, wounding a number of Palestinians.

Further occupation artillery shelling hammered the axis extending from the village of Al-Mughraqa to the city of Al-Zahra'a, north of the Nuseirat Camp, and into the Wadi Gaza area.

In another attack, occupation soldiers opened fire on a gathering of civilians west of Al-Zahra'a, killing one resident and wounding several others.

Meanwhile, in Gaza's north, violent airstrikes and artillery shelling pummeled Gaza City, Jabalia and Beit Lahiya, resulting in a number of casualties.

Another atrocity was committed by the Zionist occupation army in a bombing of a residential home belonging to the Journalist Hail Al-Najjar, on Old Gaza Street in Jabalia, resulting in the death of the journalist along, with his entire family.

IOF warplanes similarly bombed a residential home belonging to the Asalia family, also on Old Gaza Street, in the city of Jabalia, in Gaza's north.

Yet another horrific crime was committed when occupation fighter jets bombed a gathering of civilians at the Al-Oyoun intersection on Al-Jalaa Street, southwest of Gaza City, after which, the pieces and parts of the bodies of 4 victims were brought to the Baptist Hospital, in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City.

Atrocious crimes were also recorded following the bombing of Al-Diri family home, in the Al-Sabra neighborhood of Gaza City, resulting in a number of casualties, while two members of the Al-Ghafri family were also killed after their home was bombed in central Gaza City.

Following the withdrawal of the occupation army from the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, scenes of extreme destruction of Palestinian homes were recorded, including the destruction of five displacement centers, and the widespread destruction of local infrastructure, including streets.

Local medical sources are also reporting the murder of more than 30 civilians just since this morning, resulting from the bombardment of Gaza City by the aircraft of the Israeli occupation forces.

Included were the deaths of at least 10 children as occupation warplanes targeted the homes of the Al-Ghafri, Jahjouh and Al-Dalu families in the areas of Abu Iskander, Al-Sidra and Al-Sahaba Streets.

Five civilians were also wounded after an Israeli drone targeted the Abu Bakr Al-Saddiq kindergarten in the Al-Faluga area of Jabalia, in Gaza's north.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the current death toll has risen to exceed 35'272 Palestinians killed, including at least 15'103 children and over 10'000 women, while another 79'205 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

May 16th, 2024

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#mapsource

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[venus-haze]

Is a Dream a Lie If It Don’t Come True (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Your new job at the Memphis Evening Observer is the breakthrough you’ve been looking for after years of dead-end jobs. You strike up a friendship with Elvis, a handsome and charming man you meet at a nearby park during your lunch breaks. As you work more closely with the paper’s crime reporters, your eyes are opened to the dangerous aspects of Memphis you’d been blissfully unaware of. Good thing Elvis is looking out for you, right?

Note: Based on an anonymous request for a non-famous Yandere!Elvis AU. The reader is gender neutral, and no descriptors are used. I made up a name for the newspaper you work for, and I based the crime reporters on Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. The title of this fic comes from one of my absolute favorite Bruce Springsteen songs, The River. Elvis is more of a “soft” yandere in this.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, and stalking, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Mentions of sexual content that involves coercion but nothing explicit. Descriptions of violent crime, fighting, and feelings of anxiety and paranoia/being unsafe. Age gap (Elvis is in his late 30s, reader is in their 20s).

You woke up unreasonably early on the first morning of your new job, but you supposed it was better than waking up unreasonably late. Your first real office job, no longer in the throes of retail chaos was something you were undoubtedly excited for, yet your excitement quickly turned to anxiety as eight in the morning grew closer. Thanks to the typing skills you tirelessly practiced in your free time, you landed a job at a local newspaper, exaggerating your experience with the industry just a bit. You wouldn’t be a reporter, but in more of an administrative role, typing up whatever was asked and getting paid almost double what you used to make.

The first hour or so at the paper consisted of a whirlwind of introductions, and you knew you’d have to ask everyone for their names again at some point. Your new coworkers seemed friendly enough, even Hugh and Lara, the crime reporters, a husband and wife duo who spent the morning drinking black coffee while mumbling to each other about the weekend police reports. You sat in on the weekly staff meeting, trying to focus on what the editor-in-chief was saying and also what a fellow typist was whispering to you about the different people who spoke and topics that were discussed as the meeting proceeded. By the time you were on your lunch break, you felt like your brain was going to melt.

You’d prepared lunch at home, your brown paper bag in hand as you crossed the street to the park. The weather was comfortable as you walked around a bit, looking for a good place to sit. It was busy for a weekday, mostly retirees sitting around and other people from nearby businesses who had the same idea you did, enjoying lunch outside. You found an empty bench with a perfect view of the pond and made yourself comfortable as you watched the ducks swim around while you ate.

The autumn breeze felt nice as it blew by, calming your nerves a bit. You knew part of you felt overwhelmed by how different your new job was compared to your past ones, and you were afraid the editor-in-chief would know you were under-qualified and fire you right back to retail hell. You took a sip of the drink you had with you, trying to shake the negative thoughts from your mind. 

You spent the next ten minutes or so people-watching, but no one seemed to be doing anything interesting. Silently, you cursed yourself for not at least bringing a book with you to pass the rest of your lunch break. Just as you were going to gather your stuff and go window-shopping to kill time, you were interrupted when a man approached.

“Mind if I join you?” the handsome man asked, holding a to-go bag from a nearby sandwich shop. “I usually sit here, but I don’t mind the company if you don’t.”

You shook your head, scooting over for him. “There’s plenty of room. I’m Y/N.”

“Elvis, nice to meet ya,” he smiled. “You work around here?”

“I work in that building, over there,” you said, pointing to one of the skyscrapers behind you. “Seventh floor, for the Memphis Evening Observer. I’m not a reporter though.”

“You wanna be?” he asked.

You thought back to the crime reporters you met that morning and shook your head. “No way. I’m happy being a typist. How about you?”

He pointed to a building adjacent to yours. “Sixth floor, accounting.”

“You like it?”

He shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

As the next few weeks went by, you found yourself eating lunch with Elvis almost everyday. He was kind and well-read, yet you found yourself preoccupied with how incredibly attractive he was. He had to be at least ten years older than you, but since you didn’t notice a ring on his finger, you figured there was no harm in subtly flirting with him, especially since he’d flirt back. You wondered if because of your age, he didn’t take your dropping hints that you were interested in him seriously–or maybe he was married and just allowed himself to indulge in the slightest bit of emotional infidelity.

When you had commented that he seemed familiar, as if you’d seen him before, he mentioned that a little over ten years earlier, he had a burgeoning music career and seemed almost embarrassed when your eyes lit up in recognition. He didn’t go into detail about his short-lived music career, but you knew there were a decent amount of teeny boppers who found mild success during your teenage years only for you to never hear about them again except in commercials for various household products.

It was obvious he loved music, but there was a sadness in his eyes when he’d speak about it, a longing for something that was lost, or never came to be in the first place. In another universe, you could see him being a star. Though you never pried, you did want to know what happened—did his music stop charting? Was there a scandal? 

“It’s never too late to try again,” you said. “Some bars have open mics on weekends. I’d go with you, even.”

Elvis smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

When you got to your apartment that evening, you looked through your 45s, hoping to see one of his singles among your collection. You weren’t surprised when you didn’t have any, but disappointed nonetheless. That weekend when you went out with your friends, though, one of his songs was on the jukebox. As ‘Trouble’ played throughout the bar a few minutes later, you were brought back to listening to the song in your youth.

“Wasn’t this in a movie?” one of your friends asked. “I swear the guy who sings this was in a movie.”

Another friend shrugged. “Probably something from forever ago. Why’d you even put this on, Y/N?”

“Just wanted to hear it, I guess,” you said, now determined to get Elvis to go to one of the open mic nights. 

As luck would have it, the very bar you and your friends were spending your Saturday night in did have open mic on Thursdays after seven. When you informed Elvis of this on Monday afternoon, he let you know he’d think about it. You didn’t want to pressure him, but it was clear that music was his passion, and he wasn’t entirely happy with how his life had turned out. 

In the meantime, you found yourself feeling unsure about your own choice of profession. You’d never been scared of being in Memphis before, living in the city for years with no issues. You didn’t have the best relationship with your family, and had essentially been on your own since you were sixteen, though you couldn’t remember exactly what made you settle down in Memphis in the first place. Still, it seemed like you were the one increasingly tasked with typing for the small crime team, and some days, the stories would send a cold chill across your body. 

Despite your deep-rooted horror at the subject matter, you found yourself hanging around Hugh and Lara’s desks, listening in on their conversations about the latest robbery or murder. Perhaps you’d been living in naivety for longer than you should have, as you started looking over your shoulder more, suspicious of even casual day-to-day interactions. 

“You think that has any significance?” Hugh asked.

Lara raised a bemused eyebrow, “The fact that it was six feet away or the fact that her head was detached from her body in the first place?”

Hugh shrugged. “Either. Both.”

“New kid, whattya think?” Lara asked, startling you as she caught you eavesdropping. She still called you ‘new kid’ even though you’d been at the paper for months. 

You walked over to their desks, standing next to Lara to get a look at what you assumed would be a police report.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, quickly turning your head away from the photo on Hugh’s desk. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a photo of it?”

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s grotesque. I don’t understand how anyone could do that to another person,” you said. “I think whoever did that probably knew the victim and was really angry at them or something. Going through that much effort seems so…personal.”

“So it’d be a crime of passion or a fed up stalker,” Hugh said.

Lara slapped the top of her desk. “That’s what I was saying.”

“You’re right, you happy?” Hugh conceded.

“He’s disappointed there isn’t a pattern.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What, like one of those killers—what do they call them?”

“Serial killers,” Lara answered. “I don’t know why he wants one here so bad. I barely get enough sleep as it is.”

“I don’t want one here, but it’d be a hell of a story. Could maybe even get a book deal out of it,” Hugh said.

You’d zoned out from Hugh’s rambling, somehow your gaze fell on the photo again. It was grainy, black and white, but the longer you stared at it, you swore it was your face on the decapitated head. Had you been so blind to the dangers of Memphis this whole time? You weren’t stupid, you knew cities were prone to higher crime rates, it just came with having a lot of people living in such close proximity to one another. Before working for the paper, though, it had all been in your peripheral. Being face-to-face with statistics, reports, and photos made you wonder how Hugh and Lara hadn’t gone crazy.

“Shit,” Lara said, noticing your dazed expression. “Y/N, c’mon, let’s get you a cup coffee or something.”

Just as the two of you started to make your way across the office to the breakroom, you noticed Elvis standing near the receptionist’s desk, an umbrella in his hand. His face lit up when he saw you, and you did the same. 

“This the guy who makes you practically skip off to lunch every day?” Lara asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice. 

You felt your face heat up at her observation as you approached Elvis. 

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” you asked.

“Weather’s not great today,” he said, lifting up his wet umbrella, “but I was wonderin’ if I could take you out to lunch? If you’re not too busy.”

Lara gave you a small smile as she nudged you with her elbow. “Go take an early lunch. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks,” you said as she walked back to her desk. “Let me just get my things.”

It was a short walk to the sandwich shop that Elvis would regularly buy lunch from. If he didn’t bring something from home, he would have one of their to-go bags with him. As he was a regular customer, a man behind the counter greeted him, though he seemed surprised that Elvis was dining in and with someone. 

The two of you were handed menus, and while he didn’t so much as pick up his, you took a moment to decide your order. Service was quick, since you’d come in just before lunch rush. While you were normally pretty hungry this time of day, you found yourself picking at your food and letting Elvis lead the conversation.

“You alright, Y/N? You’ve been awful quiet today,” Elvis asked.

You swallowed the lump in your throat that had been there since your conversation with Lara and Hugh earlier. “I swear I’ve never been afraid of living in Memphis, for as long as I’ve been here, but now, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not safe.”

“Livin’ by yourself ain’t safe, that’s for sure.”

You sighed, picking at your food. “I don’t know. I always thought I was fine on my own, but–”

“You don’t have to be on your own anymore, Y/N. I’m here,” he said, his voice sincere as he reached across the table and held your trembling hand in his. “I’ll look after you.”

“Thanks, Elvis. That makes me feel a lot better, really,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He let go of your hand after a moment and said, “I don’t know if this’ll help any, but I thought about that open mic thing tomorrow, and I think I’m gonna do it.”

“Seriously?” 

“What’ve I got to lose?” he said. “I can pick you up from work, and we can go together, if you want.”

“I’d love that! You have no idea how excited I am.”

Having lunch with Elvis made you feel a lot better by the time you got back to the office. He was so easy to talk to, and you had to admit your crush on him blossomed more when he said he was there for you. Maybe a bit of liquid courage at the open mic night would be just what the both of you needed, and if you had misread everything, at least you’d have a fallback.

When you got to your desk, Hugh walked over and apologized for not warning you about the photo, explaining that it was just part of the job for he and Lara. They were so used to it that he’d forgotten it would affect you so much. You appreciated his apology, but it still left you somewhat rattled that people could even become desensitized to such violence. It made sense, though, they saw it so often in their line of work, that it was almost normal to them.

You didn’t sleep well that night, waking up every few hours, every sudden noise making your heart beat out of your chest. At one point, you could swear you saw someone’s face in your bedroom window, but when you turned the light on, there was no one there. Still, you closed the blinds and pulled the curtains shut. 

When your alarm clock screamed at you in the morning, you jolted awake, finding yourself in a cold sweat. As soon as you stood up, you could feel the exhaustion through your body, and considered calling out of work. You decided to push through your morning routine with a hot shower and hotter coffee, not wanting to let Elvis down by not being there for him that evening.

You’d taken the bus to work instead of driving, since Elvis would be picking you up afterward. The day flew by, and all you could focus on during lunch with Elvis was prying information about what he planned to do for the open mic, but to your disappointment, he insisted that he wanted it to be a surprise. 

The rest of the day at work was spent helping Lara on a low-stakes story about how there’d been reports across the city of someone stealing gasoline from people’s cars. You were grateful for the change of pace, but were still restless until five, when you grabbed your things and headed downstairs to wait in front of the building for Elvis. You realized you had no idea what kind of car he drove, but luckily he had the windows rolled down, so you could see inside as you quickly got in so as to not hold up traffic.

“Nice car,” you commented as he drove up the street.

“She does alright. You know, I used to have a pink Cadillac,” he said.

“No way.”

“Sure did. Bought it for my mama; she couldn’t drive, though, and it started gettin’ old and rusted. I loved that car.”

Unsure of how to respond, you placed your hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him. He looked at your hand, then at you, and smiled. 

There was still time before the open mic at the bar started, so he drove to one of his favorite restaurants for dinner. It was a cozy place, and the comfort food seemed to calm his nerves. He explained that while he loved music and still sang and played guitar on his own time, he hadn’t performed in front of people in years. 

When you arrived at the bar, there was a decent amount of people for a weeknight, and someone was already on stage singing. Elvis looked a bit nervous as he held his guitar in one hand, his other arm around your waist. You suggested getting a drink first, which he didn’t hesitate to agree to. His eyes darted around the bar, and you noticed his leg bouncing.

“You’ll do great. I know you will,” you assured him.

He huffed out a laugh. “We’ll see.”

A few more people went up to perform, all of them pretty talented in their own right. The bar had filled up even more. You had no idea the open mic nights were so popular. Suddenly, Elvis decided he was ready, and you walked with him to the side of the stage, where the host for the night was standing. 

“Yeah, man, you can go on right after her,” the host said, motioning toward the woman who was presently on stage.

“I know you got this, but do you need anything?” you asked.

Elvis gave you a sly smile. “How ‘bout a kiss for good luck?”

As if he needed luck, but you nodded, thrilled to finally get to kiss him. His lips were soft against yours, and you gently cupped his face with your hand, caressing his cheek with your thumb. He pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his, and you gasped as he gently bit your lower lip. The moment was cut short by the host telling Elvis it was his turn to go on, and you would’ve been annoyed if it wasn’t your chance to see Elvis perform.

“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I doubt any of y’all remember me,” Elvis said into the microphone. “But for those of you who ain’t dinosaurs, I’m Elvis Presley—“

There was a faint cheer and some light applause from the throughout the bar, which seemed to make Elvis relax a bit, as he bantered a little with the audience before going into ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ to the delight of the bar patrons. People clapped along to the beat or got up to dance, and you knew you must have looked like a fool sitting next to the stage with a wide smile on your face. 

Elvis’ voice was deeper and stronger than the recording from early in his career that you’d heard just a week before. His stage presence was unbeatable, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he sent a wink your way. Just as quickly as he started singing, the song was over—but his performance wasn’t, if the crowd had anything to say about it. Someone drunkenly shouted “encore!” which led to a chant throughout the bar until Elvis acquiesced with ‘Hound Dog.’

You noticed someone else waiting near the stage for their turn to go up, and you almost felt sorry for them, having to follow up Elvis. The smile that spread across his face at the bar’s overwhelming applause for him was infectious. You didn’t hesitate to run over to him as he walked off of the small stage, throwing your arms around him and kissing his cheek.

“Elvis, you were incredible!” you exclaimed.

“You’re somethin’ else, Y/N. Got me dreamin’ again,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

He merely smiled in response, as several people had gathered around him to praise his performance and mention that they loved his music and had wondered what happened to him, glad to see him on stage again, even in a little dive like this. You whispered that you’d be waiting for him at the bar while he spoke with the small group of fans. He nodded, giving you a quick kiss before you walked away.

You ordered another two of what you and Elvis had been drinking before, and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him, hoping this would be the first open mic of many that he’d go to. Maybe he would never reach his former level of stardom, but Memphis certainly hadn’t forgotten about him. You were pulled from your thoughts by some intoxicated patron who clearly had no concept of what personal space was.

“Hey, baby,” a man slurred as leaned next to you against the bar. “What’re you drinkin’? I’ll buy you another.

“Thanks, but I’m here with someone,” you said, trying to stay as a calm as possible.

“I don’t see anyone here.”

“He’ll be right back,” you answered quickly.

He rolled his eyes, laughing as if you were joking. “That means I can’t buy you a drink?”

“Please leave me alone. I’m not interested.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the man raged, grabbing your arm.

You tried pulling your arm from him, but panicked when you realized that even drunk, he was much stronger than you. “Let go of me. Let go!”

It felt like you blinked, and the man went head first into the bar. His face slammed against the hardwood, and you wanted to throw up at the sound of his nose definitely breaking upon impact.

You looked to Elvis, who, instead of leaving the man he had just shoved in his misery, grabbed him by his collar and practically dragged him out of the bar. Immobilized by shock and fear, you stayed frozen in place until Elvis stormed back inside a few minutes later, his hands bloody as he slammed a few dollars on the bar and gathered you and his guitar.

“Party’s over,” he said, a darkness in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sorry the night got ruined,” you mumbled.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for. Sons of bitches like that make me sick,” he spat. “I’m bringin’ you home. Shouldn’t be out so late anyway.”

“Can I stay the night with you?” you asked anxiously as you followed him to his car. “I don’t wanna be by myself.”

“‘Course, darlin’,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

During the drive to his place, your gaze kept drifting to the steering wheel, and how he seemed unfazed by the blood that had dried on his hands. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what conversation to make with him, so the drive was silent except for the radio playing softly. 

He pulled into his garage, his house a carbon copy of every other on the block except for the paint. You figured a suburban neighborhood would consist of mostly families, rather than bachelors like him. If he hadn’t kissed you the way he did back at the bar, you’d still be wondering if he were married or not. 

“I’m gonna wash up,” he said, nodding in the direction of what you assumed was the bathroom. “You make yourself at home, baby.”

You poked around his living room while he was washing the blood off of his hands. His bookshelf had a lot of interesting titles that ranged from religious topics to fiction, and you felt a bit of pride seeing some of the books you’d recommended to him among them. The walls had two dozen or so picture frames, each with photos of what appeared to be his family, some of him with other men in army uniforms, and a few of him as a young man during his singing career with various celebrities. None of the photos were recent, however, and you noticed a few frames didn’t have photos in them at all.

When he returned from washing up, he regaled you with the stories behind each of the photos, the two of you staying up until late in the night. Most of the photos had some happy or funny memory associated with them, but there was always a hint of yearning in his voice with the ones from the height of his fame.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said.

He nodded. “Shoot.”

“Why did you stop making music? It seems like your career was going really well, and then you just stopped.”

“It was, but uh—I had a girlfriend who my manager wanted me to stop seein’, her name was Dixie. I kept seein’ her anyway in secret. After I made my fourth movie, I got her pregnant, so I took a break from singin’ for a little while so we could get married,” he explained. “I got drafted not long after that. My mama died, and my break from music just got longer and longer. I still sang at our church, but after me and Dixie split up, they said they didn’t want a divorced man singin’ in the choir.”

“Oh my god, Elvis, I’m so sorry,” you said, moving to console him. You gasped when you accidentally put too much pressure on your arm, still tender from where you’d been manhandled. Elvis’ expression darkened as he looked at the faint bruises blossoming on your skin.

“I shoulda killed ‘im,” he growled.

You’d never been afraid of Elvis before, but you could tell he meant it. “It’s nothing. He just grabbed my arm—“

“What if I hadn’t been there? No one else was jumpin’ up to help you, were they?” 

“No,” you answered quietly.

“No,” he repeated. “When I said I was gonna look out for you, I meant it, Y/N. You got no one else.”

“My friends—“

“Your little friends can’t look after you, not the way a man can. You need a man to take care of you, don’t ya baby?” he said, the double-meaning of his words not lost on you as you looked at him wide-eyed.

You nodded, all of the fear and anxiety you’d felt the past few weeks coming back to you. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

He exhaled, as if ready to argue if you disagreed. “Good, I’m glad you see I just want what’s best for you.”

It made sense, Elvis had so much more life experience than you, being older and having such a whirlwind career, even if it was short lived. Meanwhile, your naivety led to you essentially being traumatized at work, so green to the dangers of city life despite considering yourself capable and independent before. When you commented how late it was, that you still had to work in just a few hours, Elvis offered the spare bedroom–or his. You felt your face heat up when you timidly told him that you wanted to sleep with him, and he teased you for your embarrassment, assuring you nothing would happen. 

Of course, fifteen minutes into sharing a bed, half-naked with a man you were incredibly attracted to, so much happened, too much. You found yourself almost overwhelmed by his intensity, and though he certainly did take care of you, he did so like a man possessed, as if he were taking what he was owed, entitled to even. You supposed, in your dazed state afterward, it was the least you could do after everything he’d been through and had done for you. You both called out sick from your respective jobs in the morning, and you spent the rest of the weekend at his place. 

Within a month, you’d completely moved into Elvis’ house, subletting your apartment until your lease was up and the new tenant could take it over for you. You felt safer living with Elvis, especially since he’d drive you to and from work, and you’d still have lunch every day with him. It didn’t take much convincing for you to agree to sell your own car. You didn’t go anywhere by yourself anymore, you didn’t want to. When you’d brought it up the first few weeks of living with him, he’d remind you of the dangers that await you in the world on your own, and you were quick to change your mind. 

You were still a nervous wreck from work, even though the editor-in-chief had agreed to stop having you work with Lara and Hugh so closely—at Elvis’ request, of course. In your free moments, you were practically glued to Elvis’ side, whether at the grocery store or when he’d perform at the occasional open mic night in Memphis. Every time you thought things weren’t so bad, got a little too comfortable on your own, something would happen that’d leave you as terrified as ever, crying in Elvis’ arms as he’d softly scold you for not being with him, reminding you that not everyone was as good of a person as he was, that he was the only person you could really trust. As long as he could do anything about it, it would stay that way.

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @crash-and-cure @kittenlittle24 @im-lame-irl @loudwombatmugkid @rxsesss @roseymary04 @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora @positivitylane112 @moonknightswif3 @holy-minseok @datsavageavenger @21bruhs @luckyevansstan @djsjs13949 @butlerslut @ash-omalley @powerofelvis @sad-bisexual-bitch @peachy-deaths @kibumslatina @adoreyouusugar @raefoxiegirl @donnamarie23 @ilovehobi101​ @memphis-menace​ @animeketsu-yander​

[toxicanonymity]

Good Morning honey, I was thinking about a request of Michael Myers x fem reader its starts with the reader walking down a dark alleyway at 11pm on Halloween and she gets pinned to the wall by the strength of Michael, thank you for blessing me with your posts❤️

Skin Alley

1.5k | Michael x Fem!Reader | 18+ NSFW

A/N: thanks for the great Michael ask, @megangovier20! 🖤 and thanks @dark-scape for encouraging me to try Michael POV some time. I thought this might be a good one for it idk.

WARNINGS: Dubcon? this is a sluttified-by-michael™️ encounter. Unsafe P in V. Brief dark fluff. Maybe knife play don't remember. (Doing these detailed warnings way later)

_____________________

It's Halloween. Michael Myers is lurking outside a bar when the clock tower strikes 11:00 PM. He’s only killed two people all night. He decides to move on. He's in the mood to stalk or chase. He doesn’t have a plan, but he has a general direction. He heads toward his childhood home. Michael cuts through Skin Alley and stops to watch a zombie couple cross the street. He almost follows them, but he hears his name behind him, echoing through the dark alley in the most attractive voice.  

“Michael Myers hasn’t even been seen this year. I promise I’ll text as soon as I'm home, ok?”  The sound of his name in your mouth makes Michael forget about everything else.

He ducks into a crevasse and watches you, transfixed. You're beautiful, with a quiet intensity. Your skeleton dress hugs your body in all the right places. You pull your sleeves down over your hands and look around nervously like you feel his presence. He can practically feel your skin prickle with goosebumps. Blood rushes to his loins at this thought. You rub your arms as if you’re cold and quicken your pace.  

-

When you’re about to pass by him, he takes one large step into the middle of the alley and cuts you off. You scream. It's a short, jump-scare scream, not a scream like you fully realize who’s in front of you. Michael watches your face drain to white as the realization sets in. You take a deep breath, and just as you start to scream bloody murder, he wraps his large hand around your throat and slams you up against the brick wall.  

You thrash pointlessly against his strength and try to yell. You’re stronger than you look, but still far too weak. He doesn’t even need to use both hands. His fingers tighten and you stop trying to scream. 

You’re so beautiful in the moonlight with your eyes wide and your heart racing under his fingers. He exhales and you stare, unblinking, like rodent prey, searching the dark eye holes of his mask for something human. You gag and he loosens his grip. Then, when you try to scream again, he grabs you by the jaw and lifts you up off the ground. He pins you with his other arm across your chest and your breasts swell against him with every heavy, desperate breath you take. He takes out his knife.  

“Please,” you say. “Please don’t kill me."

Maybe he won't.

Your eyes water and you whimper. You look even prettier crying. His massive hand dwarfs your face. The sight of his hand around your throat is getting him really hard. He presses his thigh between your legs so you’re straddling his enormous leg. Gravity forces the heat of your loins into him. You lean your head back into the wall away from his mask. With you pinned there by his body, he hikes up your dress, exposing one of your thighs to the cold air – Your spiderweb fishnets don’t do much. Your other thigh is pinned by the warm, hard length in Michael’s suit. He's only getting harder.    

Michael throbs against you, and the fear in your eyes is gradually overtaken by something else. Your pupils dilate into black holes and your face flushes. He brings his face closer to yours and slightly tilts his head, acknowledging the shift behind your eyes. No, he won’t kill you, he decides. Not yet, anyway.

He’s captivated. He’ll make you his right then and there. He’ll make you unravel. The air grows warm with dark energy as he fills the black holes of your eyes with something you never knew you needed but won't be able to live without, try as you might. Your warmth throbs into his thigh. His breath deepens.

You reach for his zipper. He eases you down to your feet while you unzip his mechanic suit, down past his tight, faded navy tee. He stops your hand at his waist and your brow furrows. You grope his hardness — It’s more than a handful for you. This sends a surge of arousal through his body. His hips force more of him into your palm, flattening the back of your hand against your dress. He wedges his thigh between your legs again and feels you moisten through the fabric. He inhales deeply.

He removes his knee and replaces it with his hand. Two large fingers feel along your damp seam, then he grabs the crotch of your fishnets. His knife slices them open in one swift motion, nicking your inner thigh with the point of his blade. Neither of you react to the blood. He lets the weapon clatter to the ground. 

He pulls his zipper down more and reaches in to free his monster cock. He’s rock hard for you. You gasp when you see it and a look of horror spreads across your face. This turns him on even more. He knows it’ll be too much. His veiny erection throbs angrily into his hand. He lifts you up with both hands and your legs wrap around him.  

He aligns himself at your warm, moist hole, then penetrates you. You’re so fucking tight and wet. You moan, but the tip of his cock is barely inside.  He growls almost imperceptibly, then his large arms adjust your weight and bounce you down on his cock, letting gravity sink you further down. You gasp and your face looks pained. He rests your upper back against the wall, then plunges his full length into you and you scream. You look like you were just stabbed - he knows the facial expression well.   

He covers your mouth with his massive hand. Your heels dig into his ass. His animal instincts take over. Most of his body stays perfectly still while his ass flexes and he fucks you at an escalating place. Soon he’s pummelling you violently with all his length. You groan and whimper and your eyes water into tears, which makes him even hotter for you.  

He moans softly into his mask as he fucks you. He puts his hands on the wall on either side of you and you wrap your arms around his neck. With all your limbs wrapped around him, Michael backs up slightly from the wall. Your weight is no burden for his super-strength, especially with you hanging on so tight. He uses his hands to bring you down when he thrusts into you, then up when he retreats.  

You begin to twitch around his length. You moan and whimper and he only fucks you harder and faster. Your face contorts and your sounds grow louder. Your walls clench down around his cock. He wraps his arms tight around you and holds you down on his hips. You groan loudly and he doesn’t muffle you. He plunges his obscene length into you hard and slow while you come on his cock.  

"Michael," you whimper. 

Satisfied with what he’s seeing and hearing, he allows his own climax, letting your tight, wet cunt milk his cock. He explodes into you, extending your peak. Every two seconds, he releases what would be a full load for any other man. When you’re both finished coming, he sets you down on the ground again and pulls out.

-

You straighten your dress and lean against the wall, watching him zip up his jumpsuit.  

Michael observes you. You're disheveled and spent with a rosy face, weak eyes, and a furrowed brow. He can tell you're already wanting more, even if you haven't realized it yet. He can sense it. He’ll let you live. You'll try desperately to fill the void he leaves, but you belong to him now and no one else will ever be enough. 

He bends down and picks up his knife. As he slowly walks away, he thinks about what’s in store for you. Your life as you knew it is over. You’ll become someone else. You won’t be able to stop thinking about this night. Your transformation is already beginning. That's at least as satisfying to him as killing you would have been. 

He’s going to follow you from a distance and find out where you live. But first, he'll pretend to go his own way. Before he reaches the end of the alley, he hears your footsteps racing to catch up.

“Michael!” 

His gut reaction is annoyed. He stops and turns only slightly, then his irritation turns into fascination. It's all over your face - what he did to you, it's taking effect remarkably fast. What was it about you that allowed you to imprint on him immediately? You position yourself right behind him, and he lets you touch his hulking back. Your hands slide up to his shoulders.  

You want.... a ride? Your audacity. . . and yet, he's so intrigued by this development. His first instinct is to throw you over his shoulder instead, until he decides what to do with you. But he considers the mutual benefit of you riding on his back, like a fish on a whale: allowing him to brazenly walk the streets, just dominating Haddonfield in plain view.

He relents and squats down. You jump up and wrap your legs around his huge trunk. He catches your thighs in his massive hands and adjusts your weight. His warm cum trickles out of you and dampens the back of his jumpsuit as he lumbers down the street with you on his back, looking for someone to kill.  

-

michael tag list: @rebel-blue @wolvesandvampires @ethanhoewke hmu to add/remove yourself.

[warvariations]

oh my god yesterdayy. so the place wasn't as messed up as when i went to have a look on saturday, turns out they were fixing the sewage system on the street in front and that's why it stank, yesterday it didn't thankfully. well first of all the boss forgot to put up my pictures on the website so i didn't have any bookings and i had to contact him personally and get my pics up which was stressful and caused me to waste my morning, once that got sorted some bookings did come through and the work itself was chill except for the last guy who basically wrestled me the entire time trying to take advantage of me because he was pissed that we were behind on schedule, thankfully i've done this for over 10 years + i did a 2 day intimacy coordination session on how to wrestle someone on a bed when we shot Bliss and i handled it very gracefully and firmly but i definitely didn't need any of that bs. which only happened because the fucking hausfrau literally bullied me all day and caused me to be behind on schedule and also too afraid to end the booking early cause i didn't feel looked after by her, rather the opposite. it all started with my first client requesting 'intimate shaving' which is an extra they offer where u shave the client's genitals in the tub, this gets you 10 extra and is done without any form of protection, you're basically supposed to very likely come into contact with the client's blood for a mere 10 euro. i said i wasn't willing to do that and neither was i willing to do watersports because i can barely pee when i'm alone let alone on someone (it used to be chill but now i can't do it anymore, it's not about the piss i just can't let go) and instead of being like okay it's your choice she yelled at me that if i "didn't wanna do anything" there was no point in me being there. neither saturday nor yesterday did anyone take care of explaining anything to me and the hausfrau would reply harshly if i asked questions but then yell at me if i didn't follow the protocol exactly (like where to get new oil, how to set up the room, in what order to do certain things... basic stuff that a hausfrau is meant to show you on your first day). it felt really anachronistic, a massage parlor in berlin in 2024 does not need to be run like that. also like, there are not enough rooms for the amount of bookings/workers and the shower is in the kitchen, the shower being also the 'smokers room' like. it's giving trafficking. the bullying went on all day and she would often get other people involved to laugh at me / speak about me loudly in different languages knowing i couldn't fully understand but did understand it was about me, literally for the mere sake of it. it's not like i can't handle that, i went to school for 15 years and this is just how my teachers acted, but i really do not need to, especially for 60 an hour. at least one client paid me double and got my contact and the other 2 were gentle and respectful. i'm supposed to go in on thursday and there's a different hausfrau on thursdays (who seemed nicer) but i don't think i wanna risk it. a rate that's 1/4 of my outcall rate is sth i was willing to accept for the safety a parlor would provide but this woman went out of her way to make me unsafe; on an outcall i wouldn't have been late on schedule which wouldn't have caused me to deal with an angry client and i would have left if the client crossed any boundaries repeatedly. and that's that! fuck that bitch and the shitty atmosphere she's created in there and fuck the pimps who run that place.

[hornyhermitry]

Montblanc On Mori Tower - A Ran Haitani Birthday Fic

Word Count: 1,704 Rating: Teen (some brief graphic violence) Summary: Ran ends a Bonten mission to meet his brother on Roppongi Mori Tower for birthday Montblanc

Elegant knuckles struck mercilessly at the face below them, as they had done a dozen times in the last few minutes. With an unappetising crunch, the cheekbones finally gave way under the blows and the maltreated middle-aged man spat blood onto the ground between his feet. He hung his head. His words were slurred, distorted by loose teeth and blood in his mouth.  "We have nothing more than this."A large hand yanked his head back by the hair, forcing him to look at his interrogator. "Don't take Bonten for a fool. We know you've been getting supplies from the Chinese behind our backs and peddling them without paying your share to us." The tall man with lilac-coloured hair signalled an errand boy to bring him a rag.

When he received it, he squatted down in front of the man tied to a chair and wiped the blood from his hands while scrutinising him from top to bottom. The prisoner averted his eyes. "We didn't do anything behind your back." Violet eyes did not take their eyes off the bound man as the man continued to speak in a velvety voice and handed the dirty rag back to the henchman. Leaning forward, he spoke at eye level with the piece of filth who had tried to double-cross Bonten. "Do you know who I am?" Eyes smeared with blood dripping from his forehead, the man looked at his interrogator.

"Haitani Ran."

Pain shot through his face as the telescopic baton struck his broken cheeks. Blow after blow crashed down on his battered face and the man bit his tongue to keep the pain from showing. Blood and tears coated his eyelashes. "You lie to my face even though you know who I am?" Ran straightened to his full height and looked down at the miserable petty criminal in front of him. With a rough kick, he kicked over the chair the man was tied to and struck him in the shin with the baton. The man whimpered and writhed under more blows, but with a wave from their leader, 2 henchmen pushed the traitor back to the ground with their feet on his chest. Ran glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist and then grabbed the immaculate suit jacket hanging over another chair. He had somewhere else to be tonight. Without another glance back at the prisoner, he took long strides towards the exit. "Take care of him."

Haitani Ran, one of Bonten's executive members, stepped over the threshold of the musty betting parlour outside. The stuffy odour of decades-old cigarette smoke and male sweat fell away from the comparatively tall man as he stepped onto the streets of Roppongi, and a haze of fresh air, barbecues and expensive perfumes welcomed him into the nightlife. As he shook a cigarette out of the packet, he noticed the blood spatter on his hands and clicked his teeth. He didn't like it when his work affected his appearance. Especially not on a day like today. His long fingers clamped the cigarette between his lips and under graceful eyebrows, which were now drawn together, he rubbed the remaining blood from his hands with a handkerchief.

A few metres behind him, something banged against the door of the supposed betting shop he had just left. Ran lit his cigarette. Either you did what Bonten said, or you suffered the consequences.

The well-dressed man strolled leisurely through the evening streets of Roppongi. He had grown up here in the small side streets between large fashion shops and exotic foreign artisan shops. The neighbourhood had an elegance and international flair that had always impressed Ran. As a young boy, he hadn't realised what a posh neighbourhood his foster family had lived in, but after he and his brother had gotten into more and more fights with other teenagers and also made other districts unsafe at night, he had realised how special the beauty of Roppongi was. Modern, elegant, glamorous and yet with a dark heart that, behind the façade, ensured that the money never stopped flowing through the coffers and purses of the big players. 

A bright female laugh drew his attention to a group of men outside a luxurious nightclub, helping impressively dressed hostesses out of their limousine. On the wall behind them was a huge advert advertising the new Loewe collection featuring a Japanese actor. Ran took a puff on his cigarette and smiled inconspicuously to himself. If he hadn't decided to follow Kurokawa Izana, he could have been the one to show off the extravagant silk suits and leather jackets on the catwalks of the world. He had never forgotten his earlier dreams of being a model. But just as the brands that lined the billboards and fashion shops along the streets of Roppongi had changed, Ran was no longer the dreamy boy he had once been. It was almost amusing to him that he had thought back then that the fashion world would be able to offer him what his current life had in store for him. For too long he had ignored what someone like Kurokawa had known about him since their first meeting - that he had violence in his blood. Sure, he also had a taste for the finer things in life - impeccable personal style, good food, beauty - but all of that only grew out of the empty darkness that had always lain dormant within him.

He wondered what Kurokawa would say if he could see Bonten and Kakucho now. Ran liked to imagine that such an empire was exactly what Kurokawa had wanted to build.

Without hesitation, long fingers stubbed out the cigarette on a nearby wall and Ran jogged up the stairs towards Roppongi Hills Tower. In front of him stretched the forecourt of the tower block, still crowded at this time of night with couples sitting on the benches alongside the large spider statue and putting their heads together in the shade of the treetops. But Ran paid them no further attention and headed straight for the lift that would take him up to the Sky Deck. Normally a popular excursion destination for tourists and residents, the Tower and Sky Deck were closed to the public today. A small advantage of its special position within the city. Completely alone as he entered the observatory, the sound of his expensive shoes echoed through the spacious room. It was dark. As a graceful shadow in the darkness, he moved through the room and finally stopped on the outside terrace. With a firm grip, his previously blood-stained hands closed around the steel railing and he took in the breathtaking view. The only source of light was the sea of lights below him. The wind carried the distant sounds of nightlife up to his viewing platform. The city pulsated beneath his grasp and the Tokyo Tower illuminated the distant night sky in a faint red. Casinos, bars and the drug trade pumped through Roppongi's veins and it was his doing. Like a spider, he had begun spinning his web around this part of the city more than 20 years ago and could now call it his own. Sano Manjiro stood at the head of Tokyo and as long as breath flowed through his body, Ran would serve him in memory of his former leader. But even if Mikey ruled Tokyo's underworld, Roppongi belonged to Ran.

Even lost in thought, the approaching footsteps and rustling of clothing did not escape the attention of the man who was only one of two halves that formed a whole. Leaning his elbows on the steel railing behind him, Ran turned to greet the visitor. Rindou stepped close and held out a cardboard package to Ran with both hands, emblazoned with the logo of a nearby patisserie. Purple eyes, a few shades lighter than his own, curved into a smile that made his brother's face look like a child's.

"Happy birthday, Nii-chan."

Rindou had always been the more emotional of the two Haitani brothers. The little brother who had been too wild for his own good, constantly getting scrapes and fractures from careless climbing, and who had been too impulsive as a teenager to ever be able to negotiate diplomatically with other gangs. Ran would always be loyal to Kurokawa Izana's legacy and do any dirty work for Bonten that needed to be done. But everything he did, he ultimately did for his brother. Unimpressed, he looked down his nose at his brother and then turned back to the view of the city. "Stop always pulling that face, Rin, you're not ten years old anymore." Rindou elbowed him half seriously in the side. "Stop complaining you lanky fuck, or I'll eat your Montblanc all by myself." Ran turned to his brother with a look of disbelief. "You wouldn't dare." Laughing, Rindou pushed Ran away from him and opened his mouth wide as he held the dessert over his face. Ran tried to grab his brother by the collar of his jacket, but he only slipped out of his jacket and stuck out his tongue. "This is how you wish your big brother a happy birthday, you little shit?" The ensuing scuffle between the two brothers made the sounds of the city fade into the background under their indignant shouts and catty insults. Since Ran had both longer arms and the better technique (definitely not because Rindou was only pretending to fight, he was far too stubborn for that), it wasn't long before they were both out of breath and leaning against the glass barrier.

They both pushed their sweaty hair out of their faces and looked at each other. 

"Montblanc reconciliation?"

Ran grabbed the box Rindou held out to him.

"Give it to me already."

"Happy birthday, Ran. Even at 37, you're still obnoxious."

With the first bite of dessert already in his mouth, Ran mumbled a barely intelligible "Thank you" and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. In the end, that was what had kept them alive all these years. Roppongi would have fallen to them anyway, Bonten or no Bonten. But the Haitani brothers didn't need a team. As long as they had each other.