#i spent so long fighting my parents and trying to get them to see me for who i wanted to be and i am so grateful they did

[theghostofashton]

me, watching the first five eps of tslocg: i love bela so much she’s so real

me, watching 1x06: she is too real actually you can take her back

[amethystwrytes]

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum. 

“Can you stop please?” 

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands. 

“...Sorry…” 

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade. 

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber. 

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign. 

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse. 

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you. 

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes. 

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room. 

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again. 

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again. 

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?” 

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.” 

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.” 

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.” 

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks. 

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.” 

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation. 

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something. 

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk. 

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.” 

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.” 

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not. 

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.” 

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?” 

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter. 

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump. 

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.” 

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’ 

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing. 

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?” 

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk. 

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?” 

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.” 

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes. 

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic. 

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.” 

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates. 

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff. 

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.” 

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down. 

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.” 

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.” 

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.” 

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers. 

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.” 

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains. 

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?” 

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.” 

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses. 

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer. 

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles. 

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks. 

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him. 

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.” 

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it. 

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh. 

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him. 

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on. 

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile. 

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out. 

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg. 

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?” 

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.” 

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself. 

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable. 

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again. 

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades. 

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee. 

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up. 

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack. 

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing. 

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?” 

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment. 

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle. 

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease. 

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head. 

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit. 

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side. 

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment. 

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed. 

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?” 

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself. 

“Never something you what?” he presses. 

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.” 

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.” 

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him. 

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares. 

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves. 

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.” 

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.” 

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs. 

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego. 

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins. 

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder. 

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle. 

“Is this your building?” he points. 

“Yes, it is.” 

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers. 

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder. 

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard. 

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today. 

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag. 

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?” 

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished. 

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.” 

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes. 

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.” 

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks. 

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.” 

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.” 

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.” 

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!” 

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door. 

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying. 

“Already?” he looks at you. 

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?” 

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.” 

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him. 

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon. 

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?” 

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly. 

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.” 

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?” 

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone. 

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask. 

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares. 

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.” 

“Good, shall we?” 

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?” 

“No.” 

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back. 

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?” 

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down. 

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles. 

“I’ll get those right out.” 

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.” 

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.” 

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.” 

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?” 

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.” 

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?” 

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly. 

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table. 

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?” 

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon. 

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.” 

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu. 

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.” 

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug. 

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse. 

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door. 

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away. 

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again. 

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues. 

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing. 

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth. 

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?” 

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips. 

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car. 

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.” 

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in. 

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition. 

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up. 

“Uh…mine… mine I think.” 

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him. 

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness. 

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric. 

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?” 

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist. 

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel. 

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans. 

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably. 

“God…” 

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking. 

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily. 

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.” 

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth. 

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road. 

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours. 

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely. 

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth. 

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?” 

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs. 

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease. 

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.” 

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!” 

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room. 

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer. 

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs. 

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt. 

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.  

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you. 

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…” 

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly. 

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again. 

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs. 

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again. 

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind. 

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it. 

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster. 

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts. 

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest. 

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands. 

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.” 

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?” 

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.” 

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you. 

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.” 

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully. 

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

[girliism]

having art and patrick as your boy best friends.

you met them in kindergarten. the three of you sat at the same table with another boy. said other boy was writing bad words on your drawing when art and patrick sprayed glue all over him.

they had to sit out of recess watching the other kids play. you brought them both flowers as a thank you and ever since then the three of you were inseparable.

so inseparable that when third grade came around and patrick saw that the three of you weren’t in the same class he brought his parents up to the school and demanded that you all be in the same class every year. middle and high school were no different.

you loved them but hated the gross tendencies they came with. “you have to sit in between us so we don’t fight over who sits next to you.” art says. but you hate sitting in between them cause it ended up with you getting caught in their burping matches. “you guys are so gross.”

but art and patrick really did care for you. so much so that at 11 when you got your first period and ignored them for a week they made it their duty to learn all about menstruation.

you were at lunch eating with your girl friends when art places a drink in front of you. “it’s a green smoothie full of iron rich vegetables so you can replenish after losesing so much blood. my mom made it.” the blonde smiles at you very proud of himself but your faces heats up in embarrassment. “also you can get pregnant now so like don’t do that.” patrick adds quite loudly and everyone is looking at you and your other friends are snickering at the interaction. you wanted to die.

watching art and patrick go though growth spurts was actually terrifying. and not to mention they ate everything. “can we get five home style burger plates two for us and one for her. with oreo milkshakes. oh and apple pie” patrick orders. you watch as the both of them clear their plates with ease now deciding if you all should go for ice cream.

it was the summer before freshman year and you had spent most of it with your grandparents but you made in back in time for the zweig end of summer party. “guys! did you miss me” you pull them in for a hug before you walk ahead of them into the zweig house. the two of the watch you with confusion. when did you become a girl?

art and patrick never really saw you as “girlish” the way they saw other girls as girlish cause they’ve known you for so long. but something changed when you were at your grandparents house. you changed.

“dude you see that right.” patrick says. him and art watch you in the pool talking to your other friends. “she has boobs.” art groans at his friends perverted observation. “can you like not stare at her chest. that’s weird.” “what, all i’m saying is that she has boobs now guys like boobs. boobs and guys are no good match. horny assholes will try to get with her all year.” “can you stop saying boobs” art whispers “they’ll break her heart and get her pregnant. we have to protect her.” patrick says sternly.

the first two years of high school boys avoided you like the plague.

“do you guys think i’m ugly?” you blurt out one night the three of you laying on your bed watching juno. both of them sputter out a slue of what’s and why would you think that. “it’s just no one’s asked me to the formal. i’m literally the only person i know who doesn’t have a date.”

patrick looks at you before shrugging. “you can come with us duh. me and art will be your date we can make it a group thing.” art nods in agreement. this makes you feel worse. “i don’t want to be your guys pity date. plus your girlfriends hate me.” art sits up turning to you. “it’s not a pity date. formals are supposed to be about having fun with you friends. and our girlfriends don’t hate you.” oh but they totally did.

you end up going to formal with art, patrick and their girlfriends and have a surprisingly good time. the night is ending and patrick’s ditch the two of you so you and art sit on the empty football field just the two of you.

“so where’s your girlfriend?” you ask. “making out with the quarterback under the bleachers.” art sighs out looking up at the sky. you wince. “sorry” art mumbles out a whatever picking at the trimmed grass.

“her loss right.” you bump your shoulder with his. art scoffs “yeah, now at least she’ll have someone to grope her.” “wait wait is big shot tennis man too scared to grope his girlfriend.” art shoves you. “shut up ok, guys get nervous too.” humming you say. “if a guy so much as wanted to kiss me i’d just do it.” eyes looking up.

arts head snaps towards you. “have you never been kissed before?” you shake your head no. “but we’re almost juniors, how have you never been kissed?” “maybe because you and pat intimidate any guy that’s has interest in me. which is really fucking annoying by the way.” you huff. “sorry about that, pat just doesn’t want you to end up on teen mom.”

the two of you sit in silence for a while. “i could kiss you.” art says. you look over to him heart beat picking up. art is a good looking guy obviously, but he was your best friend. “wouldn’t that be weird?” you bite your lip out of nervousness. “doesn’t have to be.”

you get your first kiss that night. on the football field under the night sky. it was nice, art’s lips felt nice. moving slowly against yours his hand tenderly holding your cheek. you both break away from the kiss to breathe. “thanks” you whisper.

you guys never talk about what happened that night. not to patrick and not to each other. the same way you don’t talk about the kiss you and patrick share in his treehouse at his family’s goodbye summer party before junior year.

part two

[hwathinker]

"aww, why are you crying baby? come on, i'm gonna take a break now can i?"

pairings ; best friend!yunho x fem!reader warnings ; i don't think there is.. (i'm joking.. there's cockwarming, blowjobs(?), petnames) just yunho being a tease and annoying.. i really love the cocky + nerdy concept on yunho ;) wn ; hey! i finally got a free time today, so i decided to spend it on writing something. i'll be taking requests by the way! i'm hoping to see some smutty reqs from ya'll hahaha

"come on y/n, its not that hard to memories these shit." yunho said, poking your head which was buried to the book you were supposed to read. you had spent over an hour in his apartment, just for a study session. you also promised yourself to study for real this time but i guess the tiredness and laziness in you held you back. you shook your head aggressively, making him stop touching you. "y/n, we have a really tight schedule and i know you know that. plus our presentation is in 3 days. spend your time studying so you won't have to struggle to go out with me." you shot your head up as soon as yunho mentioned about going out. your parents doesn't really let you go out unless you do something great in school. but with pleasing them by doing house chores, you know you could get out easily. well, not every time.

"ugh.. how many times do i have to read these?!" pointing at the open book, you looked at him. "if you really want me to memories this then how about you?" you held the book up close to your face, shooting your eyes up to him then at the book back to make sure he isn't peeking. yunho sighed, letting go of his pen and turning to you. he looked at the book title, making a face to remember something. "well, physics huh.. what page are you in?" he asked, shifting his body and putting his arm on the table so that he can rest his head on his fist with his cheeks. you quickly went to the first page, knowing that he doesn't pay that much attention on a first page of a book. "uh.. page one. i'm not telling you what it is though." you said, burying your head to the book once again and shifting you gaze between the book and yunho every 4 seconds. yunho smiled, pretending to remember what was on the first page. "physics is the natural science of matter, involving the study of matter, its fundamental constituents, its motion and behavior through space and time, and the related entities of energy and force." you read what was on the page along with what he said, your eyes slowly going wide as he do.

"the fuck?! how in the earth did you remember every damn word in this one ass page?!" you slammed the green book on the table, going up close to him with rage in you. "i don't know, maybe i started to pay attention to the first page now. or maybe not, because i'm smart." he said, going back to his position and continue his revision. "or maybe.. you could help cover for me?" you said, leaning your head on the table as you puppy eyed him as you smile. yunho gave you a silent answer, which was a no. "come on yun, i know you like obeying me." you teased again, smiling ever so widely. "how about you study or i fuck that mouth off." he shift his gaze to you, placing down the pen under his palm.

you pouted, covering your face with your hand. yunho let out a small chuckle, grabbing you by your waist to get you more close. "i've never seen you this shy, y/n. you always fight back my teasings." he said, laying head head on the table too, close to your covered face. "i'd rather have a cock inside me for long enough than having to suck one that has a possibility of piss on it." you mumbled, hoping he won't hear a single thing when he's just right there, in front of you. yunho took your hand away from your face, meeting his eyes that was already staring at you. "do you want to try?" he bit his bottom lip, smiling lightly. you think, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting your lips. "i don't know. so you're hard?" you looked at his reddening face as your hand quickly went to his.. harden clothed dick. oh he is. yunho slaps your hand away quickly, holding them in his big ones. "suck it." he ordered, watching your smile grew wider. "why so needy? were you already planning this all along?" you said, shifting closer to him so there's no more space between the both of you. "sure. i'll do it. but you'll have to do a favor for me, too." you said again,getting up from the table and wait for him to strip. he stood up, sliding his sweats down and place them beside the table. but this time, he went to the sofa, sitting on it then leaning comfortably back while manspreading.

you looked at him with lust, his tongue going over his bottom lips, wetting them then biting them afterwards. he watches you walk towards him, your knee purposely hitting his crotch as you lean in to give his jaw a nice lingering kisses, to his lips. "how long have you been keeping this from me, hm?" you mumbled in the kiss, enjoying his taste. "ever since you appeared like a damn angel in front of me and decided to become my friend." he held your jaw with his hand, caressing them. you ran your hand from his bicep, down to his chest. gently touching every part as possible to make him shudder. you pulled away from the kiss, going down as he watches your every move. your tits, holding onto its dear life in the top you had. it looked like it want to pop out in any second you make a risky move. and your tight low rise jeans. ah, don't mention it anymore. he loves it when you wear that kind of clothes.

after you had took off his boxer, his dick sprung out, precum leaking to his base. "fuck, who are you going big for? me?" you said, grabbing his cock gently, kissing the pink aching tip. he hissed in pleasure, throwing his head back. "who else do i have to keep this dick for? of course it was for you, angel." oh god, that nickname has you every time. you licks his cock slowly, going down and fitting the whole base in your mouth. as you suck him off. him, on the other hand are sweating, tears started to form in that boy's eyes. he had his hands placed prettily under your chin so he has a better view while the other caress your hair ever so sweetly. he is this sweet when receiving a blowjob? oh you could do this everyday if it means he is. "mmh, such a good girl. other boys must not be this thick, right? i know you enjoy this so much, baby." he said in between moans, grunts. you swirl your tongue, making a popping sound when letting his cock go. he felt empty, and cold.

yunho pouted, watching his dick being held and watched by you. "y/n.. why did you do that? more please.." he begged, grabbing your free hand and holding them in his. "i want a favor back." you gently pump his cock, watching him biting his bottom lip. "what is it hm..?" he hummed, thinking about what you possibly want. you leaned and lay your cheeks on his cock, looking up to him. "i want you to cover for me for the presentation soon."

and that, you were being sat on his lap while he does his revision. your top thrown away even god don't know where, your jeans and red panties thrown at the sofa. now, you're being forced to sit on his dick that has cummed a few times because you moved a little. you were facing behind, hugging him so tightly, hoping to not make a certain move or he takes a break to play with your hardened tits again. i said, again. you shuddered at the feeling of his liquid constantly coming out and its touching your walls. "y/n baby, don't move please? i've said this a thousandth times already." as he put his pen down, he pulled you so that you're leaning on the edge of the table and facing him. "aww, why are you crying baby? come on, i'm can take a break now can i?"

--

hehe a small yunho smut for ya'll <3 i miss this man so much and have you seen his airport look? god damn i would devour every single inch of it. and have ya'll seen seonghwa's gianna boyfriend?? goshh if he's not putting a shirt on i'm gonna suck those tits LMAO lmk if theres any error guys.. and remember to drop some hot ass smut thoughts on my inbox please im beggin u

[xxblairexxss]

Duty

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x pregnant!reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

It reached 3.4k before I could even do the climax so I’m just gonna drop this one first or else I’m gonna rush the next part and ended up ruining everything.

Google result! Let’s hope this is accurate. I spent hours on website trying to find this. PROM is a shorten for premature rupture of membranes!

Requested!

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles was ecstatically happy to start the new season with the brightest hope because of how he ended the previous one as the second place in the World Driver Championship, even more elated when this was his first time starting the new season as a new father-to-be but it was undeniable that Charles had been struggling since the first race.

He seemed to be developed a new trait as well as upgraded some of his old ones ever since your pregnancy. Your first pregnancy. He had asked you to stop accompanying him to races which resulted to a fight, and you claimed that he didn’t need your support anymore. He eventually gave in but with conditions where you needed to stay by his side all the time or if he was occupied, he would force Joris to stay with you. When you got into your second trimester, he had again, asked you to to stop attending the races but you still wanted to, so he gave in again but only allowed you to attend the qualifying and race day so you started missing his practice day, which caused the media to question about your absence and Charles had to reassure everyone how you had been doing fine, but he had to be stricter on you to avoid any unwanted accidents. When you entered your third trimester, he didn’t allow you to attend any of the races at all and this time, he didn’t give in, no matter what.

Even so, he never allowed you to be left alone. You would either be at his parent’s house, your parents’ house, or he would bring either one to your house.

No matter how much you reassured him.

“Charles, can I just stay here?” Your voice trailed off, already feeling gloomy from what he was gonna say. You were sitting on the bed, looking at your husband going in and out of the room packing his stuffs before his flight in a few hours.

“What was it, baby?” He walked back into the room, placing one of his perfume into the small luggage bag and cocked his brow, waiting for you to repeat what he had missed.

“I don’t want to go to my parents house this weekend.”

He heaved a sigh of defeat and it made you regret for bringing up the topic. “You know I’m doing this for your safety, right? Honey, I won’t be here for a week, that’s long enough. What if something happened?”

“I know but I’m not due for another month.”

He took your hand in his, thumb softly grazing on your knuckles. “You are already 35 weeks. I can’t take the risk of leaving you alone. The doctor told us you need to be careful as they suspected PROM, no?”

“But–“ You jutted your bottom lips, looking away when your husband tilted his head away, eyes squeezing shut when you tried to argue even more.

“But what, honey? Go on, I’m listening.”

“Y/F/N wanted to come over with her little girls this weekend. I just wanted to do a little movie night and bake some cookies with them.” You felt Charles moved his shirts that you were folding in front of you away and skittered closer, seeing how you refused to look at him now.

“Can I see your pretty face?”

He beamed, feeling his heart caught the eternity’s mist as you looked up to him with teary eyes. “My crybaby.” He had realised since you entered your second trimester, your hormones seemed to be ramped up and you had been in a constant mood swings and crying spells, crying at almost everything. He had told his mom, worried about it as he wasn’t sure why. Even after he talked to you a lot about it and she said it was normal, but it sure took him a while to get used to it.

“Charles..” You hit on his arm and he chuckled.

“Alright, alright. Just this one time, okay? Make sure to pick up my call and let me know if it hurts anywhere.”

“I love you!” You exclaimed and threw your arms around his waist, head leaning against his chest.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Let me know if anything happens. Don’t make me regret my decision. Promise?”

“Promise!”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Few days passed, Charles got the podium for the second time in a row and you had been eagerly waiting for him to walk through the door. It was a shame you weren’t there to hug him as soon as he hopped off the fast car but he’d made sure you didn’t feel left alone as he called you right after, even mentioned you and his unborn daughter in his interviews.

“Congratulations! Two podiums in a row!” You threw you arms in the air and hopped, stopping when Charles held your waist.

“Careful, love.” He brushed his lips on your forehead, letting it linger against your skin. “I missed you, and you too, little one.” He bended down and stroked on your middle.

“I wanted to bake you muffins last night but I fell asleep because your child won’t stop kicking me.”

He placed his arm around waist, pulling you close as much as he could, another hand on the side of your belly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. We can bake muffins together now that I’m home?”

“Are you tired?”

He pulled a funny expression and nodded impatiently. “I am worn out, baby. Total knocked out.”

“Can you buy me the matcha ice cream?”

“I bought you three tubs before I left, didn’t I?”

“I–“ You were going to tell him your excuse but ended up sucking your lips into a thin line, pulling away to pinch your husband on his arm. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m gonna cry!”

He winced and recoiled, hand leaving your belly to stroke on his waist where you just pinched. “Ow! What did I do?”

“You looked at me as if it was impossible for someone to finish three tubs of ice cream in one week! See? You are doing it again! I hate you.”

“What do you want me to do?” His mouth widen in disbelief and brought his palm up to cover his eyes. “Is this okay now?”

“Better.” You giggled and went back hugging his waist. You definitely missed hugging him without your belling getting in the way but it won’t be that long now. “Can you still get me the ice cream?”

“Of course, love. I’ll be right back.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles has been home for a week and day by day, you could see how he got progressively quite. He didn’t ignore you, didn’t raise his voice at you, he never did. He was still the husband that you wished every woman would have but he had been looking as if he was keeping a lot to himself.

“Charles?” You heard him hummed in response, his face is buried against your neck, his arm draped on your belly as you played with his hair. “Are you okay?”

“Why did you ask?”

“I feel like you are worrying about something. Talk to me, honey. What’s wrong?” He went silenced, his hand left your belly as he pulled away.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I’m just scared? No– worried. No– I’m not sure. Probably both.”

You placed your under your round middle as you turned, scooted facing your husband who looked like he was in a deep dejection. “Was it because of this weekend?”

“Yeah. I just can’t afford to disappoint them again, love.”

“How do you know you were gonna disappoint them?” You placed your hand on his neck, thumb brushing against his stubble. “Hm?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like it? It’s not the first time, honey.”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself. It’s not even the race day yet but you are already assuming the worst. Give yourself a chance to prove yourself. I know my husband very well and I know he can ace everything thrown in his face.”

His lips turned into an upwards curve as he bended down to kiss your belly, hand patted on the side of it. “Mommy really knows how to cheer daddy up, doesn’t she? How I wish you could come too, baby.”

“We can come! Right, baby?” You replied, your hand strokes on the other side of your middle, voice filled with a hint of hope.

“No. I didn’t actually mean it, honey. It was hypothetical.” He straighten his body, and you saw the frown he always made whenever you told him you wanted to come to any races.

“But I really want to go..”

“You know what my answer will be, don’t you? I’m not gonna change it this time, Y/N.”

“This could be my last time attending your race before she comes. I don’t want to stay in the house. It’s getting boring and I have nothing to do.” You had been waiting for him to look at you as perhaps, there could be a tiny expectation where he would change his mind but he didn’t. “You’ll never understand.” You pulled your hand away, standing up to leave the living room.

“Baby,” He called out and of course, he got ignored. He knew it and wasn’t even expecting for you to reply. “Hear me out first. Y/N–“ You slammed the door and locked it before he could pushed it back. “Okay, locking the door is not it, honey.” He knocked and waited, but he didn’t hear anything. “Y/N, open the door.” Nothing. “Baby, please.” Still nothing. “Open the door or I’m gonna eat your ice cream. I’m serious.”

“You are mean.” He bit his lips, trying to hold his smile when you opened the door a second after, glaring at him with your arms folded.

“Oh? I’m the mean one when you just slammed the door and locked your husband out of the room? Baby, can you at least hear what I was gonna say?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t have to say it to my face.” You rolled your eyes and walked back to the bed.

“I thought you know how to read my mind. I was gonna ask you to be my date this Sunday but I think I got rejected.” He was going to stand up, pretending to be walking away but you gripped on his arm.

“Oh my god! Really? Can I really go to the race?”

“Last one before our little girl arrives.”

He gave in, yet again.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You had been feeling cramps ever since the weekend arrived. Your back had been hurting since your third trimester but it hurt even more these days, especially when you laid down. You could barely fall asleep even when you tried to sleep sitting against the headboard so you always woke up feeling all worn out which caused you to lose appetite. Even your head hurt due to the lack of sleep.

Charles had realised you were somewhat different but every time he asked you, you would just brush it off, saying that it was normal for pregnant women to feel like this nearly the end of the pregnancy. He realised you didn’t ask him to buy anything that you craved for which you used to every single day. You had been really quite. You only took a bite out of your meal only when he caught you but every time he asked if you were fine, you would always say yes, telling him to stop worrying. He had been contemplating if he could skip practice day, in any way possible but you got so mad at him for “being silly”.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You were sitting in front of your dressing table, contemplating about which scent you should go with when your belly went tight, as if going through another cramp and it made you winced in pain. Your body slightly bended towards your middle.

“Honey? Are you done?”

“Y– yeah, I’m almost done.”

“Hey.” Charles peeked his head and strode to where you were sitting, crouching down so he could see your face. “I know I’ve been asking you this for like the million times but are you really fine? You are worrying me, love. You don’t have to come if you are not feeling well.”

“I am fine! I am just excited. I promise.”

His hand went to your round belly and softly rubbed on it. “I saw your face scrunched up earlier. Is she giving you a hard time?”

“She just has been kicking non stop. She’s probably too excited to see his daddy wins the race.” You placed your hand on his and cackled.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that, baby.”

“You can, honey! We’ll be rooting for you!”

“If that’s what my girls wished for then I guess I could make it comes true. P5 to P1 doesn’t sound hard, does it? We need to go. Are you all set?” He stood up straight and pinched on your cheek. “You look beautiful, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile from the compliments. “Liar. Can you help me up?” You stretched out your arms for him to pull you up.

“Ready? 1, 2, 3!” His body was slightly slanted to give you enough space when you stood up. “I’m not lying. My wife is so beautiful I almost mistook her as an angel.”

“Whatever.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

They were expecting rain to come since it had been raining during both practice and qualifying round but it felt like the sun was just a hand fist away from your head the moment you stepped out of the car. The media had to make it worse since this was your first appearance in the paddock in your last semester where you looked undeniably pregnant now. They had to block your way when you just wanted to sit down as fast as you can, even after Charles had rejected every request. His arm never left your waist. He even shook his head to people who asked to interview him regarding the race, telling them that he would come back after he sent you to the Ferrari’s hospitality.

“Here’s your drink. Oh, and I also got you some chocolates because it’s hot and you always needed something sweet. Some vitamins which I’m not sure if you ever need them but, you know, just in case. And– “

“Charles, I’m fine. Go and do your duty as a driver, honey.” You held his hand that was halted in the air as he was searching for something else he could give you.

“Are you sure? You were trembling earlier, Y/N.”

“It was just the sun. I’m fine now. See?” You cupped his cheeks and giggled when he shivered, feeling your cold hands against his skin. “Go! Don’t make them wait.”

“I’ll come back to you before I have to get into the car. Don’t be in the garage. Stay in here. It’s more comfortable, alright? I love you.” He leaned in to kiss you and pecked on your shirt covered belly. “And you too, little one. Please be nice on mommy.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You were lying through your teeth but Charles didn’t catch any of it. He was probably too nervous for the race as he could usually read you like an open book. Your cramps had been going on recurrently, your belly is hard to touch and it felt heavier. The steps taken from your car to the paddock made you out of breath, your legs were shaking from having to walk through the cramps but your husband knew nothing about any of it. You felt like the weather and the tension from earlier might had something to do with it. You weren’t going to tell him because he had enough on his plate and though you knew he didn’t mind it at all, you didn’t want him to do anything hasty on the race day. He had told you multiple times how he could skip the practice and even the qualifying round if you just told him something was wrong and if he knew about what you had been feeling these past few days, he wouldn’t even be attending this race and you couldn’t afford that. He was a Ferrari driver before he was your husband. This should be his priority, not you. It’s Monaco, he had always been the centre in every Monaco GP, what would the fans say if he, the only Monegasque in the grid was missing on the important day.

You weren’t sure why you had been feeling this way. Your due date was 3 weeks away. That was surely long enough. You even googled if it was possible for women to get Braxton hicks in their 37 weeks into the pregnancy but most of the answers sent you to shiver that you refused to read in detail and tried to hold it off, until the race, at the very least.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles couldn’t see you before he got into the car. He had been pushing his schedule back when he chose to stay with you in the hospitality earlier so he had no more gap before he race. He was now in the grid walk, fireproofs suit on as he was putting on the balaclava, the white-coloured open mask while one of his race assistant, Xavi was holding his helmet. “Where’s Joris?”

“He’s there. Joris!”

Joris came running from the side of the grid and Charles turned to look at him. “Please keep an eye on Y/N for me. I have a feeling she’s not telling me something.”

“Got it. You don’t have to worry about her.”

“If, God forbid, something happened to her during the race, please let me know. At any time of the race.” He then took the helmet from Xavi and gripped on Joris’s shoulder as he was about to walk away. “Promise me, Joris. Let me know. No matter what position I am.”

“Nothing will happen to her, Charles. I’ll be by her side. Just focus on your race.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Ow..” You winced, steps came to a halt as you placed your hand on the wall to hold yourself. The cramp became more and more intense you could barely stand up any longer than 5 minutes. Even a walk to the bathroom took you long enough as you had to keep on stopping or your legs would just give away. “Not too hard, baby..”

“Y/N, you okay?” Joris came and your face instantly became more at ease to hide the pain.

“I’m fine, Joris. I just feel a little hot.” He offered you a hand and as soon as you pulled your hand from the wall, your whole body became wobbly and Joris immediately caught you in his arms.

“Woah, woah, slow down. Let’s walk you back to the lounge area, alright? Just lean on me.”

You felt a chill as you started sweating abnormally though you were in an air-conditioned area. Soon as you took a step forward, everything became a blur and you lost control of yourself, giving in completely.

“Y/N!” You felt Joris’s body against yours as you fell to the ground. Your eyes were heavy that it felt like it required a huge amount of energy to force it opened and you let yourself capiltulated to the darkness.

Joris immediately called for a medic and he was told that you needed to be taken to the emergency room right away, making him even more overwrought as it sounded more serious than he thought. “Can you wait until I informed her husband first?”

“Sir, we are suspecting internal emergency. We can’t wait. Leave us her emergency contact number and we’ll call them to direct to the hospital.”

Internal emergency. Joris could barely think straight and became more perturbed. One because Charles had given him the responsibility to look over you and he thought it was just his friend being overprotective. Second because you had been more like a family, like a little sister to him so he didn’t want anything bad happened to you. He had given Charles’s parent a call, telling Pascale to call your parents as well before he barged into the garage. He couldn’t cross the pit lane due to safety precaution but the group of people who had direct access to the drivers’ radio were all sitting across the pit lane. He ended up grabbing a random engineer to help him passed the words. “Tell them to inform Charles that his wife had been brought to the emergency room.”

He then saw the engineer walked and whispered to the person in charge and felt a little relief because now all he had to do is wait for Charles so he could go to the hospital.

But he didn’t know none of his words were being conveyed.

“Charles,”

Silenced.

“Guys, I’m listening.”

“No, nothing. Just wanted to inform that we are sticking to plan A.”

“Copy that.”

Joris waited, and waited. He was so anxious he couldn’t even stand still. He saw Charles on the final turn and thought to himself that he was gonna came into the pit lane any second,

but he didn’t. His car passed the starting line again as he carried onto the next lap.

✧.* tags! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @aundercover @love4lando @shinrjj

if your usernames were crossed meaning I can’t tag you 😭 let me know if you would like to be removed or added to the taglist! or if I missed anyone!

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

thigh riding w slash

A/n: Yes yes absolutely

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, jealousy, degradation, squirting, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

HELP I couldn’t see the guitar when I saw this

Slash and those fucking cats.

You understood his love for them, you loved them too but when he paid more attention to them than he did you it bugged you.

It's not like he would ever purposefully ignore you just to spend time with the cats, they just stole his attention from you every now and then. More often than not. He gets distracted by cats on the streets, it's like he looks for them.

Slash is the leader of the cats, they come out of the crevices in the cracks of the cement to find him. Slash is seven cats in a trench coat.

He came back from tour the day before and had spent time with you, every part of you, but today he'd been spending most of his time with the cats. They kept coming up to him and he couldn't just turn them away, that would be rude.

You were sitting in bed curled up next to him as a movie played on the TV in your shared room. It was just the two of you and that got you thinking.

You tugged your shorts down and started rubbing your clit, having opted out of wearing panties earlier. Obviously Slash noticed and smirked down at you. "Thought you would've had enough of touching yourself by now." His voice was low and soft in your ear as his arm snaked around you and his hand replaced your, thick fingers taking care of your sensitive nub.

You leaned into him and relaxed into the bed, letting your body get the attention it deserved, soft moans leaving you as his fingers moved faster.

The opened, which was strange since no one else was home. You couldn't see what happened immediately but you knew exactly what it was when you heard a meow and that grey figure hopped up onto the bed.

One of the cats had managed to open the closed door and snuck in during your time. Slash covered you up and wiped his hand on the sheets before reaching for his cat.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Cock blocker..." You muttered.

"Aw, you made her mad." He teased, holding the cat and kissing its head. You could swear you saw the side eye it gave you.

"What happened to my attention?" You asked, looking up at him with a pout and big eyes.

"You got your attention." He said, petting the cat peacefully with his clean hand. You scoffed again and pushed the blanket down, revealing your naked bottom half. "Not my fault the cat came in." You crossed your arms over your chest, turning your nose up to him and looking back to the TV. "If you really that desperate get yourself off in front of the cat."

You'd prefer it if the cat wasn't here at all but if he insisted on giving it more attention than you then so be it.

You moved to straddle Slash's lap, when he saw what you were doing he figured he'd be nice and move down on the bed so you at least wouldn't be fighting the cat for space on his lap, though he still played with the cat before thinking of looking at you.

He was still in his jeans, not ready to strip for bed yet. Feeling the fabric as your dragged your clit over it was almost too much, it felt so fucking good.

You kept grinding on his thigh to get yourself off, hands moving from your own legs to the mattress, never staying for too long and continuously trying to find the perfect spot to rest. Whenever you rode him your hands would be on him, on his stomach or chest, sometimes on the headboard or wall, but those weren't options with the fucking furball in the way.

You whined and whined, waiting for something but he just kept petting and staring at the cat, occasionally mumbling something to the cat about you, how whiny and needy you were. "Making mommy all jealous, are you?" He smiled at the cat. Of course you were the cats parents because Slash was losing his mind, how could he pay attention to it when you were all ready for him?

"Slash, please." You whined, reaching for his wrist.

"I told you to get yourself off." The first thing he'd said directly to you in a while.

"I know, and I can just please pay attention to me." He sighed and pushed you off of him, taking the cat and walking towards the door. Your eyes stayed glued to the wet spot on his jeans as he locked the cat out of the bedroom and came back to you.

He sat with his hands behind his head. "I'm not fucking touching you." You pouted slightly at the harsh tone but accepted nonetheless and got yourself back onto his thigh and continuing your movements.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

This wasn't much better than when the cat was in the room, he still wasn't looking at you, he wasn't touching you. "Fucking slut, thought I was done with you last night." He'd mumble such harsh words into your ears. It hurt to hear him say such things about you but it felt so good, tying up a knot in your gut.

He knew what he was doing, he always knew what he was doing with you and when that knot finally snapped and you came hard on his thigh, squirting all over him and making a mess, you knew you'd be rewarded for your good work.

"Oh, fuck." He muttered, pushing you back a bit so he could watch your cum soak into his jeans. Your body trembled and your arms stayed wrapped around him as tears fell from your eyes.

He looked up at you with a smile, a bigger one than he'd give the cats for sure. "What a good girl, making a mess on my leg like that all by yourself?" You smiled and nodded as he let you cling to him tighter once more.

"I-I can get attention now..?" You asked, your voice soft with a pleading tone.

"Of course, anything you want." He said, kissing your cheek. You gave a small amused hum at that.

"No more cats in the bedroom." He gave your ass a smack.

[fob4ever]

i was at a bookstore yesterday that had a copy of the kerrang: living loud book that featured the FOB watergun fight article i've never seen transcribed anywhere so i made a transcript of it for archival purposes. enjoy! from kerrang, may 2005.

For a man staring down the barrel of a loaded gun while wearing just underpants, Fall Out Boy bassist Peter Wentz looks remarkably chipper. Especially when you consider the person about to unload in his face is guitarist and vocalist Patrick Stump, grinning madly despite the fact that fellow six-stringer Joe Trohman has a pistol to his temple. He in turn is firmly in the firing line of drummer Andy Hurley, cackling loudly with his finger hovering over the trigger.

Passers-by stop and stare, waiting for the inevitable, messy climax of this "Reservoir Dogs" scenario. The tension mounts, onlookers brace themselves, the band get ready to open fire. Suddenly it happens.

"Argh!" screams Wentz as several litres of icy water soak him. "That's fucking cold!"

No, Fall Out Boy aren't about to blow each other away, They're having a water fight for K!'s benefit in a car park at the Chicago stop on travelling punk circus Warped Tour, where they're knocking out their "softcore" wares ("We're basically a hardcore band that couldn't cut it as a hardcore band," laughs Wentz) on the main stage alongside big hitters like The Offspring, Avenged Sevenfold and My Chemical Romance. The Windy City is more than just another stop for them; Chicago is Fall Out Boy's hometown, the place where they formed out of the ashes of their old hardcore bands, and where they still live with their parents- who are here for today's show - during the few weeks of the year they're not on tour.

It all started for Fall Out Boy here in 2001 when the members wanted a break from playing in their various bands. Long time friends Wentz and Hurley got together with hardcore associate Joe Trohman to do something a bit less heavy. Following a conversation about avant-metallers Neurosis in a bookstore, Trohman introduced Stump to the rest of the band. When their other bands folded, they took on Fall Out Boy full time.

"We wanted to do things before we were ready," chuckles Peter Wentz fondly of the early days of DIY tours for the benefit of the one or two people who would show up. "We'd plan two-week tours, just to see the world. Nobody would book us, so we had to do it all on our own."

"A lot of bands have scenes to go into and surround themselves with those people," says Stump. "We had no scene, so we would just play anywhere, with whoever."

FOB have come a long way from their humble roots. Right now they're America's fastest rising band. Radio smash 'Sugar, We're Goin' Down' has placed them squarely in the mainstream, having spent three weeks as the Number One song on MTV's 'TRL', a prime-time show usually devoted to pop acts like Maroon 5 and Ashlee Simpson. So dizzying their Stateside assent has been, they had to cancel their recent European tour in order to play the MTV Music Video Awards, where they are also nominated for 'Sugar...'. Thankfully, FOB haven't let the screaming adoration turn them into big-headed twats.

"A piece of shit with legs on it could walk onto 'TRL' and people would still go crazy," laughs Wentz. "That stuff just goes straight by me. With the fast turnover in the music industry, how can anyone have an ego"

Andy Hurley chips in. "You can be today's main stage and tomorrow's trash."

That's to find out tomorrow, though. Today among the madness of trying to plan anything on the Warped Tour - stage times are decided daily by lottery - Fall Out Boy have to try and find time for hanging out with family and friends.

"Three weeks on Warped is like three months on a normal tour," says Peter Wentz.

"Home becomes like Atlantis on tour, you wonder if it actually exists after a while," adds Patrick Stump.

Now FOB are big stars, a lot of old 'friends' have been coming out of the woodwork. Joe Trohman and Peter Wentz have polarised views on those who didn't give a toss back in the day suddenly becoming your pal once you've made it.

"The way I look at it is if someone's a dick to you and you don't know them, so what?" says Trohman. "Just care about who did support you, keep those important people close, not the people who five years ago called you a loser."

"I work the opposite way!" Wentz counters, before adding darkly, "The people I think about most are enemies. My brain works on revenge!"

Though a tight knit group of close friends, Peter Wentz is clearly Fall Out Boy's spokesman. He does most of the talking during the interview and writes the lyrics, and seems like the most driven one of the lot. As well as doing Fall Out Boy, Wentz has also written a book with tattoo artist Joe Tesaure, 'The Boy With The Thorn In His Side'. It's a dark, twisted tale that could have come straight from the brain of Tim Burton.

"I've always been into Roahl Dahl and people like that, and I was friends with a tattoo artist at the time and we came up with this idea to do a book together," he explains. "It wasn't something I felt fitted in with what Fall Out Boy is, I hate when bands do something that's not 'them'. The book is what it is, and Fall Out Boy is what we are."

Despite all thise talk of nightmares and revenge, FOB are upbeat individuals, enjoying their newfound success, while refusing to allow success to go to their heads. They'll tell you they don't like the shallowness of groupies or industry parties, and that the trappings of rock stardom hold no appeal.

"I don't feel like I deserve it," says Wentz in closing. "It's not like, 'this amount of time and this amount of shows = this kind of bus'. I appreciate what we've got. We've toured in a tiny van and it was cool, but now we're having new adventures living like this. I don't feel we deserve it more than any other bands do."

He surveys the sumptuosly appointed tour bus for a moment before chuckling heartily.

"Actually, that's a lie, we totally deserve it more than anyone else! Ha ha!"

[mustainegf]

i neeeed young parents reader x james, maybe 1984-85 ?

I hope I understood this correctly!! I’m such a sucker for cute stuff like this, and 80s dad James?? Oh my godddd

In 1985, James and I were 23 years old, living life with the reckless abandon of youth.

James was riding the wave of Metallica's rising fame, and I was swept along in the chaos and excitement of it all.

Everything seemed perfect the way it was, until we found out I was pregnant. That news stopped us both in our tracks.

I remember the day I told James. He was tuning his guitar, his brow furrowed in concentration. When I told him, he just stared at me, his hands frozen on the strings.

There was a long silence, then he let out a breath and said, "Well, looks like we're gonna be parents." His voice was calm, but I could see the fear in his eyes.

We were both terrified, but there was no question, we were going to keep this baby.

By the time our daughter was born in 1986, everything had changed.

Metallica was on the cusp of releasing ‘Master of Puppets’, and James was busier than ever.

Despite the demands of his career, he was determined to be a good father.

When he was home, he was entirely devoted to our little girl.

James was adorable with her. He was this big, rough around the edges rock star, but when he held her, he was so gentle.

I would watch him trying to figure out how to change her diaper, his fingers fumbling with the tabs, and I couldn't help but laugh.

He'd grumble about how "diapers are more complicated than guitar," but he always managed to get it right in the end.

There were nights when she'd cry for hours, and James would get up, scoop her into his arms, and pace the floor, whispering lullabies in his gravelly voice.

Those moments made me fall in love with him all over again.

He was clumsy and inexperienced, but his heart was in it. He was head over heels for our daughter.

Being young parents was hard to say the least. We had so much to learn and so many adjustments to make.

James's schedule was unpredictable, and there were times when he had to leave for weeks on end.

Those were the hardest times, feeling like I was doing it all alone. But he always called, always checked in, and when he came home, he'd bring all his love back to us.

One evening, after a particularly long tour, James came home exhausted but beaming. He scooped our daughter up, twirling her around, her giggles filling the room.

She had just started to recognize him, her eyes lighting up whenever he walked in.

Seeing them together, seeing how much he adored her, made all the struggles worth it.

James wasn't perfect. He made mistakes, and there were times when his temper would flare, or he'd be too tired to help as much as he wanted. And same with me, we were sad too young to be parents, but we did it with pride.

But he was trying, and that meant everything. He was present, he was loving, and he was learning.

In those early days, amidst the chaos and the sleepless nights, we built something together. James would often say that our daughter was the best thing that ever happened to him, and I couldn't agree more.

She completed us, gave us a purpose.

The memory of the day our daughter was born is drawn vividly in my mind, as if it happened just yesterday.

Labor had been long and exhausting, and by the time I finally held our daughter in my arms, I was completely spent.

But when I looked at her tiny, perfect face, everything else faded away. She was here. She was ours.

When the nurse finally handed our daughter to James, I saw a transformation in him that I would never forget.

He took her so carefully, as if she were made of the most fragile glass, and for a moment, he just stared at her, his breath catching in his throat.

His hands, usually so confident and sure, trembled slightly as he cradled her close to his chest.

"Hi, babygirl," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm your daddy."

His eyes were bright with unshed tears. I saw him fight to keep his composure, to be strong, but the tears welled up anyway, spilling over and trailing down his cheeks.

It was a rare sight from James.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I promise I'll always protect you."

Our daughter, swaddled tightly in a soft blanket, let out a small, contented sigh, and it seemed to break whatever last bit of worry James had.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his tears falling onto her blanket.

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm, feeling the tremor that ran through him. "She's perfect, isn't she?" I whispered.

James nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

James couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, and I watched as he traced a finger lightly over her tiny hand, her delicate fingers curling around his. It was as if he was memorizing every detail.

"I can't believe she's real," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's so small...and I'm so scared I'll mess her up."

I squeezed his arm, offering what reassurance I could. "We'll figure it out. You're already doing great."

Many months later, Our apartment in San Francisco was modest, but it was ours. The walls were adorned with posters of Metallica and other bands, a reflection of James's world and our love of music.

The living room was a mishmash of instruments, baby toys, and scattered laundry.

It was late afternoon, and James was home after a week on the road.

He was determined to feed our daughter her dinner, giving me a chance to sit back and relax for a moment.

I sat on the couch, my legs curled under me, watching the scene unfold with amusement.

James had our daughter in her high chair, a small bowl of mashed peas in one hand and a bright yellow spoon in the other.

His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he tried to scoop up the right amount of food.

Our daughter, with her chubby cheeks and bright eyes, was all smiles, clearly delighted to have her daddy home.

"Alright, little lady," James said in his gravelly voice, "here comes the airplane."

He made a buzzing noise, moving the spoon toward her mouth. But just as he got close, our daughter batted the spoon away with a giggle, sending peas flying.

James's face fell, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Nice try, Daddy," I teased.

James shot me a mock glare. "You're not helping, you know."

I shrugged, unable to wipe the grin off my face. "You're doing great, rock star."

He rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

He scooped up more peas and tried again, this time managing to get a little bit into her mouth before she clamped her lips shut and turned her head, giggling and squealing.

"Oh, come on, kid," he said, trying to keep his frustration at bay. "You gotta eat something."

Our daughter had other plans.

She grabbed the spoon with her tiny hands and promptly dropped it on the floor, squealing with delight.

James let out a sigh, bending down to pick it up, only for it to be batted away again as soon as he held it up.

"You're killing me, kid," he muttered, though there was a shine in his eye.

I could see the love and patience in him, even as he struggled with something as simple as feeding her.

It was moments like this that reminded me why I fell in love with him. Despite the scary rock star exterior, James was tender and caring. The sweetest man I’d ever known.

I got up from the couch and walked over to them, picking up the spoon and wiping it clean. "Let me show you a trick," I said, taking a small spoonful of peas and gently holding it up to our daughter's lips.

She opened her mouth obediently, and I slipped the spoon in, her eyes lighting up.

James watched, shaking his head in mock defeat. "I swear, she's got it out for me."

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "She just likes making you work for it. You're doing great, James. She loves you."

He smiled, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. "I love you too, you know."

Our daughter made a happy noise, flapping her hands as if to say she loved us too.

We were young and often unsure of what we were doing, but we had each other, and that was enough.

James leaned down, planting a kiss on our daughter's forehead. "Alright, little lady, let's try this again."

With determination, he picked up the spoon and attempted another round of feeding. This time, he was more successful, managing to get a few more bites in before the inevitable mess ensued.

[jq37]

Would it be possible for you to briefly outline the gist of the Bad Kid’s relationships to each other in terms of individual pairs (i.e. Fig and Kristen, Riz and Fabian, Adaine and Gorgug, etc)? And if that’s too much, maybe specifically the Fig ones (I’m trying to get a sense of her friendships because they are so important to her).

This is SOOOOO late but I didn't have the time to write it when you sent it and then I figured I might as well wait till the end of the season to get a full picture and give the best answer. Hope it was worth the wait!

-----------------

Fig and Fabian: Fig and Fabian are the two that most closely fit the classic "cool kid" archetype (though obviously we know Fig is mainly a big sweetheart and Fabian is a loser no matter how high he rolls). As far back as S1 they were playing the party faces and schmoozing Penelope together. I think their friendship now is exemplified by the fact that when Fabian wanted to threaten his banker, Fig was there as his first mate to help out, no questions asked and no payment required. They're each others, "I can count on you to do this bullshit with me," friends.

Fig and Riz: I think Fig knows she doesn't necessarily have as much in common with Riz naturally as she does with some of her other friends but she obviously respects and deeply cares for him. The main reason she started taking her classes seriously Junior Year is because the whole party passing together was really stressing him out and she spent some of her very limited downtime sending Riz a, "Thinking of you" not to lift his spirits (though she signed it from Gorgug because she can't help being chaotic). Similarly, I think Riz obviously cares a ton for Fig even though he finds 70% of what she does crazy. Think about him following behind her to clean things up as she pretended to be a doctor and had to do surgery in Freshman Year. But I think she's helped him lean into his chaotic side a bit more as well--I always think about their side mission to hell in Soph year and her going, "Hiss at her litigator!" And at the end of Junior Year, he comes to the conclusion of, "I gotta let her do her own thing and not pressure her to live by my standards." So lots of mutual respect.

Fig and Gorgug: Fig and Gorgug have been besties and bandmates since Freshman Year. I've always had the sense that Fig has some big sister style protective feelings towards Gorgug since he's often the gentle giant of the group and this season, she hyped him up a ton with his Barbificer stuff. I would argue that, besides his parents, Fig is Gorgug's biggest cheerleader.

Fig and Adaine: Fig ALSO has sister energy with Adaine but it's less "protective older sister" and more "odd couple playfully clashing". Think them burning spellslots to fight for the best rooms in Mordred in Soph year and Adaine foaming at the mouth to get info about her crush on Ayda. They're living under the same roof so we have to assume they have a lot more interactions that we don't see and I feel like Adaine probably really enjoys that she gets to have closer to a normal sibling relationship with Fig since her blood sister is Aelwyn and that relationship is intense and meaningful but nothing approaching normal. The teasing is there but so is the genuine love--remember how devastated Fig was when Adaine was taken to Falinel in Soph year despite their best efforts? And her long hug during the Baron fight this season even though they were VERY MUCH on the clock. And Fig was Wingwomaning hard (along with the rest of the Bad Kids) to help her notice Oisin. Also think about Fig having a whole crisis of self during The Last Stand and turning to Adaine for reassurance and Adaine just going, what? Girl, no you're awesome and painting an arcane bullseye on her target so she could smite like crazy. Despite the playful ribbing, they have very supportive sister energy. "Absolutely my king, whatever you want."

Fig and Kristen: I think Fig and Kristen have two big things is common. One is they're both very chaotic people and the other is they have both gone through kind of intense rebellious periods spurred by or resulting in family trauma. Because of that, I think they likely get each other a bit better than the others might (and we can see that Fig followed in Kristen's footsteps a ton this season god-wise). Fig also decided to take on the protective, German Shepherd role over Kristen this past season which I think is partially for the bit, partially about personal development, and partially about just how much she genuinely wants to help protect Kristen.

Fabian and Riz: Classic jock/nerd friendship. The original Bardy Boys. The kind of friendship that is made special by the absolute lack of obvious commonality between the two parties. "The Ball" is a friendly nickname now. Oh how the turns have tabled.

Fabian and Gorgug: Fabian started out the series by attacking Gorgug for no good reason while he was being gifted a tin flower and midway through this season he was like Gorgug, you're quitting Bloodrush? I'm gonna miss you :(((((( even though they're still fully in a party together and spend so much time together. The bro energy has completely solidified. It's also funny that Fabian texted Gorgug like, "Congrats on making it with Mary Ann!" and Gorgug was like, "You do know I've had sex before, right? I come from an extremely sex positive household and I had a steady girlfriend for two years who also came from an extremely sex positive household." Fabian has all the aesthetics of a cool kid but Gorgug is actually about that life, lol.

Fabian and Adaine: This is another pair that I think has serious sibling energy (and not just bc they both have posh high elf backgrounds). I'm thinking about Fabian yelling for Adaine's help during The Last Stand (even though she was like why am I the one you're calling for help right now???). I'm also thinking about Adaine being like Fabian hit me :( during the Baron encounter and Fabian being outraged at the thought that he would ever hit her. I think if you asked Fabian, he'd say his best friends are Riz and Adaine (which is really funny considering they're the nerds of the group).

Fabian and Kristen: Bad decision buddies with no game who are still somehow getting their kisses in.

Riz and Gorgug: I think that Riz was one of the Bad Kids who realized how smart Gorgug really is the fastest. He's always like, "Nice one Gorgug," when he offhandedly comes up with a connection that helps solve the mystery and I feel like they have to work on gear and gadgets together. I think the fact that Riz believed Fig's lie that Gorgug wrote him the encouraging note says a lot and the fact that Gorgug immediately made him a real present (the Medal of Wit) also says a lot.

Riz and Adaine: Party nerds, investigation buddies, voices of reason with specific things that get them unreasonably angry. They are the only ones who were excited that there was an academic portion of The Last Stand. Riz made Adaine a folder with nothing in it at the beginning of Junior Year to say, "I'm not worried about you but I want you to be included anyway." Adaine in a conversation to I don't remember who said that she knows that at the very least she and Riz are going to college together. When everyone was wasting questions questioning Bakur, Riz told everyone to shut up except for Adaine and himself. They are the braincells of the operation and they have party nerd solidarity.

Riz and Kristen: I think Riz has a similar relationship to Kristen that he does to Fig. This season he was her right hand man with campaign stuff but ended the season like hey, do you. I don't want to put pressure on you. And Kristen in turn I think appreciated his efforts a bit more by the end of the season. I feel like it's easy to feel like their relationship is unbalanced but I think Riz is a lot like his dad and he not only feels weird when he's not working but also shows his love by working so it's more symbiotic than it may seem at surface level.

Gorgug and Adaine: Gorgug and Adaine don't interact the most, but I feel in my heart that they have a lot of chill, lo-fi study time together. This is me extrapolating a bit but I think they kind of inherently balance each other out. Gorgug being mechanically big and full of rage but really sweet. Adaine being small and polite but full of so much rage. In-universe you know she spends a ton of time standing directly behind him and casting spells while he soaks damage. That's gotta give you a special kind of camaraderie.

Gorgug and Kristen: Whenever I think about Gorgug and Kristen, I always picture them in Sophomore Year, Going Through It with their girlfriends at the same time, lol.

Adaine and Kristen: I think Adaine and Kristen's whole relationship is best summed up by three actions. (1) Adaine casting Friends on her to make her go to school so she won't fail and then Kristen giving her the Help action to be charmed. (2) Kristen making the effort to be mean-nice to Aelwyn because presumably Adaine told her she likes that better. (3) K2 being sent way and Kristen being like, "I did enjoy having a sister" and Adaine immediately going, "I'm your sister." (Which, from her history, you know isn't something she'd say lightly). I think Adaine is often exasperated by the insane shit Kristen does (see eg: ribbon dancing) but she was also right there hyping her up and helping her cover during the "Passed the test to give me new spells" fiasco at the food trucks. At the end of the day, Kristen respects the hell out of Adaine and Adaine is ride or die for Kristen.

[tainted-liquor]

'Hot Wheels! ...🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ft. 1610Miles

...⋆｡° ✮

Ingredients: sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of lemon zest!

TWs: A lil suggestive, but nth serious? Miles js runs a hot wheels car across yo ass like a ramp😭

A/N: Inspired by my man lol

It was dark outside. Wayyy too dark, the kind of dark where your main priority would be to go straight home, regardless of what temptations of bright colors pushed themselves into your face. But right now, you were In Miles' house while his parents were out on their little 15-year anniversary date. You spent the whole day dancing in his room, trying on some of his shorts for the sheer fun of it, and watching TV together so close that it would've sent Mrs. Morales into a coma. It was around 9 o'clock, and the two lovebirds still weren't back from their date.

So, you decided to do something to pass the time. You hopped on on the plushy material of the Morales' couch, doodling in Miles' sketchbook while you waited for him to finish taking his shower. Did you nearly lose your shit when you saw his many many Gwen drawings? Yeah. But you were instantly relieved to see most of them crossed out, painted over, or replaced with drawings of you entirely.

You scribbled down a rough sketch of Miles, groaning in frustration when it didn't turn out how you imagined. He looked French instead of Puerto Rican, and everything decided it wanted to go wrong. You put down the pencil, letting it fall between the concave of its pages before scrolling on your phone. It wasn't very long until Miles emerged from the bathroom, internally panicking as his toned muscles stared at your from his short-sleeved white tee. "Eugh, you stink. Get back in the shower" You joked, sporting a wicked grin and a quiet laugh.

He side-eyed you, looking you up and down before sucking his teeth. "I will throw you off that couch, don't play with me" he chuckled, shifting closer so you could see the tiny blue box in his right hand. "Oooh, what's that?" You asked, turning your head as he loomed over you. He opened the box, revealing 3 toy cars stacked on each other. "My cars!" He beamed, flopping comfortably on the living room floor as he took out every toy car oh so gently. "Cars? Like, Hot Wheels cars?" You inquired, watching as he pretended to rev up the engine.

It was no surprise that he owned toy cars, you had already seen his massive collection of rare toys and posters around his room. You thought it was cute, silently admiring as he explained why he even has the cars, and breaking down their value. "I mean, I can put them away if you want?" He asked, sounding slightly more embarrassed by the second. "Oh, no no no! I love that you have interests!" You reassured. You watched him stay in his own little world, before continuing to scroll on your phone.

It wasn't long before Miles looked back up at you, suddenly brewing an idea. He slowed his actions, analyzing your posture and looking down at his cars. He fought back a smirk that crept on his face, slowly advancing towards you like he was trying to see what you were looking at on your phone. You didn't really notice he was getting closer, finding yourself lost in the world of TikTok as you watched a guy dance to Kung Fu Fighting. And you didn't notice until you felt cold metal hit the fabric of your shorts.

"AH-! FUCK-MILES WH-..." You began, turning around to see Miles using the curve of your spine and the silhouette of your behind as a ramp. Miles burst out in laughter, shivering as he ran each car across your backside. "Are you fuckin' serious right now?" You deadpanned. He nodded, a smug but clearly overjoyed grin plastered on his face. "What? It's-...pffFFHAHAA...It's the perfect ramp!"

"Make me smack you miles"

Taglist: @ashsostrange @chessbox @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @Fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x

taglist form <3 https://forms.gle/iZbuc8PAAo5k5xXG6

[laurfilijames]

All I Want...

Pairing: Will Miller x reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. PTSD. Panic attack. Mentions of an unhappy childhood, military service, personnel being KIA. Tom's death. Grief. People being unhappy at Christmas. (There's some fluff too, bear with me!)

Summary: Will tries to fight off a panic attack early on Christmas morning, his unenthusiastic feelings toward the holiday making him feel guilty on top of everything else on his mind, only to be reminded that it's okay to not feel festive and that he's not alone.

A/N: I'll be the first one to admit that Christmas isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes. People often call me Scrooge, but I've learned over the years to prioritize my mental health around the holidays and take it all in stride. To those who struggle in any kind of way this time of year, I see you, and this is for you.

This fic follows some of my headcanons about the Miller brothers in that they didn't have a great upbringing, and that Will often suffers from poor sleep and panic attacks.

---

Scrooge. The Grinch.

These were some of the names bestowed upon Will over the years, his less than enthusiastic feelings toward Christmas noticed and pointed out as often as possible during the holiday season by those closest to him, mainly Benny.

It was innocent enough, his brother, Fish and Pope all aware and understanding to the reasons why Will wasn’t overly excited, but sometimes it got under his skin and the temptation to tell Ben to fuck off sat on the tip of his tongue on more than one occasion when he got going on a roll of teasing him.

He always tried his best to keep his opinions to himself, not caring to bring it up in order to avoid the shock and disbelief that someone could hate Christmas, having to stand and painfully listen to whoever was scolding his humbug ways try to convert him and preach all the reasons why it was so magical.

He had been this way for as long as he could remember, the earliest memories of an unhappy Christmas morning tucked away in the back of his mind until they inevitably were pushed back to the surface each time the radio stations turned their usual music to all the annoying holiday songs and people started asking the mundane “Are you ready for Christmas?” questions to everyone who never wanted to give an honest answer. He could always see the stress most people carried with them this time of year, the worry of spending money they didn’t have and not meeting expectations evident on their faces as they frantically rushed around to get all the things ticked off their lists to make the day ‘perfect’.

Perfect was never a word Will would use to describe any of his past Christmases, the thought making him scoff and shake his head as he looked up at the night sky, counting the stars as a way to try to clear the persistent thoughts that had gotten him out of bed at 3:26 AM.

Vivid images that he had tried to blur and forget always reappeared no matter how hard he tried; his parents yelling from the kitchen loud enough he had to peel Benny and his one toy from under the tree to go outside to get away from the anger, not to mention the countless Christmas mornings he woke up to gunfire or spent the day trudging through the rain and freezing cold, or had sweat clinging to his back in the heat of the desert, more often than not spending December 25th on tour and deployed somewhere that mimicked hell.

Will couldn’t help but feel guilt more than usual on days like today, thinking of all the families whose sons or daughters, husbands or wives and everything between never made it home to celebrate another Christmas with them, that shame becoming part of the reason he tended to make sure he was always off serving somewhere, not feeling like he deserved to be in the warm comforts of home with those he loved.

Add that to the long list of things his ex resented him for, one more thing he could never do right, and something else she refused to make an effort to understand despite him trying to explain it.

Today it seemed to all weigh more than it normally did.

Tom’s death was still fresh in all their minds, this being the first Christmas Molly and the girls would have to spend without him, and the thought of their irreparable grief made Will want to crumble.

He exhaled a long breath, blowing it out shakily from his lungs, his chest feeling tight as his heart pounded inside it like a caged animal.

He inhaled as slowly as he could manage, one, two, three, counting in his head to gain control over the quickly rising panic.

Exhaling out, one, two, three, his heart still hammering, his pulse furiously thrumming in his neck.

His hand shook as he lifted it up to rub the back of his neck roughly, feeling sweat accumulating on it and dampening his palm that was equally wet.

The steadiness of the number of seconds between each laboured breath was doing little to keep him calm, the thoughts of his conversation with you a couple of days prior echoing in his mind to drown them out along with the ringing in his ears.

You swore up and down a hundred times that you were fine with not celebrating, assuring him that you were relieved to not make a fuss over Christmas and reminding him that your own views of it were also plagued by unhappy memories; that being alone with him was more a gift than anything wrapped in paper and bows under a tree. He knew you meant it when you said you wanted to hide away with him until the madness of it all was over, but now his mind was playing tricks on him, making him doubt your words and sending him into a tailspin over projecting his attitude toward it on you.

But he knew you wouldn’t lie to him.

He kept on that train of thought as his fingers wrapped around the railing on the deck, gripping into the wood as hard as he could, feeling the splintered pieces from years of weather digging into his skin. Drawing in another short breath and gasping slightly, he did his best to remember why he came outside in the first place, seeking fresh air that ironically had become suffocating.

One, two, three, he repeated to himself again, closing his eyes to better focus on slowing his breathing down.

A minute and thirty-seven seconds had passed with him concentrating, able to let the consistency of the numbers aid him as he continued to count, the feel of your warm hands slipping up his cold, clammy back allowing him to finally release the tension he had been holding in his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he muttered, his voice lacking the conviction he hoped it had.

“I never thought you weren’t,” you whispered, your hands still pressing reassuringly on his torso as you moved beside him, your lips meeting his shoulder to kiss it twice.

Will smiled, grateful for your belief in him, never making him feel weak or like he needed saving, simply there with a love and empathy he had sought his whole life.

He released his grip on the rail and glanced over at you, shooting you a weak smile gathering you in his arms for a hug, kissing the top of your head appreciatively while you continued to rub your hands in a calming, languid pattern across his skin.

“I love you,” he murmured, feeling his heart beat in a stronger rhythm different from how it had moments ago.

“I love you too, Will,” your lips moved against his chest, your arms squeezing him a little tighter as you pressed yourself closer to his body.

“You’re sure you’re happy to spend Christmas this way?”

“More than happy,” you reiterated, pulling your face away to look at him, his blue eyes like flames against the deep navy of the night sky.

“Okay,” he sighed, leaning in to kiss you.

“You know there’s that song, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’,” you smiled, watching his expression change, his grin stretching out to form the creases in his cheeks as he shook his head.

“Please don’t sing it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Will chuckled and kissed you again, slowly, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a gentle demand.

“Let’s get back to bed,” he said quietly, nodding toward the house after he broke the seal of your lips.

As he led you into the house, your fingers laced with his, he thought how maybe he could find ways to celebrate Christmas with you that wouldn’t make it all seem so terrible, the idea of creating your own traditions somewhat exciting to him.

He smiled at you over his shoulder, stopping in the middle of the hallway where he clasped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, his body pressing into yours with a need to show you just how much you meant to him, knowing that as long as he was with you he could face anything.

---

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated and if you'd like to be added or removed from my taglist please let me know! 💗

Taglist: @sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

[cerealboxlore]

Billy Batson related question, as always! How do you think the League would react to Black Adam knowing who the Captain is, especially when they don’t even know? (The relationship between Billy and Teth doesn’t matter, they could be allies or enemies).

Billy Batson related questions are my personal favorites!

The idea of the Justice League not knowing who Captain Marvel's secret identity is always makes me giggle :D it's the layer of mystery and unknown danger that presents itself behind not knowing who the Big Red Cheese is that keeps them on edge sometimes. They admire their friend, but sometimes they do wonder, are they his friend? What is he? An alien? A human? A monster beneath the disguise of a man? Three kobolds in a trenchcoat? Nobody knows... They do wish to get to know their friend better.

Normally, most league members have their secret identities kept, you know, a secret. With the exception that Batman knows, of course. However, even he remains stumped on this mystery. He doesn't enjoy not knowing who Captain Marvel is behind the boy scout smile he often shines, but Batman is determined to find out one day. There's almost some respect for how well the Captain manages to hide his identity and tracks.

Meanwhile, Billy is surprised he's lasted this long with a secret identity. He's working with a braincell, half an oreo cookie, and a dream.

I got sidetracked, ack! Okay, so the relationship (depending on which version of Captain Marvel and Black Adam you are familiar with) is almost always going to be personal. There's their shared relationship with the wizard Shazam, but the one I'm most familiar with and enjoy is Black Adam being the one to have killed Billy's parents. (Also, I appreciate you separating the identity of Black Adam and Teth!)

It would be absolutely amazing and gutwrenching to see Captain Marvel shake hands with a "reformed" Black Adam, possibly during a public setting with the JL in attendance, fully knowing the truth behind his parents murders and still going through with the painful decision to let him go unpunished.

For Billy, this hurts. On a deep level that scars his heart and soul for allowing his parents deaths to go unavenged. For the years of pain, he spent alone on the streets homeless and separated from his twin sister, none of it can be fully healed no matter how hard he tries to forget. Scars fade over time, but to Billy, time is eternity. This pain will follow him for eternity.

However, as Captain Marvel, he understands that there's more to the situation that he can't control, and fighting Black Adam would only make things worse. With the wisdom of Solomon, he knows he can't justify a fight against the ruler of a nation, no matter what. So he just smiles for the camera and shakes the hand of the man who orphaned him.

It is through holding Black Adam's hand that the thought passes through his mind: the hand he's holding right now was once stained with the blood of his parents.

Then, the heroes are given a moment of privacy to be around each other without the public's eyes or ears to interfere, and that's when **** hits the fan.

Captain Marvel is avoiding Black Adam, understandably, but when Black Adam loudly calls out his name among the other heroes, Billy can't help but feel rage boil inside his divine blood.

"William. I thought you knew better than to ignore others when they're trying to talk to you. Such rudeness, I am most glad your parents were not the ones to raise such behavior in you."

Whispers among the league ensues. Was that the Captain's name? Did Black Adam know Captain Marvel on a personal level rather than just a regular hero and nemesis level? Despite the eyes watching them, waiting and prepared to step in case of a fight, the Captain grits his teeth and, through miserable eyes of a broken man, chooses to smile.

"Yeah, they really were good people, Adam. I may not live up to their expectations, but I do live for them. Every day. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

"Your gratitude is most welcome, William. May one day come where you live for Mary and Frederick, as well. They would appreciate you honoring them."

Through a wicked smile, Black Adam chuckles, turning his back to take his leave back to Khandak. Leaving Captain Marvel still smiling all alone, his fists at his side curled with rage, drawing his own divine blood from the intensity of his own strength.

After that, the league would be in all rumors and whispers about Captain Marvel. From the past, they knew that Black Adam was fond of taunting the Captain with strange and mean words during their harrowing battles, but had it all been a personal dig at him all this time? Did Black Adam have a hand in accidentally giving Captain Marvel the motivation to become a hero?

Superheroes like Batman would immediately be looking into any information they learned from this and try to decipher what is the truth behind the Captain. Or should he say, "William," now having a name to the face of the hero of Fawcett. He would also be investigating Black Adam far more closely now, should the reformed man ever step out of line. If he heard right and Black Adam had indeed killed the Captain's parents, then he needed to keep an eye on Captain Marvel, too. In case of a breakdown or instability in emotions.

On the other hand, heroes like the Flash and Superman would take the time to visit the Captain in his city and check on him. They'd be concerned after seeing how pained Captain Marvel was. If a villain like Black Adam knew who the Captain was and specifically chose not to reveal his true identity to the public and just the Justice League, then perhaps there was more to it. Superman knew as well how painful it was to let a guilty man go free because he was deemed "reformed" in the eyes of the public (Lex Luthor, ew).

Overall, there would be a whole range of emotions after finding out Black Adam knows who Captain Marvel is. And I am here for it!

[traveler-at-heart]

What we were

Summary: After losing Clint, your marriage and family begins to fall apart. Will Natasha be able to go back to what you once were?

A/N: This is going to be four chapters, but most of it is written. It’s a mix of angst, hurt and comfort. Obvious warning, there’s a major character death. Natasha and R have a daughter.

Time was unforgiving.

It had been six months since you lost Clint. Two since you asked Natasha to move out.

Four hours of sleep was the most you could get each night. 

Time heals everything, people say.

Then, how come, the more time passed, the worse you felt?

Thoughts like these invade your mind, even when doing the most mundane of tasks. Like now, when you’re waiting for your daughter’s school day to be over. Leaning over your black Mercedes, you wish that your injured leg could be less of a bother and instead of driving, you could walk to pick up Anya and get distracted by the sights of the city.

The school bell rings and the quiet classrooms are full of murmurs, books stored away and steps walking -some rushing eagerly- to the exit.

Impossible to miss, Anya’s red waves are the first thing you spot. Raising a hand, she says goodbye to her friends and walks your way. 

“Hi, darling” you sigh against her head. 

She’s getting taller and maybe next year she won’t let you hug her. Maybe she’ll even want to take the bus while you anxiously wait for her return home. But now, she’s still a sweet child and she still lets you run your hands through her hair. 

“How was Debate Club?” it’s the first thing you ask, because she’d been preparing relentlessly to beat the other team. 

“We won, obviously”

“We should celebrate” a voice joins the conversation. You’re so startled that you drop the car keys.

“Mom!” Anya says, wrapping her arms around Natasha.

It makes you happy that she’s not resentful even after everything that happened. That she can love so unconditionally.

She didn’t get that from you.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt” Natasha apologizes, finally looking at you. There’s a weak smile on your face, what else can you do? “I was thinking we could go shopping for that new game you wanted?”

“Can we please, Momma?” Anya turns to you.

“Sure. Have fun. But don’t spoil your appetite. We’re having lasagna” 

“Mom, our favorite” Anya nudges the Russian and you look away.

“I’ll have her home by 6” Natasha saves you the embarrassment of being forced to invite her.

“Have fun” you wave goodbye, heart beating fast.

Breaking the speed limit, you rush home. But the tears start running long before you’re parked.

You look at your sad reflection in the rearview mirror.

Natasha looks better than the last time you saw each other.

Maybe all she needed was to be away from you, to be happy again.

--

Two glasses of wine later, you’re curled up on the sofa watching your favorite comfort show and feeling better. 

“What’s up, Buck?” you answer at the second ring of your phone. 

“Are you ok?”

You look at the half empty glass of wine and decide that no, you’re most definitely not ok.

“Sure, why you ask?”

“I just saw her driving with Anya” 

“Mhm” you look at the clock. 5:55 PM. She’s trying to be a responsible parent, at least. “Yeah, she showed up at school today. It’s good that they spent time together”

“Want me to come over?”

“No, I don’t want you two fighting in my front yard. Thanks, though”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow, ok? And if you feel like it, we can go to that Broadway show on Saturday. I got us tickets”

“Thanks, Buck” 

“Ok, she’s parking outside now”

“You followed them all the way here?” you jump out of the couch, looking out the window.

“What? I was worried!” 

“Sometimes I think it’s not so great that you live a few blocks away, you weirdo”

“But then I bring coffee and scones and you change your mind” 

“Yeap”

“See ya, doll”

“Bye, creep”

“Oh, come on!”

You let out a laugh at his protest. Wanda and Yelena have been texting you, so you scroll, smiling at the silly pictures of Fanny or the videos of Tommy and Billy doing their crazy science experiments. 

“Hi, Ma” Anya rushes past you. “Gonna change for dinner”

“Mmkay” you nod, texting Bucky to make sure he’s actually back home, and not slashing Natasha’s tires. 

“So…” 

“Nat, jeez” you drop the phone, not even aware that she is still here. She looks at you across the kitchen island. 

Don’t think how sad it is that she looks out of place here, where it used to be home.

Don’t cry in front of her.

Don’t.

“Sorry, I’ll say goodbye and leave” 

“Anya, your mom’s leaving” you busy yourself in the kitchen, looking away.

“So soon?” the girl peeks around, pouting. “We haven’t even played the game yet”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” you give up, unable to say no to your daughter. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m always making extra anyways”

Because you were used to cooking dinner for three. 

Anya is happy to set the table, but you sit next to your daughter, leaving Natasha in front of her. You try to stay focused on Anya and school: the debate club, sports activities, a month in Europe for the best students. 

“Mom, do you think I can reach out to aunt Carol? I have some Astronomy questions”

Natasha immediately looks at you, but you’re hyper focused on the bottle of wine and pouring the last of it until your glass is filled to the rim.

“Uh, she’s not... I’m not sure where Danvers is, sweetheart. She left Earth a while back” 

“Oh, ok” the girl nods, looking at you with a frown. “Mom, what’s wrong? Is your leg hurting? What did Doctor Cho say?”

Crap.

“What’s wrong, det…?” Natasha asks, looking at you. The pet name almost rolled off her tongue.

Everything. Everything is wrong, Natasha. 

“That old injury from our outlaw days. Doctor Cho gave me some pain killers. But I don’t think I’ll take them, they make me too sleepy”

“We’ll do the dishes” Natasha jumps in. “Don’t worry about it” 

“Thanks”

The dishes are the least of your worries, but it’s still a nice gesture.

Maybe when she’s finally ready to ask you to divorce her, you’ll be able to coparent. 

“Here, let me” she asks as you approach with the empty glass of wine. “Did Doctor Cho say anything else?”

You sigh, leaning against the counter, watching as she washes the dishes.

“She said surgery might make the pain go away. Actually, there’s a 90% chance it will work. But Anya’s got school and I’d have to do bed rest for at least five weeks. Maybe during winter break” 

“I can take care of her. Drive her to school or cook dinner or…”

“You’re a terrible cook” you remind her. It’s meant to be a joke, but also a way to make her stop.

You don’t want to be a burden for someone who doesn’t want you anymore.

“Wanda could teach me” 

“She’s too busy making sure the twins aren’t building a nuclear weapon in the garage” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks, almost afraid of your answer.

“Can you take her to school tomorrow?” you finally say, without providing further details.

The truth is, you’ll probably cry until you fall asleep, because you miss Natasha and this is the first time you’ve seen her in two months. 

And it would be better if you could sleep in, make an appointment with your therapist and then find a way to look composed by the time you have to pick your daughter from school. 

“Absolutely” 

“Thank you” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N” 

The way she says your name makes you want to scream. 

--

Natasha’s long gone, Anya sleeping peacefully back in her room.

You’re looking at the ceiling, tears rolling down your face and soaking your pillow.

You miss her so damn much. You love her so much.

And you also hate her. And you hate yourself for loving her.

There’s a soft knock at your door. You know it’s not Anya because she would have turned on the hallway light.

“Hey, weirdo” you look at Bucky from across the room, smiling sadly. He approaches you and wraps you in his arms. You sob against his chest, feeling like the sadness will last forever.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. Let it all out. I’m here”

You don’t know when you fall asleep.

--

A lot has changed in such a short time, but by now, Anya is used to the sight of her uncle Bucky, rotating between the few breakfast foods he can make without burning everything.

“You read my mind” Anya watches as he makes blueberry pancakes.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?” he mumbles, impressed at how silent she was.

“No, because my moms are spies and so is my uncle and my other aunt and basically half my family”

“Smart ass,” he chuckles. “Come on, eat your food before it gets cold”

“Did mom eat anything yet?” Anya sits on a stool, eating on the kitchen counter.

“Your mom’s asleep” Bucky says. In fact, you cried, had a panic attack, a couple of nightmares, woke up to drink some water and then fell asleep at 4 AM. 

Basically, the usual for the past two months.

He’s so caught in his thoughts that he forgets to flip the last pancake. A knock on the front door snaps him back to reality.

“Can you turn off the stove? And pack your bag, we’re leaving in five…” Bucky yells over, opening the door without looking through the peephole first. He’s surprised to find Natasha on the other side “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up my daughter” 

“Does Y/N know?” He's holding on to the door so hard that the wood cracks.

“She asked me to drive Anya to school”

“Ok, I’m ready” Anya announces, aware that her mother and uncle aren’t on the best terms. She walks between them to make sure they won’t punch each other. “Bye, uncle, thanks for breakfast” 

“Have a good day, sweetheart. See you Saturday”

“Right, for that musical, Beaglejuice”

“Shut up” he chuckles, kissing her forehead. Anya leans forward and hugs him goodbye.

Natasha is silent for most of the ride. Anya is looking out the window, uncertain of her mother’s mood. Maybe not saying anything is safer.

Three blocks away from school and Natasha hears herself blurting out what’s been on her mind this whole time.

“Does Barnes stay over a lot?”

“I guess” Anya mutters, still looking out the window.

“Well, do you know…”

The girl has enough, turning around to face her mother. There’s nothing but resentment in her eyes as she tells Natasha everything.

“Mom cries herself to sleep every night. Ever since you moved out, it's been hard for her to get up in the morning and act normal, let alone cook breakfast. So yeah, uncle Bucky is around all the time, just to make sure she’s at the very least alive. You’d know if you still cared about us” 

“Anya…”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way, thanks for the ride” she mumbles, opening the door and rushing away. Natasha is stuck in traffic, so all she can do is watch her daughter from the car.

Just when she was starting to make things right, she fucks up again.

--

“Thanks for breakfast” you say, mouth full of pancakes.

“More like lunch” Bucky corrects.

You nod, reaching for the maple syrup. 

“So, why’d you ask Natasha to drive Anya to school?” 

“Is that why my door is almost broken in half?” 

“I’ll fix it”

“You better” you mumble. He is still staring and you shrug your shoulders. “Just experimenting how co-parenting is gonna be when we officially divorce”

“So, you are asking her to divorce you?” 

“She’s gonna ask me. Sooner or later” you keep your head down, playing with your food. You’re not hungry anymore.

“All things considered, the ball is in your court”

“Buck” you plead, dropping the fork.

“I’m just saying” he approaches your side. “You’ll only be able to heal once you know what you both want. But running away won’t help”

“You sound like my therapist”

“But does she cook you breakfast?”

“For what she’s charging me, she should, actually” both of you laugh. And damn it, you know he’s right. “Thank you, for worrying about me. And for taking care of us these past few months. I’m sorry I’m such a mess”

As if on cue, tears start streaming down your face. Bucky hugs you, kissing your head.

“It’s ok”

“I know you hate it when people cry, I’m sorry” 

“Yeah, but I hate it a little bit more when you’re the one crying”

--

Luckily for your therapist, you’re all cried out by the time you reach her office. Instead, you discuss how it would be better to approach Natasha, who has always struggled with communication around difficult topics.

“I’m very happy with this session. We’ve made great progress” Doctor Thompson says and you put your fist forward.

“Fist bump” you encourage her.

“I’ll get my license taken away if we ever do this again” 

For the first time in months, you leave her office feeling a little bit lighter. 

Until you check your phone. 10 missed calls from Natasha.

“Nat?” you answer as she calls again.

“Is Anya with you?”

“I was about to pick her up from school” there’s a pause. “You did drive her to school, right?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot” she shoots back.

“Well, I’m very confused because she’s only about to end her last class. Why would she be anywhere else, then?” you retort.

“Just meet me back home, ok?” she pleads.

“Fine”

She’s pacing on the sidewalk as you park.

“Care to explain?”

“The school called me an hour ago. She sneaked out after recess” 

“Let’s just track her phone” 

“It’s off”

“Well, fuck” you run your hand through your hair. “Did she say anything to you this morning? Did she seem upset?”

Natasha looks away, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I asked her if Barnes was staying over often”

“Natasha, for fuck’s sake” you sigh, turning away from her. 

Don’t shout. You won’t solve anything by screaming at Natasha.

Your daughter is missing because your wife can’t keep her jealousy to herself. So fuck it.

“If you want to know anything, you ask me, Natasha, do you understand? You don’t go questioning our 13 year old daughter, who, by the way, has been through enough shit lately. I’m trying to protect her and you’re here implying I’m sleeping with the only friend who isn’t tired of me being a mess. Which, for the record, I’m not. And would never. Unlike you, I’m not going around fucking people outside my marriage because I’m having a hard time”

“I don’t know how to get close to you, Y/N. You pushed me out ever since…”

“No! You don’t get to put this on me. I tried for months. I tried everything. And you scoffed and ignored and stood me up. I gave up the moment I found you in bed with Carol” 

Your voice breaks at the last part. That memory has been buried for so long; you want it to stay hidden, forever. 

It doesn’t matter. You need to find Anya.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Buck” 

“I’m here. I’ll help you find her” 

“I’ll find my daughter alone, thank you” you walk past her, waiting impatiently for your friend to pick up.

“She’s my daughter too”

“You sure as hell haven’t acted like her mother in a long time, Natalia” 

You walk away, your back turned to her. 

“Buck” you say, voice trembling.

“I know. She’s at the Met. Hasn’t left. I’m outside, just in case”

“How did you…?” 

“I’m sorry. I was hoping I could convince her to come back before you found out she sneaked out of class”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can” 

--

Again, those soft waves of red are the first thing you spot in the room. Her blue eyes are fixed on Degas and his Dance Class.

“Hey, kiddo” you stand next to her, understanding immediately why she’s looking at this painting. “We still have your ballerina shoes somewhere in a box. Your mom loved going to your recitals” 

“I’m sorry for leaving school” 

“I played hooky a couple of times. It’s part of life. I just want to make sure you’re ok” 

“She doesn’t care if you’re able to get up in the morning but gets jealous because someone is taking care of us” 

You sigh. Anya has Natasha’s heart, after all. She loves and protects fiercely.

“That’s not exactly true. Come with me” your daughter takes your hand as you leave the museum. 

Central Park is still looking beautiful, even as fall approaches. Anya plops down on a bench and you take a seat next to her. A small groan leaves your lips. This damn leg.

“You know your mother was raised to be an assassin. The Red Room taught her that love was a weakness. And that she was incapable of having a family or people that cared about her. Even after all these years, insecurity can get the best of Nat sometimes”

“Why can’t we just… go back to what we used to be?” she mumbles, a tear rolling down her face.

“Oh, sweetheart” you hold her against your chest. “I want nothing more in this world” 

“I miss her”

“Me too, Anya”

“It’s like we lost her the day uncle Clint died” she sobs.

“But she’s still here. And she still needs you, my sweet girl. I’m not saying you should forgive her right this second. But don’t build a wall around yourself, please”

“Ok” 

“You know I lost my mom when I was 15. And a lot of that time I spent it angry at her for staying with a man that wasn’t good to us. But once she was gone, all I wished was that I had made her life a little easier”

“I’m sorry” 

“It’s ok. I’m glad I’m here, to make sure you don’t make the same mistake I did. We’re gonna be alright, I promise” 

“I love you”

“Love you too, kiddo” you keep her in your arms for as long as you can, but a light rain begins to fall. “Come on, now. Bucky’s been waiting for us”

“I know. I saw him following me on the bus here”

“My God, I don’t know which one of you is scarier” 

Anya giggles, and you take her hand. 

Even between all of this mess, she’s the one thing that makes everything worth it. 

--

Anya was the one that texted her mother, apologizing and letting her know she was ok.

You didn’t reply to Natasha’s text. “I’m sorry” isn’t enough sometimes.

After pizza and an intense game of Jenga with Anya and Bucky, you call it a night.

You know what you’ll dream of tonight, but you’re too tired to care.

[sixosix]

( a/n ) light angst, hurt/comfort, PROFANITY WARNING, guys im so sorry this is so short but its all im capable of rn

special mention TYSM @earthtooz for proofreading i owe u my soul

he’s always been a little sensitive to people caring for him. he’s used to taking care of others, to have his parents let him get away with everything, and he’s spent his life isolating himself from people who would see him past what he is but for who he is.

reo rolls his shoulder to shove your hand off of him, frowning at the wall. “you know me well enough already, don’t you? you know that i hate it when you get like this.”

“this isn’t good for you, reo. you’re destroying yourself,” you snarl, jabbing at his back. “i’m sick of seeing you like this. i’m not a babysitter, nor your therapist.”

“i’m not asking you to worry about me, am i?” he snaps, finally turning to meet your eyes.

anger boils in your chest, but you let it simmer with a few deep breaths. reo isn’t thinking properly right now, raving on and on about not working hard enough, and how he isn’t catching up. “there isn’t a professional boundary between us, i care for you because i love you. right now, when you say shit like that? i can barely give a fuck about you anymore.”

reo’s sharp scowl falters around the edges, giving way to confusion. “where are you going?” he demands when you make your way to the door.

“away,” you say, slipping your shoes on and refusing to look at him. “you said you need space, right? then i’ll give it to you. we’re over.”

“fine.” his tone is biting, but his voice sounds strange. “fine…”

he’s still lethargic, you tell yourself; he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he’ll regret it later. but he doesn’t stop you.

maybe if you were to glance back at him one last time, you’d see the broken expression on his face hitting him right after.

from the start, reo’s always been expecting you would leave him. everyone does that to him, anyway. even nagi, who he still considers his best friend. it was a little too good to be true with you, so he tells himself that this was bound to happen. that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when it finally happens.

reo groans, shoving his face into his pillow. his friends snicker at his misery, so reo does what he needs to and flips them off with two hands. but as a groveling man with his face hidden by his sheets, it does not paint the intimidating picture he wanted.

“it hasn’t even been that long,” nagi remarks. he doesn’t spare reo a glance so unfortunately, he doesn’t get see reo flashing him with his middle finger.

“mmrgh,” reo says, still pressed against his bed.

isagi pats him on the shoulder, which doesn’t help anyone, but it’s the thought that counts.

“record him, record him, do it,” bachira says, clapping nagi on the back repeatedly, his strength enough to jostle him back and forth. obediently, nagi follows, pointing his phone camera right at a moping reo.

“day two without y/n,” nagi says to his future audience. “barely holding on.”

“i feel awful,” reo groans. “y/n blocked me.”

“do you regret what you said?” isagi asks.

“‘course i do,” reo hisses, offended that he would even ask that. “i was an asshole. y/n was right—y/n’s always right. i’m stupid.”

bachira snorts, “keep fighting, reo!” and barely manages to dodge the pillow thrown his way.

the camera pans back to reo, who’s looking red in the face, awfully pathetic. “fuck off. don’t post that. y/n’s gonna see it and make fun of me when we’re back again.”

nagi posts it anyway.

chigiri hums thoughtfully, waving a hand in front of your face. “you don’t look like you moved on to me.”

you splutter, shoving his phone back onto him. you feel your heart pound in your ears and with the way chigiri smiles knowingly, you almost wonder if he can hear it, too. “shut up! why did he say that? i hate him.”

“sure you do. say what?”

“‘when we’re back together again’ like he’s so sure about it,” you try to say it like you’re angry, but your expression resembles reo from that video. it doesn’t come out as you want it.

reo looks much better now. nagi says that reo religiously followed your advice right after and has been faring better, which is a real shame since you can’t even see it for yourself. he looks less pale and much brighter, but instead of the anger you last saw him with, he’s just become a carbon copy of a wet blanket.

“aren’t you?” chigiri watches the post again, just to torment you with your sniveling ex. “getting back together again, i mean.”

“i’m leaving.”

“yeah? and go where? reo’s bed?”

“i’ll strangle you!”

[yellow-dejavu]

When I saw Dark, I definitely expected characters like Hannah and Ulrich to be hated. I wasn't surprised when I saw comments disliking them on different websites, but I just didn't expect to see people celebrating that Hannah was murdered by her own child while her younger child was sleeping in the same room.

People can enjoy any moment they want while watching a show or movie, but I just don't get it. Hannah gets an amount of hate that no other character in the show gets, and it feels like a large part of the show's viewers ignore to even trying to understand her.

jonas literally says in the first episode:

“My father said good and evil are a question of perspective.”

I'm not saying her character didn't do bad things, but it's exhausting how that's the only thing people see about her and it's just like they're trying to erase the good she did or all the positive things she meant in certain characters' lives.

I was even more shocked to see how few comments put Hannah on the same level as Helene Albers. I just don't understand how anyone could think that Hannah is somehow comparable to an abusive parent.

Hannah with her kids:

When she saw her boy struggling to cope with his dad's dead, she supported her child and made sure he got the professional help he needed.

And when Jonas came back to town, she made sure he got his medications and therapy sessions with Peter.

Hannah was so worried when Jonas tells her he had a fight at the end of the first season.

In the same scene, he just wanted to comfort his mother by saying, "Don't worry, Mom. Everything will be fine, Mom." when he actually believed that he could save Mikkel and thus end his own existence.

As the months passed since her son's disappearance, Hannah was so devastated that she almost took her own life.

She didn't, because Stranger Jonas appeared.

Stranger Jonas has returned after years of living in the apocalypse, and he doesn't know what else to do when his plan fails. The only thing he can think of is to go to his mom and tell her the truth.

After the time young Jonas spent traveling with Claudia, the first thing he does when he finally returns home is look for his mom.

It was a long time before Hannah saw her son again.

But she went to see him immediately when a random old woman told her that she knew where her son was and that he needed her.

Hannah was heartbroken when she saw what had happened to her boy. In that moment she apologized, recognized her mistakes, and told him that she was there for him.

Young Adam looked scary, but Hannah loved him anyway, and baby Silja trusted him when he said, "I want to show you a secret. But we'll let your mom rest, okay?"

Hannah died when Silja was very young and she probably didn't remember much about her mom, but she still named her firstborn Hanno after her.

and that's just to mention some of the things I could remember about Hannah's relationship with her kids.

The last dialogue of the whole show:

"I always thought "Jonas" was a good name."

Hannah was a good mom and her kids absolutely loved her. It bothers me that some people want to take that away from her because they don’t like her.

It's really hard for me to understand how some viewers can watch a show like Dark and decide that they can see all the million gray areas that all these characters had, but with one particular character they reduce everything to black and white.

[paperstorm]

Loved all your thoughts on Carlos this episode. Any thoughts on TK?

Sometimes I keep my thoughts on TK to myself a little more because he hits very close to home for me. But I will say that when you've been through the kind of things TK has been through, milestone birthdays can hit really weird because suddenly you're at an age that you always assumed you'd never live to see and it feels like being lost at sea a little bit. It's hard to plan for the future when you don't believe you're going to have one, so I bet TK spent a lot of time in his 20s thinking that conceptualizing himself in his 30s or 40s or 50s was pointless because he might not make it that far, the ideas of what kind of life he would want probably always a little fuzzy and a little too painful to even dwell on. I bet he woke up the morning of his birthday full of some complicated emotions. Gratitude and happiness but also maybe some sorrow for the time wasted or maybe for the things he could've accomplished by 30 if he wasn't too sick to dream of a happy ending for himself. But he also woke up next to his husband.

It's so genuinely beautiful to look back and see how far this character has come, to think that the pilot of this show opened with him trying to end his life over a man who he thought incorrectly was his soulmate, thinking he had nothing left worth living for, not knowing all the wonderful, amazing, beautiful things that were waiting just ahead for him, if he could just hang on long enough to catch them. TK spent a lot of his life thinking he doesn't really matter all that much, and look at him now. He's crafted a life for himself out of grit and bloody knuckles and relentless optimism, he has a career that lets him turn all that pain into saving people so they too can get their second chances, he has so many people who care about him and wanted to celebrate his birthday (and his wedding, and his engagement, and his sobriety), he has two parents fighting over who loves him more, he has a husband who thinks he hangs the moon and all the stars and wants to hold him close and dance with him in the home they've built together. He is completely surrounded by love. And like Wyatt was saying to that woman on the bridge, TK as a character is such a wonderful display of the fact that even the biggest bumps in the road don't have to be the end of our stories. If we're brave enough to keep fighting, they can be the beginnings of journeys we weren't expecting but might lead somewhere much better than where we were heading before.