#george h. white

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Don Bellmore (aka George H. White) - Sin Seance - Greenleaf - 1968 (cover art by Robert Bonfils)

[whitesinhistory]

Though courts are supposed to be committed to equal justice under law, judges throughout the country have oftentimes been more committed to racial hierarchy than to the Constitution. On June 2, 1961, a Virginia judge upheld racial segregation in courtrooms, dismissing a lawsuit filed by three Black men who challenged the practice, describing as “totally without merit” their allegation that segregating courtrooms was degrading.

After being forced to sit separately from white community members in the municipal court in Petersburg, Virginia, George Wells, the Rev. R. G. Williams, and the Rev. Dr. Milton H. Reid sought an injunction to prevent Judge Herbert H. Gilliam, the chief judge of Petersburg’s municipal court, from continuing to subject Black community members to segregated seating. The lawsuit asserted that there was “no moral or legal justification for courtroom segregation,” calling the practice “degrading and shameful.”

Federal Judge Oren R. Lewis dismissed the lawsuit on June 2, 1961, describing the allegations of mistreatment as meritless since an equal number of seats were provided to each of the segregated sections for Black and white community members. He added that segregated seating in courtrooms was a “long established practice,” and that Judge Gilliam had kept Black and white people separate to “preserve order and decorum in his courtroom.”

The U.S. Supreme Court played a powerful role in protecting discriminatory Jim Crow laws for decades and shielding the South from challenges to its racial caste system. In Plessy v. Ferguson, the Supreme Court’s most well-known decision upholding segregation, the Court rejected Mr. Plessy’s argument that forced racial separation branded Black people as inferior and countered, “If this be so, it is not by reason of anything found in the act, but solely because the colored race chooses to put that construction upon it.”

Read EJI’s report, Segregation in America, to learn more about the white community's campaign of massive resistance to integration that kept schools, courtrooms, and other public spaces segregated for decades.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing References: Tips & Advice

Some Tips & Advice for Writing Fiction

Active Reading ⚜ Hook ⚜ Outline ⚜ Summary ⚜ Wordiness

Allegory ⚜ Food ⚜ Horror ⚜ Humour ⚜ Memoir ⚜ Mystery

Beginning & Ending ⚜ Chapter Ending ⚜ Last Line ⚜ The End

Conscious Language ⚜ White Room Syndrome ⚜ Writing Style

Creative Writing ⚜ Journal Writing ⚜ Speculative Biology

Fight Scene Part 1 2 ⚜ Plot Twist ⚜ Subplot

Procrastination ⚜ Rejection ⚜ Vocabulary ⚜ Your Audience

Writer's Block: Part 1 2

Your Character: Hero ⚜ Likable ⚜ Morally Grey ⚜ Well-Rounded

Writers on Writing

Anaïs Nin ⚜ Andrew Motion ⚜ Annie Proulx

Elmore Leonard ⚜ Ernest Hemingway ⚜ Friedrich Nietzsche

George Orwell: Motives for Writing ⚜ On Poetry ⚜ On Nonsense Poetry

George Orwell: The Prevention of Literature ⚜ On Good "Bad Books"

George Orwell: Describes A Writer

H. P. Lovecraft ⚜ Henry Miller ⚜ Italo Calvino

Jack Kerouac: Are Writers Born or Made?

James Baldwin ⚜ John Rechy ⚜ John Steinbeck

Joyce Carol Oates ⚜ Ray Bradbury ⚜ Ronald Knox

Kurt Vonnegut: The Shapes of Stories

Margaret Atwood: On Plot

Rick Riordan: On Character ⚜ On Dialogue ⚜ On Plot

Rick Riordan: Some Common Problems in Unpublished Manuscripts

Stephen King ⚜ Ursula K. Le Guin ⚜ Vladimir Nabokov

Virginia Woolf: On Censorship ⚜ On Words

W. H. Auden ⚜ William Strunk Jr. & E. B. White

Zadie Smith: Dance Lessons for Writers

More: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ For the Poets ⚜ Prompts Notes & References ⚜ Templates ⚜ Word Lists ⚜ Writing Basics

Writing Resources PDFs

[macrolit]

The 100 Best Books of the 21st Century.

As voted on by 503 novelists, nonfiction writers, poets, critics and other book lovers — with a little help from the staff of The New York Times Book Review.

NYT Article.

*************

Q: How many of the 100 have you read? Q: Which ones did you love/hate? Q: What's missing?

Here's the full list.

100. Tree of Smoke, Denis Johnson 99. How to Be Both, Ali Smith 98. Bel Canto, Ann Patchett 97. Men We Reaped, Jesmyn Ward 96. Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments, Saidiya Hartman 95. Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel 94. On Beauty, Zadie Smith 93. Station Eleven, Emily St. John Mandel 92. The Days of Abandonment, Elena Ferrante 91. The Human Stain, Philip Roth 90. The Sympathizer, Viet Thanh Nguyen 89. The Return, Hisham Matar 88. The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis 87. Detransition, Baby, Torrey Peters 86. Frederick Douglass, David W. Blight 85. Pastoralia, George Saunders 84. The Emperor of All Maladies, Siddhartha Mukherjee 83. When We Cease to Understand the World, Benjamin Labutat 82. Hurricane Season, Fernanda Melchor 81. Pulphead, John Jeremiah Sullivan 80. The Story of the Lost Child, Elena Ferrante 79. A Manual for Cleaning Women, Lucia Berlin 78. Septology, Jon Fosse 77. An American Marriage, Tayari Jones 76. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, Gabrielle Zevin 75. Exit West, Mohsin Hamid 74. Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout 73. The Passage of Power, Robert Caro 72. Secondhand Time, Svetlana Alexievich 71. The Copenhagen Trilogy, Tove Ditlevsen 70. All Aunt Hagar's Children, Edward P. Jones 69. The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander 68. The Friend, Sigrid Nunez 67. Far From the Tree, Andrew Solomon 66. We the Animals, Justin Torres 65. The Plot Against America, Philip Roth 64. The Great Believers, Rebecca Makkai 63. Veronica, Mary Gaitskill 62. 10:04, Ben Lerner 61. Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver 60. Heavy, Kiese Laymon 59. Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides 58. Stay True, Hua Hsu 57. Nickel and Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich 56. The Flamethrowers, Rachel Kushner 55. The Looming Tower, Lawrence Wright 54. Tenth of December, George Saunders 53. Runaway, Alice Munro 52. Train Dreams, Denis Johnson 51. Life After Life, Kate Atkinson 50. Trust, Hernan Diaz 49. The Vegetarian, Han Kang 48. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi 47. A Mercy, Toni Morrison 46. The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt 45. The Argonauts, Maggie Nelson 44. The Fifth Season, N.K. Jemisin 43. Postwar, Tony Judt 42. A Brief History of Seven Killings, Marlon James 41. Small Things Like These, Claire Keegan 40. H Is for Hawk, Helen Macdonald 39. A Visit from the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan 38. The Savage Detectives, Roberto Balano 37. The Years, Annie Ernaux 36. Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates 35. Fun Home, Alison Bechdel 34. Citizen, Claudia Rankine 33. Salvage the Bones, Jesmyn Ward 32. The Lines of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst 31. White Teeth, Zadie Smith 30. Sing, Unburied, Sing, Jesmyn Ward 29. The Last Samurai, Helen DeWitt 28. Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell 27. Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 26. Atonement, Ian McEwan 25. Random Family, Adrian Nicole LeBlanc 24. The Overstory, Richard Powers 23. Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage, Alice Munro 22. Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Katherine Boo 21. Evicted, Matthew Desmond 20. Erasure, Percival Everett 19. Say Nothing, Patrick Radden Keefe 18. Lincoln in the Bardo, George Saunders 17. The Sellout, Paul Beatty 16. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon 15. Pachinko, Min Jin Lee 14. Outline, Rachel Cusk 13. The Road, Cormac McCarthy 12. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion 11. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz 10. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson 9. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro 8. Austerlitz, W.G. Sebald 7. The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead 6. 2666, Roberto Bolano 5. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen 4. The Known World, Edward P. Jones 3. Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel 2. The Warmth of Other Suns, Isabel Wilkerson 1. My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante

[bunny-jpeg]

yacht party

toto wolff

cw: smut/pwp, yacht sex, toto being a possessive old man, age difference (20s/50s), i'm sorry george russell, bimbo!reader, daddy kink, sugar baby au, jealousy, punishments, drinking, spanking, choking, doggy style, oral sex (toto receives), unprotected sex,

bunny says: i got messages saying more toto! so here it is!

you could never say no to a boat party! being on toto's expensive yacht was something that you'd deny yourself the privilege to be on. so after monaco you were happy to be out of those pretty dresses that toto often dressed you in and into something a little more comfortable.

that came in the form of a white bikini with a heart clasp showed right down the middle of your breasts and did nothing but make you look like the little slut you were.

there was a reason why toto kept you on a tight leash. but even he liked to show you off a little. you hung around your older boyfriend as he talked to those he had invited.

you were just the pretty arm candy, your nose often buried in toto's arm as he kept his hand around your waist.

"in a moment, liebling." he said as he held you closer and continued his conversation. you snaked out of his grasp however when you saw george come through the crowd with a bottle of something expensive in hand.

"georgie!" you squealed as you went up to him. you threw yourself at him and gave him a huge hug. he caught you with ease and you kicked out your legs as you were lifted.

sometimes you were just too innocent for your own good.

when you let go you beamed at him for a moment. you chirped, "oh wine!" before you took the bottle from him, "thank you so much, georgie!"

george couldn't look away as you scampered away from him to say hello to someone else and put the bottle with the rest. his eyes were glued to your ass as it bounced. the white bikini made you look almost innocent (he was lying to himself).

toto chuckled as he leaned in to the other man, "like what you see?"

george swallowed, "i'm so sorry! i've just never seen her so excited before. i really am sorry!" he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"she's a pretty sight isn't she?" toto couldn't be too upset with george. he trusted george, george was his superstar on the track! so it would be a little curel to let something like jealousy curl up in the older man's stomach.

you on the other hand would be dealt with.

toto would feel controlling if he said that he had rules for you. rules made you seem like you were a dog to be trained rather than a little girlfriend who was just a little too excitable.

they were guidelines, suggestions with consequences. he believed that good behaviour should be rewarded. and the rewards weren't cheap, so there was an expectation to be managed that were guided by a set of... rules...

toto found you on your second glass of wine and a little tipsy in the kitchen. it was easy for him to crowd your space, he was almost two heads taller than you. and his presence was often grounding for you, like a big shadow to protect you.

so it was easy for you to fall into your arms and giggle as you rubbed your face all over him. toto chuckled and took the glass from you. you looked up at him with big innocent eyes.

"hello, daddy." you had a cat's smile on your lips as you looked at him.

his hand was on your lower back, "do you remember our little agreement, liebling?" his tone wasn't harsh, but it was a little stern. he held you against him as you swayed from side to side.

you nodded, "yes, daddy, uh huh." you were a giggly mess.

he cupped your face, "did you do this for attention, little one? i saw how you threw yourself at russell. and i saw how he looked at you when you ran away. maybe i should bring him over next time?" he knew that he'd never actually do that, not without a few stiff drinks in him. he was a dirty, possessive old man with too much money in his account.

you replied, your glossed lips in a 'o' shape, "oh no daddy, not at all." you held onto him a little tighter.

he leaned down and whispered in your ear, "come now, let's get you sobered up." and you knew that meant going to the bedroom on the yacht that had a lock on the door. and the sound proofing.

this wasn't the first time that toto punished you for being a "dumme kleine schlampe." nor would it be the last. toto stayed close to you like a shadow as you tried not to wear your anticipation on your face. the bedroom was nicer than some you lived in and quite big considering you were on a boat.

toto gave you a nudge to get inside before he looked around and closed the door. he locked it and turned towards you. he looked very nice in the crisp white button-up tucked into beige pants. his shoes were shined to perfection (you'd know, your last punishment was to shine every last pair to his liking!). and there you were on the bed in strappy heels and a white bikini.

you pouted at him and said, "i wasn't doing anything bad!"

he sighed and took his belt out of the loop of his pants. he put it down on the chair nearby before he approached the bed. it was a shame that he had to punish his baby girl during a party. you should be your sweet self. but, rules were rules.

"remember rule number twelve, kleine hure? no throwing yourself onto men who aren't me, you should've waited for me and we both could've greeted george. but instead he got a full view of your whorish little body as you ran off." he sat on the bed beside you and he grabbed you by the back of the head.

you blushed as you looked at him before you reached for the front of his pants. you undid them and got his shirt out of the waistband. you swallowed as you took his impressive cock out.

you measured it once because you thought he was lying. he said he was a modest six inches to make you less scared. he was in-fact almost nine inches. just shy of the threshold, even when painfully erect. while most overcompensated, he lied so you wouldn't be so nervous to take him.

you licked your lips before you placed your lips on the head. his fingers knotted in your hair as he moved your head up and down his cock. drool went down your chin as so much of his cock was crammed in your throat.

you somewhat believed that toto wolff ruined your gag reflex, that the blunt tip of his cock had battered it down until you could almost take every inch.

there was little time to adjust to his cock in your mouth before you were deep throating it. it throbbed in your mouth as your were moved up and down on his cock like the toy you were.

"filthy little thing. i'm starting to think you like being punished. maybe i should open the door and you can put on a little show for anyone who comes by. maybe next time you act like a little slut, i'll pass you thought all of mercedes from bottom to top, let them fill every hole they want. maybe that'll give you the attention you want, you little greedy whore. even when you take my cock you still want more." his voice was sharp and its stabbing tone let warmth in your gut.

your pussy ached for him, he was right. you were greedy. a little whore for his cock, his attention and anything else he'd give you. from kisses in the paddock to flowers after dinner to nine inches stuffed in your poor abused cunt.

you looked up at him and tried to pull your head off to tell him something, but his grasp was tight. it was unrelenting as you were forced to continue to orally pleasure him.

there was a thrum in your head as you could hear the party outside the room. his words melted in your brain, leaving it fuzzy and your body hot. you yearned for him in a way that made you want to yell.

but you couldn't yell with his cock in your mouth. it was heavy in your throat, you could taste the salt on his skin as the precum almost made you choke as it oozed down your throat.

"i've given you so much, little one." he said with a hint of disappointment, "why can't you just behave? let daddy take care of you, but instead you have to be a little whore. you made poor george all flustered by acting the way you did. that's not fair is it, liebling?"

you maintained eye contact and shook your head as much as you could. he tapped the side of your face before he pushed you as deep as it could go down your throat. it choked you slightly, but that only made the rush to your core more intense.

the pressure in your throat and the slight cut off of oxygen made you see stars behind your eyes when you closed them. toto rocked his cock up into your mouth, the tight feeling around his length was painfully erotic.

he had spent so much time shaping you into the perfect liebling. the perfect little thing that always got him all riled up. from your cute little behind to those soft breasts, your cheery smile and those precious eyes. he pulled his cock out of your mouth so you could breath and rubbed his wet length up against your face.

you whimpered and tried to move away, but his hand in your hair kept you still. feeling your own spit against your face was a weird feeling.

"be good, liebling. i know you can be." he said he tapped his cock against your face. you whimpered before your head was moved to choke on it once more.

the pleasure was felt in your core, your pussy clenched when your throat stung. it was painfully erotic and you yearned for more. toto thought you looked like a doll in the cute bikini that he picked out for you.

he was thinking maybe next time to get you like a collar or something. a little tag that had his name, address and phone number. just in case you strayed a little too far. can't have his beautiful angel got lost on him!

the debauched sight of you made his cock throb and when he was about to cum, he pulled your mouth of his cock and finished all over your sweet face. painted white like the bikini you wore. globs of cum were in your hair all the way down to your chin.

marked as his.

you whimpered and tried to open your eyes but cum threatened to get in it. he wiped it away from your forehead and pushed his thumb in your mouth to lick it off.

"good girl." he purred. he then watched you get it all off your face and into your mouth. your movements were slow as you collected the cum onto your fingers then put them in your mouth.

the salty taste was heavy in your mouth but the stickiness on your face remained, the glossy leftovers of the pearly cum were drying on your cheeks.

toto just thought you looked more angelic. he got you on your stomach with your hips raised. then with a little help from you, got the bikini off of you. he tossed them over in a corner somewhere you won't be finding for the rest of the night.

you were going to be in time out for the rest of the party, young lady.

he got out of his own attire, they remained a little more central in front of the bed before he climbed into bed with you. he rested on his heels behind you and then leaned forward to wrap a strong arm around you.

he laid down the first smack across your ass and your toes curled. you whimpered, then another was laid. then another, followed by two more in quick succession.

the pain in your backside bloomed and toto found you responses to it very erotic. his praises were interwoven with degrading words about your character. you were his beautiful princess, but also his whorish little girl who he'd happily throw to the dogs.

"leave you tied up against russell's car, thighs spread open. tell everyone that you're a good luck chair for the race." he landed a harder slap and the sound rang through the room, "a beautiful fall from grace, i wonder how many loads you'd take before nothing could fit. but you'd always make room for me." he raked his nails across your bruise forming on your cheek.

you almost kicked out your legs from the sensation but he pressed his nude body against yours. he kept you pinned under him, his wet cock painfully close to your pussy. one wrong move and he'd sink it with ease.

you were soaked like a fountain with your need for him. it was almost leaving a painful feeling in your gut or a carnal want. he teased you a little before he sank it all in, it only took one stroke before he was bottomed out in your cunt.

the stretch burned as you felt almost nine inches of cock fill you up. you gripped onto the bed under you and arched your back. you let out a shaky breath as the feeling of it all was a little overwhelming.

"beautiful, little thing." he purred, "perfect for your daddy. i think you're a good girl." he said, "you just act out because you want my attention solely on you." he gripped your thighs and began to thrust his hips. he loomed over you as he had you face down and ass up in the bed.

the party outside was quieter than the thumping of your blood in your ears. you felt light headed but also that your skull was made of lead. the sounds of your fucking filled the room but didn't go past it. your little slice of paradise while out on the water.

everyone else was drinking, smoking and doing god knows what else, meanwhile the host of the party was too busy making sure that you didn't forget what it felt like having his cock pushed up into your cervix.

"please, daddy!" you whimpered as you arched your back and clawed against the bed. you greedy slut, you still wanted more of him! you panted with your mouth wide open, gasping for air as he pushed it out of your lungs with every hard thrusts.

his voice was in your ear, filling your head as he kept thrusting, "good girls stay under me. all open and ready for my cock. i know i'd make the paddock for you, but i know you'd never run off from me, kaninchen." he laughed.

you whimpered as you felt your eyes flutter shut, your brain slowing down to process all the pleasure in your body. you felt him practically rearrange your insides with each of his movements.

you rubbed your face against the bed pathetically, and his grip only tightened. orgasm was quick to grab you, you felt the pleasure up to your ears and you clenched around his cock as you coated it even more in your wetness.

then you were just a panting, whiny mess. no words came out, only pathetic little noises as he continued to slam his hips against your ass. you were such a good girl, a dumb little slut, but a good girl! he continued to bully your cunt with his hard thrusts, until they started to stagger as the pleasure clouded his brain.

with one last hard thrust, he finished inside of you. you felt most of your body go limp as the weight of his cum filled your poor little pussy.

the older man pulled out and got you settled into bed. he then pulled the covers over your exhausted body. the last thing he saw before he pulled the covers was globs of his cum oozing out onto your thigh. he was a bit proud of that.

he found his clothes and tried to straighten them out as much as possible. his little girl would be out of commission for the night. he left the room and closed the door behind him before he re-entered the party. he saw george once more and slapped the man on the back and leaned in to him.

"what happened to-"

toto just smiled, "you know how she is george, all that energy and then she has to lie down. the wine didn't help either, good choice by the way."

george nodded and thanked the man before he walked off to get a drink of his own. the smell of sweaty hung for a moment, but george sniffed his collar to make sure it wasn't him. the scent was familiar, like sweat and pussy. <3

[gigi-loveless]

Regina George esque reader who is in a situationship with Hazel and hazel fucks reader into admitting they have genuine feelings for Hazel, loser Hazel because that’s still hot to me

HOLY SHIT YES

listen to hazels spotify here, and her taylor swift jam session here ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

reqs are open!

18+ under the cut

your life is spent terrorizing the halls of rockbridge in mini skirts and high heels. you’re untouchable, able to do anything that you please. teachers and students alike cower at the sound of your high heels click clacking through the hallway.

but, one girl never cowers.

you adore her; her shaggy brunette hair, her soft skin, the way she always smelled of musk and ivy. you love the fact that she was a loser, escaping your high profile life in between the sheets.

but she doesn’t know just how much you love her.

you were the queen of rockbridge, how are you supposed to come out guns ablazing that not only are you fucking the resident loser lesbian, but you’re in love with her? feelings are always be kept down, and you must keep a level head. nothing can get in your way with that mindset.

the sound of the bell ringing coincided with hazel slamming you against the wall of the janitors closet, pinning you down with her muscular arms.

“miss me?”

“you wish.” you spat back at her.

“my house, eight?” she asks, lips centimeters away from yours, teasing you.

“only if you promise to not be a fucking tease.” desperately grinding your heat into her thigh.

“oh baby,” she replies, “you know i don’t make promises like that.”

you hobble out, readjusting your skirt, and school continues like normal, besides hazel obviously checking you out in 6th period, to which you roll your eyes and scoff at her. it’s near impossible to do that to her, to crush her soul like that. all you want to do is run over and apologize and kiss her better.

a super moon just peeks out out from behind the clouds as you park in hazels driveway. as always, she whisks you away up into her room, stripping you before you could even think twice.

“hazel…please…” she kisses you passionately, hands still working clumsily to unbutton your skirt and discard it.

“lay down for me, angel.” god rest the soul who ever disrespects hazel callahan, so you obey. “being such a tease for me today, hm? with that little skirt, and that fucking top…” her sentence trails off as her tongue flicks across your nipple, making you groan loudly.

“you’re a cunt.”

“i know baby, but someone has to be brave enough to put the princess in her place.” hazel dips down, her rings cooling your heat, feeling your wetness. “and what might all that be for?”

“you….” you exhale into her as she slips two fingers in almost agonizingly slow. “h-h-hazel….” your eyes instinctively shut, until you suddenly remember her rule about eye contact.

“ah ah ah, eyes on me, got it?” her pumps begin to get increasingly harder, your knuckles going as white as the sheets in fists. she might look like a loser on the outside, but she knows what she’s capable of, and god does she get it hot taming the queen bee.

“alright angel, you get your reward now for being good and keeping eye contact, okay?” you nod as she leans down and plunges her face into between your legs, making you howl and writhe underneath her. there’s nothing in this world like hazels tongue. just as she gets into a rhythm, her two fingers curl up inside your walls again, making you shriek.

everything is black, all you can feel is your orgasm incoming.

“hazel- i’m- im….”

“come for me bab-“

“i’m- iloveyou…iloveyou….”

riding the high from your orgasm off, you return to earth, where hazel is staring over you with those saucer-like eyes of hers.

“did…okay i might just be hearing things…but did you say you love me?” your face goes red, realizing what you’d done, but you can’t lie to the girl.

“y-yeah….uhm..i think i should leave.” you start to gather your clothes, but as you’re rushing out, you knock right into hazel.

“it’s okay….i’m not upset…i….i need you. not just in this way,” she gestures towards the bed, “but like, in a…a new way. if- if you want to try. i’m really good at keeping secrets…”

“hazel, you know we can’t….”

“why? because jeff is gonna cream in his pants from seeing two girls together?” she sits you down on the bed, holding your hand. “i like you, so so much. i like that you’re mean, i like that you have a soft spot for me that you think isn’t obvious at all but it totally is, i like that you are so confident, i like that you’re creative….i like everything about you. i want to make this work, but only if you’re open to it….”

you nod, and connect your lips, feeling a new sense, a new spark, between you.

“you melt my heart, hazel callahan.”

[chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct]

So, project 2025 has been deleting their PDFs but a few lovely people have posted the list of books they want to ban and other than the fact that the entire list is stupid, here's some that stuck out to me + the reasons listed next to them. Most of the books on the list are lgbtq+ books which one would expect to find there, so I just did ones I didn't expect.

The Holy Bible - Challenged for religious beliefs and graphic content.

A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin - Sexual violence, political intrigue.

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson - Death and religious content.

Captain Underpants series by Dav Pilkey - Toilet humor and "disobedience."

Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak - Critique of the Russian Revolution.

Deadly Deceits by Ralph McGehee - Former CIA agent's critiques of the agency.

Emma by Jane Austen - Complex gender themes, social critique.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury - Censorship and media manipulation by the government.

Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling - Accusations of promoting witchcraft.

Howl by Allen Ginsberg - Explicit sexual content, anti-establishment themes

Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss - Concerns over violence against parents.

I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter by Erika L. Sánchez - Mental health, sexual content.

It's Perfectly Normal by Robie H. Harris - Sex education content.

It's So Amazing! by Robie H. Harris - Sex education content.

None Dare Call It Conspiracy by Gary Allen - Discusses alleged hidden global power structure.

None Dare Call It Treason by John A. Stormer - Anti-communist and conspiracy-focused.

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn - Critique of Soviet labor camps.

Operation Paperclip by Annie Jacobsen - Exposes secret U.S. program involving former Nazis.

My Brother Sam Is Dead by James Lincoln Collier - Violence, anti-war themes.

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt vonnegut- Anti-war themes.

Spycatcher by Peter Wright - Ex-MI5 agent's account of intelligence operations.

The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama - Criticism of religion, perceived political messages.

The Awakening by Kate Chopin - Female independence, sexuality.

The Book of Night Women by Marlon James - Slavery, graphic violence.

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede - Magic, feminism.

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein - Themes of selfishness, parenting.

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy - Examines class and caste issues in India.

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood - Critique of religious extremism and patriarchy.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas - Examines police violence and racial injustice

The Hunger Games Series by Suzanne Collins - Depicts oppressive government and rebellion.

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster - Political subtext, wordplay.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver - Critique of colonialism and missionary work.

The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene - Critique of religion and political oppression

The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle - Religious critique.

The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli - Seen as a critique of political ethics.

The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare - Often challenged for themes of submission of women in marriage.

Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer - Themes of violence, supernatural elements.

V for Vendetta by Alan Moore - Political rebellion, violence.

War is a Racket by Smedley D. Butler - Critique of war profiteering.

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein - Dark humor, "rebellious" themes.

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak - Themes of rebellion, dark imagery.

Where's Waldo? by Martin Handford - Alleged inappropriate illustrations.

White Noise by Don DeLillo - Critique of consumerism and modern society.

Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes - Feminist themes.

Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss - Seen as political allegory.

Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis - Critique of authority and societal norms.

[queer-ragnelle]

Seeking a book to read this winter break?

Brand "New" List of Additions to the Arthurian Preservation Project Archive

In time, all books will be added to my Retellings List or Medieval Literature List respectively, and possibly a third page for handbooks/informational resources. Retellings may be under construction for a bit as I reformat to accommodate the influx in links. There are some duplicates—Alan Lupack's and Mike Ashley's anthologies occasionally contain a one-off story I've otherwise included in an individual volume of collected works by the author.

Links connect to corresponding PDFs on my Google drive where they can be read and downloaded for free. But if you like what I do, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi. I haven't yet read these listings in full; I cannot attest to their content or quality. A big thank you to @wandrenowle for the help collecting!

Modern Retellings

Merlin in Love by Aaron Hill (1790) — Opera about Merlin & his love interest Columbine.

The Fortunate Island by Max Adeler (1882) — A family shipwrecks on an island only to discover its populated with Arthurian knights, including Dinadan, Bleoberis, & Agravaine.

Sir Marrok by Allen French (1902) — Werewolf knight.

The Story of Sir Galahad by Mary Blackwell Stirling (1908) — Illustrated retelling of Malory's Grail Quest.

The Story of Parzival by Mary Blackwell Stirling (1911) — Illustrated retelling of Eschenbach's Parzival.

Stories From King Arthur and His Round Table by Beatrice Clay (1913) — Illustrated retelling of Malory.

Cloud Castle and Other Papers by Edward Thomas (1922) — Contains two Arthurian entries: the story Bronwen The Welsh Idyll about Agravaine & his lady Bronwen, & the essay Isoud about the Prose Tristan.

Collected Poems by Rolfe Humphries (1924-1966) — Contains Dream of Rhonabwy about Owain & Arthur's chess game, A Brecon Version about Essylt/Trystan, Under Craig y Ddynas about Arthur's "sleeping" warriors, & The Return of Peredwr about the Grail Hero's arrival to court.

Peronnik the Fool by George Moore (1926) — The quest for the Holy Grail based on Breton folklore.

The Merriest Knight by Theodore Goodridge Roberts (1946-2001) — Anthology of short stories all about Dinadan.

The Eagles Have Flown by Henry Treece (1954) — A third Arthurian novel from Treece detailing the rivalry between Artos & Medrawt, with illustrations this time.

Launcelot, my Brother by Dorothy James Roberts (1954) — The fall of Camelot from Bors perspective, as a brother of Launcelot.

To the Chapel Perilous by Naomi Mitchison (1955) — Two rival journalists report about the goings on in Camelot.

The Pagan King by Edison Marshall (1959) — Historical fiction from the perspective of Pagan King Arthur.

Kinsmen of the Grail by Dorothy James Roberts (1963) — The Grail Quest but Gawain is Perceval's step dad.

Stories of King Arthur by Blanche Winder (1968) — Illustrated retelling of Malory.

Drustan the Wanderer by Anna Taylor (1971) — Retelling of Essylt/Drustan.

Merlin's Ring by H. Warner Munn (1974) Gwalchmai is a godson of Merlin's that uses his ring to travel through the magical & real worlds.

Lionors, Arthur's Uncrowned Queen by Barbara Ferry Johnson (1975) — Story of Arthur's sweetheart & mother of his son, Loholt.

Gawain and The Green Knight by Y. R. Ponsor (1979) — Illustrated prose retelling of SGATGK poem.

Firelord (#1), Beloved Exile (#2), The Lovers: Trystan and Yseult (#3) by Parke Godwin (pseudonym Kate Hawks) (1980-1999) — Book 1 Arthur, book 2 Guinevere, book 3 Trystan/Yseult.

Bride of the Spear by Kathleen Herbert (1982) — "Historical" romance retelling of Teneu/Owain.

Invitation to Camelot edited by Parke Godwin (1988) — Anthology of assorted Arthurian stories from authors like Phyllis Ann Karr & Sharan Newman.

Arthur, The Greatest King - An Anthology of Modern Arthurian Poems by Alan Lupack (1988) — Anthology of modern Arthurian poetry by various authors including E. A. Robinson, William Morris, C. S. Lewis, & Ralph Waldo Emerson.

The White Raven by Diana L Paxson (1988) — "Historical" romance retelling of Drustan/Esseilte.

Merlin Dreams by Peter Dickinson (1988) — Illustrated by Alan Lee.

The Pendragon Chronicles edited by Mike Ashley (1990) — An anthology of Arthurian stories, including some translations such as the Lady of the Fountain, and retellings by John Steinbeck & Phyllis Ann Karr.

Grails: Quest of the Dawn edited by Richard Gilliam (1992-1994) — Anthology of Grail Quest stories.

The Merlin Chronicles edited by Mike Ashley (1995) — Anthology about Merlin from authors like Theodore Goodridge Roberts & Phyllis Ann Karr.

The Chronicles of the Holy Grail edited by Mike Ashley (1996) — Anthology about the Holy Grail from authors like Cherith Baldry & Phyllis Ann Karr.

The Chronicles of the Round Table edited by Mike Ashley (1997) — Anthology of assorted Arthurian stories from authors like Cherith Baldry & Phyllis Ann Karr.

Sleepless Knights by Mark H Williams (2013) — 1,500 years have passed but Lucan the Butler’s still on the clock.

Medieval Literature

Three Arthurian Romances (Caradoc, The Knight with The Sword, The Perilous Graveyard) [This is on the Internet Archive & cannot be downloaded. If someone could help with that, lmk!] translated by Ross G. Arthur

Le Bel Inconnu (The Fair Unknown) translated by Colleen P. Donagher

Segurant The Knight of the Dragon (Portuguese) edited by Emanuele Arioli

An Anglo-Norman Reader by Jane Bliss

Stanzaic Morte Arthur / Alliterative Morte Arthure edited by Larry D. Benson

Sir Perceval de Galles / Ywain and Gawain edited by Mary Flowers Braswell

Sir Gawain: Eleven Romances and Tales edited by Thomas Hahn

Prose Merlin edited by John Conlee

The Middle English Breton Lays edited by Eve Sailsbury & Anne Laskaya

Il Ciclo Di Guiron Le Courtois Volumes 1-7 (Italian)

Wace's Roman de Brut / Layamon's Brut by Robert Wace & Eugene Mason

Arthurian Literature by Women edited by Alan Lupack & Barbara Tepa Lupack

Handbooks

Studies in the Fairy Mythology of Arthurian Romance by Lucy Allen Paton (1960)

A Companion to the Gawain-Poet edited by Derek Brewer (1990)

The Mammoth Book of King Arthur edited by Mike Ashley (2005)

A Bibliography of Modern Arthuriana 1500-2000 by Ann F. Howey & Stephen R. Reimer (2006)

[bigmpregnm]

Secret Family Ties - Part 3

[Story Collection] | [Part 2] [●] [Part 4🔜]

The snow had just begun to fall, coating the suburban landscape in a pristine white blanket. A cab slowly rolled up to Mike’s house, interrupting the quietness and announcing the twins’ arrival. On December 19th, Kyle and Mark, now 22 years old, had finished the fall semester of their senior year and decided to spend the holidays with their dad. The atmosphere inside the cab was tense with anticipation as the twins exchanged nervous glances.

The driver parked the car, and the twins began the arduous process of getting out with deep breaths and grunts due to the effort. Both of them were heavily pregnant—39 weeks pregnant with quintuplets, to be precise—and the babies had grown so big and so heavy that every moment was a challenge. They had discovered their condition only a few weeks after their fantastic fling with George back in March. Learning that each of them was carrying quintuplets was shocking. However, as their pregnancies progressed, they learned to enjoy their unexpected situation, especially the fact they were having George’s babies.

Their bodies had changed a lot over the last nine months. Their bellies were enormous, stretching their hotties to the limit. Their chests had grown so big and swollen with milk that they looked like soccer balls hidden under their hoodies, with permanently erect, engorged nipples showing through the fabric. Their formerly thin hips had widened considerably to support their growing bellies, and their butts had ballooned to resemble basketballs in size. They wore oversized pajama pants and hoodies because nothing else fit them. They couldn’t afford maternity wear, and even the oversized clothes barely contained their expanding forms.

Mark was the first to attempt standing. He braced himself against the car door, his face contorted with effort. “Alright, here goes... ugh,” Mark muttered, moving his hands to support his belly as he slowly eased himself up. His breath came in short gasps, pausing to regain his balance.

Kyle, watching his brother’s struggle, looked equally apprehensive. “Be careful; I can’t help you up if you fall,” he said, trying to maneuver his own massive belly out of the car. He clutched the door frame with one hand while using the other to support his middle, his widened hips swaying hypnotically.

Once both were finally standing, they took a moment to steady themselves. The weight of their quintuplets made every movement a challenge. The fact that all ten babies decided to start moving a lot as they caught their breaths made it all more difficult. Their breaths were visible in the cold air as the cab left, and they stared at their home for a few seconds.

“Ready?” Mark asked, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Yeah, let’s do this.” Kyle nodded, his eyes showcasing some anxiety. “Hopefully, Dad won’t kick us out of the house.”

The twins shuffled slowly toward their home, their enormous bellies leading the way. Their massive tits, as they called them, unsupported by bras, jostled and flopped with each step, adding to their discomfort. Their pajama pants and hoodies were snug over their fertile forms, leaving nothing to the imagination as they approached the house. They had avoided coming home to hide their pregnancies from their dad, but it was time to tell the truth. It was time to tell their dad that George, their childhood friend, had knocked each of them up with quintuplets.

As they approached the house, the twins couldn’t help but glance at George’s place. The memory of the evening in March when they sneaked into their room when Mike was gone, the fantastic feeling of George’s dick inside each of them, and all the events that followed, were fresh in their minds. Both of them sighed as they remembered the stud next door fucking them hard in each of their beds.

“Bro, we should tell him, right?” Kyle asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mark shrugged, wincing as he adjusted his weight. “Well, he deserves to know he’s about to become a father to ten babies, but... George’s married, and they already have twins,” he responded, frowning at the memory of Stacey and her pregnant belly.

“Yeah, but... these are also his kids,” Kyle added, rubbing the sides of his belly while the babies kicked up a storm.

“You’re right, but let’s worry about Dad first. I’d love to run into George’s house and tell him, but... It’s not that easy with his wife and kids there, bro,” Mark added, reaching for his belly to feel his babies moving. He knew they deserved to know their dad, but the situation was complicated, and they had to face their dad first. “I hope Dad’s okay with this.”

Kyle took a deep breath, steeling himself. “He loves us. He’ll understand.”

With that, they slowly made their way up the steps leading to the front door, each movement a careful combination of balance and strength. Mark reached for the door and opened it, revealing the quiet, empty interior. Kyle called for their dad, but there was no response. As they moved further into the house, their eyes scanned the living room, the kitchen, and the hallway. Their dad wasn’t home, but his car was parked in the driveway.

“Maybe he’s out. We didn’t tell him we were coming,” Kyle said, trying to keep his voice steady, but the babies in his belly rolled and stretched, making him groan in discomfort.

“Or maybe he’s mad at us. We promised to come back for the summer, but then we canceled. He sounded cool about it over the phone, but... maybe he wasn’t,” Marks said, adjusting his hoodie, which rolled up over his massive belly.

As the boys rubbed their bellies, catching their breaths and feeling the weight of their massive bellies taking a toll on their hips and legs, a sudden noise from upstairs broke the silence. They exchanged puzzled glances as they heard another noise.

“Dad!” Both guys spoke simultaneously, their voices tinged with curiosity and apprehension. They were eager to see their dad, but the fear of his reaction was overwhelming.

Despite their exhaustion, the twins waddled toward the stairs, supporting their enormous bellies with one hand while the other was on the small of their backs. They took a deep breath at the bottom of the stairs, gathering their strength to face the challenge. Mark went first, his widened hips swaying and straining his pajama pants as he took each step. He gripped the handrail tightly, using it to pull himself up while keeping one hand under his belly for support. Every step left him breathless, his chest heaving with the exertion. Kyle followed closely behind, his massive form making the journey equally challenging. His pajama pants strained against his enormous butt, and his plump, unsupported chest jostled with each movement.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, both twins were panting heavily. They paused to catch their breaths, leaning against the wall for support. They were sweating, even though the house was pretty cold. They could barely breathe, but as they shuffled down the hallway toward their dad’s room, they regained some composure to face their dad. The door was slightly ajar, and as they pushed it open, they were met with a sight that left them both stunned.

Their dad, Mike, was emerging from the bathroom, clad in nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his waist. The towel barely managed to cover his massive form, leaving a massively pregnant belly that looked ready to burst out on full display. Mike’s tits had grown enormous, even bigger than the twins’. His ass had swollen so much that it stuck out over a foot behind him, also far larger than the twins’. His hips had widened significantly, giving him an hourglass shape to accommodate the sheer size of his belly, which was stretched taut with the weight of octuplets.

Mike froze as he saw his sons standing at the door, his face flushing with shock and embarrassment. “Kyle… Mark… What are you doing here?” Mike said, trying to cover his belly with his hands, a futile effort given its yoga-ball-sized proportions.

“Dad, what happened to you? Are you pregnant?” Mark managed to say, his voice filled with disbelief as he rubbed the sides of his pregnant belly.

Mike’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of his sons and their massive bellies. ”Just like you, if the bellies are any sign.”

The twins blushed and nodded, unable to hide their secret. “We are. We’re having quintuplets... each,” Kyle said, glancing down at his belly.

Mike gasped and held the sides of his belly. “That’s ten babies between the two of you. And how far along are you?”

“Thirty-nine weeks, Dad. We’re due in a week,” Mark added.

“I’m thirty-seven weeks… with octuplets,” Mike said, looking down at his belly, where his babies kicked vigorously, forming large bumps on his taut skin. “Ugghh, these babies are always moving, and their size and weight are taking a toll on my body.”

Mike took deep breaths as the babies in his belly decided to start a party, seemingly announcing their presence to their older brothers. Mark and Kyle stayed silent for a moment, still processing the revelation and the fact that their dad was a lot more pregnant than them. Mike winced and caressed his belly, feeling the intense movement.

“You should take a seat, Dad. If our legs get weak when the babies start kicking, I can only imagine how it is for you since you’re a lot bigger than us,” Kyle said as he approached to stand beside his dad, and Mark quickly did the same.

“Yeah, I need to sit down. And we need to talk,” Mike said, waddling to his bed, the twins helping him sit down with a heavy sigh.

Mike’s belly was still moving, the kicks visible through his skin. Mark and Kyle sat on either side of him, their own bellies pressing against their thighs as they tried to get comfortable.

“How did this happen?” Mike asked, rubbing his enormous belly and glancing at his sons’ round abdomens.

“Well, I think it’s time to be honest,” Kyle began, sighing as he gathered the courage to tell the truth. “When we came home for Spring Break, we talked with George and told him we’ve been in love with him since... forever.”

“He was so sweet, and we were reckless. We invited him over, and we... well, you know,” Mark continued, blushing while looking at his belly. “George is the father of our babies.”

“We know it’s complicated because he’s married and he has kids already, but... we love him, Dad,” Kyle added, blushing as Mike’s eyes widened in shock. “Please, don’t be mad at us.”

“Well, I guess it’s time to come clean. I can’t be mad at you because... George is the father of my babies,” Mike said, holding the sides of his belly as he sighed deeply.

The twins exchanged shocked glances. “George?” Mark repeated. “George, our neighbor? That’s unexpected,” he added, chuckling and making his brother and father laugh.

“I thought you’d be ashamed of me. I was relieved when you didn’t come for the summer, and since my belly got too big, I’ve been avoiding spending too much time outside, fearing George would notice I’m so pregnant,” Mike said.

“We’re not ashamed, Dad. We’re surprised, but we’re all in this together... literally,” Mark said, leaning to rest his head on Mike’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we all fell for George. And we fell really hard for him if you ask me. He put 18 babies in us,” Kyle said, leaning his head on Mike’s other shoulder.

Mike smiled and chuckled, reaching for his sons’ bellies to rub them. The twins talked about how they dealt with their pregnancies in college, the challenges of balancing schoolwork with their growing bellies, and the struggles to find clothes that fit. Mike listened and shared his stories about the loneliness, the longing, and how his body had changed so much to accommodate his growing babies.

As they talked, the twins lifted their hoodies to show the full extent of their pregnancies, also giving their dad a glimpse of their enormous tits. Their bellies were massive, stretching their skin taut and showing faint lines of stretch marks. Their chests, unsupported and heavy, rested on top of their bellies, with swollen and sensitive nipples. Without a word, they began to lovingly rub each other’s bellies, their hands moving gently over their stretched skin.

“You know,” Mike said softly. “I have many things to teach you about raising kids and childbirth.”

The twins blushed, their cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “It looks like you’re going to give us one heck of a demonstration, given how pregnant you are,” Kyle said, moving his hand over his dad’s enormous belly.

The three pregnant men laughed, sharing a sweet moment with their many unborn babies. However, as they were excited about welcoming 18 babies to their family, they couldn’t stop thinking about the man who got them in that condition. They couldn’t forget about the dick that got them so pregnant. They couldn’t stop thinking about George.

****

Kyle and Mark were slowly waking up the following morning, still exhausted after the trip, their massive bellies and active babies making even the simplest movement a challenge. Kyle was the first to stir, only wearing boxer briefs. He carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, his belly protruding far in front of him. The weight of the quintuplets inside made it necessary to support his belly with both hands as he stood up.

Mark followed suit. He heaved himself out of bed, cradling his belly with both hands, feeling the babies shift inside him as he moved. Both pregnant guys, clad only in their underwear, waddled slowly toward the kitchen, following the delicious smell of eggs, bacon, pancakes, and orange juice.

As they entered the kitchen, they found their dad preparing breakfast. Mike was wearing a huge maternity bra that provided much-needed support for his enormous tits and snug panties that did little to hide the contours of his wide hips and fat ass. Kyle and Mark exchanged a glance when they noticed their dad’s panties, but they figured it was a comfortable option. The octuplets in Mike’s belly stretched and turned like a rollercoaster, making his belly appear even larger than the day before.

“Morning, boys. How did you sleep?” Mike looked up as his sons entered, smiling at them.

“As well as we could, considering these active kids,” Kyle said, resting his hand on his belly.

“Yeah,” Mark added as they lowered themselves into the chairs by the table. “It’s getting harder to find a comfortable position to sleep or do anything.”

Mike chuckled and patted his belly. “I know the feeling. You better eat this all; we have a big day ahead.”

The twins looked at their dad curiously. “What do you mean?” Mark asked.

“I think it’s time to tell George the truth. He deserves to know about all these babies.” Mike responded, carefully carrying the twins’ plates to the table.

The twins remained silent, but they knew their dad was right. After finishing breakfast, they headed back upstairs to get dressed. The twins sneaked into snug sweatpants that hugged their expanded hips and asses like a second skin and oversized tank tops that barely contained their swollen tits and bellies. Mike opted for tiny shorts that emphasized his hips and ass and a tight-fitting t-shirt that stretched over his enormous belly, highlighting every curve and bump of his pregnant body.

Once they were dressed, the trio made their way outside. The twins waddled up the steps as they approached George’s door, with Mike following closely. Mark knocked on the door, and moments later, it swung open to reveal George’s smiley face. However, George’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight before him. The twins looked huge, and Mike seemed even bigger, even though part of him was hidden behind his sons.

“Kyle? Mark? How have you been doing?” George asked, his voice filled with excitement and confusion. “Hey, Mr. Harlow. It’s been a while; I thought you weren’t home. What’s going on?”

“Hi, George. We’ve been fine. Can we come in?” Mike asked. “We need to talk.”

“Sure! Please come in, but be careful. I mean, you…” George stepped aside, allowing them to enter. The pregnant men moved into the living room, carefully lowering themselves onto the couches. “What’s this all about?” George added as he sat across from his neighbors, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.

Mike took a deep breath, his hands resting on his belly, while the babies kicked up a storm. “We have something important to tell you. I don’t know where to start, but I guess you already know how and when all of this started,” he said, caressing the sides of his belly. “George, we’re pregnant, as you can clearly see. And you’re the father.”

George’s eyes widened even further, his mouth opening and closing as he processed the information. “You mean, like, the three of you are having my babies?” He asked, his eyes shining brightly with excitement.

The twins nodded, rubbing their bellies and shyly smiling at George. “Mark and I are having quintuplets each. And Dad is carrying octuplets,” Kyle said. “You did an outstandingly great job with us.”

Mark chuckled and patted his belly. “You did. You have 18 babies on the way between the three of us. Kyle and I are due in a week, and Dad is due in three weeks.”

George sat back, his face a picture of astonishment, but as he leaned backward, Mike and the twins noticed George’s dick getting hard in his pants. “I don’t know what to say,” George said, unable to hide the grin on his face.

At that moment, Stacey walked in, holding her and George’s eight-month-old twin boys. Her belly was huge, clearly showing that she was heavily pregnant again. She smiled at the sight of her husband, Mike, and the twins, but she couldn’t hide her surprise when she noticed the three massive pregnant bellies looking ready to pop.

“Hello, Mr. Harlow. Mark. Kyle. It’s good to see you,” she said, carefully sitting beside George on the couch. “Is there something wrong?

“Hey, Stacey. It’s also good to see you and the babies,” Mark said, politely smiling at her. “All of them.”

“Thanks, and I guess I can’t hide this big belly. I’m 7 and a half months pregnant, with quadruplets this time,” Stacey said, looking down at her belly while holding the twins in her arms. “We couldn’t wait for long after these two came out, and, well, let’s say George is pretty hard to resist.”

“Oh, we know,” Kyle added, chuckling.

George grinned and sighed. “Stacey, they’re here because... it seems I have more children on the way. Mark, Kyle, and their dad are all pregnant, and... I’m the father. A few months ago, when they came home for Spring Break, the twins and I had sex, and a few weeks later, I was with Mr. Harlow, and... now Mark is having quintuplets, Kyle is having quintuplets, and Mr. Harlow is having octuplets.”

Stacey’s eyes widened in surprise as silence filled the room. Then she chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I can’t say I’m shocked. As I said, you’re very hard to resist, and it seems like my big stud did a great job. That’s 18 babies on a first try with them; it looks like we’re going to have quite the family.”

Mike, Kyle, and Mark shared a relieved smile as George leaned in and kissed Stacey’s lips. “So... aren’t you mad about this?” George asked, kissing Stacey again and rubbing her belly.

“Not really. As long as you keep taking care of me and our kids, we can have more family members. If that’s okay with you all,” Stacey said, looking at Mike, Kyle, and Mark.

“We’re happy to hear that because we want George to take responsibility for all these kids... and us. We have needs, and we think it’s not only your right but your obligation to care for those needs,” Mike said, caressing his belly.

George nodded, willing to step up as the father of all those babies. “Of course. I’ll do anything.”

“For starters, we need a hard fuck. Regular fucks, to be honest. It’s been hard to deal with hormones without you there,” Kyle said, massaging his right tit, causing his tank top to roll up on his round belly.

“And keep us very pregnant from now on,” Mark added, rubbing his belly to emphasize his point.

George smiled and looked at Stacey, who nodded and smiled at him. “I can do that. Immediately,” he said, quickly getting on his feet and extending his arms to help Mike, Mark, and Kyle stand up. “Follow me to our guest room.”

George led them to the guest room, removing his clothes on the way and revealing his huge, hard dick to the horny, pregnant guys. Immediately, Mike and the twins noticed that George’s dick looked bigger than before and his balls had grown to tennis-ball sized proportions.

“I hope you like the improvement,” George said, looking at his dick and balls as they entered the guest room. “It grew 4 inches in length, thickened a lot and my balls are always full,” he added, leaving Mike and the twins drooling.

Once inside, the twins and Mike uncovered their massive bellies, and the sight of their pregnant forms was even more impressive up close. George approached and started rubbing the three bellies, loving how huge and full they were. He leaned forward and kissed Kyle’s lips, soon doing the same with Mark’s and finally making out with Mike, who moaned and groaned in pleasure. Since his pregnancy was bigger, Mike’s hormones had skyrocketed, so George decided to give him more attention first.

George helped Mike lay on his back in bed and quickly removed the tiny shorts, instantly ripping the snug tank top. George rubbed his 14-inch-long dick against Mike’s enormous ass, making the pregnant man moan. Mark and Kyle climbed in bed and kneeled at each side of George to caress his fit body while he pushed his massive dick into their dad’s hole. Mike moaned loudly, feeling George’s bigger dick entering him, leaving him gasping for air. The twins kissed George’s cheeks, and he responded with gentle rubs on their bellies while his hips started bucking to fuck an overwhelmed Mike.

“You know… I’ve been experimenting with fertility medications because I want a big family,” George said as he fucked Mike and continued making out with the twins. “You look fantastic with these big bellies; so full with my kids; but next time, I’ll get you even bigger with many more babies,” he added, intensifying the fucking and leaving the twins out of breath with his kisses.

**

Stacey breastfed her babies in the living room while the quadruplets in her belly turned and stretched constantly. She chuckled softly, hearing the loud moans coming from the guest room. She couldn’t help but smile, knowing that after George finished with Mike and the twins, it would be her turn to enjoy her big man.

“You guys have a wonderful father; did you know that?” Stacey said, looking down at the twins nursing on her breasts. “He’s such a horndog. A big stud who will give you a lot of siblings,” she added, hearing the moans grow louder.

**

Simultaneously, the neighborhood was quiet outside. The mailman made his rounds, his bag slung over one shoulder. He paused as he stepped in front of George’s house, leaning against the mailbox post. He smiled and rubbed his quintuplet-filled, massive belly, barely contained by his tight uniform. His heavy tits felt plump with milk, and his fat ass ached for some attention. He chuckled as he remembered when he had to deliver a package inside the house a few months ago. As the quintuplets shifted inside him, the mailman couldn’t stop thinking about George, the stud who knocked him up eight months ago.

...

[mpregandproud]

The man of my dreams

Getting pregnant was the best thing I've ever done in my life. I used to be the invisible kid in class. I was skinny, unattractive, nobody noticed me. I never had a boyfriend, and I had a hard time finding a guy to fuck. But sometimes life has surprises in store.

One night at a fraternity party I got drunk and woke up the next day naked on a bed. I didn't remember anything that had happened the day before, but something in me felt different.

It took me a couple of weeks to figure out what it was. That night I don't remember I got pregnant. I was carrying a baby.

A month into the pregnancy, my belly was already showing a little. My skin glowed, my hair looked better than ever and my body grew. Something clicked with my fellow faculty members because from that day on I started getting visitors in my room or they would offer to accompany me to the bathrooms every time I had to leave class to pee. And it only got better as the months went by.

Frank, Isaak, Daniel, David, Aaron, Scott, Bruce, Bob… there wasn't a guy who didn't approach me since I got pregnant. Tall, muscular, blondes, brunettes, attractive, and with huge dicks. My ass had never had such a good time as it had these past few months.

But there was only one problem. The one guy I'd always liked, the one I'd been talking to at that party nine months ago, George, was the only one who hadn't paid any attention to me. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. Tall, athletic, intelligent, dark hair and beard. Someone mysterious, but successful. The man of my life, even if he didn't know it yet.

These last few weeks, on the other hand, my sexual activity has slowed down quite a bit. My huge belly, I am expecting triplets after all, prevents me from going to class every day. The doctor has recommended me to rest, so my encounters have gone. My pleasure lately is to eat like a pig, while lying in my underwear on the couch watching episodes of Friends.

One of these days, while I was devouring two huge pizzas, the doorbell rang. With great difficulty I got up and approached the door. I had to stop a couple of times, because for the last couple of days the contractions have started. I'm about to give birth, it's nothing unusual.

When I opened the door my water almost broke. The man that was waiting only lives in my dreams. George was standing there, wearing a tight white T-shirt that showed all his muscles. I didn't know how to react, I didn't know what to say, I was speechless:

- "Hello, handsome" - He said to me with a perfect smile.

- "H... h... hi. What are you doing here?" - I answered with a blush on my face. Was that a dream I was seeing?

- "I think you have something that's mine… ours. Don't you?"

- "What do you mean?" - I was speechless again. What would I want to say.

- "Nine months ago we were together... don't you remember? I was scared after fucking you, it was my first time with a man and I never felt that good with someone. I was stupid, I ran away and I haven't dared to come back here".

- "You? Was it you? Did you get me pregnant?"

- "Yes, I think I did. I spent the night with you, we were together all the time and after many drinks you took me to bed."

- "Thank you. I couldn't say anything else..."

- "Thank you?"

- "Yes, thank you for giving me the greatest gift of my life." - We were both crying and smiling at the same time.

- "Get the over here!" - He grabbed my face with his two strong hands and kissed me with a passion I had never felt before.

We kissed and went to the bed. He helped me take off my boxers and ate my whole cock. Fuck, what is this, I've never been so hard. If I didn't cum four times I didn't cum any, and this had only just begun.

With the same confidence with which he appeared in my house he grabbed my belly on both sides and kissed every inch of my skin and sucked my breasts that were already a considerable size with milk. My body was filled with an electricity that I had never experienced before. I was in heaven. This is real love.

When I thought it was all over, he opened my legs and pushed his penis in. A slow, gentle movement. The gentleness, the pleasure, the rhythm. Again, this man is a sex god, and the father of my children. He is mine. He is mine. HE IS MINE.

And then... the waters broke. A whirlwind of water rushed out of me. The three little people who united us forever were coming. In the end I will not give birth alone, George is here with me. Dad and daddy, finally together.

[iheartjohnlennon]

The Beatles NSFW Alphabet - Paul

 

 

@heiterhund <<< co-writer xxx🩷🎀

 

 

 

 

 

 

A is for Aftercare (How he treats you after sex, what happens after sex, etc...)

• Paul's very chatty with you at the end of it, then after that he just lies with you.

• Sex takes all of his energy and he can barely move himself. While he still has you, he’ll talk your ear off about everything and anything, important or not.

• And he 100% asks you how the sex was and how it felt - he wants a review.

• After you guys talk, he just stares up at the ceiling, daydreaming, dazed. He looks lovely, you just sit up and stroke his face, your breasts in his face as he mumbles how much he loves you.

 

 

B is for Body part (His favourite body part of yours)

• Your breasts win everything for him.

• He just thinks they sit so prettily, he loves the curve of your chest - the underside of them. How soft they feel in his grasp. They get him so distracted.

• He also loves the way your tits bounce when he’s fucking you.

• He can grab them, suck them, squeeze them, fuck them, finish on them. They're just...everything.

 

 

C is for Cum (Where he likes to cum)

• Paul adores cumming on your breasts, no matter the position you do.

• He loves the way it looks - your tits being covered in his white, glistening seed.

 

 

D is for Dirty secret (Something utterly filthy that he did/or does/or wants to do behind your back.)

• Sometimes Paul will either purposely let his friends hear you get fucked or just tell them about what you both get up to. 

• It started off as a joke when George made an off handed comment about the marks on Paul’s skin, usually the dark love bites littering his neck. 

• Due to this, Paul really, really feels the need to tell his bandmates how well you guys fuck. Their reactions just fuel their ego.

 

 

E is for Experience (How experienced is he?)

• Those prostitutes in Hamburg taught him a lot, a lot.

• Not to mention he's a bit of a whore anyways so he picks up knowledge and stuff.

• Paul knows and has experience past mere orgasm. He could be a sex therapist or something at this point.

 

 

F is for Favourite position (How he loves to fuck you)

• Paul really likes anything where he doesn’t have to put in much work. He’s honestly a lazy lover. He doesn’t mind topping though, you just have to ask. 

• He prefers cowgirl, because he gets to have his hands on your pretty hips and watch your tits bounce as you do it.

• But that’s not to say he won’t do any other positions! He just has to admit that watching you, watching your face, is his favourite thing to do. 

 

 

G is for Goofy (How silly is he during sex?)

•Sex with Paul isn’t long enough for a full conversation, let alone smart quips.

•He might laugh if he can’t get it in the first time, or if he hits himself or something. But other than that, he just isn’t silly during sex. He takes it very seriously. 

 

 

G is also for Goal (What's his goal and/or dream in relation to sex)

• His goal is to cum! To cum everywhere and anywhere you will let him.

• He obviously cares about your orgasm, but… he feels like he should finish first, y’know?

 

 

H is for Hair (How well groomed he is, does the carpet match the drapes, etc..)

• This depends on the era, really.

• Early 1960s Paul would be very well groomed, neatly trimmed and not too long. Just a pretty thing that frames his cock, really.

• Going to 1966 and up? Yeah…maybe it would be a little unruly, but not like a jungle.

• After 1968 though…he just stopped caring!

 

 

I is for Intimacy (How romantic he is during sex, etc..)

• His intimacy depends on your relationship.

• If it’s a fling, expect him to hump and dump within a day. If you’re his girlfriend though? Expect him to be as caring as he can be, for the moment, anyways.

• There’s really no big scene in the bedroom, no music, no romantic lighting - just him being slower and taking his time. Your hands intertwined as he mumbles and tells you how much you mean to him.

• It doesn’t happen often, but he does want it to be often. So long as your relationship develops.

 

 

J is for Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

• Paul loves to jerk off.

• He thinks it’s the easiest thing to do. Plus, it focuses solely on his pleasure.

• He thinks about you when he does it, usually with his back pressed against the headboard cock in hand, as he tugs and twists until his hand is covered in his release.

 

 

K is for Kink (One or more of their kinks in relation to you)

• Paul has a huge breeding kink. He gets so hard when he thinks about knocking you up. It makes his cock throb and ache with need. He usually tries to cum inside you, hushing your muffled concerns with his hand over your mouth as he keeps thrusting into you.

“Shh, it’s alright, I think you’ll be a great mother. Don’t you want me to be a father, love?”

• Usually that’s his attempt at soothing you, and it makes him even more excited.

• His other kink is cross dressing… nothing too extreme, but he loves when he’s able to wear something frilly and girly. He loves the way he looks in panties, it makes his dick look bigger, which is more of an ego boost.

• One word: pegging. He loves feeling like the bitch in the relationship. He makes cute little whimpers, hands fisted into the sheets as he tilts his head back. He refuses to take it on all fours, though. That's too much for him. He prefers being on his back, legs wrapped around your waist as you ease the tip of the strap into him. His pouty lips part as he lets out a shaky breath - cheeks flushing pink. 

 

 

L is for Location (Favourite place to do the deed)

• The comfort of his own home just brings him a peace he rarely feels since he's constantly bombarded with fans and press and money.

• Doesn't matter where in your home, just as long as it's there.

 

 

M is for Motivation (What turns them on about you, gets him hard, makes him cum, etc..)

• Paul loves the faces you make during sex.

• He thinks you look so pretty fucked out and flushed. Your cheeks are so flushed, he thinks it looks better than any makeup you’ve ever worn.

• Your lips are so swollen from all the desperate kissing shared between you two, usually glistening with saliva (It’s Paul, he’s a messy kisser and that won’t ever change.)

• Eager humping, harsh gripping, and loud pants are usually Paul's tell tale signs that he’s about to cum.

 

 

N is for No (Turn offs, what pisses him off, etc..)

• Paul isn’t too thrilled at the idea of threesomes.  He doesn’t like the idea of sharing you because what’s his is his. 

• But if John asked or any close friends, he probably wouldn’t mind too much… No one else though, he’s the only one who knows how to fuck you. So why would you want someone else to join in? This is why he's so possessive, he wouldn't be able to even bear the thought of any other cock being inside of you.

 

 

 

O is for Oral sex (Does he prefer giving or receiving? How does he give, how does he receive?)

• He prefers getting head than giving head.

• He likes the way your lips wrap around his dick, tongue lapping the underside of his head - before you graze his shaft with your teeth. It sends a deep chill down his spine…

• When your nose nuzzles what pubic hair he does have, he’s about ready to cum down your throat. His hand usually finds its way to your hair, making a fist into it - pulling you up and down until he’s reached his climax.

• He does like eating you out though! It’s just not his preference. you might have to ask once or twice, unless he’s high or drunk.

• If that's the case, then he’s on you like some animal in heat. Sloppy kisses pressed against your clit, tongue dragging down to your entrance before he wiggles his tongue into it.

 

 

P is for Pace (Fast or slow? Rough or sensual? Etc)

• It’s not slow, like, at all.

• He's on you until he’s cumming inside of you.

• It's very fast, rough, desperate humping, like a rabbit. Sometimes he’ll hold you in place, hips jerking in quick messy directions.

• It can be romantic! Just…usually it isn’t.

 

 

Q is for Quickie (His opinion on quickies, how often they happen, etc..)

• Oh, he LOVES quickies.

• That’s usually what sex is like with him anyways! There may not be long rounds, but there’s usually so much fucking throughout the day.

• The beds too far away? Don’t worry, he’s already lifting up your dress, tugging down your stockings, and sliding his dick into you.

• He’s backstage during a performance? he already has you in the supply closet, hand over your mouth as he has his way with you.

 

 

R is for Risk (What kind of risks will they take.)

• Paul is 100% a pregnancy risk kind of guy.

• He kind of gets off on it as well, getting you pregnant “accidentally”.

• He'll not want to wear a condom and you'll ask him if he's sure, he just shrugs like...how bad can it be!

• He does want you to have his children eventually, he just likes the idea of having them unplanned.

• He just wants to raw dog you in peace, okay?

Paul finally had you to himself. 

The long day of answering the media, signing autographs, shaking hands - it was all so monotonous. 

But he’d do it all again if it meant he’d get to come home to you, naked, on his bed spread beneath him.

His dick was shoved into you, hands shoving your knees up to your chest - as he gave harsh, short thrusts. 

You let out soft whines, eyes rolling back as you took it like the good girl that you are.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Y’know, ‘m not wearing a rubber,” he huffed out in your ear, the smirk evident in his tone. 

Your eyes shot open as you tried to turn your head to speak into his ear.

“B-But, Paul,” you tried to speak, words getting caught in your throat as he continued to fuck you. Your nails dug into his back, leaving scratches as you tried to focus and tell him about the obvious risk. 

“Easy now, quiet down, I wouldn’t quite mind getting you pregnant y’know…”

 

 

S is for Stamina (How many rounds he can last, how quickly can they cum, etc..)

• He’s like a rabbit, he can and will fuck everyday if given the chance.

• He can’t do long rounds, each round is about 10-15 minutes. but there’s at least four rounds before he gives out and feels like he's been drained of his cum and will never cum again.

• Paul can cum in five minutes if you let him, but he’s always edging himself so you can enjoy sex as well.

 

 

T is for Toys (Does he own toys, use them, what kind of toys, etc?)

• You both have used your dildo, but not in the way where Paul just uses it by himself. You had to share it for the moment when you first tried pegging him.

• He asked one day if you guys could try something new. He and John were talking over lunch about sex - and John brought up something about the prostate, just a silly thought.

• Paul had to pretend he wasn’t interested, joking with John how stupid it sounded!

• But it’s all he could think of until he was home with you. He was nervous to ask about, thinking you’d see him as some sort of homosexual. You didn't, you have such an active sex life that trying new things in the bedroom never seems like a bad idea.

• Safe to say, Paul loved his prostate being stimulated. Due to that, you now own a strap on.

• Paul also doesn’t mind you having toys. He personally buys you them as well and likes watching you unbox them. 

 

 

U is for Unfair (How much does he like to tease you, how does he tease you, etc..)

• He’s extremely unfair, but not in the teasing sense.

• Paul simply adores you, but he’s extremely selfish when it comes to pleasure. If you don't finish but he's tired and can't go on, he'll make you beg to finish. A lot of begging.

 

 

V is for Volume (How loud is he, what noises does he make, what does he say, etc..)

• He doesn’t make loud sounds, but he is pretty noisy.

• He groans and whines, huffs and pants as he’s inside you.

• He’ll usually lean down next to your ear and rasp and breathe out how good your pussy feels.

• But that’s probably the most coherent sentence he’ll make out. Most of the time it’s just his gasps and sighs.

 

 

W is for Wildcard (Random sexual headcanon.)

• Paul never thought he’d agree to this. His jealousy made him an extremely bitter lover. Which was super ironic considering you always saw him flirting with fans.

• Though that’s not the point.

• John came over to visit one day, the group was taking a break from playing.

• Paul saw the way John was eyeing you, his brows lowering each time John complimented you - or would place his hand on your knee when talking.

• He couldn’t take it anymore and when you went upstairs to grab something, Paul approached his friend.

“Are you serious?” He asked through gritted teeth, ensuring you didn’t hear.

“Well, no, I’m John.” He responded, a shit eating grin plastered across his features. 

His attitude was making Paul more pissed, “Can you please drop the act for one second? You cannot be hitting on my girlfriend in my home!”

John didn’t look amused, his eyes fixated on Paul as he debated about his next step.

“Well, if I can’t be hitting on her in your home - can I be fucking her?”

And so there he was, sat across in the chair that your clothes usually laid on, facing your bed. He was being cucked by Lennon, and honestly? It wasn’t as bad as he thought.

Each time John rammed himself in you, he would ask: "Is this good? Do you like it-" and each time you would whine, teasing him, saying how Paul could do it better.

 

 

X is for X-ray (His cock.)

• Okay…so…5 inches solid, extremely average.

• He's circumcised at least! That's one plus! And his balls are good enough, a nice round pair.

• And dear God, is it a good 5 inches though. In spite of his size (which doesn't bother him too much) he knows exactly how to use it, and use it he fucking does.

• Size matters unless you're called James Paul McCartney. 

 

 

Y is for Yearning (His sex drive, how much do they want you?)

• He's like a dog in heat when you are both alone.

• In fact, even when you aren't alone, he'll still want you. Little touches under the table, spontaneous quickies, grabbing your arse and your tits.

• Paul is absolutely insatiable. 

 

 

Z is for Zzz (Sleep afterwards?)

• He falls asleep after at least 40 minutes of talking to you and daydreaming.

• You watch him doze off slowly before sleeping yourself.

• He sleeps like a baby unless he's stressed or has to write or produce.

The other two coming soon x

John's here

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

All the propaganda is under the cut. It's long for both of them:

Alexander I Pavlovich:

a. “Maybe not the most handsome or charismatic man in this tournament, but he has ample chaotic neutral energy that both baffles and fascinates contemporaries. In short, if you're into mysterious men, you won't find a sexier enigma than our imperator.”

b. “Look. Is this or is this not the monsterfucking website.”

c. There are lots of monuments dedicated to him. There's one in Moscow in the Alexander Garden right by the Red Square. While nowhere near as grand as the Alexander Column, I think it's still worth showcasing!

The monument is meant to celebrate his victory in the 1812 Russian invasion. He's holding a sword, proudly standing on top of his enemies' weapon.

The sculptors, however, have never seen the man in their life - all the people involved in the making are still alive and well (i think), so that should tell how new it is. The monument was opened for the public just a decade ago in 2014.

d. quote about this bust from the memoirs of Sophie de Choiseul-Gouffier: “No painter was able to properly capture the features of his face and especially his soft expression. Alexander didn’t like to pose for portraits and they were mostly done with some stealth. In this case sculpture have produced a better likeness. The famed Thorvaldsen made a bust of this sovereign worthy of a hand of such a remarkable artist.”

e. His family nickname might have been ‘our angel’ and the medal commemorating his death bears the inscription “Our angel is in heaven”, but did you know that to this day Alexander looks down on Sankt Petersburg as an actual angel, wings, cross, trampled snake and all? Alas, you cannot see it from the ground, the Alexander Column being so very tall, but the statue of the angel on top certainly seems to take after our sexy thrice-angel Emperor.

f. Apotheosis of Alexander! An eminently universal image, perfectly serviceable for his rise to the throne… of Napoleonic Sexyman Tournament.

It really looks like Peter and Catherine are instructing the Electorate. Gentlevoters, surely you wouldn’t dream of disappointing Sasha’s Grandmother and his scantily clothed giant of a Great-great-grandfather?

g. What is sexier than a man in a dress???

Thomas-Alexandre Dumas

a. “mustache”

b. “Tall! Daring! Swashbuckling! A devoted husband and father! Had a personal conflict with Napoleon! Also it was said he could, while holding onto a bar above his head, LIFT A HORSE WITH HIS THIGHS. How is he not on this list ten times already! Vote for General Dumas!”

c. “He was so hot that he inspired The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, and many more books that his son, Alexandre Dumas, wrote. He definitely looked the part of a sexyman, as he son recounts in his memoirs: "My father, as already stated, was twenty-four, and as handsome a young fellow as could be found anywhere. His complexion was dark, his eyes of a rich chestnut colour […]. His teeth were white, his lips mobile, his neck well set on his powerful shoulders, and, in spite of his height of five feet nine inches, he had the hands and feet of a woman. These feet were the envy of his mistresses, whose shoes he was very rarely able to put on." He could crush you between his thighs: "His free colonial life had developed his strength and prowess to an extraordinary degree; he was a veritable American horse-lad, a cowboy. His skill with gun or pistol was the envy of St. Georges and Junot. And his muscular strength became a proverb in the army. More than once he amused himself in the riding-school by passing under a beam, and lifting his horse between his legs." He was so badass he could beat 13 men with 4 and take all the enemy prisoner, and defend against hundreds of men on a bridge by himself. He performed these acts of valour numerous times in Italy. He was so formidable that the Austrians named him the "Schwartz Teufel", or the Black Devil, and his feat at the bridge earned him the moniker of "Horatius Cocles of Tyrol". He wasn't afraid to stand up to his morals and protest against unfair treatment. When unjust executions by the guillotine were happening outside his quarters, he closed the blinds of his curtains, earning him the nickname "Mr. Humanity". When in the Vendée, he complained about the wanton indiscipline in his troops. When in Italy, Berthier wrongly reported his actions as one of "observation" in St. Antonio. Dumas wrote to General Bonaparte that if Berthier was in the same position, he would have shit his pants. Dumas abhorred plunder, never exhorted the locals, and ordered the Directory agent who had come to persuade him otherwise be shot if he dared present himself to Dumas again. Integrity and a sense of moral justice is sexy, mark my words. For Dumas' final qualifier as a sexyman, look no further than this Tumblr heritage post (https://www.tumblr.com/petermorwood/133803437020/hortensevanuppity-elodieunderglass), with 300,000 notes and counting. And I quote: "- daddy general dumas was an immense fierce french warrior who was a 6 foot plus, stunningly gorgeous and charismatic Black gentleman - he invaded egypt - the native egyptians said “is this napoleon? this must be napoleon. we for one welcome our majestic new overlord” - then napoleon showed up - napoleon has all the presence of yesterday’s plain Tesco hummus - the native egyptians were like “… no… no, we’ve thought very hard and we’ll have General Dumas actually” - this did not make napoleon happy - in fact it made him jealous - napoleon felt so emasculated that he launched a campaign of revenge against General Dumas, including taking away his pension, that probably inspired a lot of Alexandre’s rather satisfying scenes in which fathers are nobly avenged and the money-grubbing villains are rubbed in the mud" I rest my case. Tl;dr: He was so hot he inspired multiple books, he was a stronk man who could crush you between his thighs or carry you like a sack of potatoes, and he was so badass that he could take on odds of 1 to 3. He had a foul mouth but a heart of gold and his actions were never self-serving. Posts relating to him on Tumblr have had 300,000 notes and counting. He is qualitatively and quantitatively qualified to be a sexyman.”

[fanficwritinggirl]

So High School...

“Harriet… Harriet are you listening to me?” her eyes widened as she snapped out of her daze. “Did you hear anything that I just said?” Hermione’s eyebrows were scrunched together as she looked confusedly at her friend. Harriets eyebrows raised as she stumbled on her words.

“Uhm, no sorry, I’m still half asleep,” it was a lie, she had a cup of coffee that morning and two cups of tea so tired was the last thing she was. No, her attention had been to drawn to that of Oliver Wood, star quidditch player and literally the most attractive boy that she had ever laid on especially when he was sitting further down the Gryffindor table with that annoyingly attractive smile on his face, his head rolling back every once in a while as he laughed at whatever his friend were saying.

“I’ll get you another coffee. We have a long day ahead of us. With classes and studying for end of term exams. And we have still have the quidditch game later on,” Harriet smiles at this. It was Gryffindor vs Slytherin today, the most important game to date, it was all that everyone had been talking about for months.

“Well, we are going to crush Slytherins arses, can’t have Malfoy or any of the other sleezy snakes bragging,” Hermione rolls her eyes at the thought.

“Oh imagine. They would never let us forget it. But with Harry on the team we won’t lose,” Harriet raises an eyebrow at this.

“Alright Mione, you do know there are other players on the team,” Ron comes up behind them, planting himself next to Harriet, his plate filled to the brim with sausages.

“Thanks for the confidence Mione,” Harry thanks into Hermione’s ear as he sits down next to her. Hermione smirks shaking her head.

“I’m just saying, Harry is the seeker. It’s one of the most important positions in the game.”

“And the seeker needs help from everyone else on the team, they all have their own roles to play. I mean look at Oliver, he’s our keeper, who would defend the goals without him. And I mean Fred and George are beaters, who would attack the other team,” Ron’s rant makes Harriet laugh to herself. Ron and Hermione really did bicker like an old married couple.

“Well, my statement still stands,” Hermione’s statement ends the conversation, causing them all to fall into a silence as they eat their breakfast.

Screeching and the flapping of wings come over head as owls start flying in dropping mail. Banging comes as they hit the hard wooden tables causing Harriet to jump. “Could they do it more gently,” she grumbles. A letter falls in front of both Hermione and Ron, unsurprisingly the pair usually got letters unlike herself and Harry who never received anything.

Turning back to her food, she passes no attention to the mail falling around her until a large, wrapped gift falls in front of her. Hermione looks up from her own letter, confusion on her own face.

“Who is that for?” she asks, standing up and leaning across to lift the tab on it. A smile paints her friend face.

“Harriet, its for you,” shock washes over her. Who on earth sent her something. Standing up herself, she takes the tab out of Hermione hand, seeing her name written plain as day, HARRIET MATTHEWS.

“Well go on then open it,” Harry tells her, both he and Ron were now standing. Hesitantly, she pulls at the lilac, fabric ribbon that was tied around the thin, white rectangular box. As the ribbon falls, she curls her fingers under the lid, pulling it upwards. Her heart jumps as she investigates the box, wrapped carefully was a bouquet of flowers.

“Wow, they’re…” she cuts off Hermione.

“Hyacinths. My favourite flower,” Ron raises his eyebrows and laughs.

“Well, you clearly have caught the eye of someone,” Harry nods.

“Yeah, but who?” carefully Harriet lifts the bouquet out, Harry and Hermione looking between the box and the ribbon that was tied around the stems of the flowers.

“Doesn’t say,” Hermione says as she leans up, looking at the flowers. “Do you have any idea who it could have been?” Harriet lost for words, shakes her head.

“No… no idea.”

“Well, he has to tell you soon, I mean he must like you enough to give you a big gesture like this,” Ron says as she sits down next to him, flowers still gripped in her hands.

“Yeah, maybe…” her voice trails off.

Harriet loved the quiet of the hallways as she strolled down them, rarely were they empty, no loud, chatting teens filling them, now it was just the occasional echo of frantic footsteps as students run because they are late to class. As she walks towards the girl’s bathroom a hand wraps around her forearm pulling her into a nook in the wall causing her to yelp in surprise.

“Shhh… its just me,” her body relaxes when she hears his voice.

“Oliver,” she groans in frustration, causing Oliver to smirk at her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she huffs, looking up him with a pout on her face. Oliver sighs leaning forward. “God, I’ve missed you,” before his lips are on hers. Harriet smiles into the kiss, wrapping her arms around her neck, his hands trailing down to her waist, gripping slightly. He pushes her further into the wall, causing her to groan, her hands moving to grab a handful of his hair giving it a slight tug, his mouth leaving hers as he groans at the sensation. “You are perfect,” he whispers. Harriet smirks, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Mr anonymous,” Oliver huffs at the nickname before moving his head into the crook of her neck, his lips meeting the skin. A gasp leaves her mouth as he sucks. “Hyacinths? How did you know they were my favourite,” he pulls back looking at her with a smirk.

“You took a few back with you after our date a while back. Have been meaning to get you a bunch sooner just haven’t had time,” she smiles at this, a hand falls from his neck to caress one of his cheeks.

“And having them delivered in the mail? I thought we were keeping this between us for now,” Olivers hold on her loosens as he takes a step back from her, his eyebrows knitted together.

“I know that’s what we agreed on, its just…” he trails on, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “I want people to know about us,” that statement causes her to freeze.

“Oh,” is all she can say, her head falling to look at her feet. Oliver looks at the girl before him and he sighs.

“I’m sorry, I know you wanted to keep things private because of everything that happened with that ex of yours but…” leaning forward he takes her chin in between his fingers, pulling it so that her eyes meet his. “Sometimes when I am with you, I can’t believe how lucky I am to call you mine and I just… want to shout it from the rooftops,” Harriet giggles at this, a smile painting her face. “You are the most amazing person Harriet Matthews, I’m not like Peter, whatever that arses last name is,” Harriets head falls back as she laughs, her arms wrapping around his neck once again. “Unlike him, I don’t want to hide this, and as long as you are okay, I want to be able to hold your hand as we walk down the hallways, and kiss you whenever I want without the fear of someone catching us,” Harriet lifts an eyebrow, her smile turning into a smirk.

“Well… we might have to practice more PG type kissing, I don’t think everyone is going to want to see a lot of the stuff we do,” Oliver chuckles.

“So… are we done hiding?” Harriet looks into his eyes and her heart can’t help but melt. Oliver wasn’t ashamed of her, not like Peter, and it causes her to feel giddy.

“Yeah, we’re done hiding,” his lips meet her frantically, giggles leaving both of them as they move their hands around each other.

“You know, I would say that I have about 10 more minutes until McGonagall really starts to question where I am,” he chuckles.

“10 minutes… I can do a lot in that time,” his hands run up her thighs, trailing under her skirt causing her to moan.

“I know you can, so do it. Fuck me,” and who was he to argue with her.

“Look at them, its like they have already won,” Hermione looks over across at the Slytherins who all are standing, grinning like they have just found a pot of gold.

“Hermione they are Slytherins, what else do you expect,” Hermione nods her head.

“True. Well, I just mean that it will be all the more satisfying when we beat, they’re arses,” Harriet and Hermione look at each other and laugh.

“God, I love quidditch,” just then the trumpets start, and everyone starts standing up cheering. Hermione and Harriet grin standing up and cheering alongside them. One by one the teams start flying out, the cheers getting louder and louder.

“Also where were you earlier?” Hermione asks causing Harriet to lift her eyebrows.

“When?”

“Earlier on, you asked professor McGonagall to go to the loo, you must have been gone for 15 minutes,” Harriets heart stops as she remembers, Oliver saying that he wants to tell people, his fingers trailing down her, being inside of her and then his penis, how they used their mouth to muffle their cries of pleasure. Harriet feels herself warm up.

“Are you alright, you’ve gone really red,” Harriet clears her throat, loosening her scarf.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just got really hot there for second, think its just with everyone being around.”

“Do you need a minute, we can leave if you want,” Harriet shakes her head.

“No, I’ll be fine,” with that they’re attention turned to the game.

 They crushed them, absolutely crushed them, the Gryffindor’s were going absolutely mad, drowning out the boos of the Slytherins who all were giving out, being the sore losers that they were. Hermione and Harriet had massive grins on their faces as they run down to the teams changing room. “Oh, that was amazing, did you see the Slytherins faces. Oh, they were so mad,” Harriet bursts out laughing.

“Hermione I’m starting to think you are a bit of an evil minx,” they reach the Gryffindor tent, members pilling out, their faces euphoric. Harry and Ron come barrelling out spotting the girl, walking over.

“That was some game,” Ron says, taking off his hat.

“You can say that again, I didn’t know if they were trying to win or go for our blood that time,” Harry says shaking his head.

“They are Slytherins. They are always going out for our blood,” Harriet says causing the trio to nod, chuckling to themselves.

“Did you see how Oliver defended that goal, it was insane.”

“If he hadn’t stopped that from scoring, we would have lost.” Harry replies causing Ron to nod.

“Thank you, Oliver Wood,” Harriet smiles at that. Over Rons shoulder she sees Oliver coming out of the tent, they’re eyes meet. Oliver smiles at her, picking up pace and jogging towards her. Harriet grins, pushing past Ron. Harriet walks forward meeting Oliver who lifts her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as they hold onto each other, laughter coming from both of them.

“You did so good. That was the most amazing thing that I have ever seen,” Oliver laughs at that, bring her face before his.

“That I know is not true,” Harriet shakes her head, grinning.

“Top five,” she offers.

“Top ten,” Oliver offers causing Harriet to sigh.

“God you are insufferable,” she brings his lips to hers, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly bringing him as close as possible.

“Do you know…” Oliver mutters as they pull back. “I love you Harriet Matthews,” her heart explodes.

“And I love you Oliver Wood,” they couple kiss again. Letting the world around them fade away.

“What the bloody hell is happening?” well almost fade away.

[fragrantblossoms]

George H. Seeley. Running White Ducks, 1925.

[unofficialwriting]

Promise

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe the tiniest ounce of angst, so much fluff I’m sick

Summary: After the battle you two stumble upon the mirror of Erised and now’s a good time as any to propose.

Word count: 856, short and sweet

༺═────────────═༻

You stood back by the doorway, gazing out the slim hole in the stone. Dirt and blood painted your face, likely covering smaller wounds that hadn’t been tended to yet. Even with your current appearance, Fred was completely taken by you.

His lips turned into a smile, allowing his eyes to move drift away from his girl to scan the room. “As surprising as it is, I’ve never been here before.” He announced, his green eyes landing on the object in the center of the room. A tall golden mirror. It shined as if it were new, yet had a weathered look to it at the same time.

“I haven’t either.” You responded, turning on your heels to catch up with Fred, who moved around to the front of the mirror. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket— which was surprisingly still on his person after all that had happened. It seemed so long ago that he was at his desk, engraving “I promise” onto the inside of it.

Fred stood before the mirror, seeing both you and him in horrible shape. You were both bruised, bloody and exhausted. But despite all that, your smile never failed. Smaller but never gone. The sight of it summoned a warm feeling to his chest.

He turned away from the mirror, glancing at you just in time to see your expression completely change. Your mouth fell open, staring at your reflection in awe.

Confused, he followed your eyes and his heart jumped at the picture. It had completely changed. Where you both were looking practically homeless, you now stood completely cleaned up. Fred was in a sleek black suit staring down at you— you. Oh my god, you were breathtaking. You were in a flowing white dress, a vale draped over your h/c hair and the biggest smile he had ever seen.

His lungs failed him. Seeing you in a wedding dress sparked thoughts. Just the thought of getting to marry you made his head spin.

“Are you seeing this?” The real you took his focus back, but he could only nod. “They’re beautiful! Are they ours?” His brows furrowed and your question and he pulled his eyes back down to you.

“Who?”

“Well, probably the little ginger you’re carrying! And the one George has over his shoulder.” You went on describing the scene and it sunk in what you saw. Both of you saw the perfect future together. it made his mind drift to the ring he carried.

He slipped his hand back into his pocket for it, hesitant. You smiled up at him, making up his mind for him. Throwing his big plans out the window, he pulled the ring out gently, as if it could break under his touch. “Y/n.” He started, glancing from the ring to its future wearer.

“This is less extravagant than I had hoped it would be.” He was aware that his tone gave away how nervous he was but you didn’t care. You were shocked and through your face, that was given away too.

“Since we’ve met, we’ve probably been through more than most couples, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. During these past few years, I’ve fallen in love with you in every way possible.” Your smile was brighter than the one in the mirror.

“I want to be yours as long as I’m alive, if you’ll have me.” Fred beamed. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

You were pretty much in tears now, which immediately prompted him to copy you. “R-really?” You got out. You didn’t even wait for a response before dropping to your knees with him and throwing your arms around him.

Fred managed to get out an emotional laugh, as your shaking body settled into his arms. You lifted your head to meet his eyes but he interrupted and pressed close to a thousand kisses all over your face, finishing with a sweet kiss to your lips.

To you, this was all you wanted. Whatever Fred’s elaborate plans were didn’t matter at all to you. You were overjoyed to be able to marry him. After all the jokes and teasing, it was finally real.

“Looks like I’m finally going to be a Weasley.” You smiled at your new fiancé, who pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you.

He exaggerated a sigh. “We’re gonna have to dye your hair now.”

“Absolutely not.” You replied while Fred slid the ring onto your finger.

“We’ll see, love.” He teased, running his fingers through your hair. You kissed the spot just under his ear and buried your face there.

There were a few moments of silence as both of you processed. Fred breathed deeply, holding you tightly. “I’m yours, Y/n.” He whispered, smiling when you melted into his embrace.

“Forever?” Your voice sounded like music in his ears.

“Forever.” Fred responded, brushing his thumb over the ring, which was now occupied by your delicate finger. “I promise.”

─────────────────────────Find more like this here

[ctimenefic]

just had to write this out of my brain, I'm sorry pierresteban lorekeepers if I have fucked up the dynamic, I'll go back to my corner at once

2k of post-Brazil stuff tentatively titled something like slow lane, fast lane, parallel lines

Pierre didn’t pack a podium-worthy outfit for the triple header. Certainly not for Brazil. A party outfit, sure, in case Charles did well – that’s still fucked, a crumpled bundle rank with sweat at the bottom of one of his cases, shipped back home without him two weeks ago after Austin. He hadn’t seen this coming.

No one had seen this coming. 

He has to settle for a creased button up, undone so far the team will be able to see his heart still thudding against his ribs, hours after the last bubbles swirled away into the standing water on the track. It’ll do; he tries to smoulder into the mirror, but he can’t stop smiling. It’s just going to get soaked with sweat anyway, in whatever bar backroom they’ve secured. It was Harriet, he heard, shaking with hope from the moment the red flag came, ringing round Sao Paulo venues with broken Portuguese and her heart in her mouth.

It is strange, being alone for this clutch of minutes, to shower and shave and press cologne against his skin like anointing oil. The team had been all around him the moment he was out of the car, all the way to the hotel. Esteban next to him for hours, hip to hip. Pierre had been warm, despite the rain, the perpetual grey of track and sky.

The shirt is not so white that he’ll look filthy, later, if he’s touched. He undoes another button, just in case. Kiki said, once - if he won, and she wasn’t there. Then it was fine. She’d been joking, maybe, but he hadn’t pressed her. There are many beautiful men and women in Brazil. 

He goes down to the lobby early, already sick of the quiet. He wants the roar back, the force of it against his skin. He wants hands on his back, fingers on his neck, in his hair. Three girls from the team are huddled waiting for a taxi, by the doors, but they hover six inches away now, like without their uniforms he’s unsafe to clasp. Apart, again. 

Pierre drifts away, to the spot where the lobby leaks into a bar and - George Russell is there. As out of place as usual, squinting at his phone, folded up in an armchair that’s too low for him. It turns his knees into a ski slope. He only looks up when Pierre gets right up beside him; then he unbends upright, gets halfway to a handshake before he’s gripping Pierre’s shoulder instead. “Good racing, today,” he announces, like he hadn’t said it hours ago, dripping wet and still horribly sincere, all his natural animosities tucked away.

“Thank you,” Pierre replies, automatic. “I did not think Mercedes were slumming here though?” It is a fine hotel, but not so very nice. The lifts are slow. And Mercedes take up space. They have a sponsor deal, he thinks; some foolish video Charles had sent him last year with a string of emoji. 

Russell snorts. “No. Meeting Alex for our sad bastards dinner.”

Of course. Because for Mercedes, fourth is a disappointment. Which trophy did Russell imagine he’d be snatching today? Pierre’s? Max’s? He hopes Alex charges his meal to Russell’s card. 

“I am going out with the team,” Pierre offers. Immediately feels foolish. He meant- the point was to not invite Russell. It is fun, usually, being rude to him, watching his jaw tic. He is very English about it. 

Now, though, he seems unfazed. His eyebrows jump just a little. “I gathered.” 

His gaze drops briefly down the deep V of Pierre’s shirt. It is perhaps not an achievement with the most notorious homosexual on the grid, but still. There’s some satisfaction to it.

“Where are you- oh!”

The cooldown lap had felt a hundred years long, after an impossibly drawn-out race. Pierre had felt like he could count every drop of spray between his and Este’s cars. 

It is a little like that now, watching Russell’s eyes slide over his shoulder, the way his face changes slowly and utterly. Cheekbones lifted, so his eyes get a little smaller, the start of crows feet at the edges. The top of his face starts smiling before the rest catches up. His shoulders roll too, back and down and open. It happens in a blink, and yet it changes the whole shape of him. Like sunlight through clouds. 

Pierre doesn’t need to look round to guess what he’ll say next. “There he is,” Russell adds, regardless. “Have a good evening, Pierre.” He strides off before Pierre can find the right sniff for such an abrupt dismissal. 

He turns to wave at Alex, but he’s already turned back towards the lift, shoulders up around his ears until Russell slings an arm over them. He hears Russell teasing: “Don’t be a lazybones, Albono, you’re on the fourth floor, we can walk it.”

And then they are gone, and the girls from the team come to collect him for the car, and they are squashed up close enough that he does not have to think about it for too long. Just long enough. 

How many people look at him like sunshine? He had friends like that, once. More than one of them, once.

Tonight, he will say something gracious. Tell Esteban he raced better. That Pierre could not have caught him if he tried. (Perhaps not if he tried. Perhaps that is ungracious. Perhaps he should not remind Esteban that he is the better teammate. That he is keeping the team.) He has a whole taxi ride to find the right words, the olive branch that Esteban will not reject, or discard, or ignore.   

They will hug, and it will not be the last time. The Haas is not so bad; that will help. And ten, or twenty years from now, Pierre can walk into a room somewhere in France, some gathering of old men who raced fast cars, and someone will smile to see him. 

It is twenty minutes to Harriet’s bar. By then he can see it; where in windswept Normandy it will be. Snow on the ground and overcast. He will keep most of his hair, he decides, somewhat against the odds; he gives Esteban a little gut but fewer lines, no jowls. Silver in his stubble, but not his hair. Comfortable shoes. Bracelets on their wrists. 

The bar is good, for a last minute get. The staff on the door know his face, gesture him through. There are beautiful people in clusters, grapes on the vine, ready for picking. And on the dancefloor, Alpine, Alpine, Alpine. In the centre of it, Esteban, tall even there. 

There’s a whoop from near the edge of the throng as someone spots him - one of the pit crew, Marc. It spreads, fast, a sea of heads turning his way, a cheer Pierre thought he might not hear again. They tug him in, hands on his shoulders, back, feet already bouncing, the strange wistful sadness in his stomach already lifting as he raises his hands, shouts with joy and-

Esteban looks across to Pierre and smiles like clouds parting.

---

The carpet in the hotel stairwell has a dizzying pattern, geometric but impossible for the eye to follow. Or perhaps only impossible for someone who has been awake for 24 hours now, staring at it in the half-dark of emergency exit signs. But Pierre has to try, has to trace the thick black lines up and left and down over and over, or the choking gluk sounds Esteban is making round his cock will drive him mad. Tip him over ten seconds into the best-worst blowjob of his life. 

They had taken the stairs because it would be quicker than the ancient lifts. Not quick enough, for Esteban. Despite the risk, Pierre does not want to make up the distance. He wants this to last.  

Esteban pulls off for a moment; his smile is a slice of white in the darkness. Pierre doesn’t mean for his hand to drop to his face, thumb along his bottom lip, down his chin, but it does so anyway. He catches Esteban’s spit on his thumbpad; sucks it into his own mouth. There’s salt to it. 

“You are very wet for me,” Esteban murmurs, matter-of-fact, and Pierre gives up on the carpet, shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back into the corner with a thunk. He has been wet all day, drenched in rain and champagne and sweat. What is one more? He can feel it, the way precome rolls down the underside of his dick to Esteban’s fingers, until Este’s tongue drags back over him, a long side up the inches he cannot fit in his hand. 

(“It’s bigger,” he’d said, and Pierre had failed to hide his smirk. He hadn’t made it up, tripod. And Esteban’s hands are bigger now, too.)

His shirt is undone, bunched at his elbows where hands - some familiar, some strange - had dragged it down to trace the shape of his shoulders, the rise and fall of his arm muscles. He’d tugged it back up in the car back, but not enough to stick, not with Este’s long fingers at his neck. It makes him feel on display now, naked from his thighs up, Esteban’s dark head the only modesty he’s been afforded. 

He’s cold where Esteban had slicked down his happy trail with his tongue. It makes him shiver when Este gets back to bobbing back and forth, and his hair whispers over Pierre’s stomach. He has been touching him all night, never a hand off him, and yet Pierre is still so sensitive to each new collision. He can feel Este grin, smug, around him, like he’s noticed. It doesn’t rankle like it should. 

Esteban divebombs down Pierre’s dick again, and he comes before he can get out a warning, choking on thick air, hot and tight in his lungs. Este surfaces seconds later, cracks Pierre’s mouth open with a finger and thumb on his jaw, and feeds him his come in long, loving licks around his teeth. He’s still got his other hand wrapped around Pierre’s softening dick. As Pierre blinks up at him, stupefied, those clever fingers slide to cup his balls instead. A single digit taps at his taint. 

“Dry here,” Esteban muses. Pierre’s mouth falls open, panting. He thinks his come must still be gleaming on his tongue. He can still taste it. “We can fix that.”

And then there is light, crashing through the dark, as the door to the stairwell on the floor above opens, and the perpetual glow of the corridor shines through. Pierre clutches Este to him like cover. The bastard still has all his clothes on, at least, even if Pierre’s bare thighs are obvious either side of his too-skinny frame. 

The shaft of light falls a little to their left, not quite a spotlight. Perhaps they will not be noticed. Perhaps there is still enough luck for one more miracle. 

Soft steps, on the stairs. And then-

“Fuck,” someone hisses from above them. 

Not someone. Familiar. Far too English. 

Someone who should not be in the stairwell of the Williams team hotel at 4am. But. Pierre is in no position to throw stones. His stones are still in Esteban’s large, warm hand. 

Esteban is being no help. He snickers into Pierre’s neck for a moment, so lightly his lips barely leave his skin. Then: “Take the lift, George,” he calls, apparently deciding plausible deniability is for other motherfuckers. 

His voice is a little rough. Well-used. 

Russell, at least, understands how to play the game. It is silent, except for the hurried steps up and away. The whine of the door. 

“Shit,” Pierre groans. Esteban’s finger presses again at the space between his arse and his balls. “Shit,” Pierre says again. It echoes differently. Higher. 

Esteban is snickering again. “Always so dramatic,” he chides. But his hands are gentle as he pulls Pierre’s slacks back up his legs; does up precisely one button on his shirt and slides his palms down the sides like that will make him presentable for the CCTV in the corridor. “Come on, two floors more to mine. I shall have to fuck you in the morning, you are too spooked now.” 

Pierre doesn’t like the needy sound he makes; Esteban’s eyes gleam. He won’t beg for it, but: “When is your flight?” Pierre’s is late, commercial. They book different flights, more often than not. Esteban’s gaze wavers for a second. But only down to Pierre’s mouth, his navel, and back up. 

“The same. It is the same. I asked- said to change it. After. At the track.” Este must bite his lip – his bottom teeth disappear for a moment. Pierre wants the light back, wants to see his face. “We were-” he says the rest with his hands, palm to palm, parallel – two cars moving in sync around a curve. “And in the cooldown. You smiled at me.”

“I smiled?”

Este huffs. It is just enough like his cruel silences to make Pierre feel alert again, hands twitching to grasp a wheel he cannot see.  “I cannot change it back. It will be sorted by now.” 

There is an inch between them that has not been there all night. Esteban’s weight shifts, like he means to step back further. Pierre has to lunge for him, cram their mouths together. They had not done this at the bar. Touching, yes, everywhere they could get away with, but this was different. Private. 

Este whines a little into the kiss. His fingers get grabby again.

“Fuck me now, and later,” Pierre demands against his mouth. Esteban nods; in the dark his lips leave a smear against Pierre’s temple. 

His echo sounds like a promise. “Now and later.”