#it is still so different on my phone maybe its my settings - if its not tell me gently

[firstprinced]

[bigwishes]

Embarrassed?

Tom sat there staring down at his phone, typing like his life depended on it.

"if this is true I will literally trade anything to get bigger, you can make me a dumb jock, make my dick small, Ill even take being a walking joke, you can take anything you like so long as I can get huge!"

He had stumbled upon a site called "give'n'take" which was claiming that it would allow him to trade something he currently has for something he wanted. He had seen claims from guys claiming to of turned into their dream self over night by giving up something that they never really liked about themselves anyway.

But it was Hard for Tom to pick something he wanted to give up, he had almost won the genetic lottery in his eyes. A fat nine inches down stairs, 6.5ft tall, a good amount of body hair, not enough to be annoying but enough to drive guys wild. Everything had made him a walking stud that oozed confidence with every step. All but one thing that is. Tom had loved bodybuilding ever since he could remember, he loved the look of huge guys and he loved the idea of being one, but on his 23rd birthday he looked in the mirror and saw after years of work he looked nothing like a bodybuilder. sure he had some size but there was no real mass. He just looked like a guy who played sport on the weekend. He wanted to be so much bigger. He got hard imagining himself being the guy who had to turn sideways to get through a door or who rocked up to a house party in gym shorts and an XXL stringer tank top that clung to him like it was about to snap. Unfortunately his height was against him, his long muscle fibers took ages to develop and when they did it was so evenly spread out it didn't look like he had done anything at all.

He'd do anything to be bigger, he'd be happy with anything taken away so long as he was huge. So he left the choice up to the people behind the screen.

---

The next morning Tom woke up and instantly felt strange, he felt off balance some how like his body had gone up 30 pounds over night and when he got up and looked in the mirror he realised...it had.

"HOLY SHIT" Tom yelled out into his empty apartment.

His body had beefed up and become more defined without any more work. He couldn't worship himself for long though as he instantly began investigating to see what had been taken, but it didn't appear like anything was missing at all.

He was still packing, he hadn't shrunk in fact he might of even gained an inch or two and he didn't have any issues remembering anything from his engineering degree or any day to day stuff. The thought crossed his mind that maybe they had forgotten to take something, or maybe because he wanted to be big so badly they cut him a break.

Tom's worries melted away as he smiled and flexed his newly enhanced biceps.

"mmm, not as huge as I was hoping for but I'll keep working on it"

Tom picked up his gym bag and decided to head out to see what his new size could do, and to stick to the habit, he didn't want all this new size to make him forget to work out and end up losing it all in a few months.

Tom arrived at the gym and changed into his workout gear but he looked and felt different was he...bigger? nah, he thought to himself, its just him getting used to being this big although as he stared at his new size in his reflection a new thought entered his mind.

"Maybe this tank top is too tight...I probably shouldn't be such a show off and buy some looser clothes to cover up"

He shook his head and decided to think about it when he got home, right now he just wanted to see how strong he had gotten.

As Tom worked out something weird was happening, he knew how to exhaust his muscle, he new how to overload the weight and really make it feel like work but as he added weight with each set it felt just as easy as the last.

He'd occasionally see his reflection in the mirror wall and he looked like he was getting even bigger, and his tank top felt even tighter than before. Surely it was just the pump he thought to himself as he continued to lift and push his body.

He sat down at the cable row and put the pin almost at the bottom of all the plates, surely this would be a struggle for him. Tom leant back and pulled when suddenly.

Cutcshhhhhhh!

the sound of ripping fabric rung out in his ear as he felt the shoulder strap snap and felt the fabric split across his back.

"aw shit" Tom said as he stood up and took of his shirt.

Immediately he saw his reflection in the mirror, he looked huge. His muscles bulging he couldn't help but pull his gym shorts up and flex, this is what he wanted to be an absolute tank...

but, everyone probably thought he was a dickhead flexing outside of the changing room, he thought to himself. He started to wonder if he was that guy now, the guy who'd workout shirtless and annoy everyone in the gym.

He noticed a few dudes looking at him like they were waiting to get on the machine. His face turned a slight pink on his cheeks and he was flushed with embarrassment.

"oh s-sorry" Tom stuttered as he quickly tried to move out the way

Originally he thought he'd just move on to the next exercise but he realised he was shirtless and bolted for the changing room. Once inside he gazed at his reflection again.

"maybe...I shoulda asked to be just a little smaller, fuck now I gotta walk outta here shirtless"

Tom couldn't get a grip and didn't no what had come over him. He had never felt a shred of embarrassment in his life but now he was worried what people would think about him being shirtless in the gym.

The changing room was empty and Tom took the time for a few more poses before he was gonna make a run for the exit. He flexed his arms as hard as he could and felt the blood rushing into the muscle, but it was strange, the muscle wasn't just pumped up, it was like it was still pumping up. He tilted his head and watch in the mirror, slowly but surely his shoulders and arms were expanding, his chest was filling with mass and size. He saw his already huge legs slowly expanding out into colossal pillars as they stretched his shorts. He could hear the fabric starting to strain and quickly bend down to get his gym bag.

The moment he leant over he heard the changing room echo with a large tearing sound as he felt the tightness relieve across his ass. Tom's face turned bright red as he quickly reaches around to make sure it was just the shorts he had split and not his underwear.

He let out a sigh of relief as he felt his underwear was still in tact, he stood up and took a step hearing has his massive thighs tore and split his shorts with just one step. He was almost at the door when he saw his hulking figure in the mirror.

He stood frozen admiring his huge body, he flexed his entire body at once loving how huge he had become, he noticed his underwear was straining and the fabric was starting to become see through and then he remembered....he had to walk through the gym like this to get out....

A wave of embarrassment washed over him, everyone was gonna be staring at him

Tom quickly grabbed his bag and made a break for it through the busy gym. He had hoped to run but his body was so big that was almost an impossible task, so jogging was next but even just a slight jog left him out of breath and gasping for air. By the time he reached the door he had multiple people staring at him confused as he was huffing and puffing like he had just run a marathon.

He swung open the door to the gym and bumped between two guys that were on their way in. Tom tried to apologise but the only noises that came out were him gasping for air and trying to catch his breath. He flashed a quick apology wave as he climbed into his car which was luckily parked right in front of the entrance.

Tom looked down trying to slow his breathing and catch his breath when he noticed his huge hard on. His dick was like steel, the thought of everyone staring at him....judging him....

Tom started his car trying to ignore it but he heard the two guys he had just bumped into talking, muffled by his window.

"bro did you see that guy, there is just a thing as too big"

Hearing those worse Tom felt a swirl of shame and embarrassment swell in his stomach and work its way to his pelvis as he started taking deep and slow breaths.

"I know right dude, and the way he was so out of breath just walking through the gym, and working out in his underwear? what a loser"

the two men walking into the gym laughing as the door shut behind them

The words echoed in Tom's ears, he couldn't help it, he gripped his steering wheel so tight he thought he was going to break it, he bit his lip and closed his eyes as his dick began to twitch and erupt. Tom let out a pathetic moan as he looked down to see not just his underwear soaked but his car seat and thighs caked in cum.

Tom looked into his rear view mirror, his head, traps and shoulders completely blocking the view, his face was flush as he felt more embarrassed than ever before in his life, He started his car and quickly reversed out.

"god...I'm such..."

His dick instantly got hard again.

"fuck, I'm so big....I'm...too big"

Tom started panting as he drove out of the parking lot.

"I'm a fucking big, freakish, loserrrr--eerruuuuughh!!"

Tom couldn't help unload himself into his underwear and over his car seat thinking about how pathetic he was...

Well...he did say he was happy for them to take anything, His confidence seemed like a fair price.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Creepy Bunny Hybrid

After a criminal conviction, the claimed hybrid shelter responsible for sourcing most of the beloved species of hybrid is set to shut down

It’s employees pleading with the public to take in their hybrids who’d be otherwise left on the street

Enough for your parents, who you’ve come to live with, to worry

While they were undecided about the morality of owning hybrids

Humanoids with some animal features

They were determined to be helpful 

whether they truly felt such justice or enjoyed the good samaritan role they’d take in a low-maintenance hybrid

A White rabbit with crimson eyes 

In your opinion one of the more beloved species that would’ve found a home somehow but you couldn’t complain

“Welcome Hori! We hope you can find a home with us!”

“Yeah make yourself at home. Don’t mind our kids they’ll be happy to explain anything you need.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Come come I have to show you all the cool things I have!”

Your family takes to him like metals to magnets 

Hovering near him and waiting on him like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread

But he’s just so incredibly…quiet

Not just because he doesn’t speak unless spoken to 

But because he just doesn’t move

You’ve peaked at him sitting in the living room on a chair with no book, no TV on, windows closed, no music playing

What kind of bunny sits in the dark and does nothing

His large red eyes are huge, his ears incredibly long and upright

Skin  so pale, he could pass as the undead

Hori won’t even eat like other bunny hybrids

When your parents first gushed over his photo too many evenings were spent looking up what a bunny hybrid would need

Vegetables, fruits, bunny-hybrid pellets were what they filled the cabinets and fridge with

But he ate none of that 

Barely nibbling when your brother excitedly presented the spread

“This looks…good.”

Barely a quarter of the plate was gone

Before he claimed he was stuffed

The second your family slipped up though and handed him a plate full of steak 

he left nothing on the plate

“I thought bunnies weren’t omnivores?”

“...Maybe the original animal doesn’t but I am a hybrid. Things are…different.”

“Yeah (Y/n), things are different! Stop bullying Hori!”

It oddly feels like Hori is not all he seems 

Constantly seeking out hotdogs over the fruit you offer

Or spending unusual amounts of time staring at the passing neighbors

Or coming home at unspeakably late hours

But every time you tried to bring this up your family would scorn you

Writing off your observations as you being nitpicky

Or even jealous of the newest member of the family

“Just know (Y/n) you still hold a special place in our hearts.”

“Yeah no need to whine, we won’t forget you.”

“Just don’t take it out on Hori he’s been through so much.”

So you settle to avoid him

Just let him be in his parts of the house and you in yours 

But that doesn’t seem to work with his edition

“(Y/n)...will you accompany me on the grocery run?”

“I thought my older sib was taking you?”

“Originally…but I’d like for you to take me!”

“Uh…”

“Come on (Y/n)! Take this time to bond with Hori! Maybe you’ll find something’s in common between you two.”

It’s annoying that he insists on doing things with you

But it’s just some things

And of course, because he’s so creepily quiet it almost feels like you’re by yourself

It just gets worse

“I want to sleep with you, (Y/n).”

It was way past midnight and Hori was above you 

Caging you between his arms as he practically laid above you 

There was blood around his mouth and if you had the space you’d check over you body for a wound

“W-wh-what?!”

“Hori? (Y/n)? Please?!”

“T-t-that’s not even a real sentence! Please get off me!”

Once he does reluctantly give you space

You flick on a lamp or use your phone’s light to light the room

Hori’s hair is much longer, flowing past his tail 

Which was no longer a small puff ball now bloomed into something larger

His ears were incredibly long and twitching as though it was filled with joints of its own

His teeth seemed like they had no end, just rows and rows of spiny teeth all coated with the gunk and gooey mess of a carnivore’s meal

“All that blood?!”

He licks an abnormally long tongue around his mouth

“The left-of-overs from dinner.”

“Dinner was hours ago!”

“Not your dinner my dinner.”

The implication made your stomach twist

“Uh was it good?”

“Very. Now, sleep with you?”

You hoped he’d forget but if only to get some semblance of control and maybe be able to fall back asleep 

You relent

“Fine, but I’m not going to share my blanket…you’re a lot bigger than before.”

“It's okay those covers are not the heat I am after.”

You decided not to comment on it, wrapping yourself in your comforter

Letting Hori’s much larger limbs wrap around you tightly

This creepy bunny continued to surprise you

You could only hope that you’d figure him out soon 

Or your family might be the one to pay the price

[goatmilksoda]

Thinking about that one post about wearing 365 slightly different colored shirts so it looks like you're wearing almost the same one every day but in photos taken weeks/months apart, it's totally different because with the rate of technology, that's how the last 10-15 years has felt.

[youreverydayfangirl]

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

pairing: max verstappen x singer reader

summary: the one where she's gone radio silent, everyone settles down and someone begins to plot revenge

warning: online hate, mentions of cheating

a/n: i thought i should switch between real life and online so i could feed you guys more

face claim: sabrina carpenter

f1 masterlist

main masterilst

series masterlist

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm and 18 others

y/nsprivate healing with my girls

tagged: thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospamm

thatoneartgirlalex what are friends for???

-> y/nsprivate I THOUGH JUST BEING HOT TBH

keekslikestospammmm and you better get your cute but downstairs cause we're going out

-> y/nsprivate OKAYY GIVE ME TWO SECONDS

leosfather GO QUEEN

-> y/nsprivate alex is training you i see

livbereallydumb SMASH SMASH SMASH

-> y/nsprivate me whenever i see you

itssabrinaaa YOU DON'T NEED NO TINY DICK MAN AND SKANKY FRIEND

-> y/nsprivate 😭😭😭

________________

Y/n felt a small smile creep up across her face as she went to turn off her phone. She looked up at the warm sun which had begun to set, casting a golden glow along the beach infront of her. The peaceful quiet of the beach was a sharp contrast to the chaos and heartache she had left behind. Still, it had been hard to stay in the moment and she often found her mind drifting back to everything that had happened. Something that seemed to play over and over in her head. Although it seemed everyone else had moved on.

She'd barely touched her phone, forced to reinvent herself and tune out what others had kept saying about her. The whispers, the hate and the betrayal had gone with a swipe of her finger. But the sting of it lingered, a wound that refused to heal.

She quickly grabbed her stuff and shoved it in the bag which lay beside her feet as her mind went to the two girls who were currently waiting in the lobby. They had been rocks for her through this whole ordeal. The trip was supposed to be a fresh start for y/n, a place to forget, but somethings weren't so easily buried.

Y/n hadn't been able to fully trust anyone since exbsf had turned her life upside down. The breakup, the voice recording, it was all too perfect.

Revenge is what had kept circling through Y/ns mind over the past few months. A lot of people had hurt her, turned against her, but their was one person specifically that Y/n kept thinking about. Maybe she wasn’t healing just yet. Maybe she was plotting her rise.

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm and 18 others

y/nsprivate not even sad anymore guys, just really mad tbh

tagged: thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospamm

thatoneartgirlalex AND AS YOU SHOULD YOU CLOCK EM

-> y/nsprivate you know i will

keekslikestospamm NEW SONG YOU BETTER SHOW US SOON

-> y/nsprivate trust me i will

________________

Y/n found her self sitting infront of the piano for the first time since everything had come out. She hadn't wanted to, because that would mean that it was real.

But after pushing from both Alex and Kika, the girl finally felt like she was in a spot were she could poor out her feelings. But something felt different this time, she had never felt this angry before.

She sat at her desk, the sunset infront of her casted a shadow across her face. Her notebook was open, was scribbled sharply expressing her inner turmoil. She tapped her pen on her desk, staring at the page infront of her, one line sticking out specifically.

All I think about is karma.

exbsf & landonorris have posted

liked by landonorris, f1gossip and 1, 432, 749 others

exbsf 6 months with you <3

tagged: landonorris

landonorris my gorgeous girl

-> exbsf your too cute

user1 I CANT BELIEVE THEYVE BEEN TOGETHER FOR 6 MONTHS OMG

user2 parents frfr

liked by creator

user3 pov its been 5 months since y/n disappeared 😭

-> user4 GOOD RIDDANCE

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm and 18 others

y/nsprivate smiling more

tagged: thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm

thatoneartgirlalex and happy to see it

-> y/nsprivate stop i love you so much

keekslikestospammmm i can still through hands though right?

-> y/nsprivate KEEKS NO

leosfather as your honorary big brother i could not be prouder to see how much you've grown as a person

-> y/nsprivate CHARLIE STOP

livbereallydumb I JUST WANNA GIVE YOU A BIG HUG

-> y/nsprivate you saw me yesterday....

itssabrinaaa livbereallydumb wanna come to portofino with me for no specific reason

-> livbereallydumb already on the flight babes

-> y/nsprivate YOU GUYS BETTER NOT BE KIDDING RIGHT NOW ASSHHH

-> itssabrinaaa SUPRISE

-> livbereallydumb we wanted to make it a bigger thing then realised we dont really know where to go and we dont speak italian

-> itssabrinaaa didnt think that one through 100%

-> y/nsprivate 😭😭😭

TWO WEEKS LATER

________________

im trying to make the parts longer cause i feel like there too short

also do you guys like the switch i feel like i wanna give you guys more than just short SMAU chpaters

_________________

@lyannesworld

@pippyth3hippy

@scorpiomindfuck

@syddddddddddddd

@paigem00

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@lilsiz

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@midnights-lily

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@exotic-iris13

@stereading

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@meow-143

[sp00kymulderr]

Boop me once...

Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. blue balls, grumpy Joel, horny Joel, Joel hates tumblr confirmed, pussy slapping, they're in love btw, reader could never be any of us ignoring Joel like this but lets pretend for fun. um idk guys. Thank boopoween for the inspo i guess. Unedited, unbeta'd all mistakes my own and there's probably a lot.

Words: 1.3k

It had started with a boop.

Well, a message from your friend telling you boops were back.

You and Joel were lying in bed, putting off the start of the day for another few minutes before you'd have to get up and going. He was always clingy in the mornings, and this morning was no different as he snuggled up behind you whilst you scrolled your phone.

"Mm…feels nice" you murmur when his lips lightly press against your shoulder, and then you squirm and push back against him when he does it again where your shoulder meets your neck.

"You feel nice" Joel whispers in your ear, hand travelling south and grabbing a handful of your ass.

You giggle softly, only to be cut short in what you were about to say in response when a notification pops up on your phone, a message on your favourite social media site.

'Turn your boop counter on!!'

Joels hand is still massaging the flesh of your ass while you're immediately opening up your app, an giddy gasp leaving you when you see the return of the iconic boops

"Getting excited, baby?" He laughs gruffly at your gasp, but your response certainly isn't what he's expecting.

"Tumblr turned boops back on!"

"…"

Joel looks at you like you're speaking a different language. Which you are, to him

"…What the hell is a tumblr?"

You just roll your eyes and shake your head before turning back attention to your phone with a giddy glint in your eye, "Don't worry about it, old man" you tease and he grumbles something under his breath as his lips make contact with your neck again.

You aren't paying so much attention now though, and Joel nips at your skin to bring you back to him.

You giggle but still you're on your phone, he peers down at the screen and sees kitty paws popping up, and he feels even more perplexed.

"Not got long, honey. Put the phone down, yeah?" He says, making it sound more like a command than a request.

"Hm?" You respond, half-listening "Give me one minute…just…"

Joel sighs. Looks at the clock, and watches the minute tick by. His fingers rub absentminded on your skin and if you turned your head, you'd see his lips forming the beginnings of a pout, an expression usually left to you when he teases you.

By the time you put your phone down, there's no real time at all. You turn to kiss him and Joel reciprocates but barely.

"Gotta get up, got a job on site today" he says as he pulls away.

And that's that. Morning ruined.

A dark cloud hangs over Joel most of the day. He curses this tumblr thing, and boops or whatever the fuck you were on about. He grumbles to Tommy the whole morning, and harrumphs around in the afternoon working in the garage.

He's still fucking horny, but he's too stubborn to just jerk off and call it a day. Oh no, he's gotta get his own back on you now.

"Hey handsome!" You call when you return home for the day, peeking your head into the garage and, okay, Joel lights up maybe just a little bit. Just a tiny bit.

"Hey darlin" He says, giving you a smile that has a glint of annoyance to it. You don't notice, phone still in hand, a string of notifications popping up on your screen as you speak to him.

"How was your day?" He asks, setting his tools down and coming around the garage to you.

"Oh, good. Didn't get much done, just booping"

"Just boopin'. Right…"

You don't see the angry tick of his jaw as you lean up to him and give him a cheeky little smile before going in for a kiss. He can't resist, of course not. He never could when its you.

But when you pull away, a happy sigh leaving your lips, you raise your finger and poke his nose with a "Boop!"

Joel loses it then; the press of your finger to his nose, the 'boop!' in that stupid, lilting tone. He's had enough. He's already frustrated from being left with blue balls this morning, so now he's annoyed and horny.

"I swear to god!" He grumbles, pointing an accusing finger at you

"W-what?" You asks, face a picture of surprise at his sudden outburst.

"This fuckin' boop thing! It's ridiculous, i've goddam had it"

"It's just…it's just a tumblr thing"

"I don't know what that means, and I don't wanna"

You can't deny his angry tone and the wild look in his eyes is making your cunt throb. You keep up your perplexed, innocent look as he goes on about it; about how he didn't get quality time with his girl this morning, how he'd been left aching all day and did you even care?!

"Joel, I'm s-" you start, holding your hand on his chest, a show of apology because you really hadn't meant to make him feel that way. He looks down at you, eyes dark and stormy and finds the fire in your own.

"You like boopin' so damn much, huh?" He practically growls out. Your clit jumps in excitement at the rumbling tone.

You nod dumbly.

"Well I'm gonna boop you til you fuckin' cry"

You figure he's not talking about a poke to your nose when he grabs you and hauls you down to the couch, you squeal excitedly, phone dropped to the floor as you eagerly help him pull of your clothes in a fit of rage…passion…determination…you can't quite pinpoint it but you're certainly not complaining about it.

"What happens on that little app of yours when you boop?" Joel asks, looking down between your legs while he kneels between your ankles, big hands holding them tight.

"It's…it's like…" You breath is a little ragged. He can easily tell you're already wet through your underwear "It's a paw that sort of…smacks?" you try to explain.

"Yeah?" Joel nods, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. His hand reaches out like a flash, and a slap lands on your clothed pussy making you yelp.

"Joel!" you whine, the yell of surprise quickly turning to a moan, clit twitching and pussy clenching around nothing.

"Something like that, you think?" He asks, before he does it again.

Your mouth hangs open slack, eyes flutter closed as you let the sensation envelop you.

"Yeah, uhm, yeah, i think so…maybe, uhm, do it again to make sure?" you whisper, biting down on your bottom lip to suppress the desperate whine clawing up your throat.

He chuckles darkly, pulse quickening as he takes in your expression while he takes his sweet time pulling your underwear down, kissing your ankles before he tugs it all the way off and throws it to the floor. Your cunt is glistening, beautiful, mesmerising enough that he almost forgets he was ever annoyed to begin with.

Then your forgotten phone pings, muffled by the lacy fabric fallen on top of it, and Joel gives you a wicked smile.

A quick succession of slaps to your bare pussy have you crying out, and then squirming as he sooths the sting with gentle touches to your folds, parting them and massaging lightly with his thumbs.

"You still like boopin'?" He asks softly now, a thumb circling your clit and making you arch in delicious pleasure again.

"Mmm" is about all you manage. He's leaning over you now, crowding you and pressing you into the soft cushion of the couch. His jeans-covered bulge rubs against your aching pussy and you just nod, and nod and nod.

"Tell me, baby"

"Yeah. Yeah. Like it" You smile soft up at him, eyes wide and reverent, fingers gripping at his strong back, around to his soft stomach, down to the button of his jeans, "Like your version better, f-fuck tumblr, fuck those kitty paws"

He gives a wolfish grin, anticipation glittering in his dark eyes.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet"

[arieslost]

fireproofs | ln4

summary: lando norris is hot and the 2024 fireproofs drive you crazy.

word count: 756

warnings: suggestive comments

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

you’ve been grateful to mclaren for many things over the years, but aside from a fast car, this has to be the best gift they’ve bestowed upon you.

you don’t think it’s an exaggeration when you say that your jaw unhinged the first time you saw lando wearing the new black fireproofs that mclaren has him and oscar in for the 2024 season. he’d sent you pictures, along with a text saying, “what do you think? 👀”

you’d responded with “yeah, not bad” and subsequently spent the next half hour screaming into your pillow. you were able to save face over text, but now that testing is here, you’re a lost cause.

you’d seen lando in black fireproofs before, but something about this year is different. something about him is different. he’s more confident, more determined, and he somehow managed to fill out even more during winter break.

lando had felt bad for mclaren’s car launch sabotaging your valentine’s day, so while you were in the middle of insisting that it wasn’t a big deal, he was booking you a plane ticket to join him in bahrain for the grand prix and testing the week before.

so now, you’re twiddling your thumbs as you sit in your boyfriend’s driver room, both anxious to see him before his testing session begins and hoping he’ll be occupied on the pit wall for just a little longer so you can figure out how to keep your composure once he changes into his race suit.

“you’re still here?” it comes out like half an exclamation and half a question as lando slips into the room.

“you haven’t even gone out on the track, of course i’m still here,” you giggle when he pulls you into his arms and starts pressing kisses all over your face. “i can’t wait to see you put the car through its paces. oscar looked pretty good out there.”

“i’d rather put you through your paces,” he mumbles in your ear, and you smack his shoulder.

“maybe later, if you’re not too tired.”

“i’m never too tired for you.” he winks and kisses your nose before turning to change.

you have no shame in ogling his ass out of the corner of your eye as he does so, but for the most part you’re looking at updates from the first session on your phone until he sits down next to you to put his shoes on.

those damn fireproofs.

they hug his body a little too nicely. the muscles in his chest, back, and arms are perfectly defined courtesy of the tight material. you can’t even think about his shoulder to waist ratio without feeling a little dizzy with desire.

“you’re drooling,” he teases as he stands back up, the both of you knowing damn well that he loves it when you stare at him.

“i can’t help it, you’re too hot.” you’ve never had a problem with telling him just how fine he is, especially because your praise always manages to make him blush and that just makes him impossibly more attractive.

“how am i supposed to let you leave this room?” you complain, wrapping your arms around his torso.

he buries his red face in your shoulder. “the sooner i leave, the sooner i come back and show you a good time.”

“i thought you were taking me out to dinner.”

“that’s what i was talking about,” his tone is dripping in faux innocence, and you know he’s messing with you when you feel him kiss your neck. “good to know where your priorities lie, though.”

you open your mouth to patronize him, but you’re cut off when he squeezes your hips, causing you to yelp. “you are impossible.”

“hmm, good thing you love me so much then.” you can hear his smile as he speaks, and you run your hands across his back, feeling every ridge of muscle through the material of the fireproofs.

your phone starts buzzing in your pocket— the alarm you’d set to remind yourself of when he needed to get in the car. “alright,” you reluctantly separate yourself from him, taking one last lingering look at his figure before he pulls the other half of his race suit on. “i’ll stay for an hour or two and meet you back at the hotel, okay?”

“what dress are you wearing tonight?” he asks as he holds the door open for you.

“the papaya one,” you smirk, and he groans, dragging a hand through his hair.

“you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

note: i wrote most of this at 2 am in a purely feral state and did the bare minimum in editing because i’m drowning in schoolwork so apologies if it’s a bit rough!! mclaren posted a 10 second video of lando and oscar walking around and that was all it took.

lowercase is intentional because i wrote entirely on mobile!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @emmma232 @lieswithoutfairytales @valisjustvaleria @bwormie @meribfox @xfuckoffx @rai-scutum @clara760-blog @reptaysgf @harryismysworld @caz-93 @positiveaspirations @satanfinalgirl @ln4lova @crazymofo-96 @x-d1vine @anedpev

[wilwheaton]

hello mr wil wheaton when you were my age (like exactly i think) you were filming stand by me

I turned 13 during production, so if you're about to become a teenager, I hope you'll let me offer some thoughts that I wish an adult had shared with me, then?

I know this is a wall of text, and giving someone this much of your attention is a HUGE ask. Maybe bookmark this for another time, if you're not into hearing an old man talk.

I wrote this a few days before I turned 50. Thank you in advance for listening, and I wish you a life filled with joy, unconditional love, kindness, and adventure.

Hey everyone! An old man is talking!

In seven days, I will be 50 years-old. This is ... weird. I do not feel the way I expected I would feel when I was approaching 50, nor do any of my friends. The only time I feel like I'm middle-aged is when my body does some bullshit that takes me down for hours because I had the nerve to stand up quickly. And I really hate it when I have to use the flashlight on my phone to see a menu. I mean, at that point, I may as well be dropping my pants for free and singing the Old Gray Mare.

Anyway. This has been on my mind for a little bit, so I had something to say when someone used my tumblr ask me thingy earlier this week:

Q: I hope I'm as cool as you when I'm 49. I'd like to think I'm taking the right steps towards that version of myself. A: So I'm not sure I'm cool, but I do know that I don't suck, and that it's a choice I make every day. I desperately wish someone in my family had told me, or shown me by example, that getting older doesn't mean getting stupid and boring and stuffy and extremely uncool. I wish I'd known that, because I spent all of my life until I was in my 40s feeling like there was this day coming very soon when I would have to stop listening to punk, stop playing video games, put on a suit, and start yelling at kids for no good reason. I didn't know that you don't have to suddenly stop being who you are and become something or someone you hate, just because of a certain age. I know that's super obvious, but to young me, it was not. My dad was an asshole, my mom never showed up for me. Directors and people on set had been treating me like a thing for my entire life. I got yelled at for no reason from adults who knew better almost every day. Most of my elementary school teachers were authoritarian, evangelical assholes. All of these different adults, consistently, shut me down and made me feel like I didn't matter, the things I liked were stupid, and my opinions were invalid because of reasons I didn't understand because I was a dumb kid. So I presumed that when you got to be a certain age, that's what happened. I didn't want to be that, at all, and I was sincerely afraid of the day it would happen. But as I got older, I discovered that all that stuff I hated about adults doesn't automatically happen. Those adults I just mentioned all made a choice to be an asshole. I just didn't know it. I was in my early 20s when I did a movie with a cinematographer who was, I think, 45 at the time. He was the coolest, kindest, most artistic dude I'd ever known. He mentored me and we had epic fun making great art together. I remember telling him, "I'm not afraid of being in my 40s like I used to be. I didn't know you could still be cool." It's sad, that I grew up in such a toxic environment, and didn't know any of these things. So, 9 days before I turn 50, here are a couple things I have figured out: You know who sucks when they hit 49 and 50? People who sucked when they were 20 and never grew up. You know who is an asshole at 49 and 50? Yep. Someone who was an asshole as a kid and never experienced consequences for being an asshole. Hitting middle age has been awesome for me. Other than the aging of my body and its reluctance / refusal to do what I want it to do, I love everything about it. I wish I hadn't spent so much of my life being afraid that, when I hit 50, it was all over. Because honestly it's kind of just starting. The coolest stuff in my life to date has all happened in the last ten years, and I'm so grateful that it coincided with me figuring out a lot of shit so I could enjoy it.

The best part of getting older, by several thousand light years, is the part where we figure out how to stop putting up with other people's bullshit, and we contract our social circle until it's only populated with a VERY few people who deserve us. And I am incredibly grateful for these occasional opportunities to be a 49 year-old dad who can say all the things that would have been reassuring for 19 year-old me to hear (he wouldn't have understood, but 29 year-old me would have remembered, and he would have understood. I think.) I sincerely hope someone hears it and finds it helpful. Anyway, you're gonna be fine. Just remember that being cool, kind, honest, honorable, reliable, listening and showing up … they are all choices. If you want to be cool when you're 49, make the choice and set the example for someone to follow you. Treat kids the way you wanted to be treated when you were young. Listen to them when they offer you the privilege, because that means they trust you, and you have credibility with them. Be a mentor. Be supportive. Show up. Make a choice to be the person you need in the world, and never stop being that person. Start today, and when you're nearing 50 like I am, hopefully you'll remember who you needed right now, so you can be that person to someone else in the future. You're already asking the right questions and taking the first steps. I believe in you. You've got this.

Okay, if you've come this far, perhaps you'll follow me a little bit more, and read a thing I wrote about talking to students just a tiny bit older than you, which contains my core values.

Be honest. I’m a very old man, relative to y’all, and I’ve learned that the only currency that really matters in this world is the truth.

Be honorable. This dovetails with number one. You attract to yourself what you put into the world. Dishonorable people will take everything from you and leave you with nothing. Do your best to be a person they aren’t attracted to.

Work hard. I don’t mean, like, at your crappy minimum wage job you hate. I mean do the hard work that makes relationships work, that gets you ahead in your education, that gets you closer to your goals. Everything worth doing is hard. Everything worth doing requires hard work. Sooner or later, you’re going to run into something in your life that’s really hard, and you’ll want to give up, but it’s something you care so much about, you’ll do whatever you can to achieve it. It’s going to be hard, but it’s going to be less hard for someone who has practiced doing the hard things all along, than it is for someone who doesn’t know how to do the hard work because they’ve always chosen the easy path.

Always do your best. Even if you don’t get the result you wanted, doing your best — which will vary from day to day, moment to moment — is all you can ever do. We tell athletes to leave it all on the field. Whatever your version of that is, do it.

This is the most important one. This is the one I hope you’ll all hear and embrace. This is the one I hope you’ll share with your peers: Always be kind.”

When I read number 5, I looked up at them. I was so happy to see a classroom filled with teenagers who were all listening intently, even the ones I thought had tuned me out. “Here’s the thing about being Kind, versus being Nice,” I said. “I have interacted with lots of nice people who are incredibly unkind. Why is that? How do you choose to be nice but not kind?”

I pointed to my head. “This is where nice comes from,” I said. Then, I put my hand over my heart. “This is where kind comes from.” I put my hands out, like, “get it?”

There was this collective gasp of realization that I did not expect, at all. One kid said “Oh damn!” I saw a few kids look at each other like the trick had just been explained to them. They heard me. They really, really heard me. And it was amazing.

Okay, that's all. If you're still here, thank you for giving me so much of your time and attention. I hope you'll come back in a few years, and let me know how you're doing.

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: some awkward moments but nothing crazy.

part 1 - Part two!!! - part 3 - part 4

—————-

You indeed did not see John price the next morning but what you did see was a handwritten note stuck to the fridge beneath a magnet.

“Good morning, as I mentioned my job is demanding. I’m not sure how long I'll be gone for but I can estimate at least a month. If you need me, my phone number is below along with my check for this month's rent and the next. - John price”

You reach for the envelope that is attached behind the note and pull it open and what the fuck. You knew he had to have money but in what world would someone pay this much rent for a house with a roommate? You immediately grab your own checkbook and write him for the amount that’s overpaid, making a mental note to make sure you give it to him.

————

Weeks pass slowly and life goes on as it did before. The only difference is you're no longer struggling to make ends meet. So to celebrate your success you order that 6 foot canvas you’d been wanting for ages and a new oil paint.

When you got the notification that it had arrived, thank god for two day shipping, you squealed and ran to grab it before the mailman even walked away. He offered to help you as he watched you give it a bear hug and waddle it through your door yelling out a meek ‘no Thankyou’. You dragged it down the hallway and into the sunroom resting it up against the wall. Ripping the clear plastic film off of new canvases comes in third place to the best things in life.

Sitting in the sun that evening you stroke deep blue oil paints that try their best to replicate ocean waters, and white specks that wish they could induce the same feelings stars do.

You’ve been at this same painting for 3 weeks, coming home and straight to it. Now that it’s finally done it sits sunbathing till it dries. You still visit it and admire its larger than life beauty.

John’s been gone for 1 month and 3 weeks now and in that time some problems have arisen, 1. The faucet in the kitchen leaks and below it the pipe also leaks and the only plumber that’s willing to drive out to your house and inspect it says he won’t be available for another week which means the water bill will sky rocketing till then. And 2. you have no idea where the huge painting will go.

You walk around wondering where to place it. You thought maybe the living room, or even in your room but after testing both those places it still didn’t look right. You can only think of one other place which is the hallway to John’s room. Of course that spot is perfect, maybe he wouldn’t notice since he only spent one night here. You grabbed the drill and got to work mounting it immediately. Once all was said and done you gave it a once over, smiled, snapped a picture of it to send to your sister and walked away.

———

John arrived back exactly at the two month mark early in the AM. He opened the house door as quietly as possible and removed his boots by the door to avoid the creaking wood of the floor and continued sluggishly hauling his bag to his room. Being the man he is, he notices everything, those watchful eyes of his never miss a detail so he does indeed notice and take a second to admire the newly found painting hung in front of his bedroom door before unlocking it to set his stuff down.

After a much needed and appreciated shower he reads the clock at 7AM thinking he can sleep for a little, that is of course until he hears a knock at the door. Making his way down the hall he peeps through the window and sees a handyman?

“Good morning sir, how can I help you?” He says opening the door.

“Good morning, your wife called for a leaking pipe, told her I’d come by sometime today.” He looks down the hall towards your room and confirms the fact that you're definitely still very well asleep.

“My wife? Oh yes my wife, that lady I could’ve sworn I told her to cancel this appointment we actually got it all sorted out.” He lies like it's second nature.

“I actually charge a late cancellation fee that must be paid upfront.” He inquires slightly annoyed.

“How much?” John replies feeling sorry for this man that drove out here and is now being sent away.

“100$ flat.” John shuts the door and quickly fetches his wallet from the pocket of his cargo pants and returns with two bills one for the inconvenience and sends the man on his way.

Sleep can wait.

—————

You wake up to the sound of clanking in the kitchen and as a woman that technically lives alone in the middle of the forest you're terrified.

Grabbing the bat beside your bed still fully dressed in the least threatening attire, you tiptoe to the source of the noise and breathe out the strongest sigh of relief ever known to man.

“Jesus Christ John you scared me, what’re you doing?” You loudly admit startling him in return.

“Fixing this pipe that you called an overpriced handyman for.” You stare at him subconsciously admiring the way he looks, slightly disheveled, face screwed in concentration and strong hands twisting the wrench in his hand and let’s not mention the rise of his shirt.

“You okay?” He says removing himself from under the sink leaning back on his knees to stare up at you.

“Yeah, yes I’m so sorry, um so where did the handy man go?” He stands with a grunt and leans his back against the counter.

“On his merry way.” He replies, turning around to turn the faucet on checking if it leaks, then off to see if it still drips and as he expects, it does neither.

“How much do I owe you for the late cancellation fee?” That man has handled your plumbing issues before and you’ve definitely canceled late more than once.

“Technically you didn’t cancel on him, I did so don’t worry.” He says picking his tools up off the ground placing them messily into the tool box.

“Well Thank You.” You say awkwardly.

“Of course.” He smiles making the dimples beneath his beard awfully noticeable.

“Oh and by the way your rent is only two thousand five hundred a month.” You say walking to the kitchen drawer beside him and pulling out a check that’s already filled out and handing it to him.

“Utilities included?” He asks, grabbing the check written out for three thousand and also taking in notice that same scent that clung to those sheets you made his bed with weeks ago as you sweep by.

“Yeah I don’t mind paying more cause I mean look around, this place has my style written all over it which makes it feel more like mine than yours.” He looks baffled at your reasoning.

“I actually like the decorations, not sure I’d change a thing about it.” You laugh at what has to be a lie.

“I doubt it.” You chuckle and slightly blush at his kindness.

“No I'm serious, I especially love that painting in the hallway, where’d you get it?” You seem surprised at the mention of it and even more flattered at the compliment.

“I actually painted it.” He gives you a surprised look.

“See you’re even hand painting the art, please I can afford much more than twenty five hundred.” You act like you're considering it for a moment.

“As much as I’d appreciate it, I'm already grateful for what you pay.” You say truthfully.

“Also, welcome home.” You quip before turning around walking back towards your room to get ready for the day

—————

John’s been home for nearly two weeks now and he’s slightly growing on you and you on him. You co-exist in harmony most times. That doesn’t mean the two of you still don’t clash from time to time.

“Good morning.” He says scrambling eggs in a pan as you walk into the kitchen reaching in the cabinet for a coffee mug.

“Morning to you too.” You say groggily, setting your feet flat on the ground and placing the cup on the counter, reaching for the pot to pour some coffee.

“If I can just- oh I’m so sorry.” He says accidentally bumping into you making the coffee spill on the counter.

“Oh no don’t worry about it, I can just clean it.” You say turning around quickly to go grab paper towels and end up accidentally running into his chest.

He grabs your shoulders to hold you in place and let your brain catch up with the speed of events.

“We will learn to both be in the kitchen together someday.” You affirm with a laugh that makes you feel alive.

“Hey the first week this happened almost everyday. If anything this is a huge improvement.” He jokingly abides.

“True.” You say as he turns around handing you the kitchen towel to clean it up. He watches you with amused eyes and a smile that still hasn’t left either of your faces and for a second something alights in John something that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear a thing you’re saying.

“John, I said did you sleep well?” You speak a bit louder, snapping him out of it.

“Yeah darling sorry I’m just going to take this to my office. I've got some work to cover.” He says hurriedly plating his food and scurrying off.

“Okay well I’ll be heading to work soon.” He doesn’t even let you finish before closing the door leaving you to stand there a little stumped.

“So I’ll assume he didn’t sleep well.” You say to yourself before pouring another cup and heading to your room to get changed.

——————

Comments and reposts are appreciated <3

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@quakeroaksguy

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[stxrvel]

absence (1)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader... or not? content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, fangirling a lot and some self-deprecation. no proofread. this is just silly writing, we're on the safe zone for now. a/n. hi guys! i was gonna wait a little bit but i'm really excited about this one so you're gonna have earlier! thank u all for the support and i really hope you enjoy this 🫶🏻

series masterlist | bts masterlist | next

You met them all at school. Each with their own ambitions, their different dreams, but so similar in the nature of their core. It was almost funny how everyone with their dissimilar personalities fit so strangely well into one school group. There were times when you could still remember how you used to tell them that all together they could rule the world.

Maybe that's why you didn't see them years ago.

Jeon Jungkook was an idol. There wasn't an hour in the day or a screen in the city where you weren't watching him. He was so popular around the world that you suspected that not even one person didn't know him. His voice was on every radio station, on every cell phone of the people you passed on the street and on the buses, his face on the TV sets with the last interview he had done, as if it were a national achievement. You even saw him in restaurants, chefs naming dishes after him, production companies releasing collaborations with his company. There wasn't an object in that city that didn't have Jungkook's face on its forehead. It was impossible to escape him.

He was closely followed by Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, two of the most promising models of the last decade, a national pride hand in hand with Jungkook. You didn't see them as often as Jungkook, but they still swept the international public and there was hardly anyone who didn't talk about them. Invited to catwalks in Paris, choosing their contracts and collaborations, wearing the most expensive clothes that you wouldn't even think of buying, wearing beautiful matching jewelry, expensive enough that a single outfit from each of them could buy you five houses in the small town they all came from. Taehyung and Jimin were known as the Siamese twins of modeling. Wherever one went, the other always had to be. Their exclusivity was incomparable.

In levels of recognition, Min Yoongi followed them in line. A great rapper who was well received by the general populace. Yoongi had managed to captivate a large audience thanks to his incredible command of the production of his music and his ease and gift for writing his own lyrics. His growth was gradual, but when he touched the sky he never went down again. His popularity was not low even though his presentation to the public was not that high compared to the other three. Still, Yoongi had enough charisma and talent to stand out, especially when his fans were obsessed with highlighting the duality he had when he was on stage and when he did those seventy question interviews with Vogue or whatever… that had made him one of the best rappers of his generation and probably of the last century.

Kim Namjoon was the owner of the company that made Jungkook's debut and welcomed Yoongi with total creative freedom. If he were not solely focused on music, he would surely also be Taehyung and Jimin's agent. Namjoon had inherited a company from his parents, but the success he had turned it into over the past few years, into one of the most profitable businesses in the country, was entirely to his credit and effort. His popularity was also high, because everyone said he was too handsome to be a mere businessman; not knowing, of course, that everything involved in maintaining such a business required much more than a pretty face. Of Namjoon the public didn't know too much, not probably like the other guys and you, if he was still half the person he was before.

Hand in hand with Namjoon were Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin. Hoseok was and still is to this day a national pride as he passionately played tennis since school and turned professional, reaching to participate in major international tournaments representing his country and winning one of them. However, two years after that great feat, an accident involving one of his hands prevented him from continuing to play. No one knows exactly what happened during the more than a year and a half that he almost completely disappeared from the public eye, but when he returned with his huge smile he announced that he would dedicate himself to dance, opening his own academy throughout the center of the city. Although he was not a recurrent teacher, his academy was one of the best in the country, and of course, it was financed by Namjoon's company. At one time Hoseok became Namjoon's associate.

Seokjin, on the other hand, was the one who kept the lowest profile. He was a great doctor, cardiovascular if you were not mistaken. In addition to being an amazing surgeon, his research projects were the ones everyone looked forward to the most at the end of each year. You didn't know much about the subject, but he was almost like the guru of medicine in his field specifically. The only reason he was so much in the public eye being a doctor was because he was regularly seen in the company of Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi. The four of them made up the holy grail of dilfs.

They had all had incredibly successful careers and you were glad that they had been able to accomplish everything they once talked about on the rooftop of Namjoon's house, with sneaky steps so their parents wouldn't scold them when they sneaked out in the wee hours of the morning.

You didn't know exactly what it was - or you didn't want to acknowledge it - that succumbed inside you every time you saw or heard about any of them on the news or on social media. Because yeah, no matter how low media exposure any of them had, always the faces of all seven appeared on your TikTok every week.

It was amazing how they had all moved on and you… well, you-

“Weren't you supossed to leave?”

You lifted your head from your phone, trying to hide it with trembling hands as you let Taehyung's face next to Jungkook's plunge into the darkness of your apron pocket.

“Huh?”

You tried to look distracted, returning your gaze between your boss and the notes next to the cash register. She had a soft gaze, between amused and sisterly. Her brown eyes shifted from your eyes and hot cheeks to the notes you held upside down in your hands, pretending to work as if she herself hadn't seen you completely frozen and gawking at the pair of the country's great casanovas.

“I thought you were leaving earlier today,” your boss shifted, settling her trench coat and long brown strap bag over her shoulder. At that moment she was leaving to walk around to each of the locations she had in town, just to do follow-ups. “Don't tell me you forgot.”

You followed her index finger until it landed on the red circle you had drawn on the calendar placed in your little cubicle a couple of weeks ago, with hearts surrounding it and exclamation points. Yes you remembered, of course you remembered, but at the point where you were at the time no one was going to miss you if you didn't attend.

“I didn't forget…” your voice trailed off as you looked down, your fingers finding the tips of the pages more entertaining than your boss's worried expression.

“y/n, you asked me to leave earlier this day from four months ago,” her high-pitched voice echoed in your head, reminding you how excited you had been a while ago for this day to come. “You can't just give up like that. Come on. You still have time.”

You began to shake your head, releasing your grip on the woman who was looking at you with the same worried eyes of a mother. Your boss had been one of the most encouraging people you'd ever had in your life, besides the handful of friends you had stored in your phone's contacts.

“It was a bust last time. I don't plan on going through that again.”

“But hadn't you told me afterwards that you weren't going to let that stop you? You said… what was it? I can't drown in this glass of water.”

You grudgingly resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Really you of four months ago was a deluded fool.

“I had no idea about life at the time.”

Your boss clicked her tongue, dropping her hands on your shoulders, giving little squeezes whose familiarity stole your breath.

“I'll leave Patrick waiting for you in case you change your mind.”

You shook your head, evading the memories. The man outside the store shook his head in greeting as the two of you turned to look at him, as if he knew you were talking about him.

“Don't miss this opportunity because you're afraid. It may change your life.”

You watched her leave, the clacking of her low heels drawing the attention of everyone in the store, earning every possible stare as she did every time she entered any room. Her chauffeur, Patrick, greeted her with a similar nod of his head as before and stood leaning against the black car parked right where he could get a perfect view of your nervous face.

You, unlike the great and successful lives of your high school friends whose company you still used to miss like a fool, had not had such a great and successful life.

You were a writer. Well, an attempted writer and, worse, part-time. The other part-time was this job behind the cash register at the largest pastry chain in the country. Or sometimes as a waitress, it depended on the day. There was good pay, mind you, at least it allowed you to make up for the losses you took every time you tried to sell a book and then had to market it on your own, only to have five purchases once every seven months and three of them were from your parents and brother. The other two were from your friends.

Four months ago you had been invited to a sort of convention for readers, how they had found you and why? You had no idea, but the idea of being considered in that way drove you crazy at the time. You were so excited that you had more copies of your failed books printed and prepared your booth several days in advance to present them to the horde of people who, you were sure at the time, would come to meet you.

Only one person came by to ask you about the bathroom.

You never recovered from that.

Even with all that failure, that same day you were invited to another convention and, for a while, you were excited to attend. Everyone goes through those kinds of bumps at some point in their life, right? You have to work hard to earn that kind of fame, you kept telling yourself. But as time went on and your networks didn't grow and your videos didn't get more than ten views, or fifty views at most in a week, you began to lose that spark of excitement you held for your dream. Your parents had never turned your back on what you wanted to do, but it was too demotivating and discouraging to have spent so many years at it, so many headaches and tears invested for you to just keep losing and losing money.

That was why you were sure you wouldn't go to that convention if you had to go through that mockery again. You hadn't even bothered to go and fix your booth so surely they already knew you weren't going.

“Have you seen them yet??????”

The female voice coming from the wine cellar made you jump up on your chair.

“Jesus, Yuna, you almost killed me here.”

“I don't care! We could die right now for all we care!”

“Wow, speak for yourself.”

“Haven't you seen theeeem?”

Yuna held up her phone, the screen at full brightness blinding you for a moment. The blurry dots you saw from the proximity of the device told you nothing, as your friend jumped excitedly beside you.

“God, hold still.”

Grabbing her wrist, you leveled the phone to see her TikTok and a picture of three men.

Namjoon, Yoongi and Jungkook coming out of a building. From Namjoon's building.

“They look amazing, don't they? They just came out! That means their car will pass in front of us any minute!”

Yes, Namjoon's building was just a few blocks away from your boss's place. In fact, your boss knew him and many times they would prepare large orders for parties at his company. You had never seen him set foot in this place or any other in the country, but every time he went to celebrate something he had to dial your boss's personal number and you would work until your backs burned because everything had to be perfect for the big businessman.

“Are you going out to greet them or what?” you frowned, letting go of her wrist and returning your gaze to the notebook next to the cash register.

Yuna let out an excited exclamation.

“Ohhhh~, should I? Should I?”

You grabbed her by the collar of her uniform as she tried to pass behind you.

“We're still on business hours.”

“I'm sure Sol wouldn't mind,” her almost heart pupil eyes stared down the street, her hands moving in front of her like she was a zombie. She almost seemed possessed by her fanaticism. Though of course you didn't blame her, if you didn't know any of the seven knights of the underworld you would surely be as excited as she was.

“Don't put words in her mouth. You'd better tell me if the lady's batch of cakes is out yet-”

Commotion erupted throughout the room. You almost saw in slow motion how all the people in the premises got up and running in the direction of the glass doors when you heard the screams coming from far away.

“They're comiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!”

Sometimes you wondered how they dealt with this level of fanaticism.

The ground almost shook with the amount of people running after a black car, where the three men who were causing such a furor so early that day were most likely to be, and the commotion was not tiny inside the venue where the screams erupted.

Having to deal with that on a daily basis would easily turn someone into a hater. Not that you were one... strictly...

“God, for a moment we breathed the same air,” Yuna plopped down on the table, her body doubled over with her eyes lost. You resisted the urge to smack her forehead.

“Their car windows were up.”

“So you saw them, right?????”

“Argh.”

You had to drag her back to work as the excitement in the store dissipated. You attended to another batch of consumers while Yuna fixed the display case and, in a moment of lapse you could almost tell, her back suddenly straightened and she turned to look at you with her eyes a little too wide. You passed the change to the man in front of you, who barely sent you a confused glance before continuing to claim his order at the other corner of the store.

“What's wrong with you?”

“You shouldn't be here.”

“Don't say that with that face. You look creepy,” you pulled out the bill to tuck it under the cash register as Yuna approached, leaving the frightened face behind.

“Wasn't that convention today?”

You sighed. “Yes.”

“Then why aren't you there?”

“Do I look like I want to be there?”

“Y/n! It's a great opportunity. You should-”

“A great opportunity for what, to be a laughingstock again?”

Yuna pursed her lips, looking almost pained that you would remember in that way the experience that was supposed to change your life. She had been one of the ones who had accompanied you to set up the booth and she was sure she had never seen you smile so much during all the time the two of you had known each other. Yuna was aware of how over time you seemed to have lost interest in this new convention, but she didn't think you would finally decide not to go.

On the sly, she had prepared your booth with the help of your mother and Sol, your boss.

“You were never a laughingstock! Don't say that,” Yuna patted your forearm harder than necessary. “Besides, I recently logged some purchases on the site! How do you-?”

“I know it was you and mom,” you raised your voice to interrupt her, stepping archly away from her body.

“What the… Of course not, ha, ha!”

“You're the only fools who would write down celebrity names to register purchases. Besides, the addresses don't even exist.”

“Fuck, I told her that wouldn't work.”

Under your heavy gaze, Yuna had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Okay, I'm sorry! We wanted to motivate you to go to the convention.”

“Can't you just let me do my own thing? If I don't want to go, I won't go.”

“Even if you leave Patrick waiting there?”

You followed his gaze, watching the man pull an umbrella out of the trunk of the car as the slightest breeze brushed against his body and the water droplets were smaller than a dew that the two of you had to squint to see them on the glass of the entrance.

“Whatever it is, I'm not going.”

“y/n…” Yuna pleaded, coming closer with her puppy dog eyes.

“No.”

“y/n, please…”

“No and stop doing that. You look weird.”

“I don't,” Yuna pulled away to frown at you. “I once heard you agreed with Seoyeon about my puppy face being cute.”

“I never agreed with that!”

“Seojun told me so!”

“Your first mistake is believing Seojun.”

“Do you blame me if the reason is your demonstration of love for me?”

“That was your second mistake.”

“Y/n!”

_____________________

That day you arrived home a little later than usual. Since Patrick had been waiting for you all day in the sun and mini rain and refused to let you take a cab on direct instructions from Sol, you asked him to take a ride downtown so you could buy the teokkboki your mom loved and incidentally bought some for him, even though he didn't want to accept it at first.

“y/n, dear, how did it go?”

Your parents were in the living room when you arrived playing Go. Your father left the table when he saw you carrying the bag of food and came over to take it from you.

“What does our little writer bring here, a contract by any chance?”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as your mother tried to get your father's attention by wildly waving her fan, while the man rummaged through the bag to find something warm and delicious smelling.

“Oh, it's teokkboki.”

Your mother stopped waving her arm to stare at the bag with sparkling eyes.

“The ones from the center? From Mrs. Wang?”

You nodded in her direction, taking a seat in their midst on the floor. Your parents started a pitched battle to see who would break the bag first to try the first batch of teokkboki and you could only watch them with a smile on your face. The day may have been difficult, but being home at the end of the day always made you feel so much better.

Amidst laughter and anecdotes, trying to avoid the elephant in the room because you knew your mother's furtive glances weren't for nothing, the three of you ate teokkboki until you were bursting at the seams. You organized the kitchen with your father while your mother grumbled from the living room whatever he said about her. You watched the three of you favorite soap opera on the fixed schedule and finally got ready for bed.

With your body more relaxed and lighter, you let yourself sink into the softness of the sheets, completely ignoring the messages Yuna had sent earlier and the stupid questions your brother asked at the most inopportune moments.

How do I unclog a bath?

Do I add salt to the rice???

Where do I get the kimchi mom makes?????

His independence was probably one of the worst things that could happen. You being the older sister thought you would leave home first. Even according to your twelve year old diary, you should have been married by then or at least planning your amazing, mega giant wedding, complete with helicopters and puppy dogs carrying drinks through the reception. You didn't know what kind of crazy dreams you had when you were younger, but up to that point you hadn't been able to fulfill any of your inner child's desires except to study for a career you were passionate about.

Still, what good had that done in the end? Maybe you should've listened to your grandparents to study medicine. Maybe your parents should've been a little more conservative instead of libertarian, which your grandparents always complained about when they had the chance. If you were a disgrace to anyone in the family, it was to them.

Ah, what a long day.

You didn't know at what point you fell asleep, but the incessant sound of your phone vibrating next to your pillow woke you up. With a grunt, you moved your hands to put the device in front of one of your half-open eyes to find Yuna on caller ID. Your eyes moved upward.

It was one in the morning!

“What the fuck are you doing calling at this hour? It better be an emergency because-”

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING THAT YOU DON'T CHECK YOUR MESSAGES?”

“WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT? IT'S ONE IN THE MORNING! WHY WOULD I BE DOING ANYTHING ELSE BUT SLEEPING?”

“I'VE BEEN TEXTING YOU FOR A WHILE NOW, Y/N!”

“YUNA HOW CAN I NOT FUCKING SLEEP-?”

“Well, whatever!”

You let out an exasperated snort, giving her time to say what she had to say.

“You're going to fall on your ass.”

“I'm lying down.”

“Your books have sold a thousand copies in the last hour!”

Silence. Absorbing silence…

“Yuna, if you really woke me up to play a fucking prank on me I'm going all the way to your house to pull out every single one of your hairs with a fucking tweezer.”

“First of all, gross. Second of all, I'm not kidding! Get on your fucking Instagram! What's worse is that's not the most shocking news. Well… depends on how you look at it.”

“Yuna, I don't think I'm following you.”

“Fucking Kim Taehyung was at the reader convention and he took a picture of your books and UPLOADED IT TO HIS INSTAGRAM STORIES!!!!! AN HOUR AGO! The damn shopping notifications woke me up and I think I took too much time trying to process what was going on because they already tripled!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, did you start smoking weed?”

“Ugh, why are you so insufferable? Just look at fucking Instagram!”

You didn't want to believe Yuna, but a part of you was vibrating in anticipation. You'd already seen her text messages, her exclamations and voice notes, you'd barely processed the images she'd sent you. You logged on to Instagram. The first thing you noticed was the exorbitant amount of notifications and direct messages.

You had to search for Taehyung's account because you weren't following him.

There was the colorful arc around his profile picture. The story.

You clicked on his picture on the screen.

Your books were all over his story, with his hand holding one of them.

It jumped out at you that there was a stand of your books that you had no idea where it had come from.

A description loomed between the image.

One of the best fantasy books I've read in recent years. And by one of the best writers I've ever met in my life.

Your user was next to the description. You had no idea how fucking Kim Taehyung had gotten your user when it wasn't even something related to your name. You hadn't even uploaded pictures of yourself once in all the time that account had been open.

“Did you see it?? Can you see I wasn't lying?”

With Yuna's malevolent laughter in the background, you felt your mind escape into an unknown mental space.

“You're going to be rich!!! And I'm going to meet Kim Taehyung!”

Your mind was racing a thousand miles an hour trying to make sense of what your eyes couldn't credit. His story was replaying on your screen. So many things you could say and just…

“What the fuck?”

--

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7

[lucytara]

a prompt for every week of the year

awhile ago, i created my own writing prompts along the lines of an old livejournal writing community called 52 flavours, whose prompts were always beautiful and abstract and poetic and evocative. these types of prompts have sort of become lost to fandom in favor of more straightforward and simplistic ones (which never inspire me much, personally) so as i start to post fics i'm writing to these prompts, i figured i might as well post the actual prompt list for anyone to use!

the distant glitter of the January sun

back then, everything was music

at the violet hour

the world begins at the kitchen table

it felt just like February; what had been falling snow was beating loudly in the street

Listen. Even the ocean begs.

still without sound

unsure of where to settle down for the night

March is a month of storms and lust

we’ve been alive just long enough

I wrote “valley” when I meant “longing”

you saw me one Friday afternoon and decided you should love me

I know I have been dreaming

April is the cruelest month

all this fucking with no hands on me

I’d write about you a lot more than I should

to put on your best outfit and feel like you’re dressing a wound

to be held by something reluctant to let go

Late in May as the light lengthens

I worry that love is violence

I’ve been trying to go home my whole life–

you can put your strength down

I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at once.

It is June. Let’s hope someone is kind, just in time

bend in a thousand directions

your smell was never unfamiliar

even hunger can become a space to live in

a kind of undressing

the July night is a song

you, you, and only you

they cannot exist without setting each other on fire

in your hand, its shaky penmanship, my own paper-thin nerves

staying up all night for it

the August sun, returning everything that was taken away—

and maybe love still smolders in my heart

the reverse of being haunted

I want I want I want

a day of rain; the kind you think will never end

September tastes of ashes 

the museum of past lives

maybe a meteor or maybe a phone call or maybe a sudden shift in atmosphere

an old, old wound about to heal or about to bleed

the ache of everything unsaid

October is a thick and hollow bone

the difference between intimacy and radical intimacy

I caught you forgetting me

the wish for winter

Will you forgive me these November days?

amazing how long a ruined thing will burn

Look, you said, sunlight.

All my stories are about being left; all of yours are about leaving. We should have known.

It is December and we must be brave.

[fandomnerd9602]

All Too Well

Actress!Wanda x Stunt!Reader

Inspired by the film ‘The Fall Guy’

You couldn’t remember what drove you and your girlfriend, the famous actress Wanda Maximoff, apart. Maybe it was the different schedules. Maybe it was the nagging feeling that an actress of her caliber deserved better than a stunt person like yourself.

So you made the biggest mistake of your life and broke up with her. If you could take it all back you would.

It had been four months since you broke up. The stunt industry was hitting a slight lull due to a bigger focus on special effects and deepfakes. So you were shocked when Tony Stark, a good friend and famous director in his own right, called you saying that he needed a stunt person of your caliber to help out on his latest blockbuster.

“You’re gonna love it (Y/N)!” He exclaimed over the phone’s speaker, “it’s the biggest film of my career and I want you for a few stunts. Two weeks, Australia, it’s perfect.”

“Fine.” You huffed, “if it was anyone else, I’d say no but…”

“Yeah yeah never say no to a Stark” even thru the speaker you could tell he was smirking.

So you boarded the overnight flight to Australia. You ran over the stunts via Zoom with Clint and Natasha - the best stunt team in the world. The first big stunt was a motorcycle crash into the bed of a truck while the lead actress rode away on her own. You'd be playing the henchman chasing her that ends up in said truck bed.

You arrived on the set the following day and go your horror, you saw her from a distance. Your ex, Wanda Maximoff. Her back was to you but you knew it was her, her reddish brown locks. You’d know her anywhere. She was talking to some British dude, she seemed happy. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces.

You quickly ducked into a trailer and came face to face with Tony.

“So how was your flight?” He smirked.

“You didn’t tell me Wanda was here!” You whispered-yelled at him.

“You wouldn’t have come if I did.” He shrugged, “listen you’re the best fall person in the business. This movie needs you. And even if she doesn’t know it, Wanda needs you too”

You let your brief anger subside, "so who's the guy? Wanda seems happy"

"That's Vision, her costar"

"Vision?"

"I don't know he's European or something like that" Tony passes you a cup of coffee, "for the jet lag. Your stunt's coming up, Fall Guy"

Tony gives you a wink and heads out of his trailer. You gave it some thought. Wanda did need you. This movie had to be a success. Wanda deserved all the success, all the happiness in the world. And if you can help in some small way, that's all that mattered.

You readied yourself, crash suit, helmet, crash pads, and your sense of danger and confidence. You put down the visor and made your way to the set.

You walked past and saw Vision gently talking to Wanda, "go get it, super star"

Superstar. That was your nickname for her. You boarded your motorcycle and she boarded hers. Tony took his place behind the camera.

"Camera rolling. Speed. Action!"

Wanda revved the motorcycle and took off. You took off after her. You kept the safe distance per the plan.

"And cue motorcycle crash!" Tony called out. Wanda fired her fake gun. BLAM! BLAM! The blanks went off.

You fumbled and crashed right into the crash cushions hidden in the truck bed. Your motorcycle went up and over, according to plan and landed with a crash.

"And cut!" Tony called out. You stumbled and fell onto the street.

Wanda ran up to you, "are you alright?" She didn't even know it was you and yet she still had the same care for a stunt person. You gave her a thumbs up. Wanda's eyes went wide.

"(Y/N)?!" Wanda asked in sheer shock.

You stumbled to your feet and yanked off your helmet. "h-hey Wanda"

"And that was perfect! We're moving on!" Tony called out. The crew grabbed their gear and moved out, leaving you and Wanda staring at one another.

"I can't believe you're here" she shook her head.

"Believe me I'm in the same boat" you shrugged, "you look great"

"its the costume"

"no it's you. You look great in everything. You look good in nothing" you stuttered out.

"Same old (Y/N)" she shook her head and walked away. You could feel her slipping from your grasp yet again.

"Wanda" you called out, "I'm sorry"

She stopped dead in her tracks, "what?"

"I-I'm sorry" you apologized, "you deserved better and it looks like you're on your way to that."

"t-thank you" she whispered out before walking off. Vision approached you with a smile.

"You're (Y/N) (L/N)!" the British actor said, "I hope this is alright but I am such a fan of your stuntwork. I've looked up your reels so many times. Wanda's told me she loved working with you"

"Working. Yeah." you gave him a smile before heading off set, "it was nice meetin' you Vision."

Tony walked by and handed you a set of car keys. "Your hotel's set up on the GPS. The GMC's yours to keep" Tony gives you a genuine smile.

It was dusk. Everyone was readying to head back to their respective lodgings. You found the GMC Tony spoke of. It was GMC Sierra 1500 AT4X, pretty expensive for a little token of Tony's appreciation.

You hopped in, and immediately all your hopes came crashing down. Why did you have to mess it up? Wanda was the best thing you've ever known and now she's got that British actor Vision. All proper and well mannered.

You turned on the truck and out of all the songs the radio could've played, it just had to play All Too Well (Taylor's Version).

'Cause there we are again on that little town street You almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me Wind in my hair, I was there I remember it all too well

Your head just sunk a little. Your eyes went up and saw her walking with Vision and a couple other actors. She looked happy. How you wanted to be happy with her. Guess you'd have to be happy for her instead.

The memories just came flooding in. Every stolen moment. Every kiss. Every laugh that the two of you shared.

And maybe we got lost in translation Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up Running scared, I was there I remember it all too well

Tears just began running down your cheek. You lost her. And you'd never get her back.

Never again would you hold her in your arms. Share cuddle sessions in her trailer. The little brainstorming sessions that you had with her on how she could run a scene. The little stunt practices where she'd smash a prop bottle over your head. The little concern that she'd have only for you to give her your signature thumbs up.

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise So casually cruel in the name of being honest I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here 'Cause I remember it-

Knock! Knock! Knock! A knock at the truck's window stirred you from your thoughts. You turned to find Wanda looking at you. Her brow was fraught with concern. Her eyes still showed the same adoration and care that she had for you on your first shared film.

You rolled down the window. "um...hey" you tried to say.

"were you listening to Taylor Swift and crying?" she asked you.

"It's just how I unwind after a day of stunts" you tried to cover your tracks.

"may I come in?" she asked. You didn't hesitate to unlock the passenger door. Wanda slipped around the truck and got in.

"You never told me why" Wanda whispered. "why did you break up with me?"

"Where do I even start?" you found yourself at a loss for words.

"Just one reason."

"You deserved better. I'm a stunt person, you were on your way to becoming the starlet you are today and I-i..."

"You were an idiot"

"I know."

"I could do without a lot of things. But losing you was the worst feeling I ever went through." Wanda admits.

"I'm sorry, super star" you look her dead in the eye, "I loved you too much. I thought I would hold you back."

"We were in it together" Wanda looks you in the eyes, there wasn't a hint of anger or malice, "I wanted to be your side."

"And I wanted to be by your side too...Vision seems nice. Does he treat you right?"

"What? I'm not dating Vision."

"Wait what?"

"You thought I'd move on that quickly?" Wanda begins to giggle. Her laugh always made your heart beat out of your chest.

"I-I...um...thought so?" you found yourself blushing.

"Maybe we just needed to learn to communicate better" Wanda takes your hand, "do you think maybe we could start over?"

You offered her a genuine smile and held out your other hand, "(Y/N) professional stunt person"

Your favorite actress giggles and shakes your hand, "Wanda Maximoff. Actress and huge fan of Taylor Swift"

The two of you share a little laugh, "I really missed you Wanda"

"I missed you too...Fall Guy"

She leaned in. So did you. The mere touch of her lips sent shocks thru your whole body. How you missed her touch. The two of you became lost in one another. And this time, you'd never let her go again.

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

Tony walked by, catching the sight of the GMC's windows beginning to fog up. He caught just the glimpse of you and Wanda kissing softly through the window.

"Mission accomplished" he laughed to himself as he walked to his own car.

THE END

Tags @lifespectator @olsenmyolsen @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @iamnicodemus @iiconicsfan25 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @russianredassassin @revanshand @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @ab1nsur @aloneodi

[arlowthenacho]

that funny feeling

(carmen berzatto x reader)

summary: you thought carmen berzatto was just a hookup. a fuck-buddy. key word, you thought.

warnings: cursing, allusions to sex but not really? its only mentioned a couple times. no smut, intended lowercase, if theres anything i missed plz let me know !!

wc: 1.1k

a/n: arlow thought about carmen spoon feeding them and made it angsty lol. this is rlly short but fret not !! i think this is gonna be a 2 parter, possibly 3 parter? idk, but i think its gonna be a series lol. anyway, enjoy my lovelies !! 🫶🤍

it started as a one time thing. a one-night-stand. a meaningless hookup. something that would and could only happen once.

until it happened again. and again, and again.

because carmen berzatto was a drug, and you were addicted to him. you craved him like lungs crave oxygen, but you weren’t sure that the feeling was reciprocated.

because if carmen berzatto was a book, he’d be written in code. scrawled in a language you didn’t understand, in writing to confusing to decipher. because carmen berzatto was nothing if not confusing.

a sudden vibration on your nightstand pulls you from your thoughts as you swipe open the screen. a text from carmen. shit.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

you up?

fuck. shit, shit, shit.

you quickly sit up and type back a response.

yeah.

you hold down the backspace button. too simple.

i wasn’t until you woke me up

pop. too accusatory.

i am now. whats up?

good enough.

you click send and set your phone back down on your bed, waiting for a response.

bzz.

the reply was almost instant. maybe that scared you a little bit.

your finger hovers over the screen, debating whether to open the text now, or just forget about it until the morning.

the former won.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

can you come over?

oh. oh.

you don’t know why you expected anything different. it’s not like you were dating him. even though you wish you were. in his eyes, you were just a casual hookup who he occasionally called for something not relating to sex.

you heave a sigh and shift your eyes back over to the phone in your hands.

yeah, ok.

sent.

you don’t really care if it sounds passive aggressive, or angry, or disappointed or whatever else it could sound like to him. to be quite honest, you just want to get this over with.

you quickly change out of your pajamas into something more presentable. a white sweater, blue jeans, throw in some lacy undergarments and you’re heading out the door and into your car.

you turn on the ignition and start the short drive to carmy’s apartment. you have his address memorized, (which you will deny is creepy until your dying day) so you don’t need to use a gps.

you turn on some music and try to distract your racing thoughts. its not like this is the first time you’re meeting him. no, far from it. but you don’t think your brain has processed that yet, because your heart is pounding and fluttering like a bird caged within your chest.

you finally make it to his apartment after what feels like an hour, and you’re standing—quite awkwardly—at carmen’s door, your fist hovering over the wood hesitantly.

after a full minute of standing at the door with your arm raised, you decide to bite the bullet and knock on the damn door.

so you do.

and he answers instantly. like a fucking gentleman.

his hair is tousled, and he runs a hand through it nervously. his eyes somehow look even more blue in the shitty light the hallway of his building provides, and it’s driving you crazy.

he is gorgeous. he is perfect. he’s all the synonyms for beautiful you can cram into one human being.

“hi,”

carmen’s voice is deep and gravelly, still thick with sleep even though he’s probably been awake for some time now.

“hey,”

a beat passes.

“can i-?”

he jolts up from the doorway he was leaning on.

“oh, yeah. shit—yeah, come in. sorry.”

an apron is tied around his waist, a gray sweater fitting loosely around his frame. it makes his eyes appear bright, like gleaming pools of sapphire that you want to spend every pretty penny on.

nonetheless, you smile politely and step into his apartment.

no matter how many times you’ve been here, the first thing you notice is always his bookshelves. more so, the books. cookbooks, magazines, culinary textbooks and newspaper articles litter his floor and decorate his walls.

the second thing you always notice is his ever-growing collection of denim. jeans and jackets make up most of his wardrobe, and are crammed into whatever space he could find.

after looking around his small apartment, a smell hits your nose.

its…pasta?

no, that can’t be it. you were just here to fuck, right? the food was probably for someone else. for work, or somebody he wanted a real relationship with. not you.

the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

you sigh, disappointment crashing into your heart like waves against rocks for the second time tonight.

despite that, you’re the first to break the silence.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you cringe at the tone of your voice. it sounded exactly how you felt. disappointed, hurt, maybe a little bitter.

“what? sorry, couldn’t hear you.” carmen leans down to you to hear better, his breath a faint whisper against your skin. your breath hitches.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you repeat, a tad louder than before.

“oh. no, no, no. no, that not—that isn’t—” carmen seems to be at a loss for words, and he feels like a total dick.

“we aren’t?” you’re confused, but hide it well. you raise a brow pointedly. “then why’d you ask me to come over?” for the first time in a couple of minutes, you notice where you followed him.

“i—just,” he searches around for something.

a spoon, full of some kind of red sauce. he cups his hand under the utensil to catch anything that drips, and urges you to come closer.

you’re in his kitchen. his safe space. his fucking sacred space.

and suddenly a wave of confusion and frustration and hope is erupting within you. so many emotions and so much fucking hope. hope that this could be something more. hope that maybe you were wrong. silly, foolish, childish hope that enthralls you completely in its deceitfully warm embrace.

he’s still holding the spoon to your mouth when he speaks.

“can you try it? it’s something for the bear. for the new menu. wanted your opinion on it.” he looks nervous, like he wasn’t the one who invited you over. like he isn’t currently the one lighting your cheeks ablaze and causing your to heart implode under the sheer force of your adoration for him.

“oh, um, yeah. of course.”

he smiles. a close-lipped thing that makes you want to kiss it off of him.

you move to take the spoon from him, but he gently shoves your arm down against your side, says “open up,” and puts the spoon in your mouth.

the food is great. more than great. but you’d be lying if you said you were paying attention to that.

because carmen fucking berzatto just spoon fed you. like a couple.

and now the domesticity is crushing you, mind, body and soul.

because you’re in love with carmen berzatto.

and by some miracle, he might be in love with you too.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— between here and there || l.s.k

pairing: ghost!leon kennedy x ghosthunter!fem!reader

tags: set in 2001, graphic depictions of dead animals one is right under the cut, mentions of death, mentions of grief, mentions of violence, themes of obsession and love, implied/referenced childhood abuse inflicted by a parent, typical horror topics. (if i missed anything pls dm me and let me know!!)

summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. Or: The year is 2001, and you've just found out about a haunted homestead on a prairie, sure to hold a million mysteries within its rotting walls. You've chased rumors of the supernatural before, but this place feels... different. Maybe this time, you'll find the evidence you need to prove the existence of the other side—and finally go viral. But quickly you come to learn that some doors, once opened, can't be shut.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i wrote 80% of this fic on my phone, so i'm sorry if it reads badly 😔, i hope you enjoy regardless though! and things will make more sense in the coming parts, i promise <3 also; thank you claudia for beta-reading for me!! n also thank you @/uhlunaro for bone-chill, go read their work!! it's so good n inspired this fic.

playlist ⭑ AO3 || back to the party ⭑ next (coming soon) »

You were eight when you saw your first ghost. Your mother had found you with your face pressed up against the living room window, eyes wide as you stared out into your backyard, convinced there was a dog by the fence that was staring right back.

Your mother had ushered you back to bed, murmuring about how there was no dog out there, and you needed to sleep. But you saw him! You swear it! Floppy ears and a bone between his teeth.

You couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and anxiously waiting for morning to come. By the time the sunlight had crept through your window, you scampered outside to prove it. You’d spent nearly an hour out in the early morning cold, digging, digging, digging with your bare hands, until eventually, you found it, something that wasn’t a dog—not anymore, anyway.

Wrapped in a plastic bag you found it, decayed skin clinging stubbornly to yellowed ribs poking through like splintered wood. Its jaw hung open, snapped and crooked, patches of fur still clinging to the skull, matted until it resembled something more like melted plastic. There was a sense of grief that came with finding its body, a suffocating presence that weighed down over your little lungs, tightened your oesophagus, made your stomach clench.

You gave the rotting dog carcass a proper burial. 

A grave by the oak tree, dirt pressed down gently over its brittle body as if the dog might still feel it, a ring of daisies set atop in remembrance. When you finally stood, wiping mud-stained hands on your pants, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you, her silence heavier than her words ever were.

After that, her patience thinned. She’d catch you whispering to empty rooms, her voice sharper each time, the snap of her voice was soon paired with the snap of a belt. The corners of your room were just corners, she’d say. The shadows were just that; shadows. 

You stopped talking about it, but the flashes of something stayed—the fleeting movements, the whispers, the shadows that lingered in the corners of your vision. The haunting weight of it all clung to you like a thick blanket, creeping in with every bump in the night, until curiosity bled into something deeper. 

Eventually, you gave up waiting and started searching, looking for answers between ghost-hunting forums and haunted houses. 

And now, years later, you’re chasing a truth you’re still yet to prove. 

You jolt from your thoughts the same time the van does over a potholed, eyes snapping to the stretch of dirt road before you. The homestead comes into view, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—looking every bit more eerie when bathed in hues of twilight than it did in the grainy two-bit photos on your laptop screen. 

Luis lets out a low whistle from the driver’s seat, before he clicks his tongue and puts the car into park. “Well, we’ve seen worse.”

Luis says it with an air of carelessness you struggle to stomach under the looming shadow of the homestead. He’s never believed in the paranormal the same way you do, always the wind, always a shadow to him, everything has an explanation. Never a ghost, never a spirit.

Yet, he sticks with you, out of what sense of loyalty you’re not entirely sure, but you’re grateful all the same. Maybe it’s the remnants of a childhood bond that keeps him tethered to your side, echoes of sleepovers and whispered secrets, of nights spent laughing over nothing, long before you were chasing shadows and seeking the dead.

It’s not that Luis doesn’t care—he does, more than he’ll ever admit. He just doesn’t see the world the way you do. And that’s okay. He doesn’t have to believe. You do.

He slides out of the car easily, no doubt eager to unpack the camera gear. You hear the back of the van slide open, before you finally make the decision to move, feeling as if your bones have stuck themselves together—rigor mortis.

The homestead looks like it’s rotting from the inside out. Once-grand pillars holding up the front porch that have long since bowed, wood that rots and splinters from years of neglect. The windows, fogged over with dust, are cracked and warped as if the house itself has been trying to keep the world out for far too long.

“What even happened here?” Luis asks, eyeing the decayed structure with a grimace as the both of you step onto the creaking front porch.

In truth, the research had been thin. The house didn’t show up on any official ghost-hunting registry, and there wasn’t much mention of it in local history. But there were enough stories, enough pieces of something to make you believe it was worth the three hour plane trip.

If no one else could get proof, then maybe you could. This could be your big break, could be your skyrocket to supernatural stardom—If that was even really a thing.

“A lot. Murders, disappearances, all the fun stuff.” You joke, flashing a wide grin over your shoulder, trying to ease the pit in your chest, and find amusement at the way Luis shivers at the mention of murders. His shoulders stiffen enough to make you bite back a laugh.

Luis fixes you with a hard stare. “You’re not right, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Plenty of times,” you reply, grin only widening. You reach up and give his cheek a playful pat, “You’re not special.”

He rolls his eyes and you’re well aware he doesn’t buy your teasing, but that’s half the fun. You slip past him to check out the entryway, Luis trailing behind with his camera over his shoulder.

Luis keeps his distance as you wedge the door open. A thick layer of dust comes loose with the movement, swirling with the fading light and wafting straight into your face. You cough violently, waving it away with a grimace.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Luis mutters, adjusting the lens of his camera.

“Nothing’s going to happen—” And as if infuriatingly on cue, the door slips from your gasp and slams shut with a bone-rattling thud.

The both of you jump despite yourselves—Luis lets out a yelp that he stifles with a cough, while you freeze, hand still hanging in the air where the door had once been.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stare at the door for a beat, pulse-quickening as if it might just spring open again on its own, while you feel the burn of Luis’ gaze in the back of your neck, waiting for you to explain it away with your usual bravado.

You lower your hand slowly, give him a sidelong glance. You take a step back from the door as if daring it to open or slam shut again. “Well. That’s one way to make an entrance.”

Luis glares at you. “Yeah, real funny. Can we leave now?”

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the handle and tug the front door open again, choosing to ignore Luis’ insistence. The homestead is as quiet as you imagined it’d be, even so you can’t shake the eeriness of the silence. You swear you can hear static in your head.

Luis hands you a flashlight, which you flick on before toeing the warped floorboards. The wood groans beneath you, but it holds, so you plant your foot fully inside, waiting for the house to react. One second. Two.

Nothing.

With a relieved sigh you step deeper into the homestead. The pale remains of sunlight filter through grimy windows, while dust swirls lazily in the beam of your flashlight as you sweep it across the room.

“Are you recording?” You whisper over your shoulder to Luis, who gives a quick nod, a thumbs-up flashing in your periphery.

The homestead opens up around you—parlour to the left, kitchen and dining room through the door on the right, and a staircase, old and worn, curling up toward the shadows in the back.

“We’ll set up in the parlour,” you murmur, moving toward it. Your hand brushes against the wall as you reach for the light switch, fingers hesitant. You flick it, expecting nothing. But then the chain bulb overhead sputters to life, casting a weak, flickering glow across the room.

“Huh,” you breathe. “Not bad.”

Nightfall comes sooner than you would’ve hoped, and you’re starting to understand why there’s so little about this homestead online. In the two long hours you and Lewis have been here, the silence has remained unbroken. The EMF reader has not spiked once and the camera has picked up nothing. No doors have slammed, nothing has creaked strangely, not even an unsettlingly cold gust of wind. 

Maybe this place is a waste of time, another dead end to add to your already growing list. You contemplate if packing the van up now is a good option. But yet, yet—you can’t shake the feeling that there is something waiting for you here, just beyond reach. A presence. A secret.

There’s still upstairs, a voice nags at the back of your head. Rooms yet to explore, yet to be turned inside out so you can find what’s hidden in the confines of this home’s brittle bones.

Luis follows behind as you carve a path up the stairs, flicking the stairwell light on and waiting for the flicker of the bulb to cease into a steady hum. It takes a moment too long, and your fingers twitch at the edge of your flashlight.

You never did shake your fear of the dark.

Upstairs, the floor is dappled in the pale glow of the moon. You sweep your flashlight through the shadows, the light catching on each warped surface, every peeling edge of wallpaper, casting lonesome shadows across the splintering floors. You watch the EMF reader calibrate and tick in your hand as you tread further down the hallway. The air up here feels heavier, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you.

That’s when you see it.

Or him, rather. 

At first, you make out nothing but a vague shape standing at the end of the hallway, a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

But as your eyes adjust, you make out the figure’s skin; a sickly pale, marred with crawling veins like rivers of ink. He has hair like dull flaxen straw, eyes that are such a piercing blue you make them out even in the dark. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a chill crawls down your spine. You take a step back, stumbling into Luis, who nearly drops the camera.

The light overhead flickers dramatically before the bulb bursts with a sharp pop, plunging the hall into sudden darkness. Your EMF reader spikes violently in time with your heart slamming against your ribs, and in the panic, you scramble to bring up your flashlight—but as the beam sweeps over him, he vanishes, parts of his body disintegrating into the light, like bend the rules of physics themselves, like something wrong.

“Is that—?” it hits Luis the same time it hits you. Not a person. A ghost.

But there’s no haunting glow, no cloud of smoke. He doesn't float; in fact he doesn’t move at all. Instead, the air grows thick, an oppressive weight that threatens to shatter your ribs inwards and pierce into your lungs.

You hear him. The sickly sound of breathing, a rasping inhale followed by an exhale, like a death rattle. The noise crawls under your skin, itches against your bones.

Your own breath catches in your throat in favour of hearing his. The sound swells, crescendos, then tithers to nothing. Silence, like buzzing in your ears, is all that’s left behind. Slowly, you peel your  eyes open, the ghost is nowhere to be seen.

You come back to reality like ungluing yourself from a fly trap—slowly, sticky, the numbness in your body ceases.

“Did you.. Did you get that on tape?” You ask Luis between bated breath, eyes still glued to the wall where he had been.

Luis swallows hard, his breathing ragged. He fumbles with the camera, fingers trembling, flipping through settings with a frantic sort of urgency. His face drains of colour as he checks the screen. The camera blinks, sputters.

Panic surges as you rush downstairs, tripping over your feet. Luis yanks the camera from his shoulder, flipping it open to review the footage. His hands move fast, flipping through buttons…

Then, the camera shuts off with a mechanical click, the small screen fading to black.

"No, no, no," Luis mutters, voice tight with frustration. He pulls out the tape reel, and the acrid smell hits you first. He stares at it, brow furrowing. You step closer, peering over his shoulder. The reel is ruined—burnt and blackened beyond recognition, as if scorched by something unseen.

Neither of you says a word.

“Sorry, we’re full.”

The words feel like a death sentence this late at night. Luis sighs sharply, his breath fogging up the plexiglass screen between him and the motel keeper. “There’s got to be something, no? Just one room,” he mutters, pushing the crumpled fifty across the counter one more time, almost pleading.

The motel keeper eyes the money, before shaking her head. “I’m serious, hon,” she says, her voice flat, tired. “We’re booked solid. You can try the highway if you’re desperate.”

You’re really only half-listening to the exchange, shivering from the cold as you lean by the side of the van parked under the carport. 

The motel sign above flickers weakly, casting uneven shadows across the parking lot, the words The Black Dog barely legible in the failing neon glow. Cerberus snarls from the sign like a bad omen, one head flickering on and off as if it’s ready to give up entirely.

After the encounter at the homestead, neither Luis nor yourself could shake the feeling of dread that had settled like a thick fog, a weighted blanket that provided more unease than comfort. The decision to leave for the night had been easy, but now, standing outside in the frigid air, you’re starting to feel the sting of bad luck. There are only two motels in this entire town—one’s closed for maintenance, and this one, The Black Dog, is fully booked.

Luis pulls back from the counter with a groan, stuffing the money into his pocket as he joins you outside. “No luck,” he mutters, breath curling in the chilled air.

But you're distracted, focused on the yellowing photographs lining the walls behind the motel keeper’s desk, town history captured in fleeting moments behind dusty glass. Your eyes widen in realisation when you note the homestead is in one of them. A farmer’s family stands at the front of it; a husband, a wife, his daughter and two sons.

You quickly rush up to the window, leaning down closer to the little cutout in the plexiglass as you rest your elbows on the counter. “That photo,” You start, finger pressed to the plastic surface, “do you know who the people in it are?”

The motel keeper swivels in her squeaky office chair, her eyes widening with a sort of realisation. “Them? Well they’re the original settlers of this land,” She hums, turning back. “Their family were the first to come this far east, their father built that homestead with his bare hands.”

“What happened to them?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Desperate for more, desperate for answers. Although, your ghost looks nothing like any of the men in the picture.

“Well they died,” The motel keeper says, something akin to god-fearing in her voice. “But whatever malevolent force has been haunting that place never did.”

You stare at her, wide-eyed and unblinking. Luis fills in for you where you can’t. 

“You’re not serious,” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement.

“Dead serious, hon. That place is no good. They say the prairie wind drove that family mad—” she states, sticking a thumb over her shoulder to point to the picture “—we’re just not so sure it was the wind that did it.”

You decidedly spend that night in the back of the van, parked right outside the homestead on that old gravel path. 

The wind whistles terribly and you begin to understand what they mean by prairie fever—you can’t fathom what it would’ve been like, out here, all alone with nothing but the wind and the wolves.

“Something’s wrong,” Luis murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. You turn your head, watching as he stares at the ceiling of the van.

There is a sudden unease that settles in your chest, watching him like this. Luis has never been rattled by the dark, never questioned the supernatural because he didn’t have a reason to. In many ways, he has been your anchor.

And what is a ship without its anchor?

You hum, mirroring his movements and righting your neck to stare up at the ceiling. “Luis, you say this every—”

“No, I mean it.” He cuts in, a certain urgency to his words. “We saw something, I saw it. He was–” His words die, fizzle into nothing on his tongue as if it’ll be a sin to refer to the shadow as anything more than just a shadow. “We can’t go back in there.”

You understand… yet you don’t.

“This is the closest we’ve ever been Luis, what do you mean we can’t?” Your words are oddly calm despite the desperation they clearly convey, “You know how much this means to me.”

Luis sighs, “I get it, I’m just not sure this is a good idea.” He hesitates. “I think… I think we’re way in over our heads this time.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Luis holds you to it.

A car crash—that’s what you see in your dream. Although, it feels more like a vision; a premonition or maybe a memory. 

You’re trapped behind your own eyes, sitting rigid in the passenger seat. There’s the sound of tyres screaming against the asphalt, a horrible blur of red and blue, glass and smoke. 

The car swerves hard, jerking your body with it, weightless, floating, falling. The ground falls away, and for a split second, there’s nothing. Just the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

You try to catch a glimpse of the driver, but your eyes are glued to the chaos that unfolds before you. You catch a glimpse of the side of his face, shadowed in the flickering lights. Just the curve of his jawline—sharp, familiar.

And then you slam into a tree.

The night is much less forgiving than day. In moonlight, your mind is left to fill in the gaps, pulls at the seams of reality, and paints over it with every fear you’ve ever had the cowardice to bury. A creak in the floor becomes footsteps. A sigh of wind becomes a distant cry. 

But daylight? Daylight spills over the horizon like a gentle promise. In daylight, things feel explainable. Safe. You do not falter and question the shape of shadows, each one is tethered to something, tangible and real, solid in your grasp.

Yet the homestead does not follow these rules.

The walls bleed with secrets you’ve yet to learn, each groan of the floorboards underneath your gentle footsteps sounds like another pair is following closely behind. Light spills through windows, but  it dies before it reaches the corners, and does not fill the room the way it should.

It’s that morning, one hour into your second investigation, that you smell it—something faint at first that quickly grows stronger, souring the air with each breath you suck in. It’s familiar but unwelcome, the unmistakable stench of decay. Luis notices it too, his nose wrinkling as he glances toward the far end of the hallway.

“Do you smell that?” he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod. 

The smell rots. It festers the further you walk down the hallway, intensifying until it clings to you like a second skin. It seeps through the floorboards, through every crack in splintering wood, and it leads you to a door. The one at the end of the hallway from the night before. The one you didn’t manage to open because he had been there.

Luis nudges you with his elbow. “Ladies first.”

“Very brave,” you mutter, pushing the door open.

Inside, the room is cold, the air heavy with dust. Yellowing and peeling wallpaper lines the walls, a dusty bed in the corner, a dresser by the opposite wall and a wardrobe by the adjacent one.

But what draws your attention are the walls—every inch covered in horrifying jagged scratches, as if something had clawed at the walls in a frenzy of desperation.

N-O-E-L.

The letters are scrawled over and over, the same pattern repeated a millennia of times. They twist and turn, written backwards and mirrored, as if whatever had left them behind had longed for a voice it had forgotten how to use.

“What the hell…” Luis murmurs, stepping closer with his polaroid camera, the shutter sounding as he snaps a few photos of the scratches. “What are we dealing with, the ghost of Christmas past?”

You swallow, admittedly now confused. “What does that even mean?” You muse, walking towards a wall and running your fingers over the splintering wood.

“His name, maybe?” Luis supplies, lifting his head from behind the camera.

Without thinking, you speak. “Is your name Noel?” 

Silence answers.

You decide to move around the room, keen to find answers where your ghost refuses to give them to you. Your fingertips grazing the walls as if you could pull the truth from the cracks in the old plaster.

“I know you did this,” you say, your voice firm but edged with a strange softness, like you’re coaxing something fragile from the dark. “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

The lights flicker. Luis begins to pray.

The stench grows, grows, grows, more potent with each step you take towards the bed. You fear you’ll find rot when you pull the covers back—a body, perhaps. But what you find confuses you more. You fall to your knees by the bed, crane your neck to peer beneath it, and your eyes catch the glint of silver.

Your hand stretches out, inching under the bed as your teeth catch your lip. When you pull the object free, you look up at Luis, who meets your gaze with the same confusion. In your hands you hold a hunting knife.

And as quickly as it had come, the stench subsides.

You turn the knife over in your hand as you push yourself off the dusty floor, a strange emblem is etched into the heel of the blade. 

“Well that’s not weird at all,” Luis mutters, taking the knife from your hand to inspect it himself. You bite the inside of your cheek, about to say something more, when a faint creak draws your attention. The wardrobe. The door swings open, as if nudged by an unseen hand. You meet Luis’ wary gaze, your heart thrumming with anticipation.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, you rise to your feet, walking closer, pulling the door open by its rusting brass handle. Inside hangs a tarnished mirror, and in it you catch your own reflection—dark circles ring your eyes, your reflection looks as drained as you’ve begun to feel.

Luis hums over your shoulder, a spark of realisation lighting his expression as he clicks his tongue. “Not Noel, look.”

You squint into the mirror, making out the jagged inscriptions in the wall that are now mirrored. “Leon?”

There’s a knock on the wall behind you, too loud to be mistaken for the walls of the house adjusting. 

“Is that a yes?” You breathe.

Two knocks.

Luis stares at you, his voice hushed, disbelieving. “Are you talking to a ghost?”

“Holy fuck, I’m talking to a ghost.”

Your ghost isn’t as terrifying with a name to its haunt. Leon, you’ve come to find, is gentle. You and Luis have spent the past three hours communicating with him; knock once for yes, twice for no. A language of patience.

You’ve been documenting it all in your notebooks—entry after entry of everything you’ve learnt. It's all you can do, considering the tapes you’ve tried to record burn out. You figure he doesn’t like the notion of being seen. Being known is different, though. You can feel that—he wants to be known.

He cannot leave.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

He knows only his name.

You find he also likes to move things.

First, it was the photos. Luis had left the polaroids from the bedroom out on the dining room table to develop, safe with the windows drawn. You’d found them around the house later, one in your bag, another nestled between the equipment. Harmless. Cute, almost.

Then Leon started to move bigger objects. Your torch was found in the bedroom closet, Luis’ lighter in a kitchen cabinet, your hairpins scattered like breadcrumbs on the mantle of the fireplace. It’s a game to him, one that you find yourself eager to indulge. 

You slip into the kitchen, carrying a small wooden figure you’d picked up from the general store—nothing too special, a simple carving of a bluebird. Ghostly fingers might appreciate the weight of its worn edges, you think.

“Alright,” you say aloud, speaking to the empty room, “I – uh, got you something.”

You place the bluebird on the dining table, straightening the figure before taking a few gentle steps back. The temperature in the room drops suddenly, a chilly cold that you no longer mistake for the prairie wind, a denseness in the air that can only be explained by experience. 

Your EMF reader ticks up, and you itch to jot down the reading, yet the moment you turn your back, there’s the sound of wood scraping against wood. You spin back on your heel, only to see that the little bird has moved, facing the window with its beak pointed towards the fading sunlight.

“So you like the bird then?” You nearly laugh, low and under your breath.

There’s another scrape, this time longer. The bird moves again, right before your eyes, closer to the edge of the table.

Despite the absurdity of it all, you continue to talk. “Careful, you’ll knock it off.” You warn softly.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the bird stops just short of tipping over the edge, as if Leon has taken your words into consideration. You watch as the bird drags back across the table to the centre. 

The lights flicker with your laughter, as if your ghost finds amusement in the cadence of your voice.

You begin to wonder how anyone could’ve thought this home was malevolent at all. The unease that had come with your first encounter has long since given way to something deeper—an ache, a yearning, a quiet desperation to understand. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay, to uncover every secret this house holds. 

How did he die? Was it peaceful, or something violent? What kind of life did he lead? Did he love? Did he lose?

You sit on the living room floor, your back pressed against the wall, clicking your pen twice as you jot down tonight’s meeting in your notebook. From the wall beside you, two soft knocks answer in return.

There is a difference between an architectural haunting and a hereditary one. There’s a certain comfort in knowing a haunting is bound to a place, that its roots lie deep within the dirt that make up the home’s foundation. That it cannot follow you home.

But when a haunting becomes hereditary—when it latches onto you, burrows under your skin, sinks its claws into your soul, twisting, festering—when it’s tethered to you, that's when the fear takes hold. You cannot outrun a hereditary haunting.

Last night, you dreamt again. The homestead, its walls bleeding dark and thick, like wounds seeping into your memory. The flashes came in fragments: the house, the woods, a clearing bathed in moonlight. A glint of a knife to match the gleam of his eyes. And then, the sensation of cold mud pressed against your skin as you lay in the dirt, helpless, hopeless, dead.

You wake in the middle of the night and wonder when this haunting stopped feeling architectural.

Luis finds you on the third day in the parlour, your fingers curled around the edge of an old, weather-beaten box. It drags across the warped floorboards with a groan, sending up a small cloud of dust. 

He pauses in the doorway. “What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the otherwise quiet home. 

“Cleaning up.” You keep your eyes on the box, focused as you rifle through its contents.

Luis steps further into the room, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor, nearly tripping over the marbles you had laid out earlier for Leon to move. “Cleaning up?” His brow furrows. “Jesus, I thought we were here to investigate.”

“We are,” you mutter, your hands brushing off the dust clinging to your clothes as you turn to face him. “I’m just helping out.”

“Helping out?” Luis stops mid-step, his confusion sharpening. “Helping the ghost?”

Your hands still. The air shifts, colder than before, almost as if something is standing beside you. You glance over your shoulder, but it’s just Luis, a mix of disbelief and frustration in his gaze.

“Yes, Luis,” You sound annoyed now. Tension thick in the air.

His laugh is short and bitter. “This is crazy,” he mutters, his voice rising slightly. “You’re growing too - too attached, we need to leave.”

“No.” You straighten up, the words more defensive than you intend. “He needs help. Look at the state of this place!” You gesture to the peeling wallpaper, the broken furniture scattered, the oppressive sense of neglect.

“He?” Luis tries to be your voice of reason, tethering you back to reality, to the here and now because currently you seem like you’re in a different plane of existence entirely. 

“Yes, he.” You drag the box into a corner, your back to him, and run your hand across its lid. The texture feels wrong—too damp, too cold, as if the cardboard itself is rotting from the inside. “He’s trapped here,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Luis. “I don’t know how long, but... it’s been years. He doesn’t even have anyone to mourn him.”

Luis exhales sharply, his breath fogging the air. When did it get so cold? “You don’t know that,” he snaps, his voice louder, louder, louder. “You don’t even know who ‘he’ is!”

The words hit you like a slap. Something shifts, as if the chain binding his anchor to your ship has snapped and broken all at once.

“I’m not—” You stop, swallowing the words. “I’m not crazy, Luis.”

You can see the flicker of regret in his eyes, the way his expression softens, but it doesn’t erase the sting of his words. He hesitates, lowering his voice as if it could take back the hurt.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, “But you’re not thinking straight. You haven’t been since that night. The ghost—or whatever it is—has you hooked. And you don’t even see it–”

Each word feels like a knife twisting deeper. The betrayal coils inside you, bitter and raw. You trusted him to believe in you, to see you, even when no one else did. You open your mouth to argue, but your ghost has better timing.

A sudden, violent knocking echoes through the house, an urgency to each rap. This time, it’s not coming from within the walls, and oddly, that unsettles you more than if it were. The sound pounds from the front door, growing louder, louder, louder with each second that passes. When both you and Luis rush to the foyer, you stare blankly as the door handle rattles on its own.

You don’t think when you walk forward, as if compelled by an unseen force, your hand wrapping around the crystal handle before twisting it and tugging it open. There, crumpled on the porch, lies a bird.

It’s ruined. Feather slicked by a sheen of its own blood, some still fluttering in the wind, others matted to exposed bone. The body is split open, like something had torn it apart with its bare hands, its innards spilt on the rotting boards. Thin ropes of intestine, wet and glistening, loop over themselves. 

The head, nearly severed, hangs at a grotesque angle, twisted so far back it looks as though it were straining to see something beyond its reach, connected by just a thin sinew of flesh. One of its glassy black eyes remains open, dull and lifeless, its beak parted in a scream that never came.

The bird has blue feathers. A bluebird, you realise.

Leon doesn’t speak much the rest of the day—if you can qualify the knocks and the flickers of light as speech at all. When you ask him about the bluebird, there's only silence. When you press him on whether he caused it, a vase shatters like fallen stars at your feet.

Perhaps he’s not all gentle. Neither are you, though, so you give him grace. You pick up the shards of glass one by one, wrap them up in a handkerchief, and discard them in the garden. 

It’s only when you return inside that you realise you’re bleeding. A thin line of red trails from the split in your thumb, the sting arrives after, delayed but insistent. You watch it drip, swirling with the water as you rinse it away, the crimson draining down the sink.

You’ve grown used to seeing Leon in your periphery. His shadow is a presence that has grown comforting. Unknown to know, unfamiliar to familiar. You find yourself looking forward to the night even more now, eager for a glimpse of him. But tonight, he doesn’t visit.

You think you might’ve upset him. Between the dead bird and the silence, maybe he didn’t like all the arguing, how loud the house had gotten today. You don’t blame him. 

“Luis wants to leave tomorrow,” You hum softly into the darkness. You don’t need to see Leon to know he’ll be listening. “I have to go with him.”

Silence.

“I’ll miss you,” You try again, your voice holding a sense of urgency. Please, please, please.

Again, silence.

You ignore the tears that prick at your eyes, upset that your ghost is ignoring you. You fall asleep with a headache and a heartache to match. But when you dream that night, it’s much more alarming than any of the ones before.

You wake in the darkness, your body stiff in your dream like you’ve lost your flesh and have been made up of bones. Rigor mortis once more. For a second you think this might be some sort of horrible sleep paralysis,but before the panic can set in, your eyes focus on the cracks of light in your vision, seeping through the darkness of your mind.

You’re not sure what part of your brain comes to the conclusion, but you realise you’re stuck under something, in something maybe. A coffin? Something wooden. You can smell the musk of the cottonwood.

When you wake from the dream, your headache is pounding twice as hard, you sit up, groaning as you press a hand to your head. When your eyes open, your breath catches in your throat. 

Leon.

He's there. Right there.

Closer than he’s ever dared to get, standing beside your bed, watching, waiting, like he always is. Yet, he looks more solid, more here than you’d ever seen of him before. You could make out the shape of his nose, the curve of his eyes, the length of his lashes.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, bated breath caught in the cavern of your throat as you try to comprehend what you’re seeing. 

“Leon,” you whisper his name, your voice shaky, barely more than a breath.

He doesn’t move, but his eyes soften, just slightly, a weight behind his gaze that you can’t quite place. You watch his chest rise and fall with breath that should not be there, lungs that have no reason to expand, a heart that doesn’t beat. And yet, yet, he is here, in front of you, as vivid as anyone else would be.

You lift your hand, your fingers trembling as they hover just above his cheek. You know he isn’t real, not in the way you are, but in this moment, he feels real enough. The heat of your skin, the cool air between you—it all blurs together until the only thing you are sure of is him.

Slowly, carefully, your fingertips brush his skin.

It is faint—barely a touch at all, like reaching through fog—but it is there. For a second, maybe less, his skin feels solid beneath your fingers, cold but tangible. The breath catches in your throat as your hand lingers, the boundary between life and death blurring, blurring, blurring. His eyes flutter closed. 

But then, just as quickly, the sensation is gone. Your fingers slip through air, the chill of the room returning, and he is nothing more than a ghost again.

No, no, no your mind screams. A desperation in the way you reach for him again only to feel nothing. A hand over his chest is merely a hand in mid-air. You cannot feel the beat of his undead heart.

Yet, the weight of his gaze remains, heavy with something you cannot name. You want more. You want him to stay. You want to stay.

Leon’s lips part, the faintest hint of a breath escaping, and you swear you can almost hear him say something. Almost. His hand twitches, as if he is also trying to reach for you, but can’t quite cross the divide.

It is unbearable, the way you see him see you. 

You don’t tell Luis of what happened last night, refuse to unravel the complexities of the ache in your being that cannot be satiated anymore. 

It’s not pain exactly—at least not the kind Luis would understand. It’s deeper than that, a longing you can’t explain. You’re stuck here, you realise, tethered not by chains but by something far less visible, yet much harder to sever. 

Luis frowns when you tell him to go without you, that you’ll follow in a day or two. He doesn’t believe you, not entirely. There is scepticism in the way he argues, but you don’t have much fight left anymore. Maybe there isn’t in him, either.

You’d promised yourself this was temporary—a few nights, maybe a week—just long enough to get the evidence you needed. But those days had unravelled into something else. You couldn’t say when you’d first realised you weren’t going to leave. Maybe it was when the lights began to flicker in time with your heartbeat, or when the chill of the air began to feel like a ghost of a touch on your skin.

There was no evidence to gather anymore. No story left to tell but this one.

And perhaps, you think, that’s always been the truth of you—this love of yours, spilling over the edges of your heart until it found something, someone, to hold onto. Living or dead, it didn’t seem to matter. Love for you has never needed a pulse, just a presence.

You walk through the homestead, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet, and find that the air no longer feels heavy. There’s no longer that crushing weight on your chest, no musk of decay hanging like a warning. You breathe, and for the first time, the house feels still.

"Leon?" you call, your voice fragile, unsure.

The lights flicker in response, faint and distant.

Maybe, you think, this house has always been your grave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[bandgie]

The Other Ωmega

Changbin x fem!reader

warnings: MDNI 18+, anal (m!), omegaverse!!, changbin lies about being an alpha hehe, brief fingering (m!), handjob, blowjob, v slight cum eating, omegaxomega, cheating scare but everyone is loyal!, feminization (I think?), vague overstim mentions (m!) notes!:  this is an omegaverse fic! here is some info about that universe :)

2.3k words

From: Bin<3

sorry baby! I think im in a rut won't be able to go out tonight :((

Maybe you should be more understanding, but you can't find any compassion as you read the text message. What kind of alpha doesn't want to hang out with their omega when they're in a rut? You huff and don't reply, setting your phone on the floor.

Your makeup was already done and you spent the entire night before picking your outfit. Changbin is a caring lover, but he always avoids you when his rut starts. At first, you thought it was because he was being careful, but it's been nearly half a year and he still hasn't let you near during that time.

Picking up your phone, you message your friend.

he blew me off again

Felix replies almost immediately.

From: lixiepixie!

that bitch, dump him

From: You

don't be dumb. he said he's in a rut or whatever

From: lixiepixie!

I hate to say it, but do you think he's seeing someone else? bcuz it doesn't make sense that he wouldn't want to see you when he's like that unless...

Anything you were planning to type dies in your mind. Seeing someone else? No, no way. Changbin loves you, adores you even. There's never been a moment when you've thought otherwise, but reading Felix's messages puts disturbing doubts in your mind.

From: You

no, that's not it

From: lixiepixie!

then just show up at his place! he's an alpha, he'll be happy to see you. hes prolly just nervous about fucking you while hes in a rut for the first time

That makes more sense to you. After all, it would be a waste to have put on your best makeup just for no one to see. You shoot a quick text to Changbin telling him you hope he feels better before getting dressed. A part of you is nervous about showing up, Changbin is so keen on making sure you two are separate during his rut. You wonder if he gets overly dominant. If he would manhandle you into the position he wants before taking you. 

The thought excites you and a feeling of pleasure tightens in your stomach. Changbin might be a completely different lover in bed when he's in a rut, but you're an omega. His omega. Everything about you is built for him. You can take it.

You know where Changbin keeps his spare key to the front door. It's all too simple to call it breaking and entering as you lift the fake plant pot on the front porch and stick it in the keyhole. You're nearly buzzing with excitement as you take the first few steps into his place.

The smell hits you immediately. 

It's not the musky scent you're used to, but a sweet fragrance that forces its way into your lungs. Your body responds quicker than your brain. Carnal desire begins to fill your body in an almost uncomfortable way. Your breathing grows ragged, and your heart rate increases. 

Another omega is here, and they're in heat.

You push away your bodily reactions to march deeper into his house, ignoring how the first signs of arousal drip down your thighs. The closer you get to Changbin's room, the stronger the smell gets. You're not even his front door yet and you can hear him. The way he moans whimpers, cries out.

Anguish clenches your heart, but you mask it with fury as you swing the door open. "Who the fuck- Oh...Oh."

In hindsight, maybe it should be just Changbin in the room, but you hardly feel gratitude when you see your lover completely nude on his back, legs spread with a dildo between them. He noticed you, he made eye contact with you, but his hand keeps pumping the silicone cock in and out of his ass. 

"B-baby?" His hazy eyes regard you in the doorway. "Mmm my baby, want my baby." The pace he's set for himself falters, using one hand to reach out to you. Changbin's eyes are needy and filled with raw desire. You don't think twice when you walk to him, standing beside the bed. 

You take his hand in yours, feeling his burning skin. His palms are sweaty on your own as you gently sit on the bed. 

"Binnie?" Your voice is filled with confusion. "W-what's going on?" To answer your question, Changbin takes his hand holding yours to his mouth. He kisses and nips your skin, moaning at your taste. The feeling of his tongue makes you gasp, chills breaking out across your body. 

With the pheromones suffocating you in his room, you don't know how much longer you'll last. You want nothing more than to hop on his fat cock that leaks on his tummy. It takes immense strength to keep eye contact on his flustered face. 

Changbin pops one of your fingers in his mouth, swirling the digit around his tongue. "Mmf tastes so good. Baby, you taste so good." The squelching of his dildo grows louder as he quickens his wrist. "Fuck I...I need you."

You'll argue with him another time. The smell of him overtakes your sense and mind as you place yourself in front of his bent legs, The pretty dress you put on for your date night hikes up to your thighs. Changbin vibrates with need as you take the toy in your grasp and begin to pull it out.

"No!" He shouts. "Don't pull it out! Keep it in. Please please please please."

But you have to pull it out. You have to see the way his ass eagerly clenches onto the toy as you slide it out. How his gaping hole pulses around nothing once you've completely removed it. Changbin whines and picks his head up, eyes teary and lips pouting.

The sight of his lower half makes your mouth water, salvia pooling in your mouth at his pretty rim. "Ohhh," you sigh dreamily. "You have such a pretty pussy, my Binnie."

Changbin squeals when your warm fingers rub against his wetness. His arousal gathers on your digits, leaking from his ass. 

"Nuh-uh," your alpha- no. Your omega shakes his head. "N-not true." Changbin bites his lower lip in concentration as he forms his words. "Binnie's baby has the prettiest pussy."

His slurred words make you smile, pressing your middle finger slightly into his entrance. "Why did you hide this from me, hm?" You pull your finger away to give gentle slaps to his rim. The light impact makes Changbin's hips jolt upwards, and whines leave his lips. "You know I already love your cock. I'd love your pussy too."

The way Changbin keeps moaning makes you rub your thighs together. You can feel how sticky your underwear has gotten from watching his true state. You prod his entrance with the tip of the dildo, using your free hand to spread one of his cheeks for viewing. 

"Gonna...gonna make me feel good?" Changbin frames it in a question.

Your boyfriend always knows how to make you feel good, but you're not sure if you can do the same. You're not an alpha. You're not used to being on the giving end of relationships, but Changbin's so good to you. Making sure your heat is taken care of while he was an omega himself the entire time. 

"I'll try, baby," you don't sound too confident. "Binnie's baby is gonna try, okay?" With that, you press the dildo deeper inside him. Changbin reactions are immediate, lips forming a silent 'o' shape as his eyebrows pinch together. He groans as you settle the toy deep until the sack touches his ass. You gently pull it back and in a few inches, trying to set a pace.

Every time you move the silicone even an inch, the sounds of Changbin's slick resonates throughout his room. His arousal clings to the toy and drips down his ass. You use your finger to swipe the essence and place the sticky subtle in your mouth. 

The taste settles over your tongue and you moan. Everything about Changbin at this moment screams omega, and you don't know how you didn't notice it before. His plump chest, his short stature, the roundness of his ass. All the signs were there, yet it took you fucking a dildo into him to realize his true nature. 

"God. You take cock so well," you're filled with awe at the sight of Changbin's rim swallowing the fake dick easily. The throbbing between your legs grows unbearable, but you have to ignore it. You busy the hand on his ass to reach towards his aching cock. 

It throbs in your hand and Changbin cries out. Who knows how many times he's cum before you showed up, but his entire being is begging to be fucked until he can't take it. You know the feeling all too well, and you're more than happy to help.

The sound of Changbin's drenched cock mixes with the sound his the dildo in his ass. Your fist becomes wet immediately, only encouraging you to stroke him at an unforgiving pace. With a tight grip, you pull his skin down to expose his sensitive head. White goo leaks from his tip, slinging down until it drips down his soft stomach. 

"Ooo, oh! Like that! Just like that, baby," Changbin muffles his words into the pillow beside him. 

With your thumb, you rub the pad of your digits over his slit. His pre-cum sticks to your skin, connecting it to his tip. You swirl it around his flushed head until he squirms, hips bucking to shy away from your overwhelming touch. 

"You keep moving," you tut playfully. "How am I supposed to make you cum?"

Changbin whines in response, thighs shaking as he tries his best to stay still for you. "I'm good. I'll be good, baby. Don't stop." His compliance makes you smile and you reward him by wrapping your soft lips around his pink tip. 

The sound he makes is closer to a howl than a moan. His stomach tenses at the feel of your hot mouth, spurting more salty release on your tongue. You suck softly on him, making sure you get a taste of his natural tang. Changbin digs his heels into the matter as your mouth hollows, creating a powerful suction for his cock.

The dildo in your hand falters, slowing its pace so you could focus on sucking your boyfriend off. Even then, you swear you can feel his hole clenching on the toy, trying to get the tip of the silicone to touch the womb deep in his stomach. 

"Oh my god. Oh my god," Changbin's voice is strained. He lifts his head to watch how your head slowly bops up and down his shaft, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth. You focus your gaze upwards, locking eyes with him. With his attention on you, you try your best to shove his entire shaft down your throat. Though Changbin doesn't necessarily have much length, it's his thickness you struggle with. It feels like the corners of your mouth might tear with how much you open up for him.

It looks as though Changbin has hearts in his eyes, jaw slightly open as he moans at the sight of you engulfing him "So pretty. My baby's so pretty. Love you. I love my pretty baby, oh fuck..." he mindlessly babbles. 

If you could, you'd coo at his incoherent words. You show your gratitude by pulling the dildo a few inches out before ramming it back in. Changbin yelps at the sudden movement, but his hips quickly rock with your thrusting. 

You manage to set a doable pace for yourself. Sucking him in until his curly pubes touch your nose while you fuck the toy shallowly in him. Soft gags and muffled moans elapse your mouth as you try to swallow your omega whole, but Changbin seems to find pleasure in it nonetheless. 

His stubby cock twitches in your mouth and his chest heaves as his orgasm approaches. 

Quickly, you replace your mouth with your hand, stroking him in quick jerks while you have better agility to thrust the toy inside him. You swear you could see the tip of the cock poke from underneath the belly of his skin, touching the deepest parts of him you have yet to explore yourself.

Little gasps and cries leave his pretty lips, and this time, you do have the opportunity to coo at Changbin. "Look at you. So good for me. Gonna cum all over yourself again?" 

Changbin tries to nod, but it looks like his head just flops around. You find his attempt endearing. "It's okay, Binnie. You can cum as much as you want. I know you need it."

"Need it," he agrees, eyes screwed shut. "Need it so bad." You watch as his eyebrows come together. His dildo tears from your grip as his hips entirely buck off the bed when he cums, hot spurts of release reaching all the way up to his plump chest. Changbin lets out a series of choked moans, and though you're not getting any action yourself, you moan with him. 

His legs tremble as he keeps himself lifted, the final bursts of cum dribbling down his shaft before he finally collapses. His pants fill the room and you gently remove the silicone from him.

You pull it slowly to not hurt him, but you enjoy how Changbin shivers and groans when the last inches of the cock slip out of him. You raise the soaked toy in front of you, intrigued by the white cream that settles at the base. 

Yeah, he's an omega all right.

Changbin's labored breathing slowly returns to normal and his tired arms lift to make grabby-hands at you. You try not to smile at his adorable gesture, "You know you're gonna hear it from me in the morning, right?" But you snuggle beside him anyway, bringing your face into the crook of his neck where his pheromones make your head spin. 

"Binnie's sorry," he murmurs, wrapping one of his nude legs over your waist to bring you closer. 

"Mhm. Binnie's gonna be sorry all right."

You decide he'll make up for your neglected cunt all morning tomorrow...or maybe all day.

a/n: omg I have no idea how this will preform but I had so many different ideas in mind, but I decided to go with this one. I was originally gonna do an orgy with omega reader and omega Changbin and the rest of the boys alphas ahaha but damn, i couldn't muster the energy. enjoy this tho! thank you :)

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 35 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You arrive home to your husband and a visual representation of how much he loves you. Your house is filled with treats to make you smile, and the attic has been ripped apart to start accommodating your new addition. The way Bradley loves you and the baby makes everything even more exciting. But as much as things are changing, they are also staying the same. 

Warnings: Swearing, pregnancy topics, angst, fluff, smut, oral sex

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

When you woke up, you were afraid you were still on the flight home to San Diego. You desperately wanted to stop throwing up. Your ribs were starting to ache from it, and your back was sore from hunching over the toilet. But the unique smell of a new car filled your nose as you opened your eyes, and you knew you were in the red Bronco. 

"Roo?" you groaned, reaching for him but accidentally hitting the vase full of flowers that was for some reason in the cup holder instead.

"We're home," he replied right away as he pulled into the driveway. "I'm with you, and we're home."

You whimpered in response as you saw the front window of the craftsman glowing with a cozy orange light. The week in Annapolis had been one of the longest of your life, but you were home. And Tramp was here, and so was your own bed and your bathtub.

Bradley knew you were crying again before you did, and he swiped at your tears as soon as he turned the engine off. "It's okay, Sweetheart. Let's go inside." You made some sort of pitiful sounding noise, and a few seconds later, Bradley was carrying you up to the porch. "I'll go back out for your stuff. Are you hungry? I think you should try to drink more ginger ale or maybe a seltzer or gatorade."

You just gasped as he took you inside; every surface was covered in unlit candles and yellow flowers. Even in just the soft glow from the lamp on the end table, everything looked exceptionally romantic. "Bradley." 

He kissed your cheek and continued toward the kitchen while Tramp followed along whimpering for you. But the kitchen was more of the same. Your husband must have gone grocery shopping without you, because there was a little box of pastries and different snacks and more flowers lining the counter. He set you down and held your face gently in his hands. "What can I get you to drink?"

Your lip quivered as you looked up into his brown eyes. "You made everything so romantic."

He sighed and kissed your forehead softly. Then his lips found your nose and then your cheek before ending up on yours. "What can I say, Baby Girl? I missed you. Both of you. A lot."

You thought back to the way you were begging for him and his cock when you talked to him on the phone, but right now you could barely stand up after the horrible flight home. "I don't think I can be romantic right now. I feel disgusting."

He smiled against your lips. "This is peak romance to me. Yeah, I was going to light some candles and feed you some snacks and let you take the lead, but all I really wanted all week was you. Here. At home. With me."

You kissed him deeply, and then let your cheek come to rest on his chest while your stomach churned softly. "I love it. The flowers are beautiful. And can you leave the candles out until tomorrow?"

He nodded and kissed your ear. "I won't put them away yet. Now can you tell me what you want to drink? I just want to dote on you and the nugget all weekend."

You smiled and whispered, "Gatorade." Next thing you knew, there were several chilled bottles lined up on the counter for you to choose from. Bradley opened the orange one and put the rest away, and then you saw the refrigerator door. He had hung up the ultrasound photos in the shape of a heart, and you couldn't stop smiling. He went to the pastry box and broke off part of a croissant and held it out for you to nibble on. When you nodded he fed you more until you shook your head.

Then he helped you into the shower, and it took almost no convincing to get him to join you. "I want you with me," you said, and he started taking his shirt off. A minute later, there was a discarded pile of clothing on the floor, but the two of you were under the steamy spray. You washed his hair for him even though your body felt physically exhausted, and he melted into your touch. "You really missed me, huh?" you joked softly.

His eyes were closed, and he grunted softly before he said, "I miss you when you go out to brunch while I play golf. I miss you when I don't see you for eight hours at work. I miss you when you spend seven hundred hours at Costco without me. But this week was unbearable, Sweetheart. Let's not do it again."

When he didn't even mention being deployed for weeks and weeks on end, you relaxed a little more. You pressed your lips together as his big hands settled on your belly. "The nugget is already calmer with you around," you informed him. "The baby definitely prefers you."

He kissed you and rinsed off all the soap and shampoo. "Yeah, well the nugget and I are about to have a conversation once we get in bed."

You brushed your teeth and removed your contacts, and Bradley already had his UVA shirt ready for you. A couple minutes later, you were in bed with your fingers tangled in his damp hair while he pushed the shirt up so he could kiss your belly. 

"What did I tell you about being nicer to Mommy?" His lips found your belly button, and his breath was warm on your skin as he said, "She's the best fucking thing in the world."

"Don't teach the baby bad words," you mumbled as you set your glasses aside.

He kissed along to your dainty rooster tattoo and traced it with the tip of his nose. "Nah, that's what Aunt Natasha is for," he said, and you giggled as he kissed you everywhere. 

"Roo?" you asked with a yawn.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"It's literally my favorite thing to do."

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

Bradley didn't realize just how poorly he had been sleeping until he ended up staying in bed with you until almost noon on Saturday, finally feeling refreshed. When you woke up and immediately reached for him, he scooped you up in his arms and rolled you onto your back. 

"I'm hungry," you whispered as your stomach started growling loudly while he kissed you.

"Hi, Hungry. I'm Bradley," he replied with a smirk as his fingers brushed along your belly.

Your eyes lit up with mirth as you gasped. "Oh my god! That was your first dad joke!"

He chuckled against your neck. "I'm going to be so fucking good at this shit."

"The nugget already likes you better," you whispered as he started to kiss his way down your chest over the shirt. Bradley paused with his hand tucked beneath the fabric, fingers stroking your side softly as he looked at you.

"You said that yesterday, too. I don't like it when you say that."

When you swallowed hard and turned your face away, you whispered, "I swear it's true."

"No," he said sharply. "This is just because the first trimester is filled with so many changes in your hormones. After the nugget is born, he or she is going to take one look at you and realize they have the most perfect Mommy. I've already written about it in my Nugget Notebook."

He nodded his chin toward the pink and blue notebook on his nightstand, and you asked, "What else did you write about?"

He hummed and pressed his lips to your rooster tattoo, earning a little squirm from you. "I wrote a little about Grandma Carole and Grampy Goose. I talked about how you and I met, and how I fell in love with you. I told the nugget I never really thought about having kids before I met their mommy."

"Roo," you sighed softly as he brushed his mustache along your soft skin, his cheek coming to rest on your hip.

Your stomach rumbled softly as he asked, "Want me to make you some peanut butter toast and some hot tea for breakfast?"

Slowly yet intentionally, you started to slide your legs apart along the fitted sheet where Bradley was laying halfway on top of them. He propped himself up and met your gaze as you said, "In a couple minutes."

He kissed your tattoo again as he tried not to grin. "Hmm. Anything you think you might want before that, Sweetheart?"

You bit your lip and turned your head to the side as he placed his palm on the top of your thigh. Bradley listened to the deep intake of your breath before you let it out slowly and asked, "Will you go down on me?"

He had his lips pressed to your pussy before you finished the sentence, both hands on the backs of your thighs as he spread your legs wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. "Gorgeous," he whispered, his mustache feather light against your slick slit as you squirmed and whimpered his name, pressing yourself up for more. 

With a smile, Bradley parted you with his tongue, taking the time to remind you just how much he missed you. "Thought about you all week long, Baby Girl," he said after pulling your clit briefly between his lips. He plucked you a few more times as you moaned. "You're perfect," he promised, teasing your opening with his fingertip. "I missed you."

Then he took the time to taste every bit of you, his tongue swiping down to your ass as you begged him for more. He spread your wetness all over and when he made his way back up to focus on your clit, your fingers were in his hair. "I missed you, too," you managed before your voice broke softly as he sucked on you. "I was so horny all week, but nothing is as good as you."

Bradley smirked and sucked a little harder, leading you directly to your orgasm, showing you just how much better he was than your toys or your own hands. Reminding you that you'd never have it this good anywhere else. When you started to thrust against his face, he let his hands slide up to your waist. 

He waited until you were coming on his tongue and crying out before rubbing his nose along your clit and grunting, "I wanna fuck you."

You yanked so hard on his hair, he saw stars for a second, but he took your lead and kissed your mouth as he pushed his cock inside you. You were so wet and tight, he knew he'd only last a few thrusts, especially with the way you were squeezing him as your orgasm started to taper off. And then he was right there with you as you licked his mouth clean of your decadent taste and let your fingers snag in his messy hair. 

"Fuck," he grunted, driving into you with a few final thrusts before he filled you up with his cum. You looked so perfectly sated beneath him as you licked your own lips and gazed up at him.

When he stopped moving, his hips finally settling against yours, you looked a little bashful as you said, "I think I needed you before I needed breakfast." Your stomach was growling a little louder now, and Bradley knew he needed to get some toast in your belly to keep the baby happy. 

"Well," he rasped, "this was my breakfast, and I'll have it again for lunch and dinner if you let me." He slid away from you and stood next to your side of the bed, his head still a little fuzzy as he glanced down at his soft, glistening cock. With your legs still spread wide, he could see his cum working its way out of your tight pussy as you chewed on your lip dreamily. "Come on, Baby Girl," he crooned, reaching for you and guiding both of you into the kitchen. "I'll take care of all of your appetites."

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

You were practically shaking with happiness as you nibbled on a crunchy piece of toast slathered with a thick layer of peanut butter and sprinkled with chocolate chips. Your entire kitchen was decorated with the yellow flowers that Bradley got, and you noticed the refrigerator was randomly filled with steaks. 

"What's this for?" you asked him as he made himself some coffee. "It looks like you spend two hundred bucks on steaks?"

"I did," he confirmed, still completely naked from your activities a little while ago. "You really seemed to enjoy that dinner you had in Annapolis. I just thought you might want to try to replicate it here," he said a bit bashfully. "I mean, I could try to help you cook them if you want." You smiled, knowing full well he was more hesitant to admit he spent too much money on food that you'd have to cook for yourself than he was to parade around with nothing on.

"You're the best," you told him, tucking yourself against his chest and admiring the flowers on the island as he sipped his coffee. Then your gaze caught on a thin strip of drywall that was propped up next to the stairs. "Where did that come from?"

"Hmm?" Bradley hummed casually, his lips pressed to the top of your head.

"Is that drywall?"

"Oh. Uh... yes. I must have missed that piece when I was throwing all of it away."

You looked up at him, concern written on your face. "What do you mean by all of it?"

He kissed your nose a few times and said, "Now don't get upset, okay? It's not good for the nugget."

"Bradley."

He swallowed and said, "I got a little bored and anxious while the two of you were gone, and I kind of dismantled the attic."

"What?" You took off toward the stairs. When Bradley bought the Craftsman, you'd been with him every step of the way. You both looked at the house together, and you were there when he closed on it. He had his arm draped over your shoulders the first time he walked inside once he owned the place. You and he both knew the attic would eventually need an overhaul to grow from a sad little workspace into a usable bedroom or two. But now you were afraid to see what he did in your absence.

"Sweetheart, wait," he called out, wrapping his arms around you from behind before you could even put your foot on the first step. He kissed your cheek and said, "There could be a nail or something sharp on the floor that I missed when I cleaned up. Please, put some shoes on first."

You jammed your feet into your combat boots which were next to the front door, and Bradley did the same with his. Then he followed you upstairs, still in all of his naked glory, and watched you look around at the complete demolition job he did to the space. There was no flooring, no drywall, nothing.

"There used to be a half wall right here," you said, waving your arms. "I thought we were going to call a contractor."

"I did," he confirmed, standing there with his hands on his hips, kind of shrugging. "After I took everything down to the studs. But maybe they'll cut out some of the cost for the demolition since I already did it?" he muttered as his cheeks grew a little pink. "I just got excited about the idea of your parents having their own space when they visit, you know? And maybe one day, the nugget can have their bedroom up here. After they grow out of the nursery downstairs."

"Roo," you moaned, launching yourself into his arms. He welcomed you there as you whispered, "I'm sorry you were anxious enough while I was gone that you had the urge to completely dismantle the space up here." His sparse chest hair felt coarse against your face, but it was soothing to you anyway. "But I'm excited about this space. And I'm happy you called a contractor. And also, you look sinfully sexy in nothing but your boots, and I'm really horny again already."

"Oh," he rasped, and you could feel him reacting to you almost immediately. "Well, what do you know... so am I."

Then you and your husband had sex in the attic for the first time.

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

After a lovely steak dinner on Saturday night, which Bradley dutifully helped you make, you took a bath in your luxurious tub. He made sure the water wasn't too hot for the nugget, and then you lured him into the bath with you. All of the candles you'd noticed yesterday were now glowing, and a cluster of them had found their way to the bathroom counter. 

"I liked tonight's dinner a lot better than the one I had with Commander Patterson," you whispered as Bradley ran his soapy hands along your shoulders and kissed your ear.

"Trust me, Sweetheart, if I ever run into Derek, he's getting what he has coming to him."

You gasped. "How do you know his name is Derek?"

"I have my ways," he murmured, letting his fingers trail down along your body beneath the water. After you remained silent, wondering how on earth he had that information, he added, "You let it slip over the phone."

"Did I?" you asked. But you shouldn't have been too surprised. You kept forgetting little things here and there. Your hormones were hitting you hard in a variety of ways, and you'd just about had enough of it. 

"Mmhmm. If he ever comes to Top Gun, it's on."

You knew he was at least partially serious, so you didn't bring it up again. Instead, you let Bradley pull you out of the tub when you started to shiver, and he helped you get ready for bed. "I didn't throw up once today," you said with a smile as you curled up with your cheek on his chest. "The nugget always behaves when you're around."

Bradley kissed the top of your head and cradled your body against his. "If the nugget doesn't start to shape up, I'll have a little discussion with him or her." 

Just as he reached for the lamp on his nightstand, you asked him softly, "Will you read a little bit to me from the Nugget Notebook?"

You weren't sure if his musings were even really meant for you, but he agreed and picked up the pink and blue notebook from next to the bed, leaving the light on in the process. Bradley cleared his throat and started to read. His written words were enough to make you melt, and the deep rasp of his voice comforted you like nothing else could. 

"I hate to break it to you, little nugget, but you're related to some of the coolest people I ever met in my life. Sounds great, doesn't it? I suppose it is. The only downside is the fact that you won't get to meet them for yourself. But that's where I come in, so don't worry about it too much. 

Let's start with your Grandma Carole. Now she had a real talent for always knowing how to cheer people up. Even when she was having a hard day herself, she still saved a smile and a kiss just for me. She was one of the sweetest people around. She was smart, funny and honest, too. But I think if there's one thing of hers that I'd like to pass down to you, it would be Carole's sweetness.

Next we have your Grampy Goose. Don't worry, his name wasn't really Goose. It was Nick. Now this is going to be a little harder for me to write about, simply because I didn't get very much time with him myself, but I know for a fact that Goose could bring a smile to even the most serious faces."

You dozed off, dreaming about a world in which you got to meet your husband's parents. Where you could take your child to spend time with them. Get to know them without visiting the cemetery in Virginia. 

When you woke up, it was to the sound of your alarm while Bradley had you wrapped up with his long arms and his legs. "Roo," you muttered, but he held on.

"Don't want you to go to brunch," he whispered. "Stay in bed."

Goosebumps rose along your arms as you thought about spending the entire day snuggled up with him like this. "I need to go see Cam and Maria," you mumbled. Your stomach growled so you added, "And eat avocado toast."

Bradley groaned and rolled away from you. "At least you're hungry. Go have fun with your friends."

"Do you want me to bring anything back for you?"

He snorted as you climbed out of bed. "Yeah. You and the nugget. ASAP."

You pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him there. "God, you're sweet. Just like Carole. The nugget will inherit that trait, too."

You watched your husband blush as he snuggled under the blanket and tracked you with his eyes as you got ready to go out. Your stomach was feeling pretty good, but you knew you were tempting fate if you decided to wait to eat something at the restaurant. You made yourself a piece of toast and finished it before you climbed into your red Bronco and headed out to your usual spot while Bradley lounged in bed.

After you parked, you saw some texts from Jake asking how you were feeling and also asking if you and Bradley could watch Jeremiah one night. That sounded like a good sign that things had worked out okay between him and Uncle Bernie. When you saw Cat at work tomorrow, that would be the first thing you asked her, but for now you typed back to Jake. You didn't think Bradley would mind if you agreed to watch Jer. Frankly, the two of you could use the practice.

"Hey!" Cam called out as soon as you walked inside. "Hurry up, I'm starving."

You rolled your eyes as you made your way over to the table and scooted into the seat next to him. "You're always hungry," you mumbled as he handed you a menu even though you both knew exactly what you'd be ordering. "Where's Maria?"

"Late," Cam grumbled. "If she brings Bob with her again, I'll be so annoyed. I need a hot aviator in my life."

And that's when you saw her through the side window. You smacked Cam's bicep and silently pointed to where Maria was standing out on the sidewalk, snaking her arm up around Bob's neck. They were talking. They were just talking. Until they weren't. Bob leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. Then it was over, and you were kind of shocked as Maria made her way inside the restaurant. 

"They're fucking," Cam whispered harshly, smacking your thigh repeatedly under the table as she made her way over like absoltuely nothing just happened out on the sidewalk.

"I can't believe they are hooking up," you hissed, grabbing his hand and shoving it back to his lap just as Maria strolled over to the table.

"Morning," she practically sang. "How was Annapolis?"

"I went to Waffle House," you blurted out like a weirdo. "And a cemetery."

She laughed and picked up her menu. "I was more interested in how your presentation went, but I do love a good Waffle House breakfast."

You and Cam were both silent for a few beats before he quickly and loudly asked, "How long have you been fucking Bob?"

She was looking back and forth between the two of you with her mouth hanging open. "Well... listen... it's not my fault he's so funny and sweet and smells so good!"

That was proof enough for you, but she was practically gushing with details, and you couldn't wait to get home and tell Bradley.

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

"Maria and Bob are sleeping together! In the same bed! And having sex!" you announced as soon as you walked in the front door. "Oh, and Cam and Maria say hi."

Bradley looked up from the notebook where he was sitting on the couch and said, "Yeah, I forgot to tell you about that."

"How did you know?"

As you settled on the couch with your head resting on his thigh, Bradley let his hand come up to your belly. "I ran into Bob one morning last week, and it couldn't have been more obvious, Baby Girl."

You yawned and snuggled in. "You should have told me," you scolded softly. "I saw them kissing. It was the sweetest thing in the world."

Bradley stroked your soft skin as you started to doze. "Nah. You're the sweetest thing in the world." A smile curled along your lips as he juggled the Nugget Notebook to his other thigh and continued to write, this time about how much he loved you.

He let you sleep until you woke on your own and suggested the two of you take a beach walk with Tramp. You were gorgeous, practically glowing in the August sunlight, and that's when Bradley realized it was two years ago almost to the day since the first time he saw you. Since he met the woman who changed his life. You were currently talking about work as you held his hand and smiled as you pulled him along the sand, but he dug his heels in until you came to a stop.

"Roo?" you asked, looking up at him as Tramp pulled on the leash in his other hand. 

Two years. He'd spent over a dozen years before that going through the same routine every day but essentially gaining nothing in the process. Work and women and hitting the bar. Shit. Then you had him tearing his life down to the studs just like the attic the first time he laid eyes on you. All he wanted to do was make himself good enough so you'd keep looking at him and smiling at him just like you were right now.

"What's wrong?" you asked, reaching up to touch the scars on his cheek. Your hand was gentle and soft, and he covered it with his own so you'd keep it right where it was. He had a family again. Something he'd given up on until he met you, but then you made impossible things seem possible again. You loved him in spite of himself, or maybe because of himself. You took the loneliness away.

"Nothing's wrong, Sweetheart," he promised, mesmerized by the sunlight on your face. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you. Of course that's when you pulled your hand free from his cheek, made a miserable face and ran for the trash can at the beach path entrance. Bradley rubbed your back as you threw up and moaned about how much the nugget didn't like avocados. 

Then he took you home and attempted to replicate the steak dinner again after you took another nap. He thought he did a pretty decent job with minimal help. The two of you shared a plate, and you sat on his lap while Tramp begged for some scraps. "You ready to go back to work tomorrow?" he asked as you ate some garlic mashed potatoes that weren't quite as creamy as when you made them.

"No," you groaned. "I just want to sleep. But I'm sure Bickel will want to meet so we can fill him in on everything from Annapolis."

He kissed your cheek and whispered, "Maybe we can drive in together tomorrow? Just to spend a little extra time together in the morning?"

You dropped your fork and wrapped your arms around his neck. "You're so sweet, Roo. I can't handle it right now when I'm this horny!"

His eyes went wide as you reached for the front of his shorts. "Holy hell," he groaned, setting his own fork down as you touched him. "I might have to visit you at lunchtime tomorrow, yeah?"

"Please," you whined, your voice just making him harder. 

Bradley would never get enough of you. The fact that you demanded a quickie during dinner before returning to your food made his head spin. The fact that you sat on the piano bench with him when you were both done eating while he played a few songs for the nugget made him smile. The fact that you and he were going to be parents left him breathless. 

The ride to work in the red Bronco the next morning consisted of some serious hand holding while you drank a can of ginger ale while he drove. "I can't wait for the next appointment with Dr. Morris," he whispered as he kissed your knuckles. "I want some more ultrasound photos."

You laughed as you looked up at both visors which were practically covered with the little baby pictures. "You didn't get enough last time?"

"We need more," he said firmly. "We can tell your parents pretty soon, and then we can tell everyone else. I want to hand the photos out like cigars."

You were still laughing as he parked in the garage on base, and you walked into the building holding hands. He had fifteen minutes until his work hours technically started, and he didn't really care who saw. Bradley kissed you next to the elevators with everything he had, letting you taste his mouth while he worshipped yours. "Go wow Bickel, Baby Girl. I'll come find you at lunchtime, okay?"

You nodded, and Bradley patted your ass as you finally got in the elevator to take you up to your lab. On the way to the locker room, he ran into Jake and Cat who appeared to be doing what you and he had been doing by the elevators. Bradley tried to sneak quietly past, but Cat saw him and pulled away from Jake who whined in response. 

"Morning," Cat said to Bradley as she walked away from Jake with a satisfied little smile. 

"Wow," Jake drawled as he watched her disappear around the corner. "Thanks for ruining the best part of my day, Bradshaw."

He chuckled as Jake followed him into the locker room. "It's not like you won't see her later."

"I won't," Jake whined. "Not alone anyway. She and I are taking Jeremiah to the movies with Hondo."

Bradley pulled a clean flight suit from this locker and started to get undressed. "So things went well between you and Uncle Bernie last week?"

Jake hummed as he yanked his own shirt off. "You could say that. We've come to a bit of an understanding. I understand that he's protective of Cat, and he understands that I'm not fucking going anywhere."

Bradley thought back to just a few months ago when Hondo was running Jake ragged with countless push ups and sprints. "Next thing I know, you'll be asking her and Jeremiah to move in with you."

"Oh, I already did that," Jake replied easily as he zipped his flight suit over his undershirt. "Yesterday."

Bradley stood there in his compression shorts and tank top. "And?" he asked, gesturing for more information. He loved being on the cutting edge of these things ahead of you, and he knew for a fact that Cat was like a steel trap in comparison to loose-lipped Jake. 

Jake shrugged with some annoyance on his face. "She said it's too soon. Then she told me how much she loves me. Then she gave me a blowjob. And now this morning she's making out with me like she can't stand to be apart. So... I don't really know what's up. But I've got plenty of space for both of them at my place, unlike at Hondo's." 

When Jake slammed his locker door, Bradley felt apologetic for putting a damper on his good mood. "You haven't been together for very long," he said cautiously. 

Jake rolled his eyes as he sat to put his boots on. "Longer than you and Angel were together before you bought her a house."

Oof. He was actually right about that one. "Yeah, but there's a kid involved, you know?"

Jake stood and smirked. "You've got one of those now, too."

Bradley looked around with wide eyes. "Keep it fucking quiet," he hissed, but Jake just laughed. 

"The only person with razor sharp hearing is Nat, and if she can hear me all the way from the ladies' room, then good for her," he replied. "See you in the hangar."

Bradley stood there for a few extra seconds in silence before finally pulling on his flight suit. Then he dug around in his locker until he found the ultrasound picture he'd tucked away and gave it a little kiss. The last thing he did before locking everything away was send you a text.

I already miss you. We should have just stayed in bed.

And then he was off to start another week up in the air. He got to the hangar before he ran into anyone else, and he already had his helmet in his hands when Maverick found him and gave him an envelope. Bradley took one look at the raised seal, and his heart plummeted to his feet. 

"No," he rasped, his dark eyes meeting those of his dad's best friend who just nodded at him before apologizing and walking away. "Fuck!" Bradley practically shouted before dropping his helmet to the ground and raking his fingers through his hair. He vaguely made out Nat's voice as he started to rip into the envelope with a level of fury he never felt before, because he never had both a wife and a baby on the way before. 

He skimmed the page before crumpling the paper in his fist and stared at the ground. His breaths were coming quick and shallow. His skin was crawling. He picked his helmet up and made his way toward his Super Hornet without a glance back toward the buildings.

When he eventually found you in your office at lunchtime, he had to watch your smile slowly fade away only to be replaced by sobs and tear filled eyes. 

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

That's a wrap on this series!! Omg, what a ride these two went on! I have a feeling the next one will be even wilder. Please stay tuned for some one-shots featuring Roo, Baby Girl, and the nugget. Then we will pick up later in her pregnancy with a brand new series!!!!! Thanks for all the love, reblogs and comments. They brighten my day and keep me motivated. Big thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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