#i would love to visit massachusetts one day though!

[pemprika]

i'd love for you to table at anime boston this year if that's possible ;o;

thanks for wanting me there! i don't think i'll be able to do anime boston 2023 since the apps had already closed (?) i'll be more attentive with the apps for animeboston 2024 ^_^

[shawnxstyles]

panty stealer 2

DATE: JULY 12, 2023

summary: after the forbidden and surprising night of the ‘break-in’, you couldn’t get your mind off of peter. luckily, he couldn’t either, and finds his way back into your bedroom to invite you to a party.

requested: so many times yes!

words: 11.2k!! woah

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, slight oral, masturbation, vibrator], praise kink, degrading kink, slight exhibitionism, dirty talk, and protected sex), language, mentions of marjuana/alcohol, and fluff

note: this was the most anticipated and loved of all my writings! i’m so thankful for everyone who liked part 1, i just had to write a part 2. enjoy!!! sorry if the gif is all weird again

—

so many thoughts flew through peter’s mind as he swung through the streets of massachusetts: what homework or projects he might have, you, class, praying flash doesn’t do anything stupid while he’s gone, you, hoping ned doesn’t have a panic attack from flash’s idiocy, and you you you.

he thought of your body and the way it felt underneath him while he pushed himself deep inside of you. and the whimpers you let out as you came. and the sound of your laughter through the palm of your hand. and the smile on your face as he kissed your forehead. he wished he had kissed you longer. he wished he had stayed longer. forever.

was that dramatic? maybe.

you were a recurring thought that never seemed to cease from his brain.

peter sees you around school sometimes—only on the days you two have class together. neither of you made an effort to approach the other, almost as if you expected the other person to do it first. you both sat far apart from each other, too afraid to move seats around and make it obvious. but peter’s gaze fell heavily over your shoulder too many times for you to not feel it.

every time you shifted around to face the back of the room, you watched him avert his wandering eyes to anywhere but you. it made you smile and giggle quietly behind your hand, and of course peter’s hearing picked up on the angelic sounds, causing his heart to skip against his ribs.

and then class would begin and you’d have to wait until next class to see him again.

peter wanted to go see you—talk to you. he really did. but he was so busy with school work and being spider-man that he didn’t have a night off. mid-terms were coming up, but that also meant thanksgiving break was in the rear view mirror. after halloween of course.

in college, halloween was like any other day. you didn’t get a day off to trick-or-treat and hang out with your friends. instead, you were given a pile of tests the week before.

not much of a treat, huh?

outside of college, however, people threw the best parties that night. one of those people obviously being peter. luckily, halloween was on a saturday, so everyone would be done with mid-terms and ready to party their asses off.

flash needed everyone and their mom to come for him to be satisfied (well, maybe not their moms). he’s going to blow up everyone’s phone telling them to invite every person they know. peter didn’t care who showed up. he knows that halloween is one of the biggest parties of the year (besides fourth of july). peter only wanted—no needed—one person to be there.

—

knowing it’s been weeks since he’s seen you and the party was only in a few days, peter had to come and see you. he had to make sure you got the invite. it was difficult to fit visiting you into his schedule, but like always, he made it work.

you were becoming important to him, a priority.

he would only be in and out because who knows what would happen if peter was caught in there? last time, flash got his car hit with a baseball bat. flash was so mad that he completely forgot about peter’s dare, even though it was the whole point of sneaking into the house. it was deserved, but peter didn’t want any of that happening to him. so, peter promised himself no funny business unless you were in his room.

ugh, but peter really didn’t want you around the frat boys. they were way too much.

the sky was pitch black besides the hint of stars that were sprinkled in the sky. it was a chilly, fall night that made peter want to cozy up and pass out in his bed. but he had more important things to do first.

after a boring night of patrol, peter sneaks into his room through his opened window. without making too much noise (unlike flash), he quietly changes out of his suit and packs it into his closet in a box labeled books. peter is certain that no one, especially flash, would ever open that box. so he fixes his appearance by adjusting his shirt in the mirror, checking his teeth, and messing with his wild hair. on impulse, he throws on a cap to better hide himself. with that, he jumps out his window once again, shutting it closed on his way down with his sticky fingers.

like he’s done once before, peter sneaks across the street to the forbidden sorority house. he stares at the windows; all darkened bedrooms, except for one. peter wasn’t one hundred percent sure that that single lit bedroom was yours, but he was willing to test his luck.

for you.

peering at his surroundings, peter flips his hat backwards and slowly crawls up the side of the house. his fingers latch onto the windowsill as he very slowly lifts his head over it. he notices that it’s slightly cracked open before his gaze is seering through the glass.

you have got to be fucking joking.

your body lays sprawled across your bed as a delicate hand wanders between your parted legs and slides your infamous panties to the side. your torso is covered in the same mit t-shirt from that night, draped over your lavish figure tantalizingly. a laptop plays a pornographic scene of some sort, headphones plugged in one ear.

god, he wanted to touch you so bad.

he wondered if you were thinking of him. recalling how his fingers caressed down your body and how they touched every inch of your skin. but you couldn’t be, right? it’s been weeks and peter hasn’t made a move. you’ve probably moved on from that night like nothing happened. peter should probably go, leave you alone during such an intimate time—

“mm, peter,” your angelic voice hums a quiet moan that was only loud enough for peter’s hearing. peter feels his cock twitch needily at your noises, hissing to himself as you whimper his name. “feels so good.”

well, that’s just like a goddamn invite.

using every skill he has learned from being spider-man, peter yanks open the window and creeps inside. you were too emerged in your fantasies; eyes screwed closed as you listened attentively to the ongoing video. you failed to notice peter’s looming presence over your bed, even with only one headphone in. your noises continued, spurring peter’s next actions on.

without saying a word, peter lays his hand over yours, which is rubbing cute circles over your clit. your movements freeze and your eyes fly open. your mind doesn’t register the sight before you, so your breathing stops and your lungs get ready to scream out every millimeter of oxygen in you. but peter slips his other hand over your mouth before you could alert the entire neighborhood of his presence.

peter could sense the erratic beating of your heart as your tense muscles very gradually soften once you realize it’s him. once you’ve calmed down enough to not scream, you take your free hand and lower peter’s from your mouth.

he came back.

“p-peter, i didn't know you were coming,” you weren't sure what to say. your mind was still spinning like a top toy and your heart was beating like a galloping horse. your skin was burning underneath him, full of embarrassment and immense desire. “a head’s up would have been nice…”

“i’m sorry for the interruption…” peter says, eyes dragging down your body. his hand moves above yours gradually. you inhale sharply as peter guides your hand.

“you don’t seem sorry,” you retaliate as the friction from your hand with the help of peter’s begins to rile your body up again. you feel the wetness seep from your cunt, aching and needy for more. for more of him.

“how come you’re so wet?” peter completely ignores you, and removes your hand from your pussy with a gentle toss. peter didn’t expect anything tonight, but he especially didn’t expect to find his little angel with her hands between her legs. you gasp when his fingers are directly touching you, instantly clenching around nothing. his fingers are a bit chilly, in contrast to your flamy skin. “is it from the video?”

“n-no,” you stutter between needy pants as his fingers threaten to sink into your pulsing hole. your legs spread wider for him, inviting him closer to you. you slam the laptop down with shaky fingers to show him that you no longer need it.

“then what’s got you so wet?” two fingers dip into your cunt to persuade you to talk, but it’s doing the opposite. you bite your lip to hide the traitorous moan that threatens to escape. heavy arousal coats your labia while he pumps in and out of you easily, waiting for an answer.

“i was thinking of you,” you admit, hips rolling into his touch greedily. “wondering if you’d ever come back.”

peter’s heart saddens at the thought of you waiting for him. this whole time peter assumed you forgot about him, when in reality, it was the exact opposite. and there was sticky evidence to prove it.

“i’m right here, angel. what were you thinking about?” his body leans down hovering over yours, causing your body to sink into the mattress.

“thought about you climbing through the window, just like you did. imagined you’d fuck me, like you promised,” you moan quietly between words, trying to sound cohesive. hearing you say such vulgar words has peter’s cock twitching in his pants. with peter, you weren’t afraid to be straight to the point and tell him what you want. peter admired that, and would probably do anything you asked him to.

“with time, i’m a man of my word, baby.”

close and personal, peter interlocks his lips with yours. your frolicking hands drift to his warm neck, caressing the nape as you melt into him. peter inserts a third finger into you, eliciting a muffled moan against his lips. the action opens up your mouth and allows peter to effortlessly glide his tongue inside.

his fingers ram into you at a deliriously fast pace, causing your mind to haze into a euphoric state. it was impressive how peter could be kissing you unforgettably, but also skillfully pleasuring you with his hands. peter seemed like a man full of secrets and skills that you were dying to know.

who is peter parker?

fogging up your mind, your muscles tense and your back continues to arch until your stomach is touching his. your legs threaten to close from the overwhelming pleasure from his fingers, but you battle to keep them wide. his mouth trails down your neck and attacks the sensitive skin below your ear. teeth digging into your lip, you withhold all of your noises that peter so desperately wants to hear.

“if we were alone, you wouldn’t be allowed to be quiet,” he husks in your ear before trailing further down your neck. his voice was every level of attractive, pushing you closer to the edge. peter continued to check off all of your invisible boxes of turn ons.

“i know,” your voice was delicate and strained, and peter could tell you were close.

your walls gripped his fingers eagerly, and your stomach tightened up. it was embarrassing that you were so close so fast, but you couldn’t hold it any longer. once his fingers curled one last time inside of you, you were a goner.

“come for me, baby,” he demanded quietly, so you did.

your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, drenched in blissful euphoria. peter worked you through your high by softly rubbing your legs and coaxing every last drop out of you until you were sensitive to the touch.

without having to ask, peter lowers himself to your mound and yanks your panties down and off your legs. he then cleans up your mess with his skillful tongue, licking and slurping all of your juices. your sensitivity causes you to be squirmy, but he’s done before you know it and then you’re left reminiscing.

although he was right in front of you, you missed his touch already. you missed him inside of you because it made you feel connected, intertwined. you didn’t want him to leave you again for weeks and come back on a random week day. or even worse, never again at all. you hoped that it didn’t become a pattern because you were getting attached to him, whether you liked it or not (you did), and that wasn’t a healthy pattern to be attached to.

peter’s body hovers over yours once again, held up by his muscular arms. your eyes attach to every detail on his face, admiring and memorizing his features in fear that he’ll leave again. he gazes at you like a living daydream, ethereal underneath him. one of his hands caresses your supple cheek, lightly swiping away your frisky hair. you practically purr into his touch, melting at his gentleness.

“peter,” you start, voice as fragile as thin glass.

“y/n.”

“please, don’t leave,” you insist in a whisper, hoping he’d stay. but you know he can’t.

“you know i can’t,” he says as you begin to sit up. see?

“when will i see you again? you can’t just… show up at any time,” you huff, sitting up straight as peter takes a seat beside you.

“i know i know…” peter thinks for a moment before reaching into his pocket. “here. you can put your number in my phone.”

your heart skips a simple beat. you extend your arm to snatch your phone on your nightstand before hesitatingly grabbing peter’s. you switch devices and enter your numbers. you label your name as ‘y/n :)’ and then you trade back phones, but don’t look at them.

“c’mere,” peter says and you curl your body into his. his warmth was addicting and cozy, and could easily make a great pillow for the future. “i’m sorry for not coming back sooner. i’ve been pretty busy with… everything i guess. i should’ve told you.” with your head cradled in his chest, he kisses your rumpled hair genuinely.

a sweet apology. could he get any better? is he just a figment of my imagination?

you lift up your head so you could see him looking down on you. “apology accepted, parker. but i feel like i’m being manipulated with your kisses.”

“how was i supposed to know you’re a sucker for forehead kisses?”

“everyone is a sucker for forehead kisses!” you whisper yell causing him to laugh wholeheartedly as quiet as possible. he kisses your head a few more times, making your heart full of affection and care.

how did you get lucky enough for peter parker to fall into your life? or more specifically, break into your house on two accounts?

“you never fulfilled your promise,” you said, referring to him having sex with you. don’t misunderstand, you were very grateful for what he gave you, but to be direct… you were greedy, needy, and missed his dick.

no time for beating around the bush.

“like i said, with time, i’m a man of my word,” which, in other words, means he’s not having sex with you. tonight, at least. you can’t help the small frown that appears on your lips.

“how much time? a girl has needs, you know,” you rose your eyebrows and pointed towards the closed laptop. peter puffed under his breath, causing you to smirk.

“there is a party this saturday… at my place. you should come,” peter informs.

“should i come or do you want me to come?” it was a test.

“if this is some sexual innuendo, yes—”

“jeez, get your mind out of the gutter, peter!” you roll your eyes and softly shove his chest, but a smile never ceases from your face. that only causes him to wrap his arms around you and squeeze you harder against his firm body.

he must live at the gym.

“you started talking about sex first!”

he’s not wrong.

“of course, i want you to come to the party, y/n,” peter smiles as his eyes wandering over every inch of your face. in any other scenario, gorging eyes would’ve made you feel insecure, but peter’s made you feel all flushed and tingly. “you’re the only person i want to be there.”

your smile enlarges even more and a rush of heat crawls up your neck. instead of kissing his lips for being such a romantic goofball, you decide to pull off his backward cap and kiss his forehead. the rosy blush that cascades his pale cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed.

“see! everyone likes forehead kisses!”

just as you say those words, peter hears footsteps padding across the hallway. he really didn’t want to leave you again, but he also really didn’t want to get caught. he sighs and you notice his change of demeanor, causing another frown to arise on your lips.

“you have to go, don’t you?”

“i’m sorry—”

“it’s okay. i’m glad you came. i’ll see you on saturday,” you smile genuinely and kiss his forehead again. he smiles, but catches your luscious lips instead. peter almost forgot about the footsteps, always lost in the moment with you.

he is obsessed with kissing you.

however, the moment is too short for both of your liking. peter struggles to pull himself away from you, but does because each footstep in the hallway is like a warning. with a finally kiss to your forehead, peter smiles endearingly before approaching your window, ready to jump out.

“oh, and peter?” as his hands are on the window, he turns around to look at you. “don’t forget these.”

you fling your panties at him and his quick reflexes have no problem catching them. you take his hat that he left on your bed and lay it on top of your head. peter cannot describe the fond feeling that bubbles up in his chest at the sight of you in his apparel. he’s sure he would die seeing you in his clothes if he’s starstruck from you in his cap.

a familiar heated flush blossoms on his cheeks as he lightly shakes his head with a few chuckles.

“you’re ridiculously cute,” is the last thing he says before he slides out the window and jumps down onto the ground.

ridiculously cute. you’ve never been called that before. are you surprised that you like it a lot? nope.

you still don’t understand how he doesn’t break a few limbs from jumping out of a two-story house, but again, that’s just one of the many things he’s skillful at. you wondered what else he was capable of. like you said, he seemed like a man full of secrets. some people thought of curiosity as a curse, but you saw it as a pathway to unknown opportunities.

not even a minute after peter left, there’s a knock at your bedroom door. you answer, skeptical, and one of your friends walks in.

“i know we’re not allowed to have any guys here, so you get kind of lonely, but when you’re watching porn at midnight can you please turn it down? i could hear it at the end of the hall,” she rubs her eyes and elicits a yawn. your eyes widen and you swallow thickly at the idea of the entire house hearing you.

you really thought you did a good job at being quiet…

“uh, yeah, sure thing,” you half smile as you apologize and wish her a better goodnight. you flick your lamp off and shift comfortably on your bed.

you gaze at the ceiling and imagine peter’s face above yours. you envisioned his lips, his cute nose, and each precious beauty mark on his face. it was easier to fall asleep knowing what his phone number was, and that saturday was only three days away.

—

those three days could not have been longer. the party was your motivation to wake up every day and go to class, eager as ever. you only saw peter once at school and that was not enough to satisfy the yearning you had inside of you. that yearning was also like an alarm clock that sprung you out of bed at eight a.m. on saturday.

you knew you had hours to waste, so you did all the things you had been procrastinating on: laundry, tidying up, few assignments due next week, and you even dusted parts of the house. yeah, you were that bored.

you weren’t sure what time the party started, but you would probably be able to tell from your window. you had no idea what you were going to wear even though you were thinking about it since wednesday. you believed you had a good sense of style, at least to your liking, but you don’t have all the clothes that you wish you had. living on a college budget wasn’t easy, but you made do.

at this point, it was only two in the afternoon, and you were about to run into the wall until your head was bleeding just to waste more time. this was the downside to having a ridiculously big crush on someone; the inescapable waiting. when crushing, time seems prolonged when you’re without them. but when you’re with them, the world seems to stop completely. it’s like nothing matters but just you two.

you remembered back to wednesday when peter was sitting on your bed and holding you snug against his body while you talked about such a mundane thing like a party invite. you could never erase the feeling of his kiss, his lips forever etched onto yours. the kiss felt like hours, but it was merely a minute before he had to pull away. you imagined what it would be like to just be with him without worrying about anything else. these daydreams cause the yearning in your chest to expand like a balloon, which is never going to satisfyingly explode until you’re in his arms again.

without making a big deal out of it, you needed a good outfit. so, you knocked on one of your “sister’s” doors. you weren’t a fan of the term “sorority sisters,” especially because none of these girls felt like sisters to you. yes, you were all decent friends who went to parties and went out to eat once a month together. but you weren’t as close to them as you were with your friends back at home. you missed them, but you’ve all moved on with your lives.

violet answers with a cheery come in and you walk into her room. you hint that you’re looking for a nice dress for the party tonight.

“i’m glad you came to me first,” she smiles as she stands up from her bed. she heads toward her closet, which is practically pouring out clothes that would laugh at yours. she had so many colors and choices, it was almost overwhelming and you weren’t even the one really choosing. “so. who’s the guy?”

“what? who said anything about a guy?”

“the fact that you want a nice dress for a frat party. you’ve never cared before, so it has to be a guy. so who is it?”

“it’s no one in particular,” you lie easily as you sit on her bed. she sifts through each dress in deep thought.

“so, you want a nice dress to catch any guy’s attention? i don’t buy it,” violet shakes her head, causing her long, black hair to wave.

not that you really care if she believes you, but what’s a believable lie? you know she’ll probably nag you about it the entire night if you don’t give her a valid excuse.

“if i’m being honest, i’m trying to, you know,” you raise your eyebrows high, motioning your hands as she whips around to face you. she nods as a knowing smirk grows on her lips. you weren’t technically lying–you did want to get laid, but you only had one person in mind that could do the job.

“i see. that’s all you needed to say,” she flips through more dresses before pulling out a short red one that makes your eyes widen. it looked nice, too nice, and you didn’t want to ruin anything she had because you’d probably spend the next few months paying to replace it. “let’s get you ready.”

“but the party is in–”

“nuh uh, we’re getting ready now. also, we’re making it into a costume.”

–

for once, you’re glad you listened to violet about getting ready early because it was already six o’clock by the time you guys were both finished. you somehow gave in to the idea of her dolling you up into some kind of sexy spider woman? you didn’t really know. she thought the red and blue accented your skin nicely. violet did what she wanted. you didn’t even plan on wearing a costume in the first place, so you didn’t really mind.

your hair was down and wavy. you had her short red dress on and white fishnet tights. she also gave you royal blue heels. she painted black webs on your eyes with eyeliner while you wore a matching red lipstick. it was a lot more than you expected to see on yourself when you looked in her vanity mirror. hopefully, the look is as attractive and alluring as violet says it is. meanwhile, violet dressed as “slutty catwoman” (her words, not yours).

and yes, violet was going. everyone at mit would be going. it was one of those annual parties that's been going on for years, even before your class was there.

you enjoyed that; traditions and routines. they created memories and showed the change through each generation. thinking back, you bet your ancestors would die of a heart attack if they saw the way you were dressed and the things people did at these parties. but none of those thoughts stopped you from leaving the sorority house and walking across the street to the frat party.

you hadn’t even walked in yet, and the music was booming throughout the neighborhood. through the blinds that failed to close, you could see the technicolor lights flashing in redirection. cars of every shade were parked for probably miles down the street, and you knew as the night went on the number of people would only increase.

violet walked in front of you, strutting through the door like she owned the place. you followed behind her almost cowardly, but you weren’t really looking for everyone’s attention anyway. just one.

however, you forgot that the whole reason violet believed you were wearing this dress in the first place was for that exact reason. so, when she realized your shyness, she turned around and shook all your nerves out of you. literally. she shook your shoulders until you were woozy and nearly stumbling over your heels (you are now wishing you wore sneakers). it was like you were already tipsy by the time she was done.

she dragged you towards the kitchen without any words, seeming as though you wouldn’t be able to hear them over the blaring music and loud chatter. bottles of liquor decorated the marble countertop along with blue and red solo cups, trashed like a 90’s high school movie. violet grabbed the first bottle she saw, pouring the dark liquid into a cup she somehow snagged.

“your turn,” she shoves the bottle and cup towards your body as a stranger bumps into you from the back. the place was getting packed, making it hard to find anywhere to breathe. “some liquid courage.”

“i’m okay. i will later, though,” you rejected, not liking the idea of being drunk when you had a goal in mind. by the end of the night, you really wanted to be in peter’s bed. but you hated the idea of being drunk while having sex, especially when you wanted to enjoy it. you only indulged in drunk sex when you really needed to get off and one; didn’t want to remember what happened, or second; didn’t want it to last longer than that night. mostly the latter.

you know what it feels like to be with peter, and you craved to feel like that again. just thinking about him made you feel a thousand different kinds of wonderful; heart racing, stomach swirling, core burning. you knew the second you found him it would be hard to keep your hands away.

–

peter finally decides to shuffle down his stairs for the first time tonight. when the roaring music began an hour ago, he knew the party had, too, but he didn’t feel like going down yet. he couldn’t help but peek out his blinds in his bedroom, waiting to see you crossing the street.

he swears he was in his bedroom for at least an hour, occasionally peeking out the window, impatiently waiting for your arrival. with a slight frown on his face, he realizes that you might not be coming.

why would you?

peter assumed that you just now noticed how creepy it was for him to sneak into your bedroom. twice. maybe all your smiles and kisses were just silent pleads to make him leave the room faster. but your laugh seemed so genuine, and the sweet, little noises that you muffled under your palms were from real pleasure. right?

you were moaning his name.

he imagined you strutting across the street in a jaw-dropping dress, one that would send him into a frenzy. but you would be too humble and would shrug it off like you were the most average person on earth. peter would scoff and take you into his arms and drag you up into his room. then he would admire you until you believed you were the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen.

open mouth kisses etched on your naked body. bites and pinches of tease. your sweet hums and delicately broken moans. nails clawing into his tough skin greedily. his voice guiding and praising you while yours is disheveled in pleasure.

god, he’s so in his head. he’s so far gone. and he barely knows you.

like a daydreaming idiot, he slaps the side of his head a few times to get his brain back into reality. he stares at his appearance in the mirror, silently motivating himself to have a good night whether or not you show up.

taking a deep breath, he finally exits his bedroom. of course, the music is booming and the place is already as crowded as a concert. peter trails down the stairs, but stops midway when he sees the top of your head.

is that you? how did he miss you?

moving swiftly down the steps, he weaves his way through the crowd, his fake glasses nearly slipping down his face. multiple people try to stop and chat with him, but he doesn’t indulge for long, having a clear destination in mind.

but, just when he reaches the kitchen, you’re gone.

he swears he just saw you. maybe he’s going crazy.

releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, peter pushes through a few more bodies before reaching the sliding glass door. he squeezed himself outside and inhales. when you’re in a house full of sweaty, drunk people smoking weed, you become more grateful for the fresh air.

he removes his glasses and tucks them into his neckline. his eyes gaze at the backyard’s minuscule decorations, and then to the sky. he stares at the stars as they wink at him, reassuring that everything will be alright. he wishes that the town won’t need saving tonight and that everyone will be on their best behavior. he hopes that you’ll come to the party, even if it doesn’t end with you in his arms.

even though that’s all he really wants.

“peter?” a voice speaks, and the sound was so elegant and soft that he thought the stars themselves were talking to him. he forces himself to blink a few times before spinning around to face you.

he nearly faints when he sees your costume.

short red dress, white tights, blue heels, black webs. you were dressed as spider-man, or spider girl, and you looked absolutely fucking stunning. you would be the death of peter. seriously, he thinks he might pass out from lust and admiration looking at you. you were just so drop-dead gorgeous, he couldn’t believe it.

maybe the stars were on his side tonight. unless they wanted to kill him…

“are you okay?” your soft voice of concern walks straight up to him, delicate hand resting on his shoulder.

“y-yeah,” peter stutters before coughing. is it surprising that he’s already half hard? a small blush cascades his pale cheeks. “you look… really fucking good.”

there’s no dancing around it.

now, familiar heat warms your neck, cheeks, and ears at his compliment. his voice was low, so only you could hear it over the screaming music, and it was laced with a small growl that had your stomach flipping. your hand fell from his shoulder.

“thanks,” you couldn’t think of what else to say, but then you looked at his outfit, which was little to none. actually, he was wearing normal clothes. peter was probably the only person at the party without a costume. “i guess i had to go all out since you decided not to wear anything. it���s your party and you didn’t think to dress up?”

peter laughs, breaking any invisible tension that might have been there. god, you loved his laugh. it was so childlike and full of joy, that you couldn’t help but smile.

“i have a costume. hold on,” peter puts on his glasses.

“if you say you’re a hot nerd—”

“nuh uh, i’m a super hot nerd,” he then rips the buttons off half of his flannel, presenting the superman symbol on his chest. rolling your eyes, it was your turn to laugh. your hand covers your face at his silliness as you lean against the nearby wall for support.

“you’re such an idiot.”

“i can’t be a nerd and an idiot, angel.”

“somehow, you make it work,” you both chuckle with huge smiles on your faces, unable to look away from each other.

“hey, dickwad,” flash abruptly appears from the sliding glass door that you two were standing by. he was dressed as spider-man, which nearly made peter cry laughing out of irony when he first found out this morning, but he kept that to himself. “—oh, hey, y/n. nice costume! at least someone has taste.”

“superman is a great superhero—”

“whatever, dude. at least spiderman is real!” flash shouts before parading away, repeating the statement to his next victims that will hear him.

“what do you have against spider-man?” you ask, leaning against the rough wall by just your arm. you were too afraid to have the dress touch it, in fear of ripping or ruining it.

“nothing,” peter shrugs.

“oh, c’mon,” you shove at his shoulder playfully. “just say you don’t believe in him. it’s okay.”

“what! of course, i believe in him, he’s not santa claus.”

“oh my god, santa isn’t real?!” you pretend to be shocked, hands slapping your cheeks. peter lightly chuckles and rolls his eyes before nonchalantly grabbing your hand. your heart speeds up in your chest at his simple movement while your breathing halters.

and just like that he’s in control.

“do you want to get a drink?” peter’s thumb plays with the skin of your knuckles while he waits for your answer. but you can’t think of anything right now besides the soft caress being tattooed onto you.

“no, i’m not in the mood to drink tonight,” you replied, hoping that gave peter a hint at how you wanted the night to go. peter wasn’t as stupid as most guys, so you have high hopes that he understood the foreshadow.

“well, what are you in the mood for?” his voice was low again, speckles of lust wavering in it. he takes a step closer to you, and you can’t help but lay flat against the wall. you weren’t even thinking about the condition of the dress anymore. you swallowed as your stomach burned in anticipation.

“somewhere quiet,” your eyes flickered between his darkening eyes and his pink lips.

“it won’t stay quiet as long as you’re there,” a cheeky smile rises up on his lips as heat floods through your body. you hit his shoulder lightly, embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

following him and his contagious smile, peter drags you through the crowds of people. there were more people in the house than when you arrived, but you’re not surprised. the upstairs section of the frat was basically off-limits to most people, unless you really had to go to the bathroom and the downstairs one was taken. you’ve been to the house a few times, but you’ve never stayed long enough to go upstairs.

but tonight everything is different.

unlike your wooden floors, peter’s are carpeted, so you’re walking very carefully on your heels. when you reach the top step, your calves are slightly burning from the exercise.

looking both ways, peter leads you towards his bedroom at the end of the hallway, hands intertwined. it felt secretive, and a part of you liked it. he closes the door right when you got inside, locking it quickly. but while he’s doing so, your hands release from his to explore his room. he rushes to clean his messes books.

peter had a gray and black color scheme that was alluring. his dark gray sheets looked soft and plush, and you could imagine yourself sleeping in them every night. were you getting ahead of yourself? maybe. you barely knew him, but you felt like you’ve known him forever. you glance around his room some more, trying to get to know him.

he had two band posters; led zeppelin and guns n’ roses. you didn’t expect the second one, but it impressed you. his desk was scattered with textbooks and papers like he had just been studying. turning around you see his two-mirror closet. it was slightly ajar, letting you see a few boxes.

“what’s in the boxes?” you ask, slowly creeping your way towards them. you don’t miss peter’s eyes widening slightly and his cheeks heating up. now you have to know.

“n-nothing important,” peter scratches the back of his neck, and if he’s trying to hide something, he’s doing a horrible job at it. on the sides of each box were black handwriting.

“trophies and medals,” you read aloud, inching your way towards the door, “books—”

“y/n, don’t!” peter exclaimed nervously with a hand reaching out to stop you, causing you to turn around and eye his expression. he swallowed thickly, praying you didn’t open the box. his anxiety was at an all time high. “there’s… personal stuff in there.”

“okay, okay. you don’t want anyone to know you have sexy magazines,” you rolled your eyes and huffed out a chuckle. “i get it. i’m not jealous.”

“yeah…” peter’s cheeks don’t cool down, still red and warm. for some reason, he senses the awkward tension arising in the atmosphere around you both, and he doesn’t know how to tame it. you both know what you want now, but it’s hard to bring it up without being so forward.

“did i tell you that you look good in glasses?” you speak after the few seconds of silence. you get yourself comfortable on the edge of his bed, unstrapping your heels from your already sore feet. you groan. “feels so much better.”

“thanks,” peter joins with a never-ending blush, sitting next to you. he’s itching to touch you.

why was it so much easier when he broke in?

he turns to face you and stares at your eye makeup. you had little black webs on the corner of your eyes. for some strange reason, the idea of you dressing up as him really turned him on. even if you didn’t know it was him.

“peter,” you said a bit breathlessly. your heart was racing with anticipation and lust. he hadn’t even noticed you were staring right back at him. you could look at each other for hours, but you really wanted more. needed it. subconsciously, you were both leaning forward towards your lips.

“yeah?” peter’s gaze never faltered. his honey brown eyes darkened to black.

“i brought something for you,” his eyes shifted from your lips to your eyes, curious.

“it’s not even christmas yet,” he smiles, “and what’s that?” you leaned closer to him, your lips hovering over his ear.

“it’s a surprise,” you whispered seductively, grabbing his hand and placing it on your thigh. he doesn’t hesitate to rub the supple skin covered by fishnet, warm and smooth.

when you pull away just the slightest, peter crashes his lips to yours. the kiss was as passionate as your feelings for him, erupting your anticipation and nerves in small gasps. he shifts you over to his lap, so you’re straddling him. instantly, you buck your hips into his crotch, desperate for more than a heated kiss.

your heart is thrashing in your chest and there’s a familiar burn in the lower part of your stomach. your hands roam his brown hair, exploring his locks like it’s new territory. except it’s not. you’ve never felt like you’ve known someone so well without even knowing them that well. the chasing, the waiting, the wanting, the needing, the wondering—it was the strangest feeling, and you were addicted to it.

you pop your lips off of peter, puffy and pink. you both take a second to breathe before you start kissing down his neck. you’re not shy with your teeth, leaving marks on his tough skin that’s shielding layers of muscle.

when you get to his collarbone, you nearly whine because he still has his flannel and shirt on. you swear you’ve never been more horny or desperate in your life.

“relax, sweet girl,” peter reassures, petting your hair while you look up at him. “we have all night.”

just tonight? you thought. what about the other nights? and days?

after a soft sigh, you nod and begin unbuttoning his flannel. your hands are a bit shaky from all the anticipation and the rapid beat of your heart. of course peter notices.

“are you alright?” he questions softly, being the caring guy he is.

“yeah, just nervous, i guess,” you answer honestly because he makes it easy to. he’s comforting and he cares.

so why are you nervous?

but instead of asking you why, he says, “me too.”

after you undo the last button and gently remove his flannel, you delicately smile at him. it was so pretty, peter couldn’t help but smile too. you tug on the end of his superman t-shirt, and he yanks it off. and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his immaculate figure. it was sculpted to perfection, as if he was given his body from some drug. or maybe even the gods.

his hand raises to caress your supple cheek, causing you to stare at his face before he’s kissing you again. it started off sweet and gentle, like how peter saw you. but it didn’t take long for it to be rougher and full of lust. peter could feel his jeans tightening underneath you, and he wasn’t stupid enough to confuse the scent of your arousal with perfume or something.

trying again, your lips go to trail down peter’s neck again. his breath is wavering our sighs of pleasure as you lick and nibble his skin.

“gonna tell me that surprise?” peter asks, hands crawling up to the back of your dress. he’s sure to be careful as he drapes the straps down, the top slowly sliding down as you make out with his chest. you push peter’s body down so he’s laying flat on the bed, not answering him. “not gonna answer?”

you weren’t. you didn’t have time for all the things you wanted to do with him. all the things you wanted him to do to you. maybe you were too far gone to think it would take more than a night to be fulfilled by peter. more than two. more than a week? maybe a month. you’d keep going until you’re sick and tired, but you don’t think you could ever get sick or tired of peter parker.

lost within the feeling of his body, you barely comprehend when he flips you dramatically over. his hard body hovers above yours, your dress barely hiding your peaked nipples.

“i ask you a question, baby,” he husks, breath fanning over your skin and traveling toward your ear. a shiver scatters up your spine and a spark of lust fires in your clit.

“you have to wait and see,” you answered breathlessly, a smirk rising on your face.

a dark color covers his eyes. peter doesn’t like not knowing something, so he’s desperate to figure out your little “surprise.”

with little to no effort, violet’s dress is tugged all the way down your body. he tosses it gracefully onto his bedroom floor, but doesn’t pay any mind to it as he gazes over your body. he hasn’t seen you since wednesday and he was craving you like crazy. he thought he was going to go insane. but as he stares down at your figure adorning white fishnets sexily, he finally knows what it’s like to go crazy.

“is this my surprise? because, fuck, you look like a prize.”

you giggle as his rough fingertips trail down your torso. your nipples ache from neglect and the chilly october air that somehow breezes through the room. your body arches up into his touch, needing him badly. maybe you should just tell him the surprise.

but wouldn’t it be so much better if he just found it himself?

“can i unwrap my present?” peter teases with a cheeky smile, nudging at the waistline of your fishnets. you know that the second you open your legs he’s going to see your wetness leaking from the fabric.

“yes, peter,” you can’t help but laugh.

“do you care if i rip them?”

“what?”

“can i rip them?”

“i don’t—” the quiet sound of stretching and ripping cuts you off. he tore your fishnets. well, violet’s fishnets. “peter!”

“too late. i’ve never been good at unwrapping gifts,” he quickly kisses your cheek in a sweet apology, “luckily, i’m pretty good at taking care of them.”

you roll your eyes at his cheesiness, but can’t help but smile like a little kid. as he makes his way down your body again, he widens your legs and sees his surprise. your heart throbs just like your aching cunt.

“ah, so that’s my surprise,” he grumbles. it’s hard for him to keep it together right now.

peter stares darkly at the small purple toy peeking out from your bare pussy. you had no panties on, which in peter’s eyes, seemed ironic. from the top of his eyes, he sees the tiny smirk creeping up onto your lips.

his hand crawls up your leg until it reaches the soaking folds of your throbbing cunt. he pets your slit delicately, like you’d break if he fully touched you. you might. even from that simple touch, you were squirming underneath him, silently begging for more.

“how long has this been keeping you full?” he questions, curious, “is this what you’ve been using while i was gone?”

“mhm,” you hum when his fingers find your puffy clit, throbbing with desire. you leaked all around the purple toy, wetness gushing from you.

“look at you. fucking soaked. what made you this wet? was it the toy?” peter circles your clit faster, making your breath falter. you try to keep your eyes strained on him, but the feeling is just too incredible to focus on anything else. “answer me.”

“n-not the toy,” you stutter with breathlessness. a wavering moan elicits from you.

“then why are you so wet?” he taunts, and the low level of his voice floods over your body just right. you clench needily around the toy right in front of him, causing him to growl.

“you! nothing makes me wet like you do,” you admit head falling back on the pillow as his rough pace gives in. he’s satisfied with your answer, so he goes to a full, fast rhythm.

you’re so dazed with your orgasmic chase that your body rumbles as it nears. to make matters more intense, peter testingly pushes the small button on the bottom of the toy. it springs to life, vibrating your entire insides electrifingly. a broken moan escapes your swollen lips, and you just pray it’s hidden behind the heavy beat of the party music.

your legs shake in his hands as his head lowers. you’re so close to your high and then he does even more? you swear you were going to explode.

his challenging mouth sucks harshly on your clit, devouring you like you were his last meal on earth. instead of the bed sheets, your hands find their way to his soft hair, tucking the roots with triumph.

you’re breathless and you’re close. so, so close. you can see your orgasm in front of you like a sunset and you’re riding straight into it on a horse.

“peter!” you cry when he nibbles on your clit, a smirk pressed against you. it was nice to release your moans without having to muffle them down. your core tenses like never before, overwhelmed by the extreme pleasure. “i’m coming—oh, fuck, please let me come!”

“go ahead, sweet girl,” he pops off of you and replaces his mouth with his thick fingers. “give it all to me.”

so you do. you release every tension within you that was holding you back. with eyes screwed closed, your back arches from the high. the wetness squeezes out of you while peter eases you through it. he switches off the vibrator and puts it somewhere besides you on the bed.

he lowers his head to clean up the mess with delight. when he comes back up, the grin on his face is toothy and contagious. you reflect it back, wondering how you got so lucky. how were you lucky enough for your intruder to be peter parker?

“you okay, angel?” peter asks, thumb caressing your heated cheek bone with concern. you’re melting into his touch, hoping to be a part of him forever. you wouldn’t mind.

“yeah, just… thinking.”

“good or bad?”

“i’ll tell you later,” you smile as you recall all the small thoughts you have of peter. peter rolls his eyes dramatically as your hands rub down his chest.

“but… i was wondering if i could be on top? just wanna try it. i need it,” you stare into his eyes and patiently wait for an answer. you’ve never been on top before, but with peter it seems like it would be really fun.

“i don’t know. do you want me to die?”

you laugh, forcing you to look away from his brown eyes. you push peter off the bed until he’s standing and ask him to take off his pants. when he’s completely naked, he goes to lean against his headboard, ready for you to sit on him. you crawl over to him as he puts on a condom from his bedside table.

“ready, baby?” he massages your upper arms.

“you’re being too nice, peter,” you note as you throw your legs over his hips. you didn’t actually know what you were doing, but confidence is key. if you just pretended like you knew, it would look like it, right?

“what? do you want me to be mean, baby? ‘cause i can be mean.”

“don’t think you’re really capable.”

“we’ll see then, doll,” peter says deeply as his hand grips your hip tightly.

as you slowly lower your body with peter’s guidance, you feel his tip enter you. it was a different feeling than being on the bottom. you had more control, but you had to do more work. you’re not sure if you cared to have so much free reign. you kind of preferred when peter took the wheel.

you rocked your hips forward, feeling his hard cock fully inside of you. it was stretching you completely out. you couldn’t get up if you tried. there was a pain mixed with pleasure that filled you up so good.

“c’mon, y/n. fuck yourself on my cock,” he growled in encouragement as you attempted to lift your hips up. you barely move because you’re squeezing around his cock so tight, like if you let go you’ll die. peter lightly moans as you squeeze him, wondering if he’ll die right here inside of you.

“i-i can’t,” you whine.

“you can’t? thought you needed it?” he taunts. peter can be mean if he really wanted to,

“it’s too hard.”

“you’re not even trying. good girls at least try. don’t you want to be a good girl?”

peter thrusts up into you once to make you moan, which works successfully. you spit out your broken moan with your hands clawing his biceps.

“barely moved and you’re already moaning. pathetic, really. you asked me to be on top and you can’t even take it.”

you clench around his prick at his degrading words. you didn’t think he could be mean, but you were wrong. his words were just the right amount of degrading that made you weak and so, so wet.

“look at that. my girl’s getting off on words like pathetic,” my girl. the two words nearly cause you to come right then and there. then peter thrusts up into you with purpose in each movement. as one hand grips your hip, the other floats up to your breast and fingers your nipple. he flicks and tweaks at it, causing you to arch into his touch. “what about slut? do like when i call you my slut?”

“fuck, peter,” you groan at his dirty talking. with each pump, you would feel every inch of him inside of you, filling you up completely. although you’re so full, you needed it harder and faster, and it was going to be difficult to get it from this angle when you’re not being much help.

before the begging words even slip from your mouth, peter is flipping you both over with ease. he doesn’t waste a second to slide back into you, causing your body to erupt in flames.

he begins with hard pumps, slowly gaining speed. but once he’s going fast, you could barely focus on your senses. you swear you could hear colors.

the sounds of your moans, shrieks, and screams echo throughout his bedroom. you don’t care if people could hear you. you hoped they could. you hoped they knew how good peter was destroying you, so they knew you were his.

peter hoped the same thing.

“so, so good, peter,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head in ecstasy.

“yeah? such a slut for my cock, huh?” he teases, voice low and lustful. “so cockdumb that you couldn’t even ride me.”

“i-i can do it,” a breathless moan escaped you, but you were too floaty to understand what you were really saying.

“oh, now you can do it? well, it’s too late, sweetheart.”

peter’s pace doesn’t falter. he makes sure to make every thrust count as he hits every angle. you cry out in bliss, chasing your orgasm like your life depends on it.

“i’m close,” the whine that elicits from you is groggy and strained from how sore it feels. you can’t even imagine how raw it would be from taking him down your throat…

for another time.

his rough hand trails down between you until he’s pressing his hand down on your stomach. with every shift of his cock he can feel himself moving through you. as he puts more pressure, you both collectively moan at the feeling.

“can you feel me? can you feel me deep inside of your little cunt? do you feel me right here?” peter drags your trembling hand to place it on your lower torso, right where he’s nonstop thrusting into you.

“yes, peter! fuck, you’re so big. i feel you in my tummy,” you clamp around his cock, your orgasm right around the corner. “please, please let me come. i’ve been good.”

“have you? you couldn’t even ride me even when i let you.”

“i’m sorry, peter–please. need to so bad,” your eyes are squeezed shut as you beg peter. his hand that was on top of yours drifts down to your clit. he stimulates it by rubbing in tight circles that have you seeing stars. every muscle is in your body is screaming and pleading for release while he overstimulates you more. “want to be good!”

“yeah? want to be a good girl?” a needy moan elicits from you. “then come for me. right now while you’re squeezing me.”

the air surrounding you turned wistful and cloudy. your body rumbled and erupted as you orgasmed, shaking with desire as it poured out of you. you thought the first time that you and peter fucked was the best sex you’ve ever had, but after tonight, you’ve never been more wrong. maybe it’s because you two are a little more comfortable with each other. maybe it’s because you told him to be a little mean. whatever it was, it was the best fucking sex you’ve ever had. because it was more than sex. it felt like more.

peter’s orgasm trails yours, making sure that you come first. his thrusts were slowier and sloppier as he pants out heavy breaths. before exiting you, his hand reaches up to caress your face.

“okay?” his voice was a bit raspy as he came down from his high. his arms were on either side of your head, and you felt safe and protected.

“more than,” you smiled dopily at peter, whose eyes were twinkling. reflecting a smile, peter begins to pull out of you. “do we have to?”

“have to what?” he stops his movements, half-way out of you. you hated the empty feeling that started to flood over you because you knew he’d leave soon. well, you would leave soon.

“leave. can’t we just stay in here all night?” you question. a part inside of you was scared for his rejection, that he was going to kick you out and then that was it. but the other half of you had the courage to ask because you knew it would all be fine.

“i would–”

“oh, there’s a but coming.”

“but i need to eat. and so do you,” he pulls out of you and rids out the condom within a few seconds. you don’t move from your flat position on the bed, feeling the cold waves of loneliness flooding over you already. peter had a tingle that you wanted more. you wanted to stay, but you were too nervous to ask. you were good at giving him big hints, though.

he loves the idea of you staying. laying with you and hearing your soft breaths as you sleep. cuddling close to be warm from the cold air. peter’s heart lurches at the wonderful thought.

peter reaches for his clothes and dresses. you bend over and slip on the dress, without the fishnets. your hair was probably a mess, but you didn’t care because the only person you cared about seeing tonight was peter.

once you’re dressed with shaky hands, peter stands in front of you and rests his hands on your shoulders. delicately, he caresses your neck as you practically pur into his warm touch. you felt your heart rate pick up, even though he was just inside of you.

“and then, if you’d like, we can come back up here,” he presses his chest against yours as his voice softens, “and we can lay in bed, watch a movie, and not worry about being caught because we don’t have rules like you do.”

although your heart was beating fast already, you’ve never felt more comfortable. he made you feel reassured, and you couldn’t ask for more. with a smile rising to your lips, peter’s heart skips a beat at the wistfulness cascading throughout his body. your lips were soft and kissable, your skin was glowing with an orgasmic shine, and your makeup was a bit smudged, but you still looked like peter’s perfect girl.

his girl.

“wait, before we eat, i have to get some stuff at the sorority.”

“okay,” he says, “put this on. it’s freezing and your wearing practically nothing.”

he throws a hoodie at you and you catch it with blinking eyes. it as a small gesture, but your heart was melting. you slip it over your head without any question. and then he’s dragging you out of the extremely loud and crowded house. no one says or questions anything, and you’ve never been more glad to be so invisible.

–

“what are you doing? come on!”

“what if they see me?”

“there’s no one home!” you whisper-shouted at peter as you walked through the door. there was a key under the flower pot that worked great when you forgot your key.

it’s kind of ironic that you are both sneaking into your sorority. it’s a full circle moment.

you both tiptoe through the clean, white house. peter nearly takes his shoes off because he’s scared he’ll leave dirt footprints in his trail. he really does not want to be seen in this house knowing what happened to flash the last time they snuck in. but it’s peter’s job to be stealthy, so he hopes he could keep up the good work.

you make it up the stairs and head straight for your room. peter remembered exactly which one was yours, now that he’s been in it two times somehow. once you’re both inside, he shuts the door behind him quietly like someone would hear him.

“why did we just tiptoe all the way up here? there’s no one even here!” you say in a normal level voice as a chuckle follows after. peter laughs with you as you search your drawers for some clothes.

“i feel it’s only right to bring the mit one, right?”

“definitely.”

“wait, did you leave the vibrator on your bed?”

“uh… yeah. sorry.”

“peter!” your skin grows warm with the idea that someone might stumble into his bedroom and find it just lying there. you cringe at yourself.

you pack a small overnight bag with your most needed essentials. peter sits patiently on your bed, practically swinging his feet as he analyzes your bedroom. it was simple with a few picture frames of family and friends. your room was basically plain white with a few pink and blue items scattered around the place. in all, it was you. he couldn’t think of a better sorority room to fit your vibe, your personality better than this room. it was naturally gorgeous, like you.

even though peter was looking around your room, he was still watching you pack. he observed when you folded a pair of night shorts with the mit t-shirt and even threw in an outfit for the next day just in case you two went out. but you were missing something.

“okay, let me grab my toothbrush,” you quickly left the room and in no-time were back. “let’s go. i’m hungry now.”

“but you’re forgetting something,” peter says. you blink, wondering what you might be forgetting.

“but i grabbed everything–” you watch as peter glides towards your dresser drawers. he opens the top left and immediately finds your colorful panties and underwear. your eyes widen in embarrassment, even though he’s seen you naked multiple times. something about him staring at your undergarments was just a little more… vulnerable?

peter snatches two different colors, a royal blue one and a vibrant red one, similar to the first one he saw you in. of course, he picked these colors purposely.

“which one? i’m thinking the blu–”

“what are you doing! that’s my underwear!” you tried to reach for them dangling in his hands, but he was way quicker than you. it’s like he knew before you even moved.

“well, i think at this point it’s kind of a tradition for me to take one, no? i couldn’t take them earlier because you weren’t wearing any!”

your neck and cheeks flush with embarrassment. yeah, you may have been confident when in the moment, but talking about it just made your face hot. peter always knew how to get you going. to get quickly out of this situation, you grumble, “blue.”

and with that, you were on your way back to the frat house. the party was still going strong and surprisingly, no one asked where either of you were. when you and peter walked through the door, people just acted like you’ve been there the whole time. but they were also drunk and high, so was it really that shocking?

within the first few minutes of you and peter being in the congested house, you both look at each other with a knowing look. there was no way you two could eat in this populous, mess of a place.

“diner?” peter shouts over the blaring music. he swore flash turned it up to full volume, even when peter told him specifically not to do that.

“exactly what i was thinking,” you reply loudly as you squeeze your bodies through the crowd. peter slides his hand into yours as you shift through everybody. a spark of electricity nearly shocks you.

when you approach his car, you throw your bag at the bottom of your feet before dropping into his passenger seat. you both inhale and exhale the refreshing night time air. the house smelt like marjuana and sweat, but his car was scented with pine and fresh leather.

as he started the car, you two didn’t say anything. and it was perfect. it was comfortable. it was safe. you turn your head to look at peter, whose eyes were fighting between the road and you. your heart skips a beat that’s getting familiar as you smile softly. gently, your hands intertwine as you ride on to the diner.

your journey with peter started… differently than most. but you liked the idea of having a tradition with peter. sure, it may not be traditional, but it was yours. you would both have to create a fundraiser for all these panties he will be stealing because they’re not cheap!

is it really stealing if you know he’s taking them? whatever.

when people ask how you guys met, it’s going to be a funny story. how many people break into someone’s house as a dare and then fall in love with them? not many.

wait… love?

–

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. i could not be more grateful for the love on panty stealer. i never thought any of my writing would get this much notice, so thank you (times three) for all the likes, comments, and reblogs.

note: i won’t be making anymore full parts, however, i will do blurbs/drabbles of these two if requested!

taglist: @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @marzipaanz @sylum @harrys-humble-housewife @blurazbabe @introverbatim @piperparker7 @graceberman3 @tommy-braccoli @fioooweeooweeeoo @conrad4life13

crossed out= not able to tag

[sheluvslani]

Good Luck, Babe!

Pairing: Mabel x fem!reader

Warnings: angsty, implied hookup, toxic marriage with Charlie, Mabel going back to r because she misses them

A/n: havenʻt written in forever omg, also I never watched finestkind and pretty much looked up the summary on wikipedia so… yeah donʻt get mad at me if i made shit up

Being a drug dealer wasnʻt Mabelʻs first option. An easy one, sure. But not her ideal one.

She always wanted to be an artist, her teachers in high school told her sheʻd go far. She applied for art school, but couldnʻt get in due to the amount of applicants. Never would anyone believe she was in this position now. She would drive to sketchy places, earning her a couple scratches and a couple bruises, but damn, the money was worth it.

When she met you, god was she the happiest sheʻd ever been. She still sold drugs on the side to make extra cash, but took a job at a bar downtown for her primary income, just to make you happy. The both of you even rented an apartment and moved in together, the relationship moved quite quickly but she didnʻt mind because she knew you were the one.

After what seemed like the best 6 months of your life, you noticed Mabelʻs behavior had started to change. She was much more violent than before. She would yell, pick fights for a reason as small as not picking up a sock you dropped on the floor the day before. It honestly made you rethink your entire relationship with her. She had admitted that she didnʻt want a relationship anymore, that she wasnʻt going to commit to someone she had 0 chemistry with, not knowing the impact of her words on you. You didnʻt call it off though, being scared at the thought of being with somebody else that wasnʻt her.

One night, there was a huge fight at the bar. She tried to break it up but ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. She came home that night with an ice pack pressed to the side of her face. When she opened the door, she expected to see you there but was met with the realization that you had left.

All your stuff was packed up. Your clothes that she often wore, your jewelry that she thought looked so amazing on you, your scent that reminded her of you that once filled the space was gone. Replaced with the stench of stale coffee from a pot that she forgot to empty out this morning. The whole apartment felt so empty compared to when you were there, filling the space with the life that Mabel wished for ever since she was little.

That was over a year ago.

Since then, Mabel quit her job and started selling drugs again out of spite. She was miserable without you. She tried to forget you, she really did. She tried filling the hole you left in her with alcohol, but the warmth in her chest was nothing to the warmth she felt when she was with you.

But thatʻs also when she met Charlie, an older guy that somehow took an early interest in her when he came down to Massachusetts to pay a visit to his older brother. She met him in the bar, eventually taking him back to her place and hooking up with him. Both of them were drunk, neither knew any better. He was a great guy, sure. But nothing compared to you

But Charlie eventually fell in love with Mabel. And since Mabel knew she couldnʻt win you back because of what she did, she gave in. They got married and he moved into her apartment.

She would come home at night to Charlie passed out on the couch, beer bottles scattered on the coffee table in front of him, half-smoked cigarettes laying in dirty ashtray, and the TV on to some boring fishing program. She hated that every night she would have to clean up after him. You never did that, she thought. It was always the small things that you did that pestered her, and she wished she could take it all back.

Was this her life now, she thought. Cleaning up after some drunk, disgusting man-baby every night? Doing all the housework as he gets to sit down and watch TV all day without a care in the world?

That night, she laid down on her back, staring up at the ceiling with Charlie sound asleep next to her. Her mind was plagued with thoughts of you and what the both of you couldʻve been. Would you two be married? Moved to a different state? Have kids? God, she missed you.

She sat up, head in her hands as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wished she could take it all back. Every argument, every time she made you feel like shit, every time she said something that she shouldnʻt have. You were perfect, too good for her, in fact. She quietly wiped her tears away, her eyes becoming red and puffy.

She looked down at Charlieʻs sleeping form, regret washing over her face. She was nothing more than his wife. She carefully got up out of her bed and grabbed her phone, dialing your number that sheʻd memorized all those years ago.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat in your bedroom painting your nails and watching a rerun of Friends as a vanilla candle burned on your bedside table next to you, causing a warm glow on your features.

Your ringtone on your phone started going off, so you reached over and grabbed it, answering the unknown number.

“Hello?” You spoke into the speaker as you rested the phone between your head and shoulder.

A quiet voice replied on the other line, one that you knew all too well. “Hey…” She mumbled. “I messed up…”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mabel was quick to your doorstep soon after, ringing the doorbell as she nervously waited on the welcome mat, playing with the wedding ring on her finger before slipping it off and putting it inside her pocket.

You answered the door after a while, your soft gaze that she missed so much meeting her own as you stood in front of her.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you let her in. “You know I hate to say it… But I told you so.” But before she could call you out on your antics, your lips met hers, warm and inviting as she melted into your embrace.

[ahonice]

Thunder

Thunder - Lana Del Rey

Trevor Zegras x Fem Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: !!!This is a work of fiction, real people in this story are depicted differently then who they truly are!!! Buckle up this one is rough (imo…read note for more context) ANGST, Trevor being a bad boyfriend (I’m sorry, I spun the wheel and he was who it landed on for writing this about like actually I have a wheel to decide who I write about) reader is going through it and cannot catch a break (who can though??) Cursing, drinking (underage, blacking out, drunken confessions) 

Note: This is my favorite Lana song ever, it’s so good (also describes my relationship with my ex PERFECTLY) um so this fic is literally just a telling of my past relationship in fiction form. But new series WHOOP WHOOP more Lana song fics coming soon

*Italics are song lyrics*

***

“You roll like thunder, when you come crashing in. Town ain’t been the same since you left with all your friends.”

Trevor Zegras, your alluring, passionate, loving best friend. Trevor Zegras, your manipulative, callous, apathetic boyfriend. 

You met Trevor when he moved to Michigan for hockey, he was sitting in your unassigned, but assigned, seat in your study hall period. You told him, as nice as someone could be at seven in the morning on the first day of classes after break, that he was in your spot and he immediately got up and moved to the spot behind you. Which surprised you, most people would be assholes about that and refuse to move because there wasn’t assigned seating in that class. What didn’t surprise you was that the guy you had moved out of your seat was now bothering you.

“Would you stop talking? This is a study hall, people might be doing work or studying, that’s what this period is for.” You told him, not very quietly making others in the classroom turn towards you. After he kept talking to you, well to the back of your head, about how god knows what. 

“Sorry, it’s just my first day here and I’m a little nervous.” The boy said, ducking his head in shame, immediately making you feel guilty.

“Oh no I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were new here.” You said, a light blush spreading across your cheeks. “Do you want help figuring out where your classes are?” You offered in hopes to make up for embarrassing him. 

“Sure, that would be great” He smiled at you, “I’m Trevor.” 

“Y/n.”

***

The two of you hit it off, instantly becoming friends. You drove to school together, you hung out during your study hall period every morning, you sat together at lunch, you both had after school activities but afterwards you would meet up to work on homework or just hang out together. After a few months Trevor had asked you to be his girlfriend, and everything was going great, until it wasn’t.

Trevor was a year above you in school, having met when he was a junior and you were a sophomore. The gap never was an issue until the last month of his senior year came crashing in, he was moving to Massachusetts for college in August and you were staying in Michigan to finish off your senior year. The talk went well, you were worried that Trevor would want to break up because he was leaving and didn’t want to do long distance, but Trevor made it very clear that was not what he wanted and he was fine with doing distance for a year because he was sure you were going to get into any school you applied to and that meant you could go to school wherever he ended up after the draft. You were happy in the moment, but you later wished he would’ve just ended things with you then.

“You roll like thunder, when you come crashing in. Regattas in the wind, that's why you’re visiting.”

The first month of long distance seemed to be going great, over the summer you accompanied him to the draft where he got picked to play for Anaheim. Immediately after the two of you spent time researching schools in California, Trevor freaking out once he realized UCLA was under an hour away from the area where he would be staying. 

The second month of long distance went decent, his hockey season began so he was a bit preoccupied, but that was nothing you weren’t used to he had been playing hockey the whole time you were dating. What you weren’t used to was not being in close proximity with him, even with hockey seasons going on the past two years you still were able to see him after his practices got out, now you had to settle for text messages and the occasional phone call.

The third month of long distance is when it all started going to shit, he had a game against the University of Michigan, which you had attended of course, but there was a weird tension between the two of you. There was no flirting, no secret glances which ended in a fit of giggles once you were caught, no sneaking out of his hotel room to meet up with you, he didn’t even take you out to hangout just you two, he kissed you twice the whole time he was there. When he arrived and when he left, they weren’t even real kisses, just grazing of the lips. After he got back to Boston it was radio silence except for one text message.

From: Trev <3

It was nice to see you this weekend.

It was nice to see you this weekend. No I missed you so much, and I miss you even more now that we’re apart again. No I love you, no plans to visit or even call soon, nothing.

“You act like fucking Mr.Brightside when you’re with all your friends, but I know what you’re like when the party ends.”

By the fourth month of long distance your relationship was no longer a relationship, you texted a couple times a day, basically all being stupid imessage games, the only time you got anything close to a real emotion from Trevor was when he was drunk and he called you, he always called when he was inebriated, but you never liked what he said.

“I miss you, but I can’t do long distance anymore.”

“We aren’t the same anymore.”

“Next year when we’re in California I’m worried things will be different between us.”

“I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Each confession was worse than the one before, you’d always end the phone call telling Trevor to call in the morning to properly discuss your future together when he was sober, but he never did and he never remembered the conversations you’d had, leaving you to deal with the drunken confessions yourself, having to stomach knowing that your boyfriend who you love so much no longer feels the same and he won’t even admit it to you. 

“Just do it. Just do it; don’t wait.”

Everyday you waited for the text, the one where Trevor asked to talk to you. The one that would result in the ending of your relationship, but it never came. It got to the point where you wanted to do it for him, to rip off the bandaid he couldn’t. You knew you would never though, because even if he didn’t love you anymore, you still loved him, and at the end of this all you hoped next year, when you were living near each other again, everything would go back to normal between you two. You wish you weren’t so naive when it came to him, you knew you needed to break up, if not for his sake, for yours. It was taking a toll on you, on your mental health, on your school work, you ended up with a C in one of your classes at the end of your first semester of senior year, you had never gotten anything but an A, let alone a C.

“You roll like thunder, pouring all your drinks. The parties lit and you, my friend, half cut when it begins.”

The drunken confessions didn’t stop, they only got worse.

“I never opened the gift you got me for Christmas.”

“I hooked up with a girl last night.”

“When people ask if I’m single I say I am.”

“I’m doing amazing down here, without you.”

“When are we gonna break up?”

Each new confession was another knife to the heart, but you just sat there on the other side of the line listening to each new piece of information your boyfriend, if you could even call him that, would give you.

“You roll like thunder, you’re tryna catch that wind. That lightning in the bottle, that moonbeam in your hand.”

Senior prom came around, you weren’t surprised when Trevor told you he wasn’t coming. You didn’t blame him, even if your relationship wasn’t a shit show and he still cared about you in the slightest bit he had hockey stuff going on that night, and besides who wants to go to a high school dance after they’ve graduated?

What did surprise you was the phone call you received after you sent him a picture of you all dressed up, hair and makeup professionally done, the dress you saved up for months to buy.

“Hello?” This would be the first time the two of you would talk on the phone since November where Trevor wasn’t drunk.

“You look beautiful.” Whiplash rang through your body, Trevor had complimented you. He hadn’t done that in months, the smile that had grown on your face quickly dimmed when you came to that realization. 

“Trevor, why haven’t you broken up with me yet?” The question coming out of your mouth surprised you. You never thought you would be brave enough to face the reality of your relationship.

“Y/n, what are you talking about?” Trevor’s shocked tone of voice riled up your anger. Had he really not been able to pick up on the very obvious changes between the two of you? Was he that apathetic? Could he not tell how much of a toll this was taking on you? Was he even aware of how much you were hurting everyday just by the thought of him.

“We’ll talk later, please don’t drink tonight. I need to have this conversation with my boyfriend–” The words hurt to say, because he wasn’t your boyfriend and he hadn’t been since August, “-not with the drunk asshole he has become.” You hung up before he could say anything in response.

“And you try to see the brightside when each new day begins, but you’re not satisfied at the rainbow’s end.”

To your surprise, Trevor did end up staying sober that night, he waited by the phone for your call for hours, a nice analogy to how you’ve been spending your Saturday nights since you went long distance. You had gone to an after prom party with your friends and had a little too much to drink. You called Trevor, and this time you spoke the drunken confessions that would break your lover’s heart.

“You break me more and more everyday Trevor.”

“You cheated on me, and told me about it like it was no big deal. Do you remember that?”

“Do you remember when you told me you didn’t love me anymore?”

“I got into UCLA, I’m not going. I’m not following you to California.”

“Somehow, after all of this, I still love you.”

“You have to be the one to end our relationship, because I can’t do it.”

You hung up before Trevor could get a word in, hoping that he would take what you said to heart and finally, officially, break up with you.

“Just do it. Just do it; don’t wait.”

Trevor didn’t do it. He didn’t break up with you, he told you the next day he was determined to make it work. That he wasn’t giving up without a fight, which made you laugh seeing that he had given up and your relationship ended months ago.

The day of your graduation, you walked the stage and heard cheering from your friends and family. You heard him, you shouldn’t have been shocked that Trevor showed up, you had sent him the details to his ticket the night before, but seeing him and hearing him in person for the first time since the game he played against Michigan in November was enough to have you crying. You ran into his arms, he ran into yours. He whispered apologies in your ears, but they went in one and out the other. This was your swan song, the last time you would be his girlfriend, the last time he would be your boyfriend, the last time you would be in each other’s arms, it was bitter sweet.

“Cause if you’re on fire, you’re on fire. Just keep burning, ‘til rain. Baby keep me ablaze. Honey if you’re on fire, you’re on fire. Just keep burning, keep me alive. Spare your blade.”

You stayed together, Trevor started acting like the boyfriend you once knew and loved, still loved. But you knew. You knew it was all an act, in august he was gonna move to California to get settled in before preseason and you were moving to Connecticut. You committed to Yale, not UCLA like Trevor had wanted. When you told him you could tell he was upset, he was hoping you would take back what you said to him the night of your prom, he was hoping that you were too drunk to remember you said it and didn’t mean it. Just like you had hoped all those times when he was the one calling you blackedout. 

Anyone around you could tell that your relationship was on its last life, they were shocked you even made it through the school year. You didn’t, but they didn’t need to know that.

It felt like your relationship was the only thing keeping you alive, it was all that kept your flame burning, but all flames die out eventually.

“Just do it. Just do it; don’t wait. If hello just means goodbye then, honey, better walk away. Just do it. Just do it’ don’t wait. If hello just means goodbye then, baby, better walk away.”

Today was your last night with Trevor, you sat by the fire with him in silence until the final flame went out.

“We need to break up.” You stated, the second the two of you were surrounded by the darkness of the night.

“I know.” Trevor stated, looking at you, but he couldn’t see you. You couldn’t see him, you two were in pitch black darkness. The fire was the only thing providing light, but it was now dead. A cruel metaphor for your now dead relationship.

“Just do it. Just do it; don’t wait.”

***

Note: Hope y’all enjoyed, this gets pretty fucking sad. I’m toning it down a bit though just for the sake of my mental health (idk if I can handle reliving this in full honestly…again fuck you chris) Leave feedback, this one might not be everyone’s favorite but I need to write about my feelings because I’m still torn up about this (once again…fuck you chris) (chris is my exes name if you haven’t put that together yet) (I’m gonna stop spilling my guts to strangers on the internet) (goodbye.) This took two hours to write so it might not be my best work, but I proofread (no editing needed kinda worried about that lol) so I hope this at least a little bit decent. Love y’all babes <3

[melancholicstation]

The Socially Active Secretary: Chapter Two

pairing: robert francis kennedy female ❤︎ original character charlotte agapov (secretary!reader)

author's note: BOBBY'S ARRIVED...

synopsis: charlotte agapov, a divorcee whom recently moved back to the states after a disastrous lovers quarrel, assumes the secretarial position to the most important man in America, but it is not he who has captured her attention, no. instead, it's his meek younger brother, the runt of the kennedy pack, bobby francis Kennedy.

[ 1585 words ]

taglist: @kennediva @absurdlyvintage @bloxholden35 @astro-vibes-bro @h-l-vlovesvintage @kimcrystal123 @remotewatch

chapter one, three four

masterlist, charlotte moodboard, rfk moodboard

Chapter Two

May 2nd, 1962

Charlotte didn't often think of her life in London since her return to the states but it was hard not to in such living conditions. She wondered if her back would flare up due to the lumpy mattress she laid atop, in London she would get nearly daily pilates to her body and mind alive and distracted for her failure and her deteriorating marriage. A marriage which seemed to eat away at the both of them like a moth would do with a particularly lovely woollen shall. With each argument left untouched and dinner plate growing cold by Hugo's indifference, it seemed that nearly constant movement for Charlotte safeguarded her from total delirium.

Now, Charlotte certainly doesn't have the finances for such activities, not with Miss Desmond on 34rd street paying thirty-five dollars for a week worth of classes, it was preposterous to spend such funds on such abstract trivialities.

In the stead of her pilates escapades Charlotte took a certain likening to taking a walk with her insurmountable and seemingly unshakable grief on how her life had shaped up and a good virginia woolf paperback given to her by her grandmother in the early fifties.

Charlotte still had yet to get a callback from the strange job advertisement, not much of a shock to Charlotte's, yet it upset her enough that her mother noticed

"You know dear, I say you take the bus and head up to the cape, you that wonderful summer home that aunt Katherine has? i'm sure she would delighted to see you visit, doesn't have to be forever--just a couple days y'know I-i think it would do you a great deal of good. To get away for a few days?" Her mother expresses in such a tone that Charlotte feels shackled into agreeing.

Maybe a few days of relaxation and time by the sea would do her some good.

So she did.

Aunt Katherine greeted her with warmth and an admittedly delectable beef tartare at dinner time. The home smelt of tulip and hard candies, with incense wafting through the mahogany crack between the floor and all the home doors. And to top it off, Charlotte had the best sleep she's had in millennia.

Due to her inclination for the morning sunrise, Charlotte awoke at around five am, dressed herself and penned a quick note to her aunt assuring her that she was going to check out the famous beach spot her mom had recommended and that she'd be back before she woke up.

As she weaved her way through the sea of people, not too dissimilar in their anarchy as the crashing waves of the coastline, standing in line at the gelato stand, she cursed her choice of footwear. A pair of suede western-style knee high boots, highly practical for perhaps a stroll in balmoral but not such for a walk through Massachusetts beaches.

Charlotte searched the perimeter of the beach, trying to pin point the specific spot from memory that she remembered adored playing in as a young girl. She considered giving up a turning around many times during the adventure, she had always defaulted to giving up once the times got rough. At least she thinks that's what her ex-partners would posture.

But just as she was starting to believe that spot was a figment of her childhood imaginative spirit, she spotted it. There it was. All in its glory, though aged, but all the more beautiful for it. The lighthouse seemed to have had it tough in the years of Charlotte's absence, with its paint still bleach white but now with barnacles attached. Society often treated once beautiful things that have changed as outcasts, but Charlotte found them all the more fascinating for it.

The bleached and weathered wood creaks under her boots as Charlotte tries and fails to salvage the hem of her knit pants from getting muddled by the damp sand nearly encompassing the stairs.

Charlotte then ascends and moves towards the door, painted in a carmine and fixed with a copper hand rusted beyond belief. But just as she fixes her hand around the doorknob, her manicured hands grasping the jagged texture of the handle, she felt a strong resistant. Not unlike a hand grasping the handle on the other side of the vermillion-washed door.

Charlotte immediately backs her hand off the doorhandles and waits for a response, on the nameless figure she proposes is behind the door. She curses herself for being shocked into place and unable to simply leave down the stairs she came from, after all it was just a stupid lighthouse; a childhood fixation of her personal adoration, whoever could be behind the door could be a dangerous person, or simply just an unfriendly one.

However she was left unable to mull over that thought, like she would do with a good glass of 1942 Dom Perignon Brut, when the person on the other side of the door revealed themselves.

And instead, it wasn't a dangerous or unfriendly face. It was categorically the opposite. The person, now directly facing Charlotte's direction, was a young man with soft, kind eyes and a small straight nose holding up a set of worn acetane sunglasses who could've been no older than 40 staring straight back at her, with equal parts surprise and mild shock.

"Oh I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to shock you! I wasn't aware that this old place had much visitors and was simply passing through, I'll leave you to it." the man said in a thin, bordering on blubbering way that was emboldened with an implacable charm. He was beautiful. And stunningly so at that.

"Oh quite the contrary, it's me who should apologise really I-I'm sorry to have disturbed you, y'know it seemed that we were both under the impression that this old place hasn't seen a familiar face in a while I suppose,"

Charlotte says in a attempt at brevity--truth be told ever since her divorce she had been something of a recluse, and it seemed her social skills were a little more than rusty at the moment.

"Quite so"

,he says chuckling and in a tone that has become more cheerful by the second, as he seems to try to communicate that the disturbance has not been an unwelcome one though not through words.

"Y'know it was quite simple of me to think that such a place of beauty would not have other inhibitors" Charlotte shrugs and playfully notes, as she takes in the surroundings.

The pair begin to fawn over the lighthouse, sharing anecdotes of their favourite details of the structure. The stranger's being the small seagull figurine attached to the wooden railing. Charlotte's being the darling shades of coral and azure painted upon the cupola of the lighthouse.

Mid conversation Charlotte shifts and catches the man's attention,

"At the risk of being brazen, could I ask your name?" Charlotte said in a half-whisper.

"No-no not all my names Robert but y'know people just call me Bobby really--sort of a nickname that stuck I guess.",

It's only then that Charlotte makes note of the strong accent bursting from this kindred spirit in the form of a stranger, a strong Boston accent. So strong in fact that the r's sound less like an r and more similar to a h.

"Well I suppose I should act in the same spirit, my name's Charlotte." she said in a tone she hoped came across as airy.

"Very nice to meet you Charlotte." A beat of silence escorts it.

"Well you know I'd hate to disturb your day plans any longer, so I'll get on my own way. It was wonderful to meet you Charlotte, truly" Robert murmured while receding down the wooden stairs while maintaining comfortable eye contact with such grace and untouched elegance that Charlotte thought had prior only been reserved for dignified princess and Hollywood starlets, like Hepburn or Kelly.

But just as Robert had descended the stairs, Charlotte surprises herself, and Robert, as evident by the minuscule rise of his shoulder blades beneath his poplin dress shirt by calling out to him

"Hey don't I know you from somewhere?, I feel like I've seen you on TV or something?"

"This face?, well you see a face like mine is surely not made for television I can tell you that. Goodbye Charlotte, you have a good day now." He laughs with an air of brevity in his tone.

Charlotte finds herself laughing too, without even a direct reason why. The realisation hits her that this is the first time she'd laughed in nearly six month. She had been so focused on survival from her divorce that Charlotte had closed herself off from all frivolity, such as a kind interaction with a similarly kind stranger.

Just as her eye's focus back from the dream state of Charlotte's that had to border on at least ten seconds, Charlotte looks back to where Robert had just stood. And he was gone without a trace.

Well, not entirely without a trace. Though his physical being had left Charlotte could see the imprint of his loafer on the sandy wood of the stairs.

If it weren't for those Charlotte would regard the interaction as a dream sequence, a figment of her fractured, socially-stifled brain.

But it was real. Entirely real and as tangible as the sand passing through her fingers.

Charlotte would go on to repeat those two sentences all the way back to her temporary cape abode.

End of Chapter Two.

[galacticlarry]

🚀 galactic_larry masterpost 🚀

Under the cut you'll find all of the fics I have written along with their word count and rating.

🚀 Jupiter | 95k | Mature

Louis Tomlinson is a singer-songwriter who has just scheduled the biggest gig of his life. Being the opening act for Niall Horan’s European tour means gigantic venues, large crowds, and music, so much music! What he had not expected, was that it would also mean handsome strangers, doomed love, and a whole lot of pining.

Harry Styles doesn't consider himself a musician, but he agreed to help his best friend out, so there’s that. He’s now playing on tour with Niall, but, as far as he is concerned, he only has one very simple task: to get through it alive. Instead, he ends up finding true love, heartbreak, and a sense of purpose.

Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne are absolutely fed up with both of them, and just want them to get it together, but things don’t always work out, do they?

Jupiter is a story about friendship and overcoming difficulties, told through music and fandom inside jokes.

ao3 | bonus chapter | fic post

🚀 If That's All It Was | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

Harry and Louis are in a long term relationship and are planning to get married. When they end up having to go long distance for a year, things start getting progressively harder to deal with and they ultimately put an end to their relationship.

What happens when they meet again after a few months and all of their unresolved feelings bubble up?

ao3 | fic post

🚀 How Many Chances Does It Take? | 100k | Mature

Harry Styles is the lead singer of the band “Retrograde” who just signed a record deal and are moving to Los Angeles to pursue a career in music. He wasn’t really expecting to run into his childhood friend for whom he’s always had a thing, even though they haven’t seen each other in years, but he did. He also managed to fuck everything up, but that’s a different conversation.

Louis Tomlinson is a songwriter who lives in Los Angeles with his best friend, Niall. His daily routine consists of writing songs, hanging out with his friends, and trying to get over his childhood friend, which isn’t really working, but oh well. And then he sees him again, after years, but things go horribly wrong.

A story about being in love and being a complete and total idiot, but also friendship and forgiveness, told through music.

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Got Time (But We're Only Human) | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry have been dating for years, but have been keeping it a secret from the public, which is why when they decide to go on a trip with Liam, Niall, and Zayn to celebrate One Direction’s anniversary, they end up at a farm in the middle of nowhere.

What happens when a picture that shouldn’t have been taken starts circulating on the internet, threatening to mess everything up?

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me | 11k | Teen And Up Audiences

Harry met Louis in college and fell in love with him in record time. Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend.

What happens when they run into each other at a bar three years after breaking up?

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Enough To Wish For More | 33k | Mature

Louis Tomlinson just wants a few days of peace and quiet while his family are out of state. But when he meets the lead singer of a band he’s never heard of, his life and everything he thought he knew about it changes forever.

Harry Styles just wants to get his new guitar and then he’s leaving Haverhill, Massachusetts as fast as he can. But when he gets lost and asks someone for directions, he finds a lot more than the street he was initially looking for.

A long, complicated, painful, fucked up story about love.

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Different Than You Do | 2k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry have been friends for a little over four years. Louis has been in love with Harry for most of those years, even if he didn’t want to admit it at first.

What happens when he impulsively decides to tell him?

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Can't Imagine You Without The Same Smile In Your Eyes | 4k | Teen And Up Audiences

It’s been over a week since Harry’s first semester at university began, and he has had zero new exciting friendships or noteworthy experiences, just a bizarre dream that keeps waking him up in the middle of the night.

What happens when the boy with the pretty blue eyes from his psychology class catches his eye and starts occupying his mind?

ao3 | fic post

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Last September, while working at his desk in Philadelphia, Samuel R. Delany experienced a mysterious episode that he calls “the big drop.” His vision faded for about three minutes, and he felt his body plunge, as if the floor had fallen away. When he came to, everything looked different, though he couldn’t say exactly how. Delany, who is eighty-one, began to suspect that he’d suffered a mini-stroke. His daughter, Iva, an emergency-room physician, persuaded him to go to the hospital, but the MRI scans were inconclusive. The only evidence of a neurological event was a test result indicating that he had lost fifteen per cent of his capacity to form new memories—and a realization, in the following weeks, that he was unable to finish his novel in progress, “This Short Day of Frost and Sun.” After publishing more than forty books in half a century, the interruption was, he told me, both “a loss and a relief.”

For years, Delany has begun most days at four o’clock in the morning with a ritual. First, he spells out the name Dennis, for Dennis Rickett, his life partner. Next, he recites an atheist’s prayer, hailing faraway celestial bodies with a litany inspired by the seventeenth-century philosopher Baruch Spinoza: “Natura Naturans, system of systems, system of fields, Kuiper belt, scattered disk, Oort cloud, thank you for dropping me here.” Finally, he prepares oatmeal, which he faithfully photographs for the friends and fans who follow him on Facebook. Every so often, when the milk foams, he sees Laniakea—the galactic supercluster that’s home to Earth.

In the stellar neighborhood of American letters, there have been few minds as generous, transgressive, and polymathically brilliant as Samuel Delany’s. Many know him as the country’s first prominent Black author of science fiction, who transformed the field with richly textured, cerebral novels like “Babel-17” (1966) and “Dhalgren” (1975). Others know the revolutionary chronicler of gay life, whose autobiography, “The Motion of Light in Water” (1988), stands as an essential document of pre-Stonewall New York. Still others know the professor, the pornographer, or the prolific essayist whose purview extends from cyborg feminism to Biblical philology.

There are so many Delanys that it’s difficult to take the full measure of his influence. Reading him was formative for Junot Díaz and William Gibson; Octavia Butler was, briefly, his student in a writing workshop. Jeremy O. Harris included Delany as a character in his play “Black Exhibition,” while Neil Gaiman, who is adapting Delany’s classic space adventure “Nova” (1968) as a series for Amazon, credits him with building a critical foundation not only for science fiction but also for comics and other “paraliterary” genres.

Friends call him Chip, a nickname he gave himself at summer camp, in the eleventh year of a life that has defied convention and prejudice. He is a sci-fi child prodigy who never flamed out; a genre best-seller widely recognized as a great literary stylist; a dysgraphic college dropout who once headed the Department of Comparative Literature at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst; and an outspokenly promiscuous gay man who survived the aids crisis and has found love, three times, in committed, non-monogamous relationships. A story like Delany’s isn’t supposed to be possible in our society—and that, nearly as much as the gift of his writing, is his glory.

It took several months to persuade him to meet. Delany has polemicized against the face-to-face interview, reasoning that writers, who constitute themselves on the page, ought to be questioned there, too. He warned in an e-mail that a visit would be a waste of time, offering instead a tour of his “three-room hovel” via Zoom: “No secret pile will be left unexplored.” Yet a central theme in his work is “contact,” a word he uses to convey all the potential in chance encounters between human beings. “I propose that in a democratic city it is imperative that we speak to strangers, live next to them, and learn how to relate to them on many levels, from the political to the sexual,” he wrote in “Times Square Red, Times Square Blue” (1999), a landmark critique of gentrification which centered on his years of cruising in the adult theatres of midtown Manhattan.

His novels, too, turn on the serendipity of urban life, adopting the “marxian” credo that fiction is most vital when classes mix. Gorgik, a revolutionary leader in Delany’s four-volume “Return to Nevèrÿon” series, rises from slavery to the royal court in an ancient port city called Kolhari, where he learns that seemingly centralized “power—the great power that shattered lives and twisted the course of the nation—was like a fog over a meadow at evening. From any distance, it seemed to have a shape, a substance, a color, an edge. Yet, as you approached it, it seemed to recede before you.”

In January, Delany finally allowed me to visit him at the apartment complex that he now rarely leaves. A hulking beige structure near the Philadelphia Museum of Art, it looms like a fortress over the row houses of the Fairmount. I crossed a lobby the length of a ballroom and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. As I walked down the hallway, I noticed a small man behind a luggage trolley taking my picture. It was Delany, smiling in welcome with his lively brown eyes and strikingly misaligned front teeth.

[A Delightful portrait of my favorite Science Fiction writer]

[weirdestbooks]

A Civil Disagreement Chapter 4

Kansas Bleeds (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

May 20, 1856

Kansas Territory was causing them a world of trouble. Fighting had broken out two years ago when they allowed popular sovereignty, letting the people of Kansas and Nebraska Territory vote on whether or not they wanted to have slavery in their lands.

Unfortunately, this has led too many people from Missouri and Missouri himself to go to Kansas in an attempt to sway the vote towards slavery. Border ruffians, they were called. Of course, the Free-Staters weren’t any better and had also gone to Kansas to sway the vote in their favor.

This has led them here—stuck in Congress, arguing endlessly—like usual. Father was supposed to be here but was off handling other business. He had traveled to California and spent a week there with her before he left to visit Hawaii. After the visit, he would come back sometime in June. 

Until he returned, DC was stuck with the wonderful job of dealing with Congress’s arguments. 

Being a capital was so much fun.

Senator Charles Sumner of Massachusetts had given a speech addressing whether Kansas should be admitted to the Union as a free state or a slave state.

It was a very long speech, although what speech in this Senate wasn’t?

Senator Sumner had blamed Senator Stephan Douglas of Illinois and Senator Andrew Butler of South Carolina for what he called “the crimes against Kansas.” 

And he was not holding back in his dislike for them either.

“Noise-some, squat and nameless animal…not a proper model for an American Senator” was how he described Senator Douglas. The insults were shocking, though DC was sure if her father was here, he would have found them amusing. However, what he called Senator Douglas was not nearly as shocking or insulting as what he said about Senator Butler.

He said that Senator Butler had taken “a mistress…who, though ugly to others, is always lovely to him; though polluted with the sight of the world, is chaste in his sight—I mean, the harlot, Slavery.”

Fiery words, indeed.

“You are lucky Senator Butler was not here for your speech, Senator,” DC said, approaching Senator Sumner, who was attaching his postal frank to what she assumed were copies of his speech.

“Hello, Washington. I figured you would have probably come to talk to me about my language.” He said, “But I do not regret it. I said what needed to be said.”

“Sometimes I feel like the mother of certain congressmen here, having to discipline you for your behavior. Senator, I know you are passionate, and you have your beliefs, but with the situation in Kansas…do you really think angering more people will help the situation?” DC asked him.

“People are already angry, Washington.” Senator Sumner began as DC noticed Representative Preston Brooks of South Carolina entered the chamber, holding a cane in his hand and making his way towards them. Perhaps he wanted to speak with her. DC turned back to Senator Sumner as he continued speaking.

“How angrier could they possibly get?” He said right as Representative Brooks reached them. DC opened her mouth to respond, but as she did, Representative Brooks raised his cane, the metal top gleaming in the light, and brought it down on Senator Sumner’s head.

DC stood there, horrified as Representative Brooks struck Senator Sumner repeatedly, too shocked to move, to do anything. Senator Sumner attempted to get up and did so, lurching around the room, bleeding profusely from his head, and Representative Brooks continued to strike.

After a period of time that felt like forever, the caning stopped. 

“Good day, District of Columbia,” Representative Brooks said as he turned to leave. No one, not even DC, was making any moves to stop him. DC could see some senators grabbing Senator Sumner and carrying him out of the chamber, probably to get him to a doctor.

And I just stood there, shocked at what had occurred.

My God.

What was she going to tell Father?

———————————————

May 21, 1856

Lawrence, Kansas Territory. The center of anti-slavery action in Kansas Territory. It was important that Missouri and other pro-slavery forces suppressed the action taken by anti-slavery here. Especially after they worked so hard to get Kansas a pro-slavery government back in March. Kansas had to be pro-slavery at all costs for the good of the Union!

Especially due to the violence that had happened there. 

After Sheriff Samual J Jones was shot in this town trying to arrest some Free-Staters, neutralizing the threat this town possessed became even more critical. 

They had taken the first steps when Federal Marshall I. B. Donaldson issued a proclamation asking the citizens of Kansas Territory to help him arrest members of extra-legal Free-State legislators. With the help of about six pro-slavery militias, the arrests happened peacefully.

Unfortunately, that was having violent consequences. The anti-slavery people of Lawrence were now arming themselves.

Which is where Missouri came in. 

Sheriff Jones had assembled a force of 750 men, including him, to help disarm the citizens of Lawrence and their anti-slavery institutions. That way, their force of men could prevent them from committing acts of violence against the proslavery individuals of Kansas Territory.

With that plan in mind, they had sealed off all exits to the town and placed a cannon on a nearby mountain. Then, they proceeded to march onto the city of Lawrence so they could put all of the anti-slavery leaders under arrest.

Much to Missouri's surprise, they encountered no resistance as they marched into Lawrence. The citizens just let it happen.

“Guess not everyone here is anti-slavery,” Missouri muttered under his breath. Not that he was going to complain about that. That was an advantage for them. It also proved that this territory should become a slave state. Even the abolitionist town wouldn’t fight back against pro-slavery forces.

However, they still had to handle their two main targets: the anti-slavery newspapers. Missouri was in charge of the Herald of Freedom newspaper, and it was easy enough to take over the newspaper's office.

“Take the printing press and throw it into the river!” Missouri ordered his men, “Make sure the printing press for the Kansas Free State is destroyed. The rest of you, help the others destroy the Free-State Hotel, the military hotel.” 

Missouri then began helping his men carry the printing press toward the river.

“Are you sure this is necessary, Missouri?”

“Yes. It will ensure that this town isn’t allowed to spit out more propaganda that will destroy the credibility of the noble institution of slavery.” Missouri said, grunting slightly as they approached the river bed, the printing press getting heavy. 

“On three, we throw it in,” Missouri said. “One, two, three.”

The printing press hit the river with a splash, and they sighed.

“Well, that was a success. Should we meet up with the others at the Free-State Hotel?” Someone asked, stretching out their arms.

“No, we don’t want to all crowd there. We should rob the homes of the abolitionists and convince them to leave. They aren’t welcome in this pro-slavery territory!” Missouri said, bringing on cheers from his men. He smiled. 

This has been a great success so far. This territory would definitely become pro-slavery. They destroyed the stronghold, and now they have nowhere left to go.

Missouri wondered if Kansas would be proud of him for helping her, helping make the territory more homogeneous in its consensus about slavery, and putting an end to much of the conflict. 

———————————————

June 2, 1856

Of course, when Missouri thought everything was going to go up, it had to go down. Poor Kansas. 

Back in May, a murderous abolitionist named John Brown, joined by others, had murdered five pro-slavery men in what was now called the Pottawatomie Massacre. It was an awful tragedy, and John Brown needed to be taken into custody at all costs. And Missouri had to be there to help the pro-slavery men, no matter what Kentucky said.

Marshall Pate had put together a group of fifty men, including Missouri, to help take down the abolitionist fugitives. They had been ransacking abolitionist homes to make sure none of them were in league with the fugitives as they tracked down the murderers. The lack of cooperation from these men gave the fugitive Brown enough time to raise a force of his own.

A battle between Missouri’s force and Brown’s was inevitable, and Missouri was only proven right on that front when, one morning, he was woken up by Brown’s force attacking them. Missouri yawned as he looked around for the fugitives.

“They are using the Santa Fe trail as a refugee!” One of our men called.

“And so can we!” Missouri said, ducking for cover as gunfire increased upon the sight of him. Those bastards! Firing on a countryhuman! If they weren’t already wanted for murder, they surely would be wanted for attempting to kill a countryhuman.

“Seems they like you as a target.” MIssouri’s friend Johnny said. Missouri laughed.

“They don’t think I belong here, Johnny. But even if I don’t, neither do they. A bunch of murderous hypocrites who can’t accept that this territory is going to be a slave state.” Missouri said.

“Think Kansas will appreciate what we’ve done once she’s born?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Missouri said before returning fire. The pattern continues. Missouri and Johnny joked around as they continued to exchange gunfire.

But they were still getting nowhere. They had hit a stalemate.

“I’m going to negotiate with him.” Marshall Pate eventually told Missouri as he made his way over, crafting a white flag.

“We can’t negotiate with fugitives!” Johnny said. Missouri sighed.

“Marshall Pate has a point, though. We are getting nowhere. This might be the best solution we are going to get.” Missouri said. Marshall Pate nodded.

“We can see if we can get his surrender to help lessen casualties. We seem to outnumber them, so we have an advantage there. Missouri, will you accompany me?” Marshall Pate asked. Missouri nodded, and Marshall Pate smiled before lifting his arm and raising the flag.

“We wish to negotiate with John Brown!” He yelled. The gunfire ceased as some of the anti-slavery men appeared.

“We’ll take your leader and the state to Mr. Brown. The rest of you behave.” One of the murderers yelled at MIssouri’s men before leading MIssouri and Marshall Pate to Brown.

“What do you want, Border Ruffians?” He asked.

“We wish to negotiate for your unconditional surrender.” Marshall Pate said, causing John Brown to laugh.

“I will not be surrendering today. When this battle ends, you will be the ones surrendering. Now, take them away. I don’t want to talk to you, Border Ruffians, until you are ready to surrender, hear me?” He demanded. Missouri rolled his eyes. 

“We won’t surrender. You will surrender to us when this battle is over.” MIssouri said. John Brown smiled. 

“We’ll see about that, slave state,” he said before his men took Missouri and Marshall Pate back to their side of the battlefield.

“Well, that was a failure,” Missouri commented.

“It was worth a shot. Now we need to figure out how to break the stalemate so we can force them to surrender.” Marshall Pate said. Missouri nodded and grabbed his weapon from Johnny as the battle resumed. The battle continued as it had before the failed parley until a cry came that chilled Missouri to the core.

“We have the Border Ruffians surrounded!” One of Brown’s men called from behind them. Johnny and Missouri exchanged horrified looks.

“Reinforcements from Lawrence?” Johnny questioned. 

“Must be,” Missouri said before turning to Marshal Pate. “What do we do?” 

“Surrender.” He said as he lifted the white flag. Once again, Marshal Pate and Missouri were taken to John Brown, a very different kind of meeting. Missouri’s ears were pulled back, and his wings were tucked tightly to his back.

“Hello again, Border Ruffians. Now, I want unconditional surrender from your group—no terms,” Brown said. Missouri scowled.

“And if we don’t?” he asked. Brown pulled out his gun and pointed it at Marshal Pate.

“Then I blow out both of your brains.” He said. Missouri froze, his pride breaking and his anger growing. These murderers felt no sense of shame or honor. It angered Missouri to his core and further proved why he had to continue to help drive people like this out of Kansas.

Kansas couldn’t do it herself yet, as she was still in Dad’s body, and he was busy dealing with the more political side of things, not allowing Kansas to come fight for herself. Someone had to try to put an end to things. But Missouri failed.

“Fine. We will agree to unconditional surrender.” Marshal Pate said. Missouri clenched his fists.

Missouri hated this. He failed to bring the fugitive to justice. And now Kansas would continue to suffer.

———————————————

August 30, 1856

“United States! There’s been another conflict in Kansas!” A messenger said as he ran up to America. America groaned. Not another one. Hopefully Missouri wasn’t caught up in this conflict. Kentucky still had yet to convince Missouri to come home and stop causing trouble. 

“I don’t want people to keep dying! Dad, let me talk to Missouri and make him stop. I can maybe make him see sense.” Kansas asked.

“What happened now?” America asked as the messages stopped.

“Another battle. At Osawatomie. The Missourians attacked the town. The Free Staters tried to hold them off but were too outnumbered. Osawatomie was burned.” he said.

“Not another one…” America mumbled, being reminded of the Sack of Lawrence from May. America really hoped Kentucky dragged Missouri home soon. That boy was in big trouble. 

“I’m going to go talk to Congress about this. All of these conflicts need to end soon. I know people disagree, but killing each other isn’t a good solution. We can settle things peacefully.” America said, dismissing the messenger. 

“Are you sure?” James asked.

America was sure that everything would calm down eventually. Violence was not going to be the answer. They had compromised before; they could make compromises again.

America just hoped he could get his kids to see that.

[simmysunset]

Whoever Loves Her Next - 04

*Trigger warning for mentions of alcoholism*

The first few moments after the words spill out are silent. I can’t speak. I can’t look at him. Hell, it feels like I can’t even breathe.

One of my first predictions of what would happen after I told him was that he would start demanding to know who I slept with so soon following our breakup. Another was that he’d start screaming and crying, completely overwhelmed with emotion. But what I certainly didn’t guess, was that he would gently take me by the arms and turn me back around to face him.

“Ella, it’s gonna be okay.”

He’s not angry. He’s not upset. He’s not stricken with grief. He’s fucking smiling.

I open my mouth to speak, but none of the words I want to say come out. He reaches down to take my hands into his, and I can’t help but stare down at them. I never thought I’d see his hand in mine again.

His voice is soft and characteristically slow as he says, “We’ve got this. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not letting anything happen to you this time around.”

He immediately notices that this makes my breath hitch, and gives my hands a squeeze.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’m going to take care of all of it,” he tells me before he suddenly goes from calm and collected to excited beyond my imagination. “Ella, this is- I mean…holy shit! We can work this out. You can stay here until we’re done writing and then when we go back to Philly, you can move back in and-”

Pulling my hands from his is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I do it all the same. It feels as though I break his heart with a single sentence. “Harry, this doesn’t mean we’re getting back together.”

And I swear the look on his face when I say this nearly kills me.

He sounds so deflated as a “What?” escapes from his lips.

“Please try and understand where I’m coming from,” I beg. “It hasn’t even been two months since what happened, and I’m just not ready to face that again.”

He scoffs before starting to turn away, and my emotions bubble to the surface before I can stop them.

“What did you expect, Harry?! That I’d just come running back into your arms?! I can’t do that! Not after what happened!” I insist, and he whips around with such speed that it almost scares me.

“You can’t even fucking talk about it! What was it that you called me? An alcoholic son of a bitch? Well, how about you let me tell you that I haven’t had a drop since that day?! Let me explain that I know how badly I fucked up! Let me have a chance to apologize for scaring you to death!”

Memories come rushing back to me of the whole experience. The tears are so close to falling over the edge and I look up at the ceiling to try and hold them back, but it’s no use. The day it all went down was brutal, and I can’t even think about it without feeling physically sick.

“I want to give you a chance, Harry. I really do. But I can’t right now. I can’t keep feeling like this because I just know it’s going to end in the same tragic way. With a visit to the emergency room and a gravestone for someone all too tiny.”

His own tears begin to spill out at this statement, and I know I’m stepping dangerously close to a line that I would rather die than break. I take a couple breaths to reel myself in before saying,

“I love you, and part of me will always love you. But I can’t be near you right now. Being this close to you and seeing you like this just reminds me of everything we lost. So, I need to go. I’m gonna go back to Massachusetts, back to my parents. We’ll keep in contact and you can visit any weekend you’d like. It’s just-”

He nearly screams, “Weekends?!” and I flinch away from him. “Ella, this is our child we’re talking about! A living being that we made! I want to be with them every day! I want to be with you every day! I will not sit back and watch them follow the same spiral I took! I won’t let you do that to me or to them!”

I grit my teeth in anger. “Why is it suddenly all on me?! At what point did this change from us against the world to you against me?!”

“You know damn well when it happened, Ella! Hell, you’re the one that made it this way! You left me, remember?! Because I sure as hell never would have made that decision!” Harry yells.

I don’t even remember that there are other people in the house until after I let out a scream of frustration.

“How could you think for a second that I ever wanted to make that decision?! I have spent every day since then regretting it! And I can’t handle you! I can’t handle you punishing me for doing what I had to!”

He snaps back, “You can’t handle me?! I’m not one of your fucking dogs, Ella! I’m not an animal that needs to be trained!”

“I didn’t say you were! I meant that you’re too much! It hasn’t even been a year since we lost Michael and now it’s happening all over again! I need time, Harry!” I shout.

His voice finally starts to reach its peak, and I begin to cower away from him. “Don’t you think I need time, too?! He wasn’t just your son! His death was just as hard on me as it was on you! I felt it just as much as you did!”

I take a few breaths and decide to lower my voice. This is getting out of hand, and soon, one of us is going to say something we’ll regret. “I never said otherwise. I know how much you struggled, and still do. It just…it feels like you’re suffocating me, Harry. And I can’t breathe when you’re around me.”

But instead of trying to take it down a notch with me, he only seems to explode further.

“Then fucking go! Leave! Run away like you always do!”

I feel his words stab into my chest in the same instant that remorse fills his face. I know he’s sorry, but I’ve reached my limit. I can’t be here anymore.

So, I walk around him and head for the door. He catches my arm just before I reach for the handle.

“Please don’t leave me, Ella.”

I only manage to speak a sentence back to him. “I don’t want to, Harry, but I have to.”

And with that, I exit the bedroom. The others in the main room are dead silent and all staring at the floor, most likely pretending that they didn’t hear a word. But I know they probably heard every single one. Afraid of their ridicule, I leave the house and go back to my rental car, where I hang my head and finally break down.

beginning | previous | next

[rothjuje]

Two more chains that are missing here are Jamba Juice and Cold Stone. Cold Stone wasn’t super popular in Texas, but there was one at my favorite shopping center in Plano. Jamba was there too, so I got them both often enough (there happened to be a Jamba Juice just 13 minutes from our house in Texas but I didn’t realize it was there until we had already lived there for years).

When I lived in Santa Cruz, CA Jamba Juice and Cold Stone were my favorite, and where I’d meet up with friends. Until we got a Yogurtland and Target that is. Ugh, I miss home. I might go shopping closer to the city tomorrow and I might drag my friend to a supposed Jamba Juice and a random Cold Stone.

I fell asleep at 9:30 (I usually have to fight myself to fall asleep before midnight) and now I’m up with all the anxious energy. Of course.

It was kind of a weird week. I took Gen to a couple classes Monday, and she seemed a little feral compared to the other kids. Definitely more energetic. Preschool will be so good for her next year, even if she’s only going T/Th. I decided to take away her paci cold turkey (it was only for nighttime but then she begged for it all day long and I couldn’t handle the tantrums anymore). I also took a side off her crib because she’s ready even though she wasn’t excited about it. She is one stubborn kid.

George has been sleeping like crazy for two weeks now. He’s been eating nonstop and is so tired, growth spurt? There was an incident at school where a kid pushed him over while he was quietly playing and he hit his eye on a chair. I was in a class with Gen, phone on silent when the school was frantically trying to get ahold of me. It really wasn’t that bad, I think it just was swollen because of the location. And I know which kid did it and it was an impulse control thing and not a bullying thing but it still made me sad, because George has such a gentle soul. That’s the worst part about parenting, that you can’t protect your kids forever, that you have to send them out into the world and hope for the best. I don’t worry about Gen (she is fierce and can protect herself), and I don’t worry about Alyssa anymore (she has really come into her own) but I will probably always worry about George.

Alyssa is officially literate. She typed Jo Jo into a search bar today, and I love how that is my indicator for her literacy lol. She can read beginners books and whenever she struggles to sound out a word she goes “this is a trick word, mom.” She’s such a cool kid. Really caring and gentle with her siblings and their peers. So creative and fun. She’s got this infectious energy, and I hope she always has it and doesn’t let the world dull her shine.

I’ve reached that point in friendship with my Jewish friends where we know each other so well we can have all the real conversations. They brought dinner over a couple times while Justin was traveling for work and it was so nice to have company, they’re good eggs.

I saw neighbor and fam a bunch this past week too. We actually had breakfast and dinner at their house yesterday lol, they’re also good eggs. I love all my people.

No one warned me that there would be so many days with partial snow cover. I’d say we’ve had at least a month where our front and side yards are covered in snow but the swing set area and sled hill are a soggy, muddy mess. It makes taking the kids out to play kind of miserable, because options are pretty limited.

I’m so excited to have Justin home all weekend long. He was gone half the weekend the last two weekends, and will be again the next two weekends. I’m excited for March and all the visits and birthdays and parties, but I’m also excited for April when everything will simmer down.

And spring. Spring! We’ve had some amazing sunny days recently. I am so excited to experience spring here. And get to work on all my outdoor projects. I can’t believe June will be a year since we moved to Massachusetts. What a wild ride it’s been.

[dancedance-resolution]

Hi again, I am just catching up on your messages and IM SORRY DDR BUT I DO NOT LIVE IN MASSACHUSETTS

I live in Vermont, very much not surprised that that wasn't a guess, it's an often overlooked state 😭 I do not know anything about sports but we do appear to have women's ice hockey, but not any pwhl unfortunately so I cannot offer that as incentive to visit 🥺

ok yes, I see what you were saying about the 8 hour drive lol. I absolutely agree, long drives are the worst... Most of my internet friends live in different countries though, so I think my conclusion about it being not that far was that if you're only 8 hours away from me then technically I could visit? whereas my other friends I have no hope of visiting without a plane ticket 😭

also, I love having my own tag, thank you 🥺

and that sounds like an excellent plan for when you meet with him! proud of you for putting that in place and I'm glad to hear my idea feels useful 💖

and also if you ever do somehow find yourself closer to VT you absolutely should let me know and I will come off anon because I consider you a friend and would love to hang out 💖💖💖But for now, the cloak of anonymity stays because I have revealed too much lmao

-ace lesbian anon

it is frankly astonishing to me that you don’t live in massachusetts, i feel like a solid 35% of tumblr lives in massachusetts….. in fact, i think you’re the first vermont person that i’ve met (knowing they’re from vermont)???🤔 (also you know how michiganders is ppl from michigan and baltimorons is baltimore - do you guys have a vermont version of that?)

anyways so regarding straight boy alas he didn’t message me back about confirming a time yesterday so it didn’t happen! unsure if i’ll message him trying to set smth up again 🤔 i sent my friend screenshots of what i’d sent him initially and they told me they would find that message super jarring lol, which i now very much see 😂 like this is in the top 10 ddr autism moments, and im a muppets fan so that’s saying a lot 😂 generally though, i definitely still want to meet up w a cis man bc im still quite curious, but idk about the timeline now 🤷

i will absolutely let you know if/when i’m up in your area! surely one of these days i’ll get restless to fuck around and head north lol 🫡

hope you’re doing well etc 🥰🥰🥰

[allureofcrimemurdermystery]

Michelle Carter & Conrad Roy.

It's clear that  Michelle Carter and Conrad Roy III had an intense relationship, made even more so by the fact that it existed primarily through text messages and social media. That unusual arrangement would ultimately end with Carter being tried in court for encouraging Roy to commit suicide over the phone. 

Carter, now 26, was sentenced to serve 15 months for her role in Roy's 2014 death, after being convicted in 2017 of involuntary manslaughter. A judge determined that Carter, who was 17 at the time, was culpable in 18-year-old Roy's suicide after she encouraged him to die by suicide in text messages. She also told him over the phone to get back into his truck, which was filling up with carbon monoxide. Carter was released from prison in January of 2020 on good behavior and has appealed her conviction to the U.S. Supreme Court.

So, while the majority of their interactions took place from afar, they did meet one another in person. Hulu’s miniseries “The Girl From Plainville” depicts how the teens met and began dating.

Carter and Roy met in 2012, while they were both visiting relatives in Naples, Florida, according to a 2019 Esquire story, and discovered they were both from Massachusetts. Later, Carter told Roy that she fell for him when the two took a bike ride together to the beach, according the HBO documentary, "I Love You, Now Die: The Commonwealth v. Michelle Carter." The miniseries depicts this fateful moment in Florida between the two teenagers.

Back in Massachusetts, the two towns where they lived were about an hour apart. Roy lived in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, a small harbor town with a population of about six thousand. Carter lived in the suburban Massachusetts town of Plainville, located an hour north.

Even though they lived relatively close to one another, Carter and Roy only met up about five times in person during the two years they dated. They would regularly make plans to meet up but those plans would often fall through. However, the relationship they shared was an intensely personal one. They exchanged thousands of texts, in which they explored their deepest thoughts, including Roy's suicidal ideation and Carter's eating disorder.

Within the hundreds of pages of text messages gathered by investigators, it's clear the teens cared for one another and recognized they needed help.When Conrad went to a psychological facility to help treat her eating disorder, she asked Roy to admit himself as well texting, "would be so good for you and we would get thru our issues together. Think about it. You aren't gonna get better on your own, you know it no matter how many times you tell yourself you are. You need professional help like me, people who know how to treat it and fix it." 

Unfortunately the nature of the intimate texts would evolve. As Roy and Carter began dissecting the best methods of suicide, Carter became frustrated with him and texted, "You better not be bullshitting me and saying you're gonna do this and then purposely get caught."

Roy took his own life just days later.

[sasquapossum]

Finally got home again. Left last Monday. Some random notes, in no particular order.

It's a long-ass drive. 18 hours according to Google Maps, but realistically at least a couple of hours more before you even count breaks.

The worst pedestrian-hostile "stroad" I've ever seen is in Erie PA. Very convenient if you're passing through or (I suppose) trying to buy something, but I think I'd hate to live there. I meant to go for a run that morning, because I don't have Pennsylvania on my list yet, but I just couldn't find a route that didn't make me want to quit running so I slept in an extra half hour.

My wife's snoring has to be heard to be believed. I see all this jokes about snoring husbands, but they strike me as a bit sexist TBH. Earplugs - and I have good ones - aren't enough. The first two nights I slept on awful sofabeds to at least get a bit of distance. The other nights I just slept poorly.

My daughter's dorm-room situation seems much better too. It's bigger, with a very nice lake view, vs. a tiny room with a view of a trash-strewn rooftop at Union. Her room-mate (trans-fem) seems cool too, and I suspect she'll make friends more easily on that thematic hall than she would elsewhere. That addresses one of our biggest worries. The dining hall (in the next dorm) also seems like a bit of an upgrade. It is a bit far from some of the academic buildings she'll be visiting, though (psych building in particular is at the other end of a big campus), so we'll see how that works out in the dead of winter.

The greater campus and city also seems like a big upgrade from Union/Schenectady. Nothing against either, but AFAICT Madison deserves its reputation as one of the best college towns. BTW I'm saying that as someone who attended UMich and lived in Ann Arbor for almost a decade. I feel like a traitor.

Illinois drivers are still the worst. We went through seven states on this trip, including Massachusetts and New York which each have their own bad reputations, and I've driven in plenty of others. Everyone thinks their drivers are the worst, but in Illinois they're right (as far as the US is concerned anyway).

Jamestown NY, and the general Lake Chautauqua area, seems like a real under-appreciated gem. There are many natural attractions, the National Comedy Center, Southern Tier Brewing Company (the whole reason I first went there back in May), and so much more. I was delighted when my wife said, "It's so nice here, can we extend our stay another day?" Seriously, it's looking-at-rental-prices good.

Here's a picture from Paradise Rocks, which is a fantastic little park near Lake Chautauqua. Even my friend who grew up nearby hadn't heard of it, but the narrow passage in the picture is one of many throughout the place and they're massive fun to explore. We spent two and a half hours on a barely one-mile circuit.

And here's something I hardly ever do - a picture of my lovely daughter, happy to be at her new home for the next eight or nine months. Her outfit got so many positive comments, especially (and surprisingly) from older people.

[theselfshippingwitch]

Home for The Holidays (Ray x Violet)

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1113

Includes: fluff, gift exchanges, lots and lots of sweets

Summary: As the Ghostbusters take Christmas off, Ray goes to visit with Violet's family

Notes: I just need you all to know that Ray spent Christmas with his girlfriend's family and they all love him and how happy he makes her

“Hi, This is Dr. Peter Venkman. You’ve reached the Ghostbusters, and we’re currently on Christmas Vacation. If you’ve got a ghost problem, leave us a message and we’ll get back to you on the 26th. If it’s an emergency, you can do the same thing. If it’s an end-of-the-world and all humanity level event, we may consider taking the job, but do be warned we will quadruple our prices, and ask to be paid in full up front. Thank you, and Merry Christmas!”

-

“So, what’s the plan?”

Ray had left his and Violet’s house as soon as the work day was done. He and all the other Ghostbusters had had a collective holiday celebration dinner and gift exchange the night before, seeing as all of them had plans for the actual day. 

“Well, tomorrow we drive down to my parents’ house, and we can spend the night in my old room there, and then the day after that is Christmas, and then the day after THAT we visit my grandmother. You remember her? You seemed to get along really well with her boyfriend at Thanksgiving.”

 “Yeah! The guy who used to have a sailboat! He had some great stories.”

“But…” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “We have tonight for just us two.” They both giggled as he leaned in and kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her waist.  

“Alright then…” He said softly. “How about you and me, the old record player, a fire going in the fireplace?” 

“Hmm…” She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Sounds perfect.” 

- 

They woke up the next morning, limbs tangled up in each other, hair messy. “Wake up, handsome.” She kissed his bare chest. “We’ve got a long drive.”

They take an hours-long drive in Ray’s vintage truck (an early Christmas gift from Violet which Ray absolutely delighted in fixing up and getting into working order) and suddenly they’re in Massachusetts, baking chocolate chip cookies. “Mom always makes too much food. I’m pretty sure after we’re done baking these cookies, we’ll have five different types of cookies in this house. Plus the ones my sister-in-law will definitely bring. Just, be prepared to be eating cookies for the next three weeks, at least.” 

That night, Ray listened amusedly as Violet and her parents reminisced about Christmases past. “...And your brothers would set up their new train sets and you would sit in the middle and just watch as the train went round and round, and God forbid if you touched the train, they’d scream at you, ‘VIOLET!’...”

Violet laughed, and Ray nudged her. “Kinda sounds like Slimer and Peter.” She snickered. 

That night, they all watched her mother’s favorite Christmas movie, then Ray and Violet retired to bed in Violet’s old bedroom, where they rearranged all the stuffed animals so they could both fit on the full size bed. 

-

The next morning, both woke up early, even though they had been told that gift exchanges and Christmas dinner would not happen until that afternoon.Still, the two sat alone in front of the Christmas tree as the sun rose and Violet’s parents were still asleep in their beds. Ray handed Violet an black velvet box about the size of her hand. Inside was a purple crystal heart necklace. “Oh, Ray, honey, it’s beautiful!” She took it out of the box and handed it to him to put it on her. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as his warm fingers brushed her skin gently as he fastened the necklace. “You like it?” he asked nervously from behind her. “I know you wear a lot more expensive jewelry all the time for your photoshoots and con appearances and stuff, but I just wanted to save up and buy you something to make you feel as beautiful as you always are to me.”

“Sweetie…” She turned around and kissed him. “I love it. It’s the most beautiful and special thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off. But, you don’t have to save up your money for me. Honey, the most important thing in the world to me is just you.”

He blushed like crazy, and she kissed his cheek. “Now, my present is… well, it’s over here.” She reached under the tree and grabbed a somewhat lumpy, squishy package. When Ray unwrapped it, he found a pink and black striped scarf. “I knitted it myself.” Violet admitted bashfully. “I thought you might like something homemade, but now I feel bad, because you spent so much money on my gift, and I really didn’t spend any on yours…”

“You made this all by yourself? For me?” He smiled fondly at the scarf before unfolding it and eagerly putting it around his neck. 

“Yeah, I did.” She blushed.

He turned to her. “But you’ve been so busy lately! With the outline of your new novel, and the script revisions for the new movie they're gonna make based on your last book, where did you find the time?”

“Honey, I made time. It was important.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “No one has ever done anything like this for me in my whole life. Thank you.”

Violet smiled, hugging him back and smiling softly. “You’re welcome, Ray. I love you. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Violet. I love you, so much.” 

 -

The next day, Ray and Violet went with her parents to visit her grandmother, a white-haired old British woman, who reminded them that it was Boxing Day by pointing out the sweater covered with little gift boxes she was wearing - “It’s my Boxing Day sweater, see the boxes?” - and had even more cookies for them to eat. It was the first day that they had to get dressed up, and Ray’s usual outfit of a sweater vest, button-up shirt, and khakis (which for the holiday were red, maroon, and gray, respectively) was not dissimilar from the one Violet’s grandmother’s boyfriend wore. They spent the day in pleasant conversation, and after they left in the afternoon it was time for them to start the four hour drive back to Manhattan. Once they were back Ray stopped briefly at the house to drop Violet off before immediately returning to the firehouse. 

“Thanks again for letting me take an extra day off, guys.” he told the others.

“Hey, don’t mention it.” Winston said. “We didn’t get that many calls over Christmas anyway, and you’ve got at least 100 days of vacation saved up after not taking any for the four years this company has existed. How was your holiday?” 

Ray smiled fondly. “I think it’s the best one I’ve had in years.”

[drippingsunflwrs]

Is that SOLEDAD  YILDAZ that I see over there? You know they have quite the reputation of being the THE SWEETHEART around town. The 28 year old has been around these parts for  2 YEARS  and within that timeframe has landed themselves a job as a/an BARISTA AT ONCE UPON A TART while living in CHESTNUT APARTMENTS I overheard that they can be quite STUBBORN but their saving grace is that they are KIND HEARTED. They remind me of  COFFEE RINGS ON A WOODEN TABLE, SUNSHINE MIXED WITH A LITTLE HURRICANE, AND LEATHER-BOUND BOOKS but you’ll have to decide that for yourself. 

tw: death mention, bullying mention

Soledad was born to two loving parents, both of who adored their daughter with everything they had. She was the only child of Carmen and Ömer Yildiz. Shortly after her arrival into this world, the Yildiz’s moved from Turkey to Boston, Massachusetts, when her father got the opportunity for an excellent traveling salesman position and the move had been planned for a while now.

Growing up, Soledad was a happy child at home. She was so infectious with her laughter and smile that her family quickly nicknamed her “Sol,” and the name was one she fell in love with from a young age.  She tried her hardest to live up to it every day.

Despite the loving household Sol had, things at school were different for her. For some reason, one Sol couldn’t seem to understand, the kids in her grade always looked at her funny. The girls never wanted to talk to her about anything, no-one made an effort to sit with her at lunch, during gym she would always get picked last, and her locker usually had some sort of goop or slime smeared on it as ‘the prank of the day.’

She found her escape in books. One day she picked up a copy of ‘Harry Potter’ and the brunette was hooked since. It wasn’t long before she was trying to read as many books as possible, from all different genres.  Thanks to her books, the older she got, the tougher her shell began to get towards the world around her.

Her real escape came when she left Boston to attend university at NYU. She chose to take the business path like her father. Starting her second year of school, she met someone and the pair dated for just shy of one year. They was her first love, first one (and only) to have ever slept with,  and heartbreak. During her third year at school, her mother ended up passing due to complications with heart surgery. She was devastated and kept to herself even more than ever. It wasn’t long before her relationship came to an end, closing her happily ever after, though she used the sadness she felt towards motivating herself to study harder.

With a lot of hard work, she ended up graduating top of her class. After graduation Sol took some time to travel around Europe for a bit. She did some backpacking and in her adventures met many lovely, and not so lovely, people along the way. She went to places like Paris, Peru, Japan, China, Egypt, Prague,  but her biggest dream has always been London. For some reason or another she just can’t seem to get there.  

Now, a bit new(ish) (2yrs) to Ravenswood, Vermont, Sol is ready to make her mark in the town and the small business. She always tries to show up with a smile on her face and a bright personality.

She can come off as shy at time but once you get past her shell she is extremely friendly and always ready to talk your ear off about her newest book she’s reading.

fun facts:

she may not be too outspoken about it, but she is a gamer.

loves music, late night talks, and laughing

she is always ready to lend a helping hand or shoulder to lean on

she will keep your secret and take it to the grave

her favorite customer is (wc) and she often tries to have their cup of coffee always ready for them when they makes their daily visit to once upon a tart. .

she has made (wc) her unofficial roommate as she has given them a key they can freely use to enter her home whenever htheye needs it. she’s used to them coming over needing to be stitched up, fed, or just wanting to hang out. all in all she cares about them.

[jodilinbio]

James and Charlotte were good friends of my parents. I liked them, along with their daughter Shelley, who was a lesbian. Another couple close to our family was Goldie and Al, and I liked them as well.

Richard and Beatrice, who were beach friends of my folks, owned an ice skating rink in Windsor, Connecticut where I took some lessons. I didn’t see much of Dick, but I remember Bea as being one of the phoniest people I ever met, similar to my Aunt Ruth, though they didn’t look alike.

I rarely saw my cousins Norma and Milton. They seemed nice enough, though.

Cousins Max and Dorothy were a different story. I had mixed feelings about them. They were very generous, giving me money for my big cross-country move later on in life, but they had their faults, too. After I moved, I found out that they regularly visited Tammy, even though she lived over an hour away from them. Yet, when I lived just ten minutes away, they never came to see me. I understood why, though—it was due to the “crazy” label my mother had worked so hard to stick on me.

What really bothered me was how Dorothy, nicknamed Boo, reacted to something I once told her. She and Max were driving me home one day after visiting my father at his friends’ house in Brimfield, Massachusetts. When she asked how I was getting along with my mother, I told her the truth, which wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“I love my cousin Doe! She works so hard! How could you cut her down like that?” she demanded.

Hey, she asked!

Regarding my health, my physical challenges as of the very early 2000s include being deaf in my left ear which is deformed, ADHD, asthma, and allergies.

ADHD just means you’re hyper, often have trouble sleeping, and sometimes struggle to concentrate. That’s all it means. However, my mother tried to brainwash me into believing I had a severe chemical imbalance and needed medication for life simply because I was energetic, a bit eccentric, and saw the world differently. Maybe the doctors brainwashed her too; I’ll never know for sure. But this was a time when people preferred to label certain traits and prescribe pills, rather than accepting the person as they were or addressing the real root of the problem.

My mother nearly miscarried me, so she was given an estrogen drug (DES) which they believed back then would help. Later, they discovered it could cause cervical cancer in DES daughters and increase the risk of infertility. I don’t know if I’m sterile because of this drug or for another reason. I might not be sterile at all, just not meant to have kids (I possibly had an early miscarriage in the late ’90s). Despite deciding I didn’t want kids in the end, somehow I knew this would be the case since I was a little girl. This was part of my prominent sixth sense, which didn’t fully develop until I was in my twenties.

In the ’70s, I had fifteen plastic surgeries in Boston to build an outer ear. The results were disappointing; it never looked natural, and twenty years later, it brought me problems. Persistent sensitivity within the frame led me to a doctor, resulting in two surgeries to dismantle the frame and have a canal drilled. The hearing I gained in that ear is next to nothing.

I was amazed at how I could be in and out of the hospital on the same day for two operations in Arizona in 1994, yet had to stay for two days for each of the many reconstructive surgeries I had in Boston. In Phoenix, they just bandaged the area. Back in the ’70s, my entire head was covered in bandages, except for my face and a small area at the crown of my head where my hair was tied in a ponytail. The part under my neck was the worst—it itched terribly, and I had to wear the bandages for weeks.

The only other physical issues I can recall are being hospitalized for a couple of weeks with pneumonia when I was around nine, and falling off my bike and needing many stitches in my chin when I was about twelve.

They say our health declines with age, yet I’ve been much healthier in my thirties than I was in my twenties, especially considering how I struggled to breathe throughout most of my twenties. Luckily I quit smoking when I was 31.

I grew up in a small affluent town in Massachusetts, just outside Springfield. The Connecticut state line was only minutes away. We lived in a two-story, four-bedroom house with a large backyard, built while my mother was pregnant with me. I had a little playroom in the cellar until my paternal grandmother came to live with us. She had lived in California, but after her second husband died and she had a stroke, she moved in with us. She lived in the finished cellar since it had a bathroom and shower stall she could use. My new playroom became one of the bedrooms since Larry and Tammy were out of the house before I was even ten years old. For the most part, I felt like an only child, and believe me, there were plenty of times when I wished I truly was.

Next door, my maternal grandparents lived in a two-bedroom ranch.

I won’t sugarcoat my childhood. Sadly, the only fond memories I have are of birthdays and holidays, but even those could be shaky. Being with family was often stressful for me. It made me very uncomfortable—I always felt like an outcast, walking on eggshells, and unable to be myself, especially around my mother and sister.

When I was in grade school, Chanukah get-togethers could be fun. We’d go next door to Nana and Pa’s, and they’d dump a bunch of coins on the cellar floor for the youngest kids to gather up.

I looked forward to getting new records and was into TV shows like Charlie’s Angels and The Bionic Woman.

The most unpleasant preteen experiences were school-related, which would become mother-related. Yes, my mother’s wrath could be scary, and my dad didn’t do much to step in and defend us kids. Though there was physical abuse, there wasn’t as much of that as there was verbal and emotional abuse. She would strip my room of the things I treasured most (my little Victrola was always at the top of her list) when I’d do poorly in school, which usually left me thoroughly depressed. Sometimes just going home with a bad report card was quite a task. My heart would pound with anxiety every step of the way, knowing I was probably going to get hit or punished, or both.

Despite my father being more passive, he did most of the hitting. I remember waking up terrified one night as a child to the sounds of my father beating Larry or Tammy with his belt. Once, my mother even came in to comfort me while she allowed it to go on.

But they stuck together no matter what. If one of my parents had killed one of us, the other would still stand by them, never mentioning it, forever acting as if it never happened. In a town like Longmeadow in the ’70s, they’d have gotten away with it too.

My father once went to attack Larry during a Passover feast next door at Nana and Pa’s house when Pa jumped up and shouted, “Not in my house!”

“I’m going to call DYS!” should’ve been more like it.

A teacher hit me once as well. It was only on the rump, but it was still wrong. To me, violence is violence, whether it’s a little slap or a major beating. No one should hit anyone unless it’s in self-defense. I believe that hitting kids usually leads to aggressiveness. My mother brainwashed me into believing it was an act of love. She’d tell me she did it because she loved me. I thought it was normal for parents to hit their kids, so for a time, I believed that when I had a problem with someone, like a classmate, hitting them was the proper thing to do, and I usually did.

Because Tammy was eight years older than me, I was often left alone with her. That was rather terrible since she was so much like my mother. Tall and wide, it was often said that she was jealous of me. Not just because I was small, but because of the things I’d later be able to do that she couldn’t. She felt stupid and ugly compared to me, so I heard, but personally, I wouldn’t have cared what she looked like or what her IQ was if she had only been less of a monster. While her jealousy was frustrating to deal with and sometimes embarrassing when she’d pick on me in front of others, I felt more sorry for her than angry. This is because, while Tammy may have had nice eyes and wasn’t the dumbest person alive, she was still quite homely-looking and lacked any real skills or talent.