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cha-melodius · 1 year

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Firstprince and #11 for the winter prompts!!!

(Helloooooo and Happy New Year! Convienent that at least one of these is still timely, lol. This is 11. "Competition to see who can bring the hottest date to the New Year’s party," though I've left the parenthetical spoiler out here and in the fic notes on AO3. Office AU, multiple POV. I hope you enjoy!)

May Your New Years Dreams Come True

Read it on AO3 (T, 3.1k)

Henry ~~~~~

It’s a confluence of unfortunate events that sets the whole thing off.

Henry’s standing in front of the electric kettle in the break room, waiting for his water to boil and minding his own business, when he hears a familiar cadence of footsteps coming down the corridor. After all this time, he still can’t help but tense up, no matter how hard he tries to be something approaching normal around him.

The arrival of one Alex Claremont-Diaz will never fail ruin Henry’s cool.

This time, though, he’s not alone. The nasal pitch of Hunter’s voice carries down the hallway and into the break room, even as Alex’s steps pick up speed in a futile attempt to lose him. Henry stares down at the kettle and wills it to boil faster, or for them to bypass the break room entirely, but luck is not on his side today. Alex strides in, Hunter hot on his heels, and walks immediately over to the coffee pot next to where Henry stands.

“Fox,” Alex says in greeting, and somehow that one syllable manages to be loaded.

“Alex,” Henry returns. He quirks an eyebrow; Alex rolls his eyes in the rough direction of where Hunter is still behind him and makes a gagging face that has Henry pressing his lips together against a laugh.

“… so I told her about the party and of course she wants to come. I mean, who could blame her?” Hunter is saying, the inane babbling finally resolving into words in Henry’s consciousness. “What about you, Alex? Do you have a date for the party yet?”

“Hm?” Alex hums, finally looking away from where he’s been seemingly trying to stare a hole in Henry’s head. He turns toward Hunter and smiles insincerely. “Oh, sure. Definitely. Super hot.”

Henry blinks. He doesn’t know what he expected Alex’s answer to be, but it wasn’t that.

“Oh yeah?” Hunter replies eagerly. “How hot are we talking? Because this girl I’m bringing”—he whistles in a way that makes Henry cringe—“she’s so hot.”

“Yeah, man,” Alex says in that tone of voice that Henry suspects Hunter doesn’t realize is mocking him. “Tall. Blond. Legs for days.” He pauses, his grin sharpening as he leans back against the counter with his coffee. “In fact, I’d wager money my date will by far be the hottest there.”

Hunter scoffs, which honestly Henry doesn’t understand. It’s not like Alex hasn’t pulled in some real lookers to previous years’ parties, much to Henry’s chagrin. “Really? You want to bet?”

Alex shrugs. “Sure.”

“Henry,” Hunter says suddenly, finally—and unfortunately—acknowledging that he’s actually been standing there the whole time. “You want in on this?”

“Yeah, Fox,” Alex jumps in unexpectedly, a challenging glint in his eye and an aggressive smirk on his lips. “What about your date? You want in on this?”

No, Henry most certainly does not. He doesn’t know why it didn’t occur to him that this would be an issue. The office’s party is legendary. Instead of throwing a holiday do, they go all out on New Year’s Eve: black tie, caviar, a view of the ball drop in Times Square, and of course, endless, overflowing champagne. Henry always attends alone—a fact which he knows Alex is well familiar with—because although he’s out to a significant portion of company’s employees, he’s never really felt a need to let the rest of them know anything about his personal life. It doesn’t help that none of his prospective dates never seem have the potential to match up to the one he’s always wanted to be there with. To the one person he’s longed to kiss at midnight ever since he started working here.

The same person who happens to be currently trying to set him afire with his mind from across his coffee cup. Who has to make everything into a competition. How Henry ended up regrettably and hopelessly in love with this man, he’ll never understand.

Still, there’s no explaining why his mouth opens and he says, “Why not? Fifty quid.”

“You talk like an alien,” Alex says immediately, rolling his eyes. “But you’re on. In dollars, none of that make-believe money y’all have.”

“Nice,” Hunter adds, unfortunately reminding both of them that he’s still in the room. “Let the best man win.”

~~~~~ Nora ~~~~~

“You gotta help me,” Alex says in a rush, closing the supply closet door behind him when he finds her.

Nora sighs and sets down the three reams of paper that she’d come in there to get, taking in the disarray of his curls, as if he’s been running his hands through them, and the slightly wild look in his eyes. “What did you do now?”

“It was just supposed to be a stupid joke,” he whines, like that’s should mean anything to her. “And somehow now it’s a whole thing. I think half the office is in on it.”

“Ohhhhh. The bet,” she surmises, letting a smirk tip onto her lips. It had somehow become all anyone in the office wanted to talk about in the last two days. “Yeah, not one of your best ideas. On the bright side, though, the pot is going to be huge. Maybe I can get that new GPU I’ve been wanting.”

“Hold on, you’re not telling me that you bought in too?” Nora nods, and Alex groans. “Jesus, Nora. You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? Your sister is a stone-cold fox, and in an evening gown?” She gives a low whistle. “It’s in the bag.”

“Don’t.”

Nora looks at him, then, really looks at him, for the first time since he cornered her. He’s twitchy, worried like she hasn’t seen him in a while. Whatever issue he’s currently having with Henry—because it’s always something to do with Henry—it’s weighing on him more than usual. “Wait, do you even have a date?”

“Of course I do,” he scoffs.

“Oh yeah?” she says, raising her eyebrows. As far as she knows, Alex hasn’t been out with anyone who wasn’t her or June in ages. He’s certainly not seeing anyone. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

Alex fidgets some more, chewing on the corner of his thumb. A tell. 100% chance he’s lying about something; she gives it a 45% likelihood he doesn’t have a date yet, 34% he does but she’s not actually as hot as he’s making her out to be, 21% that something else is going on that she doesn’t have the data for yet.

“Yes. No. It’s not important,” he mumbles as he tries to wave her off. “I have a date.”

She bumps the ‘something else’ percentage to 39%, maybe higher, and considers trying to ply him with bourbon sometime in the next few nights. “So it’s about Henry’s date, then,” she guesses.

At that, he looks momentarily stricken before he reigns it back in. “Why would you say that?” he demands. She definitely hit a nerve.

“Henry’s never brought a date to these things before, but he’s bringing one this year. You’re being weird about something. Ergo, it follows that Henry’s date has something to do with it.”

“You’re insane. That’s not— it has nothing to do with that.” He straightens, and sniffs dismissively. “I just think that ranking peoples’ dates’ hotness is reductive.”

“Right,” Nora laughs. “Now you do. You’re just worried you’re going to lose.”

“Definitely not,” he huffs. “Who’s even going to be the judge?”

“Oh, that’s already settled. Zahra said she would do it.” It’s the perfect solution, really. If anyone could have the authority to judge and not have anyone A) take it personally, or B) argue, it would be Zahra.

Alex drags a hand over his face, groaning miserably. “Now Zahra’s involved too?!”

~~~~~ Pez ~~~~~

Pez is pretty sure Henry is avoiding him.

It’s not an easy thing to do, given that they work in the same division and also spend a large amount of their free time together, but somehow Henry is managing it. He slips away whenever he hears Pez coming, and when Pez began sneaking up on him, he started wriggling away with some made up excuse. Pez knows very well why: the bet. The one that he couldn’t believe Henry actually agreed to when he’d heard about it secondhand. Of course, all sense seems to fly out the window whenever they’re dealing with darling Alex, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised.

Eventually, after an entire two days of fruitless pursuit, Pez simply shows up at his apartment unannounced and unwilling to take no for an answer. Henry surprisingly buzzes him in without question and answers the door straight away, and the way that his eyes go wide in surprise and his face actually falls—wow, rude—when he sees it’s Pez on his doorstep confirms he was expecting someone else.

“Pez,” he says weakly, trying to recover his composure and largely failing. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy drop by to visit his best friend?” Pez replies, pushing his way in before Henry can close the door on him. He holds out the bottle of brandy he brought as reinforcements. “We need to chat, my dear.”

Henry deflates. His hair has been styled and he’s wearing the blue sweater that Pez instructed him to deploy when he really wants to make a guy swoon over his eyes; definitely a date. “Look, I understand what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, I do, but…” He hesitates. “I’m expecting company tonight.”

“Company,” Pez echoes, arching one elegant eyebrow at him. “Please tell me this company is the mysterious scorching-hot date that you’ve somehow managed to acquire for the New Year’s party.”

“No. Yes.” Henry sighs. “He’s going to be here any minute, Pez.”

“How convenient. I’m dying to meet him.”

“Pez—”

“Hazza, I don’t know why you’re hiding him from me,” Pez interrupts before he can finish his protest. “This is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned. I love you, but if I have to spend another New Year’s Eve watching you sulk next to the croquembouche while Alex kisses someone else at midnight I might lose my bloody mind.”

“I can promise you that’s not going to happen this year,” Henry says. He actually seems to mean it, even.

“Good. Well I’m glad you found someone, even if you won’t let me meet him yet for reasons that are entirely unfathomable to me,” Pez says, though he’s not at all satisfied. Then he adds, as an afterthought, “Especially after having to listen to Alex go on about how ridiculously attractive his date is. I rather think he must be overselling it, personally.”

He does not miss the way that Henry goes slightly pink at that and looks away, unwilling to meet his eye, so perhaps things aren’t as rosy as they might appear. If Henry’s let himself get pulled into a silly competition because he thinks it’s going to get Alex to finally notice him, Pez is afraid he’s going to be sorely mistaken. He just hopes the poor sod that Henry’s dragging to this thing isn’t expecting too much.

“I’ll tell you soon,” Henry promises, looking slightly pained. “It’s only… everything is very new still. I don’t want to jinx anything.”

That’s— well, unexpected. Pez doesn’t know how Henry could have found some chap that he could be this interested in without him knowing about it, but apparently just such a thing seems to have happened. As his eyebrows climb ceiling-ward, he asks, “It’s serious then?”

Henry manages a small smile. “I hope so.”

~~~~~ Alex ~~~~~

Alex tugs at the front of his red velvet tux jacket even though it’s perfectly straight already, unable to stop fidgeting as anticipation thrums through his veins. The main doors to the venue keep opening and admitting not the person he’s waiting for, and he can’t resist turning to look even though he knows it’s not quite time. This was his plan, so there’s no one to blame but himself. Make an entrance, he’d said. It’ll be hilarious. Along with, Yes, I’m sure.

He’d had to say that last one a lot. This whole thing is kind of a big statement, and he could have just… not made it. His coworkers aren’t entitled to his personal life. He can’t express how much he wants this, though. He doesn’t want to hide, not when this feels like such a important part of himself. Ok, he probably could have made a smaller statement, but in his defense he never expected it blow up like this. In the end, he decided to lean into the absurdity of it all. Nora will probably call him a drama queen and June will roll her eyes, but the looks on their faces will be worth it.

Somehow he’s gotten stuck standing next to Hunter, which is terrible but also kind of appropriate given how this has started. The other man has barely left Alex alone since he arrived sans date, like he won’t be satisfied until he sees whoever is meeting Alex at the party. For his part, Alex has to admit that Hunter’s date turned out to be a very attractive woman, whom he has no idea how Hunter of all people pulled.

Still not hotter than his date.

“This mystery date of yours going to show up any time soon?” Nora teases, appearing at his side with June in tow and, inexplicably, seemingly Pez in tow as well. Alex is not sure he wants to know what’s going on there.

“Yeah. Any minute now,” Alex answers with more confidence than he feels.

“I can’t believe Hazza’s not here yet,” Pez mutters, stretching up on his toes to look around, as if Henry wouldn’t be obvious. He’s taller than most of the office, save Shaan.

Alex’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he doesn’t have to check it to know what it says. A few moments later, the venue doors open again, and this time when Alex inevitably turns to look he sees Henry walking in wearing an impeccably tailored classic black tux.

“There,” Alex says, pointing across the room.

“Huh? Where?” Hunter asks as he cranes to look. “Is she behind Henry?”

“Not exactly.”

“I don’t see anyone new, Alex, are you sure—”

Alex doesn’t hear the rest, or anything that anyone else around him says, because Henry’s confidently striding across the room toward him with a smile slowly curling onto his lips, and nothing else in the world matters anymore. Henry barely comes to a stop in front of him before Alex is tugging him down into a kiss, because standing in any proximity with Henry and not kissing him is a crime (sometimes, work days are torture). Henry’s lips move softly against his as his hand comes to rest on the narrow part of Alex’s waist, and Alex simply lets himself get lost in it for an unknown amount of time before he finally pulls back.

“Hey baby,” he says, grinning like an absolute fool. “Took you long enough. Any later and you might have missed the judging.”

“I arrived precisely when you told me to, you absolute demon,” Henry retorts affectionately. “In any case, I’m pretty sure we’ve disqualified ourselves, love.”

“Ask me if I care,” Alex murmurs against his lips, then kisses him soundly again before he can answer.

They spend most of the night fielding questions, unsurprisingly; more than once they have to engineer an actual escape from the collective clutches of Pez, Nora, and June, stealing off into a secluded corridor to get lost in each other’s arms and mouths for as long as they can manage before they get dragged back to the party. But even when they have to behave themselves and actually socialize with their coworkers, the novelty of being there together, of being able to slip his arm around Henry’s waist and press close against his side, of not having to constantly moderate looks on his face, of being able to be himself, is intoxicating. Alex feels drunk on it even moreso than the champagne, though the champagne is definitely helping.

A little before midnight, their boss commandeers the microphone from the DJ and calls for everyone’s attention. “All right you miscreants,” Zahra announces, and she must be fairly drunk herself because she’s nearly laughing as she speaks. “I’ve been informed that it’s my responsibility to judge—Jesus fucking Christ—hottest date, because you all are apparently fourteen years old.” Her eyes sweep the assembled crowd and find Alex and Henry, who remain practically glued together. “I’ve also been recently informed that two of the initiators of this farce were operating with insider information, so really, I should call the whole thing off.”

“Boo!” Alex calls out, which draws scattered laughter from the others and a reluctantly fond eye roll from Zahra.

“I should, but I won’t,” she continues.

“So who won?” someone calls out.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Zahra says, her smile going wickedly smug. “Me.”

Then she takes a few purposeful strides to the right, grabs Shaan by the arm, and drags him into a lingering kiss. The crowd immediately bursts into surprised chatter and cheers, and someone—look, it might have been Alex, but he’s not owning up to it—wolf-whistles, which finally makes her break off and glare at all of them.

“All right, all right, enough of that!” she shouts over them. “Go drink your fucking champagne and get ready for the new year. The ball drops in two minutes!”

One minute and forty-five seconds later, Henry has Alex wrapped up in his arms and is staring down at him with a look that’s so fucking smitten that Alex might actually melt. They’re standing in front of the picture windows that look out at the ball in Times Square, its lights glittering as it prepares to make its descent, but despite the frankly epic view, they only have eyes for each other.

“Sorry I cost you fifty quid,” Henry says, sounding not very sorry at all.

“It’s dollars, you alien,” Alex huffs as he grins up at him. Henry is so achingly beautiful, the angles of his face lit up by the lights of the city, and Alex knows he was right about the bet no matter what. He shrugs, trying and probably failing to look nonchalant. “S’ok. I won anyway.”

Henry laughs. “That was terribly sentimental of you, love.”

“I know,” Alex groans, pretending to gag. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Around them, the countdown starts; neither of them even have a glass of champagne, though that’s probably for the best at this point. “I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” Henry murmurs, just audible over the shouted counting of their coworkers.

“Do what?”

And then, at midnight, Henry kisses him.

#firstprince #rwrb #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #my fic #1 million words challenge

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ehlnofay · 1 year

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the problem with posting any of my newer stuff is that it’s all So Fucking Long. stupid amounts of words. just finished my most recent ‘‘‘‘‘micro’’’’fic three days and almost five thousand words after I sat down to begin it. that’s not micro anymore that’s a whole ass fic. and it’s too much to read on tumblr dot com

#most aren't QUITE that long. though the one I'm thinking of posting next is. lol #but the ballpark for my shorter pieces nowadays is like. 1-1.5k #which is A Lot #and it's good because I'm writing a lot more atm than I used to!!#but also I don't really have easy bite-sized little scribbles anymore #maybe sometime I'll do one of those challenges that have you do just a few hundred words. I'm probably going to keep doing longer stuff #but learning how to convey an idea in a smaller space would be valuable I think #idk #anyway. look forward to my next five million word nonsense sometime soon!

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reasonsforhope · 1 month

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"At HarperCollins, a lot of attention and thought is given to deciding exactly what combinations of margin measurements, font, and layout feel most appropriate for the genre, and writing style.

But in a case of do-your-part environmentalism, designers at the publishing house have now standardized a series of subtle and imperceptible alterations to normal font style, layouts, and ink that have so far removed the need for 245 million book pages, totaling 5,618 trees.

Telling the story in Fast Company, representatives from HarperCollins, one of the four largest publishing houses in the world, explained that the idea first arose in Zondervan Bibles, HarperCollins’ Christian publishing division. Being that the Bible is 2,500 pages or sometimes more, saving ink and pages was not just an environmental consideration, but one of production costs.

A new typeface called NIV Comfort Print allowed Zondervan to shave 350 pages off of every Bible, which by 2017 had amounted to 100 million pages, and which, as Fast Company points out, would be four times higher than the Empire State Building if stacked.

The production and design teams then wondered how much they could save if they applied the same concepts to other genres like romance and fiction. Aside from the invention of the eBook, publishing hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, and the challenge was a totally novel one for the teams—to alter all their preconceived ideas and try and find a font and typeface that resulted in fewer pages without being harder to read.

They eventually standardized 14 different combinations their tests determined were the most environmentally friendly, and which delivered an unchanged reading experience.

But the challenge didn’t stop there. Printed books, one might not know, are printed in large sheets which are then folded into sections of sixteen pages, meaning that Leah Carlson-Stanisic, associate director of design at HarperCollins, has to calculate the savings of space, words, and ultimately pages with the help of her team to fall in multiples of sixteen.

Nevertheless, they have been successful with it so far, and in the recent print run of one popular book, 1 million pages (or a number near 1 million that coincides with the 16 times tables) were saved.

“We want to make sure our big titles, by prominent authors, are using these eco-fonts,” Carlson-Stanisic said. “It adds up a little bit at a time, saving more and more trees.”"

-via Good News Network, April 4, 2024

Note: Great! Waiting to see this on the rest of their books and at the other big publishers!

Actually, though, it's worth noting that this may not come quickly to the other large publishers, because Harper Collins almost certainly owns that font - meaning that other publishers would have to pay HarperCollins in order to use it, on an ongoing basis.

More on publishing shit and more realistic solutions here below the cut!

What I'm hoping for and think is more likely is that this will inspire the development of open source eco-friendly fonts, which would be free for anyone to use. That would make it far more likely other publishers would adopt eco-friendly fonts.

I'm also hoping it would inspire other publishers to create similar eco-friendly fonts of their own.

Ideally, there would be a whole new landscape of (hopefully mostly open source) eco-friendly fonts. And/or to see calculations of the eco-friendliness of popular existing fonts, compared to each other.

If we could have a publicly accessible list of calculations for different fonts, including fonts designed to maximize eco-friendliness, I really do think that it would affect which fonts publishers choose to use. Here's why:

Most people in publishing are on the left (notoriously, actually) and really do care about the environment

People in publishing are plenty aware of these issues re: paper and trees, I promise

Shorter books means smaller production costs - and possibly smaller shipping costs as well, over time! So it would save them money too.

Eco-friendly fonts could also be combined with other measures for greater effect, such as bamboo paper (already in use for a lot of projects where page color/quality is more flexible) and thinner paper (aka paper with a lower weight) that uses less trees.

Don't expect books to all move to just one or two different fonts, though. Publishers and typesetters and font designers will innovate to create more options instead, though it will take longer. This is because different books really do use different fonts for various different reasons - one new font to rule them all isn't really a solution here.

"Every book is in the same font" may sound like a "whatever" deal to a lot of people, but as someone who works in publishing - trust me, it would actually make your reading experience worse, even if you could never quite put your finger on why.

#publishing #books #book publishing #bookblr #harper collins #fonts #font design #eco friendly #sustainability #conservation #trees #deforestation #good news #hope

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thetriumphantpanda · 8 months

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where you want your gift, girl? | Joel Miller

Summary | It’s your birthday and Joel, knowing it’s not your favourite celebration, is keen to show you that it‘s not always going to be a bad day, not if he can help it.

Warnings | birthdays, allusions to strained parental relationships, food & alcohol consumption, smoking of (1) cigarette, no/pre-outbreak AU, gift giving, explicit smut, rough sex, choking/breath play, brief spit play, oral sex (F Receiving), safe unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, cumplay, literally just filth tbh, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 4.2K

Authors Note | Honestly? It’s my birthday today and all I want is for Joel Miller to fucking rail me to celebrate - we can’t have everything we want I suppose, so we’ll have to deal with writing our fantasies instead! Happy Birthday to me - Enjoy!

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You’d never really enjoyed birthdays. Other people’s, sure. The opportunity to treat your friends and make other people happy was something you’d always loved, but when it was you as the centre of attention, you almost hated it. The way people would train their eyes on you as you opened their gifts, the anxiety that you felt not knowing what it would be and whether you’d have to pretend it was the best thing in the world when you could think of a million things you needed above what they’d given you. It always made you feel ungrateful. Birthdays aren’t as exciting as you get older either, just another reminder of how far behind the rest of your friends you are, how little you seemed to have accomplished next to them in the same amount of years.

It was no different this year, not really. Your mother had phoned you before you’d gone to work, asked if you received the card she’d sent in the post that had the customary $100 stuffed into it, before chiding you for not doing as you said you would last time you spoke and find a new job, something more challenging, related to that degree you’d spent all her money on. You sigh and hang up the phone before she can say anything else, a mumbled sorry that you were running late but thank you for the card.

The only saving grace for your birthday this year was the fact it was a Friday, so you didn’t have to worry about drinking too much beer and having to go to work the next morning with a hangover. To their credit, your work colleagues had been quite nice to you - they’d pooled together to get you a gift card for you to spend on whatever you’d like, and Sandra from accounts had made you a birthday cake – red velvet because it was your favourite. Once everyone had eaten a slice, she put a Tupperware on your desk with two more generous slices in it, winking at you before walking away.

“For your handsome boyfriend.” She’d said, giggling as she walked away.

There was another saving grace for your birthday, you supposed. Joel Miller. Who had burst into your life in a whirlwind eight months ago when his beautiful daughter had spilled her hot chocolate all over your crisp new shirt in her hurry to get to the table so she could drink it. He’d been the most apologetic you ever thought you’d seen a man, helping you to wipe the worst of it off with napkins whilst Sarah profusely apologised next to you. You’d put a comforting hand on her shoulder, told her it was okay, and that you understood entirely, you’d have been as excited as her to drink hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. Joel had insisted on paying for your dry cleaning, something you’re pretty sure only ever happened in films, and when you’d phoned him to tell him it really had been a minimal amount, he’d asked to take you to dinner instead, and the rest really was history.

He’s phoning you now, his name popping up on the front screen of your phone, you smile as you answer it.

“Hello, handsome.” You greet.

“Good afternoon,” His southern drawl hits your ears, “Happy birthday, my darlin’ girl.”

God, he makes you so happy, “Thank you, cowboy.”

“You want me to pick you up and take you for dinner?” He asks, “Tommy is gonna look after Sarah tonight, so I’m all yours, whatever you wanna do.”

You think for a second, sure, dinner out is a nice idea, but it’s been a long week, and you think what you want most is to be at home with him, “You think you could grill me a steak and let me drink beer on your couch instead?” You ask, slightly embarrassed that this is all you want for your birthday.

“If that’s what you want, darlin’, then I’ll grill you the best steak of your life,” He chuckles, and then you can hear him cover the phone and speak to Sarah, who must be just back from school, “Sarah wants to speak to you real quick.”

He passes the phone and it’s Sarah’s sweet voice that greets you next, “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, honey,” You smile, “You looking forward to some time with your Uncle Tommy?”

“He’s gonna take me to the movies,” You can hear the grin on her face, “I already heard dad telling him not to feed me too much candy, but he never listens,” You chuckle, “I got you a present,” She speaks again, “I gave it to dad so you can open it later.”

“Ahhh you sweet girl,” You coo, “I’m sure I’ll love it,” You reassure, “And I’ll be there tomorrow so I can thank you in person.”

“Alright,” She replies, “Dad wants the phone back, but have a nice birthday with him!”

You say goodbye to her, and then Joel tells you he’ll be waiting for you when you finish to bring you home. It’s only two hours until the end of the day, but you struggle to focus on the emails you’ve got to answer – you get through as few as is acceptable before the end of the day, logging out at exactly 5:30pm, box of cake clutched in your hand, handbag slung over your shoulder as you head out.

Joel is leaning against the side of his truck, arms crossed over his chest so his biceps are bulging in the flannel he’s wearing, he’s also got one of his ankles crossed over the over. He looks so casual but as devastatingly handsome as he always is. He slips an arm around your waist when you’re close enough, pushing his palm into your lower back to press your body to his, dipping down to press his lips to yours. He’s gentle with it, opening his mouth against yours so he can slip his tongue into your mouth, letting his tongue meld with your own, kissing you slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world.

“Get a room, you two!” It’s Sandra from accounts.

Joel pulls away just enough to laugh against your lips, pressing his to yours once more before pulling away properly, opening the car door for you to get in, pressing a light swat of his hand to your ass as you hoist yourself up into the truck.

Once he’s slipped into the driver's side and settled one of his hands on your upper thigh, he starts the drive from the city out to his house. It’s a quiet drive, Joel’s humming along to whatever is playing on the radio, you’re occupied with looking out the window. This is what you love about Joel, that he’ll sit in silence, won’t feel the need to make you talk, it makes you feel comfortable, knowing that he’s there when you need him, but he’s not going to force you to speak when you don’t want to.

He’s pulled into the drive in no time, picking up the grocery bags from the backseat. You try and peak inside to see what he’s bought; you’re hoping he’s got the ingredients to make those mashed potatoes you like, and mushrooms that he’ll cook on the grill too.

When he opens the door, you’re almost overwhelmed by the sight that greets you. There are gold and black balloons littering the floor, with one bigger helium balloon, weighted down so it doesn’t float along the ceiling, set in the corner with big ‘happy birthday’ lettering written on it. There’s a birthday banner pinned to the wall, and a selection of wrapped gifts on the coffee table. You have a sneaking suspicion that most of this is Sarah’s doing.

You giggle a little as Joel presses himself against your back, kissing at your neck, “How much of this was Sarah?” You ask, following him through to the kitchen.

“She blew up all those balloons before she went to bed last night, and she did all the wrapping, but the banner and the big balloon, that was all me, baby.”

You press your lips to his cheek, smiling as he starts unloading the grocery bags. Two ribeye steaks, and just like you wanted, mushrooms to grill, and potatoes to mash. He leaves you in charge of watching the potatoes whilst he grills the rest of the food outside. Whilst it’s resting, he mashes the potatoes with enough butter to clog your arteries, but when you sit at the table, and those potatoes are in your mouth, you can’t find it in you to care - it’s your birthday after all.

“Everythin’ alright, baby?” He asks, cutting into his steak.

“It’s perfect,” You grin, spearing a grilled mushroom onto your fork, “Better than sitting in a stuffy restaurant anyway.”

You finish your food in relative silence. Joel insists on doing the dishes even if he did most of the cooking, before he’s leading you back to the living room.

Joel sits you down on the couch, treading as carefully as he can through the trail of balloons to get you a fresh beer. He kneels down on the floor between you and the coffee table, taking a glug of his beer, before reaching across the table for the first gift, setting it in your lap.

“That one is from Sarah,” He explains, “She made me promise you would open it first.”

“Rules are rules,” You shrug with a chuckle, carefully tearing open the wrapping paper.

When you pull the paper from the material it was wrapped in you feel overwhelmed. It’s the exact same blouse that Sarah had tipped her hot chocolate over, just in black instead of white. The shirt had been a write off from the start, the chocolate leaving a stain that even the dry cleaner couldn’t get out.

“She saved her pocket money for months to buy this,” He murmurs, pinching the silky fabric between his fingers, “Said if it was what brought us together, she wanted you to be able to wear it.”

You can feel tears prickling at your eyes as you fold the material up carefully, “She’s such a special girl, Joel.” You whisper, watching as Joel leans back over the table to pick up another gift.

“This one’s from Tommy.” He murmurs, handing you the largest box on the table.

You rip the paper off and open the box, revealing an actual cowboy hat. You laugh, because Tommy has always said in order to properly fit in, you’d need a cowboy hat. Joel reaches into the box, pulling the brown Stetson out of its box, placing it on your head.

“Suits you, cowgirl,” He growls, leaning under the brim of the hat to kiss you, nibbling your bottom lip as he pulls away, “Keep it on.” He demands when you go to take it off.

“He didn’t need to get me a gift,” You mutter as Joel moves the two final gifts towards you, “And it’s a proper Stetson, this must have cost a fortune.”

“Not that it matters, because everyone in this household thinks the world of you, but he thrifted it, mainly because you’ve rubbed off on him and he thinks getting a pair of Levi’s for half price because someone doesn’t want them anymore is the best thing since sliced bread.”

You tilt the hat on your head a little so you can see under the brim, as he hands you an envelope this time, “These are from me.”

You open the envelope and pull out a postcard with a from New Orleans. You turn the card over, Joel’s handwriting scrawled on the back.

“Pack a bag baby, and let me take you away.”

“Are you for real?!” You exclaim, “You’re going to take me to New Orleans?!”

“Course I am, darlin’ girl,” He grins, “I know you’ve always wanted to go, and we’ve never been away together.”

“Are you even real?” You ask, wiping your tears away, because you’re overwhelmed, no-one has ever been so thoughtful.

“Last time I checked I was,” He chuckles, taking the postcard from your hands, replacing it with the last gift, a small box, “Go on, last one.”

You take it from his hand, tearing the paper off it to reveal a small box. You open it, and sat inside is a silver necklace, a silver hoop, entwined with a smaller hoop. You’d recognise this anywhere. You’d spotted it in the window of the jewellery shop downtown. You’d spend so long looking at it in the window before deciding you couldn’t afford it, yet here it is, in your hands.

“Joel,” You breathe, running your fingers over the delicate silver, “This is too much.”

He presses a single finger to your lips to shut you up, holding his hand out for the box, taking the necklace out as he pushes himself up onto the couch, putting the delicate chain across your neck, “Do you like it?” He asks from behind you, mouth right at your ear, breath hot on your skin.

You turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling your hat fall off your head as he returns the embrace, “I love it Joel,” You murmur into the skin of his neck, “I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin’ girl.”

You spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch together. You eat the slices of cake that Sandra had sent you home with, drink more beer, Joel even sits with his guitar outside, playing some of your favourite songs whilst you smoke a cigarette. When the sun has fully set and you’ve let out a particularly loud yawn, Joel closes up the house, takes hold of your hand, and takes you to bed.

You’re led against the sheets, getting yourself comfortable, when Joel comes back from the bathroom, leaning against the door with his thumb resting on his belt. He’s lookin at you with those deep, coffee-coloured orbs as you turn onto your side, propping your head up on your palm to look at him.

“How do you want it, baby?” He smirks, taking slow steps towards the bed.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, because that is a very good question. Do you want him to be soft and slow like he had been that first time? So concerned he was going to hurt you with his size and strength that he refused to go any harder or faster than was strictly necessary? Or the time he made love to you after you’d looked after Sarah when he had to work late. When he’d walked into his house and found you painting her nails for her, watching a film that he’d never had sat through, his heart bursting with so much love that he had to push it all into you, whispering promises into your ear as he did so. No, you think, that’s not what you want right now.

“I want you to fuck me, cowboy,” You rasp, “Hard.”

He’s stood at the foot of the bed now, eyes dark with lust, “Well, what the birthday girl wants,” He murmurs softly, wide, warm palm clasping around your ankle, “The birthday girl gets.”

He tugs at your ankle, pulling you down the bed in one swoop, your legs dangling over the edge as his fingers work the button of your work trousers loose. You lift your hips up so he can drag them, and your underwear off your body, before he tugs you into a sitting position to work your blouse over your head. Your palms cup his face as you kiss him, your lips giving attention to his plush bottom lip as his hands reach behind you and work the clasp of your bra undone, dragging that off your body so you’re finally bared naked to him.

He pulls back, trails his eyes over your naked body, before placing his hand on your chest, right between your breasts, pushing you back down onto the bed. He trails his hands down the expanse of your sides, coming to the meat of your thighs as he settles his face between them. Normally this is where he’d tease you, use that mouth to trail soft kisses up and down the inside of your thighs, stopping to nip at the soft skin every once in a while, but he surprises you tonight.

Joel uses the flat of his tongue to lick a single stripe up the seam of your pussy. Then, he takes his hands, puts them on the backs of your thighs to push your legs back towards you, spreading them open further, baring the entirety of your spread, aching cunt to his face, before that tongue of his is diving into you, licking the slick that has been slowly gathering there from you, groaning at your taste. He drags his tongue up to your clit, using the tip of it to lightly flick at your clit, which has a quiet whimper leaving your lips as you tangle your fingers in his soft curls to keep his head anchored right where it is.

You’ve never really known a man quite as enthusiastic about eating your pussy as Joel Miller. The way he groans into your cunt as he laps at you, the way his fingers dig bruises into your skin as he holds your legs open for him, it all adds to the way he has your teetering on the edge of your first orgasm of the night in minutes. You’re bucking your hips into his face, chasing that burst of pleasure you know is so close to you.

You can hear the obscene sounds from him, the way he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls his tongue over it before letting it go with a pop, or the way he literally slurps the slick from your entrance. It’s when he slips two of his fingers inside your slick cunt that you’re really done for – fingers stretching you open, a poor substitute for what’s to come, but it’s good none-the-less.

All of a sudden, that fiery burst of pleasure is setting your skin alight. Your body is arching off the bed, pushing your cunt further into Joel’s face as he sucks your clit through your orgasm. You can feel yourself clenching around his fingers as you let out as high-pitched shriek of his name as your body wracks with pleasurable aftershocks. You lie there, warm and pliant as Joel stands once he’s worked you through your orgasm. He takes off his shirt, and you marvel at that body, the one you get to enjoy, broad and strong for his work, but soft around the middle, just like you love. He’s looking you directly in the eye as he undoes the button on his jeans, belt from earlier seemingly lost in the bathroom before. You’re smirking as he drags his jeans and boxers down his legs, stepping out of them, stood before you in all his God damn glory.

He is, quite possibly, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Especially when he’s got his cock gripped in his fist, pumping himself as you spread your legs for him, pushing yourself up the bed so he can settle between your thighs.

You can feel the throbbing length of him slipping between your soaked folds as he finds a position, he’s comfortable with. You’re the one that reaches down between you and lines his cock up with your aching core, but it’s all Joel when he thrusts himself inside you, right to the hilt, in one go. He’s leaning forward, head rested in the crook of your neck, your name hissed out into your ear as he adjusts to the tight clench of your cunt. Your nails are already digging into the meat of his biceps when he drags himself out of you, before slamming back in.

He revels in the way his rough thrusts make your tits bounce, dipping his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, gently nipping at the puckered bud with his teeth before soothing it with the pad of his tongue. He laves the same attention to the other, never once letting up the pace of his hips.

“This what you wanted, darlin’ girl?” He chokes out, looking down at you writhing in pleasure beneath him.

“More.” You gasp, hand reaching to grab at his wrist which is planted by the side of your head, propping him up.

He puts most of his weight on his other hand, letting you drag his other palm to the delicate column of your throat, where the sheer size of his hand covers it in its entirety. He rests it there for a moment, continuing to pound his cock into your pussy, but then he’s adding pressure to the side of your throat, giving you that delicious dizzy feeling to your brain, before he’s releasing the pressure. You’re grinning up at him, moaning his name as his hips continue to slam into your own.

“Like that, don’t ya?” He asks, “God you look so fuckin’ good with my hand around your throat, pretty girl.”

“Always fuck me so good, Joel,” You cry out when he shifts his position slightly, cock brushing that sweet spot inside you, “Do it again.”

So he does, he squeezes his fingers around your throat again, your mouth dropping open as a crazed giggle leaves your mouth. You wish you could step outside your body right now and watch, watch what the two of you look like – his hand around your throat, the way he’s pounding into you so hard you’re sure you’ll be sore in the morning.

You’re both breathing heavily as he trails the hand that was around your throat to grip at your jaw. He squishes your cheeks together, pursing your lips as his mouth claims your own, growling into you as his tongue licks at yours. He’s so fucking overwhelming right now, thick cock splitting you in two, strong body laid across your own, mouth on yours, and it’s still not enough. You want to peel his skin off and climb inside him, let him consume you whole.

Joel pulls back, hand still on your jaw.

“You my pretty girl, huh?” He asks, and you can only nod, his hand stopping you from talking, “Belong to me, right?”

His hand goes back down to grip your throat, gently though, with no pressure, so you can talk to him now.

“All yours Joel,” You purr at him, “Only ever gonna be yours.”

“Open your mouth,” He demands, using his hand to gently shake you, so you do, “Stick your tongue out.”

You do just that, staring straight into his eyes as he leans down, ever so slightly, and spits into your mouth. It’s warm, wet and utterly filthy, and you think it’s the entire reason that you can feel your slick dripping down onto his sheets now. Joel doesn’t even give you the time to swallow, chasing the saliva he’s just put into your mouth with his tongue, giving you the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever received.

“Fuck,” He spits out, pulling back from your mouth, “Ain’t gonna last much longer, darlin’ girl,” He confesses, those rough thrusts slowing ever so slightly, “Put your hand on your clit for me, let’s do this one together.”

Your hand slinks between your bodies, seeking out that sensitive bud, still reeling from the orgasm he pulled from you, it doesn’t take much work from your fingers to have you teetering on the edge, but you want to do this together, you have to hold on for him.

“Where d’ya want it?” Joel chokes out as your pussy flutters around him.

“Inside,” Comes your begging plea to him, “Come inside me, Joel.”

Your work your fingers across your clit a few more times before you’re coming around his cock, the nails of your free hand digging half-moon shapes into the meat of his shoulder. He manages three, maybe four more thrusts before he’s stilling inside of you, grunting out your name as the white-hot spurt of his spend fills your aching cunt. He fills you up so perfectly, holding himself there for a moment before he lets out a slightly pained sound, pulling himself out of your pussy.

He sits back on his knees, watching the white trickle of him cum seep from your spent hole. He takes one of his fingers, scooping his cum on it before bringing it to your lips, where you suck it into your mouth, running your tongue over it to catch every bit of the taste of him. He falls forward, forehead pressed to your own, kissing your lips softly, before he moves to lie on his side of the bed.

You push yourself up into a sitting position, leaning over to kiss him softly, mumbling that you’ll be back in a minute as you pad to the bathroom to clean up. When you come back to his room, he’s already under the covers, your side pushed back and waiting for you, so you clamber in, seeking out his torso under the covers so you can wrap your arm around him. He pulls you flush to his body, slick and warm from sweat, but you don’t care.

His arm is draped across your shoulder, his fingers tracing slow and soft across your skin, as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Happy birthday, darlin’ girl.” He whispers to you as he turns out the light.

“Best birthday ever,” You mumble softly against his chest as you let your heavy eyes closed, “All because of you, cowboy.”

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maxarchive · 25 days

Text

MAX-IMUM ATTACK 2017 Season Photos and words by Darren Heath

Monday lunchtime, Heathrow Terminal 5. Standing next to the slowly revolving baggage carousel, a fresh-faced, slightly awkward-looking - just out of his teens - young man is awaiting the arrival of his chattels.

Dressed in bland black trainers, similarly hued skinny jeans and an oversized hoody, this Young Turk ain’t winning any style awards. iPhone in hand, he’s busy swiping the screen in that head-bowed social media style billions of us now ‘enjoy’.

Max Verstappen doesn’t really do flash. He couldn’t look more ‘normal’. Yet put him in a racing car and he’s just about the most special talent to arrive on motor racing’s top step for decades.

Schumacher-esque – Michael of course! – is a term increasingly heard up and down the F1 paddock, such is the impact the Netherlands’ premier sportsman is now making.

I can see it too.

The fresh-faced 16-year-old boy who was, upon his arrival, so ignorantly dismissed by many within the sport is rapidly becoming a man. It’s amazing how quickly young sportsmen living life in the public gaze assume adulthood. Just take a look at Sebastian Vettel. The gawky kid of 2009 became the handsome dude of 2010!

What sets the potentially great apart from the mediocre? What makes Max Verstappen so, so much more special than, say, Carlos Sainz?

I guess it’s the whole package: the look; the mien; the steely character honed to be a racer almost from before he could walk; the utterly uncompromising way he dismisses any questioning of his racecraft; the toys-out-of-the-pram reaction to harsh penalties; the fast straight-out-of-the-box attacking style; and the rapier-like overtaking ability, the like of which we haven’t seen for many a year. Such was Max’s impact on the art of passing and defending, the rules had to be rewritten!

The way the car looks through the turns, the application of throttle, steering and immensely late braking. Metronomic in his blisteringly fast lap time delivery, this boy has the lot. He IS the future of Formula 1.

In so, so many ways – but let’s hope not all – Max is the new MSC.

Racing in an aggressive and forceful style often results in on-track contretemps with some of his more seasoned rivals. No matter, Max takes no prisoners, batting away questions about the legality of some of his racing moves with a dismissive arrogance that’s strangely appealing in its delivery.

Up to speed now and surely making Dan Ricciardo question his team-leading abilities, Verstappen is unquestionably Red Bull’s main man.

Off-track too, Max is sorted. Guided by his F1-experienced father, the young Verstappen has an able and well-qualified navigator at the helm. Learning from his own ill-advised 1990s F1 driving career decisions, Jos pays absolute attention so as to ensure his son maximises the opportunities on offer.

With top-drawer drivers in short supply, Red Bull had better make damned sure their 2019-and-beyond engine supply is top-notch. The bidding war for Max’s signature is already in full swing. Ferrari and Mercedes are enviously eyeing the Dutchman’s abilities with covetous desire.

It’s easy to forget that Max is only 20 years old. Way ahead in racing driver maturity - a relative term! – than so many millions of a similar age, Max has appeared mentally developed beyond his years since first he appeared in the F1 paddock at Spa 2014. It struck me then how entirely capable this 16-year-old boy was dealing with multiple language questions and untold camera lenses. Listening to his interrogator politely before answering calmly and intelligently, Max appeared born to the role…

Fast forward to now and Verstappen is a multiple grand prix winner and 2018 title-chasing challenger. Part of the new breed of F1 racers, Max leads the pack. Publicly respectful of his rivals, although privately dismissive of many, he well knows his place among the potentially great.

Michael Schumacher once opined – in an interview I photographed – that his father had advised him to heed well the arrival on the scene of the next great talent. The one who’d challenge and quickly replace the dominant male. Well, Lewis, Sebastian and Fernando, that man has arrived.

You’d best heed Herr Schumacher’s words well…

#max verstappen #f1 #2017

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bfpnola · 7 months

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ID: Instagram post by @/letstalkpalestine. The slide reads: "Let's Talk: 8 things to know about what's happening in Palestine." End ID.

ID: "#1 This is possibly the largest ever Palestinian liberation operation in modern history. Never before have Palestinians succeeded in taking back so much of their land and breaking out of the segregated ghettoes in which Israel has concentrated them." End ID.

ID: "#2 This was an 'attack' [the word attack is striked through] response. Anyone would fight back after a decades-long process of colonization, after they have been turned into stateless refugees, expelled and concentrated in tiny ghettoes, imprisoned, or killed for daring to resist. For 15 years Israel has besieged Gaza with snipers stationed all around it, drones occupying its skies 24/7, and navy patrols shooting at any fishermen who venture too deep. If this happened to your city, wouldn't you fight back?" End ID.

ID: "#3 Palestinians didn't 'infiltrate israel." Most Gazans are not actually from Gaza. 70% of them are from the same surrounding lands they liberated yesterday morning." A map is shown of the area, overflowing with orange pins, with only a few red pins near the Mediterranean Sea. "Each orange pin is a Palestinian village that israel wiped out and ethnically cleansed. Most Gazans are from these places, fighting to return home." End ID.

ID: "#4 Hamas has enough israeli prisoners to free every single Palestinian hostage held by israel. Typically, israeli-held Palestinian hostages are only released through a swap with israeli prisoners. The last Hamas-israel prisoner swap was 1 israeli soldier for 1,027 Palestinians. Hamas has more than enough israeli prisoners for a deal that would free every imprisoned Palestinian based on past ratios." Two boxes are shown on each side of the slide, one that reads, "36+ estimated israeli prisoners," and another that reads, "5,200 estimated Palestinian hostages." End ID.

ID: "#5 The Fall of the Gaza Wall In a historic moment already reshared millions of times online, Palestinian bulldozers have brought down parts of the israeli wall and fence that surrounds Gaza and traps in its residents. This comes as Palestinians have finally regained control of parts of the border, including the crossing in & out of Gaza. This is a historic achievement."

ID: #6 israel has never made concessions to Palestinians without pressure. Palestine can only be liberated by both violent and peaceful resistance, like any colonized nation in history. The only time in history israel gave up land was when it returned the Sinai Peninsula to Egypt. This was only achieved after the 1973 War when the Egyptian-Syrian attack showed israel that it couldn't sustain its occupation of the territory, contrary to its prior belief." End ID.

ID: #7 This marks a new phase in Palestine. Palestine will not be freed overnight. Liberation is a long-term process. But the resistance's unprecedented achievements and strength have proven that even if Israel temporarily beats it back, the Siege on Gaza is coming to an end sooner rather than later. This does not mean that Gaza will be fully liberated and independent, but that Palestinians will likely gain more control and that israel can no longer treat Gaza as it has for the last 15 years." End ID.

ID: #7 Continued. Beyond Gaza, israel will be deterred from escalating its occupation against Palestinians in places like Jerusalem. Hamas has conclusively proven the effectiveness of fight back against the occupation, in contrast to the diplomatic means of resistance which -- while still important -- on their own have proven to be futile in the face of israeli rejectionism. This will likely shake up the Palestinian political scene, as the Palestinian Authority, which collaborates with the israeli military and refuses to defend its people, will now face even more challenges to its rule." End ID.

ID: “#8 What will happen now? Palestinians have never responded to israel with such a large operation. israel's actions will be more violent and intense than anything we've ever seen before. The Palestinian death toll is climbing faster than expected -- at 320 at the time of this publication. israel is considering a full-scale land invasion of Gaza, which guarantees higher death tolls. We need to keep sharing, educating and protesting in solidarity in order to pressure our governments to end their support for the israeli regime." End ID.

#reaux speaks #free palestine #instagram #palestine #israel #gaza #genocide #resistance #apartheid #hamas #liberation #history #occupation

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breachverse · 25 days

Text

Breach: Chicago War Zone - WIP Update 18 - 26th of August 2023

... This one's actually been brewing for 6 months, so... 1 Million Words folks!

Update 21 has been released! Last public upload was pretty much a year ago so, I'm very sorry for the long silence, a lot of the updates have been mostly in the private testing phase on Patreon, but I am here with a bunch of fixes and hangout updates.

But most importantly... We've passed the 1 Million Words mark... My fingers are tired. ❤

You may play it on the link below.

Breach: Chicago War Zone (Updated)

DEVELOPMENT LOG#21 (15-April-2024)

(B2.1.1.24.4.15)

Alpha - 21

Fixed something here, fixed something there, fixed something everywhere

SideModule: Fixed Justin's hangout background

SideModule: Fixed Hayne's hangout background

SideModule: Added Anna's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Charlie's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Kaz's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Carly's 1st hangout

Stats_Page: Added Archangel crew background notes

UniModule: Added 7 new weapons to the shop

MISC: Added AA-12

MISC: Added FAMAS G2

MISC: Added HK G36C

MISC: Added SIG MPX

MISC: Added PP-19 Vityaz

MISC: Added Ultimax 100

MISC: Added SR-25

COMPLETED: Chapter 3 Part 1 of The ARC branch (100%) (PT only) W.I.P.: AA Hangout Part 1 (86%) W.I.P.: AA Store system (85%) W.I.P.: FBI Hangout Part 1 (46%) W.I.P.: FBI Store system (65%) W.I.P.: Stat screen upgrade (40%) Word Count: 1,007,622 words including codes (Last update was 971,142)

I'll be completely honest, when I started Breach 2 I knew it was going to surpass 1 million words. I just didn't think it would take this long. Through numerous challenges, both in writing and in real life. Through numerous ups and downs, I'm absolutely surprised and grateful to know that there are people out there who still support me. I've had many thoughts, numerous times, to give up and move on to other things in life, but I didn't want to disappoint, so I kept writing.

I bring to you, the 1 million milestone update. It's really not much, but it is one step closer to completion. This update has been in the works for the past 6 months mostly due to the weapons rework and also story changes for the crew members that I apparently couldn't keep track of without a giant excel spreadsheet. This update finalizes the Archangel's Gamma Crew hangouts, which is Kaz and Carly's hangout as well as Anna and Charlie's hangout.

As before, they share the same storyline so they will both share the same hangout. If you choose to go out with one, you cannot go out with the other. Kaz shares it with Carly, and Anna shares it with Charlie. Keep that in mind. Oh, and there's 7 new guns to play with. Have fun, Ian.

This update does not include the new Chapters. Chapter 3 will still be Patreon exclusive until Breach 2 finishes and I can send the demo to the public testing, and to CoG for the full release.

I really cannot reiterate how grateful I am to have an amazing array of readers and supporters who are still here after numerous hiccups and fuck ups. Thank you all, so very much.

Much, much love. - Max ❤

Link to the CoG Forums

I also have a Discord server!

As always feel free to drop however many screenshot feedbacks you'd like, either in the forums or in our Discord channel!

#breachverse #breach update #breach: chicago warzone #choice of games #interactive fiction #bcwz #breach the archangel job #if wip #choicescript #hosted games #cyoa #dashingdon #if game #interactive novel #breachverse news #btaj

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lucky-bucky-boy · 1 year

Text

Restless Night

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: An impulsive phone call leads to a happy ending

Word Count: 1307

Warnings: Slight angst, smut, pet names, little to no (y/n), mentions of missions, lemme know if i missed anything

A/N: MCU!Peter - I do plan to write something for TASM!Peter in the future but this was just easier for my brain to set up the scene. I wanted to do something different and challenged myself to write something that was more dialogue-heavy than I’ve written in a while. Not my best work, but a little smutty smut bc why not

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

The soft sound of the television playing a forgotten movie almost drowned out the sound of the phone ringing, tucked under a pillow and muffled. The sweet cusp of sleep was only moments away, being dragged out by the vibrating as the first call ended and a second came through.

The near unconsciousness caused forethought to be left behind, grabbing the phone, answering the call, and putting it to your ear. A soft "hello?" was all you could muster.

"Hey, baby."

A tsunami of emotions flooded through your body, suddenly wide awake and hyper aware of everything that was going on; The television was nearing the end of the movie you had put on, your clock reading 1:32, the lights from the cars passing by casting various dancing shadows around your room.

"I've missed you, baby."

His voice was sweet, almost addictive and something you hadn't realized was a need buried deep inside you. You shuffled, forcing yourself up and sitting against the squishmallow he'd won for you on your first time, something you hadn't been able to get rid of.

"Hi, Peter," you voice was quiet, sleep still etched between the syllables. There was a beat of silence between the two of you, "Peter, why'd you call? It's been 10 months."

Peter let out a soft sigh, you could hear him shuffling around. "Missing you really bad tonight, love. M' on a mission," there was another sigh, "I almost got hurt, like really hurt. Thankfully Bucky was there. All I could think about was you."

"Peter!" You voice was now much louder, instantly filled with worry, "Don't go and get yourself ki-"

He cut you off, "I wasn't tryna get hurt, baby. We got ambushed. We had just went in there for me to copy some information onto a drive. Ended up being some rogue Hydra agents, a leg of them we didn't even know existed." Peter was rambling and he knew it, he was starting to think the reason he called was a bad one.

You sighed, body riddled with a million different emotions, "Pete, why'd you call me?"

"I miss you," his words had a slight whine to them, "I wanna touch you so badly, wanna hold you and kiss you."

If he was there you would have undoubtedly melted into him. The breakup was mutual, but difficult nonetheless. Between trying to focus on your career and all of the responsibilities Peter had, it was near impossible to maintain a relationship - there was no time for date nights or dinner, no time to sit and reminisce and talk about the future. For months, the only time spent together was sleeping in the same bed, which was almost always disrupted by some responsibility.

You two loved each other, loved each other more than yourselves most days. But it had become too taxing and tiring, the constant worrying, near lack of support because attention was needed elsewhere. So, after a long, tearful date night gone wrong, the two of you agreed to break up, maybe try again when there were less things counting on you both.

Peter regretted it immediately, but he had wanted to give you space, give you time to flourish and not worry about him. He'd asked M.J. and Ned all the time what you had been up to, he would check your Instagram and Snapchat to see the things you were posting and proud of. He did whatever he could to support you from afar.

But tonight, tonight he dared to be selfish, he needed to be selfish. Deep down he knew it was wrong, calling you up in the middle of the night because the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and all he wanted was to be with you.

"I miss you too, Pete." Your voice was soft again, it always was in moments like this. Where the intimacy lay just behind every fiber in your body.

He hummed, starting to get antsy as he continued to try to figure out how to say what he wanted. "Baby, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it, Pete?" You almost hated how quickly you answered, how eager you were.

"Touch yourself, sweetheart. I wanna hear you touch yourself."

The gasp that left you was audible. Peter was never incredibly bold, never the type to initiate unless you two were definitely alone. Even in those moments, it was always sweet and loving. But this, Peter calling in the middle of the night, a desperate whine to his words and an insane neediness that make his tone demanding.

“Baby, if you don’t want to, you can just hang up. I won’t be upset with you.” You could hear some ruffling and the sound of metal hitting the floor. “I just miss the pretty sounds you make, miss the way your face scrunches up, miss the feeling of your skin against mine.”

This wasn’t a command you were going to disobey. He was still rambling, your mind only half paying attention to the honey-like words he was saying. “Do you want me to use my hand or one of my toys?”

He paused for a moment and you could practically hear the smile spread across his lips. “Use your hand, sweetheart. Run you hands across your body like I would.”

You could hear the moment Peter wrapped his hand around himself, a small groan leaving his lips. You listened to him, it being nearly impossible not to. "Wish you were here, Petey," the words slipped out of you as your fingers danced across your skin, sending goosebumps in their wake.

Your eyes were pinched shut, listening to every whimper and sigh the came through your phone, doing your best to pretend your own touch was his. "Me too, God, me too. Miss kissing your skin, hearing your little gasps when I nip."

"Peter," you couldn't help but whimper, forgoing anymore teasing and quickly giving your clit the much needed attention. It never took long with Peter for you to become needy and impatient, let alone when it had been almost a year since you heard the noises he was making, "I'm not gonna last long, want you so badly," your words were gasped out between soft moans, instant pleasure radiating from your core already making your body warm.

"Me neither, baby," there was a low groan that slipped from him, strangled as he attempted to hold himself together. With every sound you made, he nearly felt like he was in a dream. But he knew this was real, his subconscious hyper aware of the thin walls in the shitty hotel he was holed up in for the night and the super soldier who undoubtedly could hear him.

A endless stream of "fuck"s, gasps, moans, and whimpers flooded through each phone. It only took a few more minutes before the coil burst and the warmth of your high shook through your body, thighs quaking and chest heaving. Peter followed suit, a breathy moan of your name as he spilled into his hand and all over his abdomen.

There was a lingering silence as the other of you recovered, both taking in what has just happened while relishing in the aftermath. Peter broke the silence first, "Need to get m'self cleaned up," he mumbled. There was another beat of silence from him, "I do really miss you."

You hummed your agreement, shifting yourself into a more comfortable position. "I do really wish you were here."

He huffed out a small laugh, a sound that was laced with relief and contentedness. "I'll be home tomorrow at 4. I still got my key, I'll bring dinner, and we can talk. How does that sound?"

Now it was your turn to laugh, excitement filling every nerve in your body. "It sounds like a date."

#smut #peter parker #peter parker smut #mcu!peter parker #mcu!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter smut #mcu!peter smut #spiderman x reader #spiderman smut #peter parker one shot

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finalfrontierpublishing · 11 months

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So it's been a while since i posted any books - mostly because i've been hiding my progress like a little sneak.

I just finished this bind last night of The Desert Storm by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, or really it's volume 1 out of like ??? 15, maybe. Please take whatever i say with a pinch of salt (I have had 0 sleep for more than 24 hours, and that tends to make me a little very sleep-deprivation drunk a.k.a. unhinged). Okay, on to thoughts! The Desert Storm was foisted onto me by @celestial-sphere-press who told me under no uncertain terms that I WOULD FUCKING LOVE THIS SHIT. Well, I did. This more than 1 million word epic about Ben Fuckin' Kenobi is pretty much god-tier fanfiction. It reads like a goddamn novel. I can never think of canon again without thinking that this good shit should be canon. I read it and then consumed half of it within a week, and I have zero regrets. @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, i absolutely love you and love your writing. It is the best thing since sliced bread. It is better than sliced bread.

I also had the benefit of @celestial-sphere-press saying, hey would you want to use the typeset? MY GOD, i am grateful. I love this fic, i would have typeset it if it hadn't been typeset but Des did such a beautiful job that i am absolutely in awe and thankful that she and the author allowed others to use it. Look at it - it's so beautiful. I only had to think hey, i just gotta design the cover and et cetera and so the book happened.

Please also check out @celestial-sphere-press 's amazing post here and here, who is the only person i know who's started and is almost complete in fanbinding this epic, and is also making an author a copy of the entire series.

Some stats, if you will.

96215 words || 380 pages

Title font: Ghaomiec

I took some inspiration from starblight bindery's lovely desert scape as well as this amazing cover of Dune which i own. I love that the landscape emanates Dune vibes while being oh so Tattooine - just sand and heat, relentless loneliness and melancholy. This fic centres around Obi-Wan Infinite Sadness Kenobi so it needed SAD VIBES TM, which i tried to deliver in desolate landscape form.

Also thank the heavens for Renegade members, who in a masterful stroke of Group Buy Saves Money, managed to source extra-out-of-production colours of Colibri and help a fair number of us get really cool limited edition versions of bookcloth. I am now a proud owner of a lorge stash of Duo and Colibri of which i am now sitting on like a shifty dragon with a hoarding problem. Good luck getting your bookcloth now, Folio Society, ha ha (gloating)! This particular bookcloth is Colibri Copper which has been wholly stashed for The Desert Storm series. I am leaning on transitioning to Malachite for Rise and Fall when I get to it.

The front cover design was done with a stock image and converted to a PNG, which i then fiddled with and did some HTV magic with. It was remarkably easier to weed than expected. I tried something new and ironed the design on the naked bookcloth first before gluing it to the boards, which was a new challenge in making sure everything was aligned.

Endpapers are marbled endpapers (Renato Crepaldi) which I got from Hollanders, which perfectly fit the colour scheme of the bind. The only hiccup was as I was cutting, I realized the sheet was running in the opposite direction of his usual papers and half the size, and only yielded 3 A5 size endpapers and so my heart went noooooooooo. oh well. i guess i will use it for quartos.

Endbands are my favourite - silk in 3 colours in the french doublecore style (as i was binding this i did not have the mental capacity to handle the difficulty of 4 strands). the truth is i usually only can do 4 when I have higher brain function and am willing to spend 80% of my time unraveling it from getting tangled.

I also forgot to mention I had mild fuck-ups, I got glue on the front endpaper which I had to hastily remove with wet cloth, and the back square is preposterously bad but I'm ignoring it for now.

Anyway, i've actually managed to complete a few other binds which have not been mentioned here as they've all been gifts/ surprises or event books in some form. I am SO EXCITED, also because I am travelling in the latter half of July to San Diego and L.A. and I get to meet some bookbinding friends in the flesh. Renegade is fucking amazing y'all. I am ready to embrace these crazy lads who have enabled me for the last 1 year, even when i'm the solitary (1) weirdo from my country of origin in the server. Also... potentially bookbinding trip early next year??? I am enthused.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #renegade bindery #my books #star wars #clone wars #obi-wan kenobi #ben kenobi #ben naasade #infinite sadness #the desert storm #the ben naasade epic

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aethon-recs · 10 months

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Tomarrymort Advanced Pack – 12 Longfic Recs

If you’ve made your way through the Tomarrymort Starter Pack and Intermediate Pack reads, here are 12 beautifully written, timeless fics that are Tomarrymort on hard mode for when you’re ready to dive into something that will really challenge your every reading muscle. This selection of fics features some of the most skilled writing I’ve come across in the entire fandom, and I love how these authors tackle incredibly complex subject matter and plotlines and characterization choices with such bold and unflinching perspectives.

Please mind all tags (including CCNTW, explained here) as you may find some themes within some of these fics difficult or challenging to read for a variety of reasons.

This is Part 3 of a 3-part series (see here for Part 1 and Part 2). I hope you get as much enjoyment from reading these additional 3.1 million words of incredible Tomarrymort longfic as I have!

Tomarrymort Advanced Reads

ǟʟʍǟɢɛֆȶ by eldritcher (M, 134k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Harry and Dumbledore team up with Voldemort to save the magical world from a catastrophic threat. Why I rec it: Eldritcher delivers one of the most epic love stories of a lifetime — with Harry and Voldemort surviving a trip to the moon and back, and Harry’s love for Voldemort transcending time and space after Voldemort makes the ultimate sacrifice to save the world and, against all odds, return to Harry. The prose is absolutely transcendent — amongst the best I’ve encountered not only in fanfic, but in all of fiction I’ve ever read. I can’t say enough about how much I love Elditcher’s writing style and how beautifully the story unfolds — there’s a very nice lyrical rhythm underlying all the sentence structure and word choice in the fic that flows like nothing else I’ve read before.

Anabiosis by @itsevanffs (E, 32k, WIP)

Setting: Canon Divergence Pre-Book 1 Premise: If Voldemort resurrects early and takes a teaching job at Harry’s primary school. Why I rec it: This is one of the best and most realistic and gutting depictions I’ve ever read of the quiet tragedy of Harry’s pre-Hogwarts years growing up experiencing severe neglect and an absence of love throughout his entire childhood. @itsevanffs did a magnificent job of capturing Harry’s limited POV and all the fluttering hope his still-trusting heart holds when he meets Mr Riddle, the first teacher who’s ever treated him with kindness. My heart ached so much for Harry throughout this fic, and the emotional arc in this story has continued to haunt me for a very long time afterwards.

Eight Days a Week by @vestiges-of-light (E, 802k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 7 Premise: If Voldemort captures Harry shortly after his sixth year, which leads to an unlikely truce and eventual partnership that ends up saving the magical world. Why I rec it: This fic combines a sprawling political epic with an incredibly extensive exploration of kink. The author asks a great question in the tags: "Why is only vanilla sex literary?" — and this fic does a fantastic job of proving that messy, filthy, raw sex scenes don’t have to be made sanitized or palatable for mainstream consumption in order to have just as much of a place in a plot-driven, serious longfic as vanilla sex does. Against the high-stakes backdrop of international political intrigue, there’s a very nice domesticity to Harry and Voldemort’s relationship, and how much they trust each other and can be stripped bare and vulnerable in front of each other is very poignant and touching to read about.

Embryo by @cannibalinc (NR, 28k, WIP)

Setting: Time Travel (1940s) Premise: If mysterious new transfer student Harry appears in Tom’s sixth year in a state of near complete amnesia. Why I rec it: One of the defining character traits of Tom Riddle is that he’s an absolute genius — the most talented academic mind to ever walk through the doors of Hogwarts — and this fic absolutely delivers on that aspect. Told from Tom’s POV, this fic is like reading a complex multidisciplinary text spanning philosophy and physics and mathematics and magical theory, all interconnected by the mystery of how Harry appeared and where he came from and why he is so utterly forgettable to everyone but Tom.

found by @honbug (E, 112k, WIP)

Setting: Non-Magical AU Premise: If Tom grows up in a world with no magic, but has had strange recurring dreams his whole life — dreams of a boy with green eyes and a scar, dreams of a dark graveyard and magical snakes and other mysterious things. Why I rec it: The character work done in this fic is absolutely breathtaking — one of the best character studies of Tom Riddle I’ve ever come across. This is a Tom who grew up without magic, but is no less cold and vicious and psychopathic and teetering on the edge of madness. The story arc follows Tom from his early childhood through his rise as a ruthless leader in an organized crime syndicate not unlike the Death Eaters — all the while that he’s haunted by dreams of Harry, his Harry, even as the dreams start to drive him to the brink of insanity.

how large the teeth by MaidenMotherCrone (E, 257k, complete)

Setting: Voldemort Wins AU Premise: If Harry grows up as an outcast in a world where Grindelwald and Voldemort have already won long before he is born, but he’s still the subject of a prophecy that designates him as their world’s savior. Why I rec it: The worldbuilding is so exquisite and complex in this fic — the author did a spectacular job at completely reimagining the wizarding world from the ground up if the Dark Lord were to win a long time ago and how their extremely inequitable society would subsequently be structured. Harry’s defiance throughout is lovely, and his growing entanglement with Voldemort adds to all the high-stakes and risky moves that he makes throughout the fic. The plotline is very action-packed — a lot of complex plot threads are interwoven throughout the story, with an undercurrent of revolution and discontent simmering under the surface until it explodes in a glorious finale.

In Willing Sacrifice by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 1,197k, WIP)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 4 Premise: If Harry finds Voldemort in Riddle Manor the summer before his fourth year, and enters into an unlikely alliance with him before returning to school that year. Why I rec it: This fic covers so much ground — at 1.2 million words (so far!), it’s the most detailed rewrite of canon starting from book 4 that I’ve ever come across, weaving in plenty of magical theory and political intrigue as Voldemort takes Harry under his protection initially in a mentor capacity. The relationship between Harry and Voldemort unfolds in such a beautiful way in this fic — with Harry growing to fall in love with Voldemort, despite all of Voldemort’s murderous and violent qualities, without losing an ounce of his humanity or the inherent goodness inside of his heart along the way.

Lover's Spit by @pinktom, @k3uuu (E, 88k, WIP)

Setting: Non-Magical AU Premise: If Harry and Tom grow up in a small town together in northern England, and Tom has harbored an obsession for Harry ever since primary school. Why I rec it: An absolutely stunning coming-of-age story set in modern times. This story is striking in so many different ways. It perfectly captures the voice of fringe internet communities in such an authentic way. It also poignantly captures the social isolation and erosion of privacy from living in a small town where gossip spreads like wildfire, and how the internet amplifies these dynamics. At the core of the story is a really sweet love story between Tom and Harry that I am literally obsessed with — every single one of their interactions is so tender and pure — and it’s such a startling contrast to how Tom’s internet persona is portrayed that makes the sweetness all the more heartfelt.

Mi Aedijekit by @kitastrophea (M, 282k, WIP)

Setting: Post-Canon Premise: If Harry is captured by Voldemort and placed under the Draught of Living Death, only to awaken in the far future where Voldemort has ruled over their world for over a thousand years. Why I rec it: A linguistic and sociological tour de force. When Harry wakes up from his magical coma over a thousand years into the future, the world has been entirely transformed, and the skill and effort that the author undertook in fleshing out a society where there’s been a thousand years of cultural change and evolution in language can’t be understated. One of the most unique and fun aspects of the story is learning the new vocabulary of the future alongside Harry for the first time. I love how the fic examines how even Voldemort gets bored with immortality after a millennia of ruling — and how, even with a thousand years separating them and memories of the earlier times scattered to the wind, Harry and Voldemort are still inextricably drawn together.

Of Kings, Of Pawns, and Of Men by @ambivalens999 (E, 129k, WIP)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 5 Premise: If Voldemort ends up in Harry’s body and Harry ends up in Tom Riddle’s body after a bad encounter with the dementors at the beginning of book 5, and they can’t figure out how to swap back. Why I rec it: This is such an interesting take on the bodyswap trope, which is given a very serious and plotty treatment here. For fear of the safety of his friends, Harry has to go along with returning to his 5th year at Hogwarts in Tom Riddle’s body and being sorted into Slytherin house, while Tom passes himself off as Harry Potter. There’s a mystery behind the depth of Tom’s knowledge and familiarity with Harry, as he knows more about Harry than even Voldemort should. Is it the scar horcrux? Is it Voldemort? Is it something else entirely? The inherent combativeness and magnetism between Harry and Tom keep the tension high as they push each other’s buttons and circle around each other like wolves trying to establish dominance.

Phobia by @katsitting (E, 48k, complete)

Setting: Post-Canon Premise: If Voldemort captures Harry and brutally tortures him to the point of breaking. Why I rec it: This fic does not sugarcoat Voldemort’s capacity for cruelty and sadism in any way, and I admire the author’s commitment to depicting the most horrific of scenarios. Having read countless fics with this setup, I’ll be honest, the depiction in this fic is probably the most likely outcome of any Voldemort-captures-Harry scenario. They do not fall in love. It is not a fun time for Harry. There is gore; there is brutal prisoner torture; there is extremely extensive non-con. I found it very raw and unvarnished — not an easy read, but a very memorable and evocative one. And yet, despite the themes of darkness explored in this fic, it ends on a note of hope.

The Foul (part 1) / The Great (part 2) by @meles-merrivale (M, 24k, complete)

Setting: Time Travel Premise: If Harry gets thrown back in time a thousand years into the past, and does whatever it takes to stay alive until he can meet up with Voldemort again. Why I rec it: This is a fantastic depiction of the slow descent into madness following a disastrous time travel accident and what a thousand years of immortality does to one’s sanity. It’s also a great exploration of the time travel paradox and whether anyone has the power to change the past, or if pivotal historical events are, by their very nature, predetermined. By the time Harry encounters Voldemort again, he is a shell of the person he used to be, but gradually, he finds more of his original humanity and spark for life the more his relationship with Voldemort progresses.

#Tomarrymort Advanced Reads #tomarrymort #tomarry #harrymort #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #harrymort recs #hp fic recs #longfic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #tom riddle #voldemort #harry potter

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cha-melodius · 1 year

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See this?

That's my current AO3 wordcount, and I'm gonna be honest with you, I really want to hit 1 million words before the end of the year. I could hit that with a single fic, and I thought about going for it, but I am tired and not really feeling it. I wanna write a bunch of short holiday fluff. So here's the plan:

Below is a list of winter/holiday prompts that I collected from around tumblr. I'm taking 5–10 requests, 1–2k words per prompt. 10k words total, I hit 1 million words! If you're interested, please send in an ask with your prompt number, the pairing you want (napollya, lokius, or firstprince), and if you have any special requests (e.g., AU or canon if you really want one or the other, smut, first kiss, etc). Once a prompt is claimed I'll cross it off the list so I don't end up with duplicates (you can send a backup number if you want, in case your first one gets taken before I can update the post). I’ll write as many as I can before the new year and we’ll see if I can hit that goal.

“Stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe.”

“Are you even tall enough to put the star on top of the tree?” Napollya A Home for the Holidays

“Your lips are cold.” Lokius True Hollywood Romance

“There’s more tape on that present than wrapping paper.”

“That’s the ugliest sweater I've ever seen.” Lokius Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

“Is that present for me?” Lokius True Hollywood Romance

“I have to bring Christmas cookies to the party and I don’t know how to make them.” Napollya How’s About Cookin’ Something Up With Me?

“My holiday dish is better than your holiday dish.” Firstprince The Spirit of Giving

Neighbor is hilariously crabby about carolers so I’m gonna sing to him every night Napollya Another Christmas Song (This Time I’ll Sing Along)

Crush on the hot elf at the mall Santa display. Napollya Consider the Price to an Elf

Competition to see who can bring the hottest date to the New Year’s party (spoiler: it’s each other) Firstprince May Your New Years Dreams Come True

Bartender AU featuring the best eggnog ever

“Did you just throw a snowball at me?”

“Are you telling me we’re stranded?” Lokius Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Wild card: send me a holiday prompt of your choice. (Exes) Napollya Love is a Deserter

For your convenience, a link to my ask box.

#napollya #lokius #firstprince #tmfu #rwrb #prompt me #1 million words challenge

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 months

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The Lady - 4

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Eddie Horniman x Female Reader

Summary: After fifteen years away, a step-daughter returns for her Duke step-father's funeral, only to inherit a staggering 8 million pound debt and strike a risky deal with a criminal underworld figure.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5 , Chap 6 , -

Your ongoing support means the world to me! Reblogs are a fantastic way to help spread the word about my work. I'll do my best to reply to all your comments.

Thank you for your continued encouragement! ❤️❤️❤️

After a half-hearted attempt to watch the tennis tournament, you, Hugo, and Eddie retreated for afternoon tea.

"Me? The criminal organization in this country want me?" you asked incredulously.

Eddie nodded, casually adding sugar to his tea, with Hugo mimicking his actions. "They're still trying to figure out who you are. They won't ask Barnes since they despise him. They've made inquiries, but your identity remains a mystery to them, given your recent arrival."

"What about you, Eddie?" you inquired.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he sipped his tea. "Hmm?"

"Why didn't you expose me to them?" you clarified.

Eddie set down his cup, meeting your gaze directly. "And let them exploit your expertise? You're too valuable for that, my dear."

The endearment caught you off guard, evoking memories of summers spent at Manor with Eddie's parents, particularly his mother, who often referred to you as "My Dear" during afternoon tea. But when Eddie used the term, it carried a different weight.

Eddie continued, "I faced a similar situation last year. This organization is far more dangerous than most people realize, even those at the UN dealing with cross-border issues."

"True," you agreed, contemplating the chaos of the criminal underworld. "The real zoo is here. But what about your organization?"

"My cannabis business remains neutral in conflicts," Eddie explained. "Even in our silence, there are those who seek to undermine us."

He paused, then offered, "If you want to join forces, you could. You could easily settle the debt."

The air hung heavy with the implications of his proposition, the tension palpable as you considered the possibilities.

"No," you interjected firmly.

Hugo finally joined the conversation, shooting Eddie a defiant glare. "My dad paid a high price to cut ties with cannabis."

You were surprised by Hugo's sudden assertiveness, especially considering his awareness of Rupert's dealings.

Eddie chuckled, unfazed by Hugo's challenge. "I could see you as a Duke in the future."

But before the tension could escalate further, another voice cut in, catching you off guard.

"Well, well, what do we have here? Are you cheating on me in broad daylight?"

You tensed at the sound of Bucky's voice, turning to find him standing beside your table, impeccably dressed in Ralph Lauren, his smirk as infuriating as ever.

"Can't I have a day without seeing your face?" you retorted, unable to hide your irritation.

Bucky feigned injury, clutching his chest dramatically. "Ouch."

Eddie intervened, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What are you doing here, Barnes?"

"I wanted to try tea time. Felt like a royal for a change, but the cake tasted like shit," Bucky quipped, oblivious to the disapproving looks from nearby tables and the waitress.

"Well, I just wanted to say hello and meet the Duke of Horniman. Say hi from me to Bobby Glass, will you?" Bucky continued, his smirk never faltering.

Eddie's smile turned sour. "I won't."

"Great," Bucky replied casually, turning his attention to you. "Wait for my call, Your Grace."

You responded with a curt, "Fuck off."

Hugo nearly choked on his drink at your blunt retort, while Eddie struggled to contain his laughter.

Unfazed by your harsh words, Bucky simply bowed and took his leave.

Eddie glanced at you, his expression sympathetic. "I can see what you're dealing with."

As you drove back to the manor with Hugo, his voice interrupted the tense atmosphere inside the car. "Can we switch our ride?"

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong with this one?"

Hugo's enthusiasm was palpable as he explained, "My buddies have got green cars, red cars, even yellow ones. And get this - their car doors pop up like wings when they open!"

You couldn't help but chuckle at his excitement. Seeing him like this, he seemed more like a kid dreaming of his favorite toy.

If Rupert weren't neck-deep in debt, you'd have no qualms about splurging on Hugo's dream car. But for now, you couldn't bear to crush his hopes. "Yeah, sure. Once we're done here, we'll get you one."

As you drove back to the manor with Hugo, you delved into a conversation about Rupert's work.

"You know a little about Rupert's work?" you inquired, curious about your stepfather's business.

Hugo nodded thoughtfully. "All I know is, dad wanted to quit the cannabis business because of Charles."

His mention of Charles brought a warning to mind. "Don't ask anything about weed with Bro Charles," he cautioned.

"Why?" you asked, intrigued by the sudden seriousness in Hugo's tone.

Hugo shook his head solemnly. "Ask Mom or Charlotte."

"Fine," you conceded, understanding the need for caution.

Upon your return to Evergreen Manor, you inquired about your mother's whereabouts from the butler. Learning that Susan was out shopping with friends, you sighed in frustration. With no one else to turn to, you realized you would have to seek answers from Charlotte.

Entering the living room, you spotted Charlotte engaged in a live conversation with her followers. It was clear she was preoccupied. "This will take a while," you muttered to yourself, bracing for what lay ahead.

Four hours later, Charlotte's hostility lingered as she addressed your inability to come to a conclusion on your own.

"Can't you figure it out on your own?" she snapped, arms crossed tightly as if she couldn't bear to share the same air as you.

You sighed, bracing yourself for another round of her disdain. "No, I can't. I've been out of touch with everyone for the past 15 years," you admitted, resigned to the reality of your isolation.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Charlotte gestured for you to follow her. You trailed behind her to the barns, where an out-of-place container caught your eye.

As Charlotte swung the door open, a wave of nausea washed over you as the unmistakable scent of weed filled the air.

"Weed," you muttered, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place.

"Dad was making extra money with this, but he wanted out because of Charles," Charlotte explained, her voice tinged with bitterness.

"Why?" you pressed, eager to understand the full extent of the situation.

Charlotte remained silent for a moment, her expression guarded. "This is why you should at least read the emails that Mom sent you, even if you don't want to reply," she scolded.

Her words struck a chord, and you listened intently as she revealed the shocking truth. "Charles overdosed," she continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "We almost lost him. The doctors said he was brain dead. It's truly a miracle that Charles could come back alive. That's the reason why he became a priest."

The revelation left you speechless, your ignorance laid bare before you. "I had no idea," you whispered, grappling with the weight of the revelation.

"But now you know," Charlotte replied, her tone softer. "And you understand why my dad cut off all contact with anything related to drugs."

Charlotte's words hit you like a punch to the gut, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you.

"What did you say?" you demanded, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"If you never came here, none of this would have happened," Charlotte muttered, her gaze heavy with accusation.

You bristled at her insinuation. "None of that is my fault," you retorted, feeling the weight of her words bearing down on you.

Charlotte's voice was laced with bitterness as she continued, "Your existence changed Charles."

You recoiled at the truth of her words, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Charles's feelings for you had always been a taboo topic, one you never dared to confront. It explained so much—the distance, the tension, the unspoken truths that lingered between you and your family.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, even though you knew deep down that you were not to blame. "I didn't even ask to be born," you muttered, a bitter reminder of the unfair hand life had dealt you.

The tension crackled in the air as you and Charlotte locked gazes, each refusing to back down from the confrontation.

"You can't blame me for Charles's choices," you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

Charlotte's eyes flashed with resentment. "I'm not blaming you for his choices, I'm blaming you for existing!" she shot back, her words like daggers aimed at your heart.

Your jaw clenched as you struggled to contain your rising anger. "Well, I'm sorry if my existence inconveniences you so much," you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's not just about inconvenience, it's about ruining lives!" Charlotte spat, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Ruining lives?" you scoffed, incredulous. "I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask to be the reason Charles spiraled out of control."

"Maybe not, but you're still the reason!" Charlotte's voice rose with every word, her frustration reaching its peak.

You took a step closer, your own anger boiling beneath the surface. "And what about me? What about the life I've had to live because of all this?"

Charlotte's expression softened slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing her features. "I know it's not fair to you either," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Then stop blaming me for everything!" you pleaded, the weight of years of resentment and guilt bearing down on you.

"Stop it," Susan's voice cut through the tension, her breath heavy as she approached.

Both you and Charlotte halted, the argument stalling at Susan's arrival. She hurried over, concern etched on her face as she reached Charlotte, who appeared flushed.

"Are you alright?" Susan's voice was laced with worry as she checked on her daughter.

You felt a pang of resentment, knowing that despite being her biological child, Susan often treated Charlotte as her own. It stung, a constant reminder of your place in the family hierarchy.

As Susan tended to Charlotte, you clenched your fists, a surge of frustration coursing through you. You turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer.

Walking away, you pulled out your phone, dialing a number with shaky fingers. "Where are you?"

Inside the car, you and Bucky sat side by side, watching the second target intently. The bomb had already been discreetly placed under the car, and now it was just a matter of waiting.

Bucky's voice broke the silence, filled with genuine awe. "Damn, watching you do your thing is like watching Picasso paint."

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to downplay your talent. "Yeah, turns out anger can make me completely focused."

Bucky let out a low whistle, his admiration evident. "Well, color me impressed, sweetheart."

As you both observed the target, a man stumbled out of the club, clearly inebriated. His drunken antics drew attention, and he shamelessly flirted with every girl he encountered, much to your disdain.

"What's the reason for him?" you inquired, unable to hide your distaste for the man's behavior.

Bucky's response was simple yet cryptic. "Someone just really hates him."

Moments later, the target climbed into his car, oblivious to the impending danger. Without hesitation, Bucky pressed the trigger.

'BANG' The explosion echoed through the night as the car erupted in flames, sending shockwaves through the surrounding area.

'KYAA!!'

The chaos erupted as the explosion sent shockwaves through the crowd, eliciting panicked screams from bystanders.

"Too bad the wedding will never happen," Bucky remarked casually, his tone laced with dark amusement.

Your heart sank at his words, a sense of dread settling over you. "Huh?" you muttered, struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Bucky's pointed gesture toward the burning car made everything click into place. "He's your step-sister's fiancé," he explained bluntly.

A wave of guilt washed over you as you realized the ramifications of your actions. You cursed your ignorance and lack of foresight.

In frustration, you turned on Bucky, your voice trembling with anger."Next time, how about a little warning before we go blowing up someone's bloody ride?"

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mightyflamethrower · 9 months

Text

“Name me a single objective we’ve ever set out to accomplish that we’ve failed on. Name me one, in all of our history. Not one!”

-President Joe Biden, August 16, 2023

Joe Biden in one of his now accustomed angry “get off my grass” moods dared the press to find just one of his policies/objectives that has not worked. Silence followed.

Perhaps it was polite to say nothing, given even the media knows almost every enacted Biden policy has failed.

Here is a summation of what he should instead apologize for.

Biden in late summer 2021 sought a 20th anniversary celebration of 9/11 and the 2001 subsequent invasion of Afghanistan. He wished to be the landmark president that yanked everyone out of Afghanistan after 20 years in country. But the result was the greatest military humiliation of the United States since the flight from Vietnam in 1975.

Consider the ripples of Biden’s disaster. U.S. deterrence was crippled worldwide. China, Russia, Iran, and North Korea almost immediately began to bluster or return to their chronic harassment of U.S. and allied ships and planes. We left thousands of allied Afghans to face Taliban retribution, along with some Western contractors.

Biden abandoned a $1 billion embassy, and a $300 million remodeled Bagram airbase strategically located not far from China and Russia, and easily defensible. Perhaps $50 billion in U.S. weaponry and supplies were abandoned and now find their way into the international terrorist mart.

All our pride flags, our multimillion gender studies programs at Kabul University, and our George Floyd murals did not just come to naught, but were replaced by the Taliban’s anti-homosexual campaigns, burkas, and detestation of any trace of American popular culture.

Vladimir Putin sized up the skedaddle. He collated it with Biden’s unhinged quip that he would not get too excited if Putin just staged a “minor” invasion of Ukraine. He remembered Biden’s earlier request to Putin to modulate Russian hacking to exempt a few humanitarian American institutions. Then Russia concluded of our shaky Commander-in-Chief that he either did not care or could do nothing about another Russian invasion.

The result so far is more than 500,000 dead and wounded in the war, a Verdun-stand-off along with fortified lines, the steady depletion of our munitions and weapon stocks, and a new China/Russia/Iran/North Korean axis, with wink and nod assistance from NATO Turkey.

Biden blew up the Abraham accords, nudged Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States over to the dark side of Iran, China, and Russia. He humiliated the U.S. on the eve of the midterms by callously begging the likes of Iran, Venezuela, Russia, and Saudi Arabia to pump more oil that he had damned as unclean at home and cut back its production. In Bidenomics, instead of producing oil, the president begs autocracies to export it to us at high prices while he drains the nation’s strategic petroleum reserve for short-term political advantage.

Biden deliberately alienated Israel by openly interfering in its domestic politics. He pursued the crackpot Iran Deal while his special Iranian envoy was removed for disclosing classified information.

No one can explain why Biden ignored the Chinese balloon espionage caper, kept mum about the engineered Covid virus that escaped the Wuhan lab, said not a word about a Chinese biolab discovered in rural California, and had his envoys either bow before Chinese leaders or take their insults in silence—other than he is either cognitively challenged or leveraged by his decade-long grifting partnership with his son Hunter.

Yet another Biden’s legacy will be erasing the southern border and with it, U.S. immigration law. Over seven million aliens simply crossed into the U.S. illegally with Biden’s tacit sanction—without audits, background checks, vaccinations, and COVID testing, much less English fluency, skills, or high-school diplomas.

Biden’s only immigration accomplishment was to render the entire illegal sanctuary city movement a cruel joke. Given the flood, mostly rich urban and vacation home dwellers made it very clear that while they fully support millions swarming into poor Latino communities of southern Texas and Arizona, they do not want any illegal aliens fouling their carefully cultivated nests.

Biden is mum about the 100,000 fentanyl deaths from cartel-imported and Chinese-supplied drugs across his open border. He seems to like the idea that Mexican President Obrador periodically mouths off, ordering his vast expatriate community to vote Democratic and against Trump.

Despite all the pseudo-blue collar dissimulation about Old Joe Biden from Scranton, he has little empathy for the working classes. Indeed, he derides them as chumps and dregs, urges miners to learn coding as the world covets their coal, and studiously avoids getting anywhere near the toxic mess in East Palestine, Ohio, or so far the moonscape on Maui.

Bidenomics is a synonym for printing up to $6 billion dollars at precisely the time post-Covid consumer demand was soaring, while previously dormant supply chains were months behind rebooting production and transportation. Biden is on track to increase the national debt more than any one-term president.

In Biden’s weird logic, if he raised the price of energy, gasoline, and key food staples 20-30 percent since his inauguration without a commensurate rise in wages, and then saw the worst inflation in 40 years occasionally decline from record highs one month to the next, then he “beat inflation.”

But the reason why more than 60 percent of the nation has no confidence in Bidenomics is because it destroyed their household budgets. Gas is nearly twice what it was in January 2021. Interest rates have about tripled. Key staple foods are often twice as costly—meat, vegetables, and fruits especially.

Biden has ended through his weaponized Attorney General Merrick Garland the age-old American commitment to equal justice under the law. The FBI, DOJ, CIA, and IRS are hopelessly politically compromised. Many of their bureaucrats serve as retrieval agents for lost Biden family incriminating laptops, diaries, and guns. In sum, Biden criminalized opposing political views.

Biden has unleashed the administrative state for the first time in history to destroy the Republican primary front runner and his likely opponent. His legacy will be the corruption of U.S. jurisprudence and the obliteration of the American reputation for transparent permanent government that should be always above politics, bribery, and corruption.

If in the future, an on-the-make conservative prosecutor in West Virginia, Utah, or Mississippi wishes to make a national name, then he has ample precedent to indict a Democrat President for receiving bad legal advice, questioning the integrity of an election, or using social media to express doubt that the new non-Election-Day balloting was on the up-and-up, or supposedly overvaluing his real estate.

The Biden family’s decade-long family grifting will likely expose Joe Biden as the first president in U.S. history who fitted precisely the Constitution’s definition of impeachment and removal—given his “high crimes and misdemeanors” appear “bribery”-related. If further evidence shows he altered U.S. foreign policy in accordance with the wishes from his benefactors in Ukraine, China, or Romania, then he committed constitutionally-defined “treason” as well.

Defunding the police, and pandemics of exempted looting, shoplifting, smashing, and grabbing, and carjacking merit no administrative attention. Nor does the ongoing systematic destruction of our blue bicoastal cities, Los Angeles, New York, Portland, San Francisco, Seattle, and Washington, D.C. All that, along with the disasters in East Palestine or Maui are out of sight, out of mind from a day at the beach at Biden’s mysteriously purchased nearly 6,000 square-foot beachfront mansion.

Biden ran on Barack Obama-like 2004 rhetoric (“Well, I say to them tonight, there is not a liberal America and a conservative America — there is the United States of America).”

And like Obama, he used that ecumenical sophistry to gain office only to divide further the U.S. No sooner than he was elected, we began hearing from the great unifier eerie screaming harangues about “semi-fascists” and “ultra-MAGA” dangerous zealots, replete with red-and black Phantom of the Opera backdrops.

What followed the unifying rhetoric was often amnesties and exemptions for violent offenders during the 120 days of rioting, looting, killing, and attacks on police officers in summer 2020. In contrast, his administration lied when it alleged that numerous officers had died at the hands of the January 6 rioters. In addition, the Biden administration mandated long-term incarceration of many who committed no illegal act other than acting like buffoons and “illegally parading.”

The message was exemptions for torching a federal courthouse, a police precinct, or historic church or attempting to break into the White House grounds to get a president and his family—but long prison terms for wearing cow horns, a fur vest, and trespassing peacefully like a lost fool in the Capitol.

Finally, Biden’s most glaring failure was simply being unpresidential. He snaps at reporters, and shouts at importune times. He can no longer read off a big-print teleprompter. Even before a global audience, he cannot kick his lifelong creepy habit of turkey-gobbling on children necks, blowing into their ears and hair of young girls, and squeezing women far too long and far too hard.

His frailty redefined American presidential campaigning as basement seclusion and outsourcing propaganda to the media. And his disabilities only intensified during his presidency. Biden begins his day late and quits early. He has recalibrated the presidency as a 5-hour, 3-day a week job.

If Trump was the great exaggerator, Biden is our foremost liar. Little in his biography can be fully believed. He lies about everything from his train rides to the death of his son to his relationship with Biden-family foreign collaborators, to vaccinations to the economy. Anytime Biden mentions places visited, miles flown, or rails ridden, he is likely lying.

Biden continues with impunity because the media feels that a mentally challenged fabulist is preferable to Donald Trump and so contextualizes or ignores his falsehoods. Never has a U.S. president fallen and stumbled or gotten lost on stage so frequently—or been a single small trip away from incapacity.

So, yes, Biden’s initiatives have succeeded only in the sense of becoming successfully enacted—and therefore nearly destroying the country.

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waynewifey · 10 months

Text

aftermath — b.w

part one - ‘dear mr. wayne’

part two - ‘aftermath’

part three. - ‘aporia’

summary: you escaped that warehouse, but part of you died in there. now, your husband helps you grief your own loss while trying to not murder your relationship.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: drama & angst romance

warnings: mentions of sex and alcohol; mentions of ptsd, anxiety and it’s symptoms; hospital setting; dubious science; dubious law enforcement

word count: 2.9k

A/N: thank you for all the positive feedback on part 1! there will be a part three because this post would get too long, so let me know if you’ll like to be tagged in that. my biggest challenge writing this was trying to give bruce the start of a redemption arc, please tell me if you think it worked. comments and constructive criticism is appreciated!

gotham, USA.

the continuous beeping sound wakes you up.

your eyes are still closed, blocking the intense light over your head. your senses are taken by the familiar scent: sandalwood, cinnamon and lemongrass soap. it almost feels like you're home.

but your feet are senseless from the cold and the bedsheets faintly smell like chlorine. there's a pinching ache in your arm and the scenario is complete. oh how you hate hospitals.

"how are you feeling?" back at home, bruce had learned the difference in your breathing as you woke up, which made pretending to sleep hard enough for you to give up. you open your eyes, finding yourself in a luxurious room. if it wasn't for the IV on your left side, it could easily be mistaken for a five star hotel.

bruce sat at a large light green armchair, about four feet from your left hand. you couldn't tell by his voice, but he looked exhausted. for once, he's wearing sweatpants. the puffy face and swollen eyes show he hasn't had much sleep. you, on the other hand, feel like you've slept for a thousand years.

"i have no idea. what's up with me?" his sigh has your heart racing and the fear of being a liability falls over you. a comforting hand lays on yours, his warms fingers grounding you to remember the last time you were awake. it felt like a nightmare and you desperately hoped it was. instead, the pain comes in flashes, the image of your husband being shot and the feeling of hitting ice cold water do too. it's all just so horrible you wish it wasn't real.

"they told me you were going to be fine, but i don't know." bruce feels as if a burden has come off his chest finally seeing you move. the last couple of days have been a torture of expectation and blame for him. "the doctor had you in an induced coma. you had a concussion on the river. your stomach was stitched up. he said..." he stops for a moment, this is obviously way too hard for him to go through again. bruce hasn't left the room ever since he was discharged. everyday, for two weeks, he kept overthinking the night before and the day during. if he had stayed up and talked about your relationship, you wouldn't be in that bed. if he looked for you in the morning, if he noticed your absence at work, if he hadn't put his phone on silent mode... there were a million of things that he could've done different so the most important person in his world wouldn't have gone through all of that. "he said the ptsd would worsen your recovery. this morning the nurses told me you were better, so i have to believe them. that's my only hope."

you need a moment to take in the words, finally deciding that you didn't want to discuss your health. there were way better people to pay attention to that in the building and it would only make you anxious. you can't help but stare at his eyes, your mind bringing up the image of your husband choking the man that kept you hostage.

"you almost killed him." the tone is of disapproval, bruce couldn't be any more confused. he frowns. bile arises from his stomach leaving a acid taste to his mouth.

"i would've, of course i would. y/n, you had no idea what i would do for you. i would fight the devil himself if it meant keeping you safe. that's why i do what i do. the batman, the politics, it's all for you. if i can make this world 1% better for you, for our children, to live on, it's worth it." his gulp is loud, adam's apple going up and down, showing how dry his throat was. the following words have his voice shaking, almost disappearing. "but fate keeps telling me that i'm not enough. no matter what i do, you keep getting hurt and i just-" bruce stares the floor. that's something he always did when saying harsh things, avoiding eye contact and not letting tears slip away. however, this time it doesn't work at all. he can hear his heart tearing up with every syllable, the physical pain striking his chest. he wants to beg you to forgive him, but there is a noble thing to do. his words are cut off by the creaking of the door and the doctor's footsteps. he's smiling, like this isn't hell. bruce shrinks into the couch, making himself ignorable.

"so... i have good news!" the blonde says, clipboard in hand. "we need to run some other tests and an x-ray, but you seem to be healing pretty well. we'll hold you in for a couple of days just to make sure there aren't any complications with your body and then you can go home. how are you feeling so far?"

you're surprised by the sudden change in the conversation and your brain needs a moment to think about something helpful. you do a body scan trying to identify any pain, but overall you feel good.

"hungry. like, starving." the doctor smiles, saying he'll get you a meal as soon as possible. he warns you that you may not be able to eat much just yet, something about your stomach shrinking. you nod, already feeling irritated by the recovery process. then he leaves and there's a loud silence until you get back on the previous topic.

"you just what?" you expect bruce to sit correctly again, but he doesn't. he looks so small in the shadows, so comfortable. you really don't want to talk about that anymore, but curiosity takes over. he doesn't respond immediately, so your heart pounds over the anxiety of hearing bad news. suddenly you feel so tired, you want him to take over all the decisions like he usually does. today, though, he seems open to suggestions, like his own ideas weren't suitable. how could you know someone so well but still have no idea what's on his mind?

"i think maybe you shouldn't be associated with me. any part of me." the world stops with your breathing. bruce wishes he could take it back. going over this conversation in his head made it seem easier to say out loud. you've been married for three years. you knew his ambitions for even longer. you chose this life and he has no right to take that from you. still, the ring on your finger weighs you down.

— DENIAL

you've learned to appreciate the winter winds. at the top of the wayne tower there were barely any, but tonight they caress your face with the gift of numbness. breathing in is both refreshing and painful. the scratched teacup warms your fingers, a small memoir from your childhood home, from times that won't ever come back. you used to be down there, frightened by dark alleys and gunshots. now you're on top of the world and nothing, not even that psychopath, can take that from you. you did relearn discomfort. ache. cold. it all made you appreciate life even more. in fact, the month that followed your hospital discharge was pure bliss. something about renewal, about rebirth.

bruce watched you from the living room, the wrinkled glass distorting your silhouette in the balcony. that was a good representation of how he currently saw you, slightly blurred and shaken. his cup would usually hold whiskey, neat, but it holds coffee instead. you keep saying you're fine and waking up screaming in the middle of the night. then he would hold you and you would be actually fine. so now he's staying awake through the night, sleeping three or four hours during the day while alfred takes care of you. of course they don't let you know, because you've denied every explicit help. as you get ready to sleep, bruce gets ready to stay in bed through the night, alone with his thoughts. part of him was scared to sleep. he was sleeping when you were taken, there's no way he would let that happen again.

it has been almost a year since he stopped patrolling the city. the news cover murders and robberies every day. alfred makes sure to come up with something for both bruce and you to do at those hours. he's taken a pause in promoting his candidacy, he couldn't handle the public eye for now. still, the marketing team insists that your kidnapping was good media, even though he never officially spoke on it. they publish notes about being away, about taking care of family. he can't see how that could be good in any way.

you open the glass doors, flashing your husband a sweet smile. you're in a red silk robe and your hair is still perfectly done. perfectionism was one of the side effects, as one may call it, of the trauma. you visited a psychiatrist about a month ago, since bruce insisted on it, and he marked all of the habits that made you happy as unhealthy. you never told bruce what was said in that appointment in hopes that he'll get over it. him treating you like a porcelain doll made you nauseous.

"ready for bed?" you ask, standing behind the couch and hugging his shoulders. you breathe in his scent, remembering the day you met. you were an executive in an overseas wayne enterprises headquarters that had just gotten transferred to gotham. they offered you six figures to take the second in command position, so you obviously got to know the first in command. in the beginning, you honestly thought he was an entitled brat that didn't work at all. overtime, you realised how much he cared about the company and how much he was pining over you. you gave him an opening and he asked you out. six months into the relationship, he told you about batman. he knew, somehow, that you would be forever.

he sets in bed while you're touching up in the bathroom. the night had to be perfect. you've hadn't made love ever since the fight and ovulation week had gotten you a little crazy. you check yourself in the mirror, thanking the hormones making you sexy. you crawl into his side, slower than needed, hair falling over the shoulder. "hi" you whisper, sitting diagonally from him and cuddling a bit. he says hi back, with a chuckle. you give him a little peck, which is all you've been doing for all of this time. he stays still, not pulling back but also not doing anything either. you try to take it as a good sign. your lips then reach his jawline and neck, leaving wet kisses all over his skin. your hands touch his shirt and go underneath it, tracing your fingers along his defined abdomen. a hand holds your arm, pushing you away. your smile fades and you frown your face to him.

"touch me, bruce" you not so much ask, it's more like a plead. he sighs, channelling all his will to stick with his decision. he puts a string of your hair behind your ear and you think he's going to properly kiss you.

"i don't think we should do this. you're not well enough yet." he doesn't sound so certain, but it hits you like a hard brick wall. this is harder for him than he lets it show, he's a man after all. even so, he can't see you like that for the moment. he sees you scattered and feels like it's his responsibility to assemble you again.

"i'm perfectly fine." you state like a grumpy proud child who's just lost a soccer tournament. he sees right through it.

"you're not, you're in denial." that simple word makes your mood swing: denial. it's the same thing the stupid psychiatrist told you. you can even hear his smoker's voice echoing in the office. it isn't true. you got over it, that's all. maybe some people take more time to do so, but you did just like that. you had a life to get back to.

you get off the bed and pull your robe tight again. "i'm sleeping in the guest room. good night." he doesn't follow and lets you be. in all honesty, he didn't know if he would have the strength to turn you down a second time.

bruce tries to fight the tiredness. even with caffeine running high in his blood system, he falls asleep for a while. the guest room is far enough that he doesn't hear the muffled sobbing. he wakes up not so long after with screaming. his heart races as he runs down the stairs, following the sound of your voice. his mind starts thinking the worst, but he finds you only having nightmares. he crawls in bed with you, without being kicked off. he lets you lay on his chest, one arm over your shoulder. his body warms yours up and you finally stop spasming. it doesn't take too long for both to fall asleep.

— ANGER

the penthouse is quiet. the winter is almost at it's end, so the pre-spring rays lighten the living room bringing warmness to your solitude. you sit uncomfortably, unknown to this feeling of absence. you don't feel him in the tower.

bruce said there was a non deniable meeting with his press team, because eventually he would have to go back to promoting his election, which would take place in the fall. you acted unbothered. yet, he's barely been gone for an hour and you can already feel the anxiety crippling. you only left the apartment for doctors appointment, still too scared to walk on the streets. and he was always there, too, holding your hand. so this is different.

alfred is downstairs upgrading the batman suit with a new technology he created. he invited you, but the darkness of the cave was definitely unrequited. that's how you end up lounging, in silence, staring at window. finally, you decide to try to watch something. you shouldn't really do that, because something could trigger a panic attack. but you're fine, you really are. enough with this nonsense.

shuffling through the channels, nothing gets your attention until there's a juridical show on. the judge is talking to the prosecutor, apparently, announcing the next witness to testify. the camera angle changes to the courtroom and expectant eyes turn to the wooden door. it opens slowly to reveal a knight in dark armour. you hold your breath. the jury buzzes and the room gets loud. heavy steps make his cape swing behind him, as he makes his way to the stand.

bruce had to make a tough decision. while you and him had been cleared from the trial, you with the psychiatrist report on PTSD and him with the marriage, the lawyers mentioned that the batman's testimony could be decisive for the accused to be found guilty by the jury. the public respected him. either they loved or feared him. so, even though he's never made such a public appearance, less even speaking, he had to go to that trial. he owed it to you. but you could never know. he didn't want to spark your interest in the case, you shouldn't have to go through it again. he lays his hand on the constitution and swears on it.

it doesn't feel real until you hear the judge.

"members of the jury, i present to you the batman."

it feels like a dagger has gone through your chest. there's a mix of feelings that have you almost throwing up. you feel like screaming and crying and blowing the fucking world up. how could he do that to you? that was your case, your life. you stand up only to find your legs trembling. you want to run there and testify. you want to tell the world the horrors you've been through and show them, including your husband, that you had overcome it. he was calling you weak right in you face and you couldn't bear the feeling of being chained up again. you're stuck in this hell of a tower like some futile damsel.

you stomp your way to the elevator, your mind set on leaving the building. but your heart stops you in your tracks pounding and almost vomiting itself out; you feel your toes numb and your legs can't stop shaking. the baritone voice still sounds in the apartment. you run to it and scream at the TV. you throw a pillow on it. that doesn't cool you down. your body is in motion while all you can see is red. you knock the coffee table down, shattering the glass and scattering like ashes the books that were on it on the floor. the noise still doesn't muffle his voice and you can't find the fucking remote control. you stumble across the room, throwing lamps and vases around. everything is falling down, in every sense. you grab a candle and let out a scream when you hit the TV with it, the screen going black and the noise finally ceasing.

alfred finds the room trashed, with you kneeling on the broken glass. there's blood on the floor. your body trembles with every sob. he cautiously steps towards you. you feel out of breath, tears burning your eyes. he holds you like a mother does.

"i'm sorry- i'm so sorry," he shakes his head, saying it doesn't matter. you wanna say it does, but there's simply nothing leaving your mouth apart from "i'm so sorry"

part three - aporia

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honeyhenry · 1 year

Text

Apple Pie and You and I (And a Baby!)

The Seresins finding out about baby was the most highly voted option after the first part and so I'm delighted to share this as a new instalment! Warnings; pregnancy. part 1

As a proud and loving husband, Jake Seresin had been head instigator of every family planning conversation you can remember, often piping up with "C'mon darlin', let me put a baby in ya, hm?" when he was loving on you. Whether he was kissing you playfully in the kitchen or caring for and caressing you in the bedroom, he'd meant every word, every time. The absence of birth control and 3 months of pure Seresin talent and dedication had led to a handful of positive tests and many joyful tears as you'd told him the good news.

"Jake" you'd whispered softly, his eyebrows furrowing in concern while he'd watched the tears track your cheeks, seeping into the fibres of his tight black t-shirt. "Jake, honey, we're having a baby. We did it." His stature had slackened, mouth opening as if to speak, omitting nothing but the breath that had been knocked out of him entirely at the news. All too soon though, he's holding you close and those green eyes you so adore hold so many promises before he even utters a word.

"Oh honey...a baby? Really?" You can remember the shine in his eyes and the dimpled grin that smothered his face. "One of our own that's gonna look like you - oh honey I adore you." Before you could even speak again, he'd followed up with a quick "and you" while tenderly rubbing the pad of his thumb over your stomach.

Reacting to the news was never going to be the issue for Jake. The issue was that he was too darn proud to keep the news quiet until you hit the 12 week mark. You're pretty certain the local gas station workers, his mechanic, and half the staff at your local coffee place know of Baby Seresin. All anyone would need to see to figure out the source of his happiness is the inside of his locker - the reminders for why he does his job. There, he cherishes an older photograph of you both on a date, one of you on honeymoon, and now plastered to the inside of the metal container is a shiny square monochromatic picture of a blob. The best, most advanced little blob in the whole world, if you asked him.

Being at the family ranch for a couple of weeks had proven to be challenging, each passing day finding Jake growing more and more impatient in having to wait to tell his family the news. The Seresins were close - so emphatically empathetic to each others' circumstances and emotions that you both knew they'd all be thrilled for you both and beg you to stay longer, ask a million questions, and volunteer for babysitting duties immediately.

So on the morning commencing that glorious twelfth week, as the sun rose up over the Seresin ranch, you were not surprised in the slightest to find Jake already awake and rubbing your belly, gazing at you as if you hung the moon and stars in the sky. "Today's the day, Mama" he'd grinned, like a child on Christmas day, "Mom's gonna cry, I just know it. She'll say 'Oh Jacob, oh my Jacob a father himself! And maybe this'll be the first Seresin girl in this generation too!'" he stated, toning his voice higher than usual, making you giggle. A sound he would never tire of hearing.

"Well, we just want them healthy. There's always the next one," you tease as he shuffles back up the bed to you, leaning over you on one arm before working his typical charm with a cocked eyebrow; "Honey I’d give you ten little Seresins if that’s what you wanted. All you gotta do is ask." In response, you spend a couple more hours in bed, making plans in between some soft, whispered loving in his creaky childhood bed.

By lunchtime you'd both managed to dress and get ready for the day. Being a bright and warm Saturday, preparations were already underway for the big family lunch set out each weekend. Kids scrambling around the table, older cousins placing cutlery out in a clatter, Aunts passing water cups and sparkling ciders around while most of the Uncles cheer over the football game before it’s turned off to enjoy the "precious family time" as Grammie calls it. Everyone knows it's in their best interest to respect Grammie's wishes.

Dinner is served and no one questions your sobriety since many others opt for a water on the hot May afternoon. Grammie and Momma have been cooking a delicious home-grown and home-made pot pie that Jake remembers eating as a child himself around the very same table he sits at now with you. Soon, his own child will sit and eat this pot pie with clumsy hands and a smile that he truly hopes matches yours. With a squeeze of your hand, he signals to you he's ready tell the world your exciting news.

Clearing his throat, Jake stands, his broad shoulders allowing him to be easily noticed as people continue to chew but turn to face the handsome aviator. "First of all, I gotta say...it is so good to be back in the country, we are so at home here and we love y'all so much." You watch as his sisters smile, his Momma hanging on his words as if she could predict their importance. " Anyways...I see many people around the table, all that have a little bit of that good old Seresin spirit in them. Well, we have some news." The room is silent - the younger ones adore their Uncle Jake and hang on his every word, or are too busy eating to make a sound. "My beautiful wife here has a little Seresin spirit growin right inside her. Our own slice of heaven, due t'arrive a’couple weeks before Christmas."

As expected, the entire room erupts. Momma Seresin is the first to make her way to you, pulling you in for a hug as his sisters follow suit, squealing and bubbling over with excitement. In amongst the beautiful chaos, you see how Jake's Dad and other family members shake his hand in congratulations, smothering him in hugs when given the chance.

"Be gentle with her please, ladies. Precious cargo." You hear your husband's voice, dripping like honey with sheer pride and elation as they continue to fuss over you. Over the million questions and tight squeezes you feel, you know that to be surrounded by such love and care is a true blessing - there is an entire army supporting your growing family, and Jake is leading the charge.

As everyone sits back down to digest the news and ask even more questions, Momma pipes up, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, keeping her son close to her at the table. "Oh y’all are gonna be the best parents, my Jacob, a father! My baby havin' a baby of his own!"

Noticing that Grammie has stayed quiet, you watch her view the joyful family interactions with a tearful smile while looking over proudly at Jake. Your eyes are shiny too while your hand moves freely to your stomach, as if reassuring your baby that they truly are so loved already. You're not quite showing yet - much to Jake's dismay - but you have an inkling that those Seresin genes will catch up quickly.

You find Jake's hand, gazing up at him as he answers questions, shining with pride while you're happy to sit and hold your little belly close. "We're gonna come back as much as possible too, really wanna give 'em the same childhood as I had here in Texas..." he looks to you and smiles. "We're just excited to bring a baby into the world that gets to be a part of this family." He swallows thickly and you know he's holding it together as best as he can.

Before his words decide to fail him, one of his cousins taps his bottle of cider and raises it up in the air. "A toast!" he announces; "To a new child, grandchild, great grandchild, cousin, niece or nephew….and to the girl who’s makin a daddy outta Jacob Seresin. The boy done good, we wish y’all all the joy with your bundle. To the newest baby Seresin!"

Everyone raises their glasses in the air, repeating the toast to your littlest love before cheering and drinking together, while Jake swoops in for the sweetest kiss.

#hangman x reader #apayai #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun fic #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #fluff

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

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✨️1K Followers Celebration Day 6: Seventeen bias wrecker - Dino✨️

Affect

AN: This has been in my drafts for 600 years because those clips of him from In The Soop still haunt me. I just think it's funny that because it took me so long to get to this, we got even more shirtless Dino in the gym content recently. Clearly a sign from the universe to finish this lmao. I was going to go on a whole unhinged rant about him but, I'll spare you all. We're all going to ignore that 1. his is the longest so far and 2. I've written the most for him out of every idol, thanks.

Synopsis: You thought working out with Chan would be a fun, productive way to spend time together. However, you're sorely unprepared for just how distracting he can be.

Heads up: Lee Chan x Fem! Reader, friends to lovers of sorts, Reader going through it because of her attraction to Chan, praise kink (f. receiving), Chan being a menace, technically public sex I guess (they fuck in the gym but, no one catches them and it's not brought up as a concern), hair pulling, dirty talk, petnames used for Reader, nipple play (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex, Reader cries a little and creampie.

Word count: 4138

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

You knew you were doomed the moment you saw Chan in his workout clothing. His shirt sticking to his torso and practically acting like a second skin. You're sure if you looked hard enough, you could see the outlines of his nipples. His shorts were worse, somehow. Beckoning you to look at his toned thighs and zero in on how they hugged his ass.

Today is going to be more challenging than you anticipated.

"So, where do you want to start?" He asks, snapping you out of so blatantly ogling one of your closest friends. God, what're you thinking? You're here to spend time with him. Not think about how broad his shoulders are and just how muscular his ass would feel if you gave it a squeeze or five.

"You're the gym expert. You tell me," You pray to whichever deity is listening that Chan mistakes the delicate quality in your voice for anything other than how much just seeing him dressed like this affects you.

His laugh is boisterous and fills you with so much warmth, turning the already present butterflies in your stomach into dragons. One person shouldn't have this much power over you.

"I better not hear any complaining then," he responds with a wide smile, his eyes crinkling with mirth. Yeah, maybe being alone with the man you're borderline in love with isn't the wisest decision you've ever made, but it's too late now. You resist the scowl that wants to make itself known on your face when you invision a knowing Soonyoung in your mind. He's the one who suggested this to begin with. You're definitely going to be having some words with him the next time you see him, that evil man. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You severely underestimated how much worse this could get. You thought just seeing him in his tight-fitting gym attire was enough to fog up your brain but, that was before you heard the noises.

Lee Chan is a vocal man in all areas of life. Well, all areas of life that you've experienced him in. He's always talking, laughing, yelling at points, singing, sometimes rapping to fill the silence, and a million other things. The point being, Chan is not a quiet man. So, it shouldn't take you by surprise that he's vocal while he's working out too.

Still, the quiet grunts that fall from his lips and fill the otherwise relatively silent gym when he lifts weights causes your heart to beat wildly in your chest. The drawn-out groans when he finishes a set or stretches out his muscles might be the worst. Coupled with the way he grits his jaw and his face contorts when he's lifting, it's frankly a miracle you haven't spontaneously combusted.

However, as you stand and watch him while he illustrates how he wants you to lift these weights to your absolute horror and mortification, you realise you're getting wet. Not only that, but a barely there ache is beginning to make itself known between your thighs.

You're sure your face is radiating enough heat to power a small apartment building. You're really getting this worked up just watching him work out? What in the world is wrong with you? Are you truly this needy? You definitely need to call Soonyoung after this and yell at him until you're hoarse.

"Do you want to try now?" Chan asks you, kind eyes focused on you. You really might be the world's worst friend.

"Yeah, sure," you respond, pulling yourself together as best as you can given that you're unravelling at the seams. The weights aren't too heavy. You test them in your hold momentarily before imitating Chan's movements. There's a slight burn in your biceps but, otherwise you feel fine. It feels good, even. The slight burn fueling you.

"That's my girl,"

Oh.

Oh no.

That's all it takes for you to falter. Your mind suddenly completely forgetting the motions for the exercise you watched minutes ago.

"You were doing good just now but, try doing it this way," he says, standing up from where he'd been seated to watch you. His hands correcting your hold on the weights and the positioning of your arms. Every brush of his fingers on your skin leaves electricity in their wake. Fuck. Fuck this is bad. This is so bad.

Trying to remember how to be a normal human being, you nod at his words. Following his guidance and resuming the exercise precisely how he showed you now that your brain is semi-functional again.

"There you go. Good job," perhaps you should be a little more concerned about just how much his praise increases your pulse and worsens the way your panties are already sticking to you, but that's a thought for examining on another day. You can only handle so much right now.

"How about some pull-ups next?"

"Chan, do I strike you as the kind of person even capable of doing a single pull-up?"

"You could learn today,"

When all you respond with is a stone faced expression, he seems to get the message loud and clear, "Okay, fine. I'll do pull-ups and you do squats. How does that sound?"

"Now you're speaking my language,"

On the ever growing list of 'things you're violently unprepared for today', the next to be added is Chan just casually taking off his shirt. That stops you dead in your tracks. Your lips parting as his bare back comes into your line of sight. You thought it was broad before, but now? Seeing it completely bare? Broad feels like too simplistic of a word to describe it.

You knew, logically, that Chan was ripped. You've seen his arms, paying special attention to them more times than you care to admit. All of the guys work out regularly, and most of them mention Chan as one of the more dedicated members of the group when it came to hitting the gym.

You knew all of that, and yet, seeing the evidence a mere few metres in front of your very eyes leaves you speechless and stunned. Chan must notice your blatantly staring because he turns to look at you over his shoulder, "Is everything okay?"

You must struggle to come up with a believable response too long because he both looks and sounds panicked as he continues on, "Shit, did I make you uncomfortable? I should've asked if you were okay with me taking my shirt off. I'm sorry."

His panic must be infectious because you soon find yourself in a similar state, "No, no, Chan, it's okay. You did nothing wrong. I don't mind you being shirtless," quite the opposite actually, and that's the issue, but you decide to keep that bit to yourself.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind putting it back on if it's a problem,"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's really not a big deal,"

He looks unsure briefly but seems to accept your words. Giving you a nod before turning back to face the pull-up bar and begin his routine. You barely register the faint sting in your thighs from how deeply your nails are clawing into them. Eagle eyes drinking in as much as you can of every muscle contraction of his back. Your panties growing uncomfortably wet now as your ears are assaulted with grunts louder than the ones before.

You need to take a cold shower that lasts hours after this. At least you have a good month's worth of masturbation material now, so there's that.

Chan finishes his set far quicker than you would've liked. Sweat drenching his handsome face and droplets running down his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, his pecs until they disappear into the waistband of his shorts. Would it be so horrible to admit that you'd love to see just where those droplets wind up? That you'd happily follow their path with your tongue instead of your eyes?

"Hey, is everything okay?" Chan asks, dropkicking you out of your obscene thoughts.

"Ye-Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"It's just um you haven't really moved, and you've been kind of...staring at me?"

Oh no. Oh god, he noticed. No fucking shit he noticed you've probably been staring at him with all of the subtly of a rhino in a tea shop. Why did you have to make a day meant to be catching up with a friend so fucking weird.

"I-sorry. You're just distracting," is what comes out of your mouth in your blind panic.

"Distracting?" He asks, titling his head, "I'm distracting? Distracting how?"

By being shirtless, with all of the noises you've been making all day, by touching me, by telling me what a good job I've been doing, by just existing in the same space as me - are all of the thoughts that spring up in your mind. All the thoughts you show a great deal of restraint in not word vomiting out at him.

To your absolute mortification, an expression akin to understanding dawns on Chan's face. You've never wanted the Earth to spilt open and swallow you whole more than in this moment.

"Oh, I'm distracting huh?" Chan asks with a grin a touch too arrogant for you, taking a step towards you.

"No! It's not - I'm not - I wasn't - it wasn't like that," you stutter out, growing ever more flustered as a shirtless, sweaty Chan invades your space.

"It wasn't like what exactly?" He asks, mischief shining clear as day in his typically warm eyes.

Before you can consciously think about it, you find yourself stepping backwards. Much to the amusement of the man you're not sure if you want to kiss or throttle in front of you.

You decide to abandon the route you were on and attempt another one, "I'm sorry for staring at you."

"You don't have to apologise," Chan waves you off, "But I do want to know why you were staring,"

It's clear as day to anyone with basic critical thinking skills why you were so laser focused on his stupid back and shoulders. He just wants you to say it. You never took Chan for the humiliation type.

"You know why," you mutter, leaning against the wall that you had no idea you'd even gotten so close to. You suppose your brain is too preoccupied with trying to keep your friendship from going up into flames.

"I don't. You have to tell me," You really want to punch that shit eating grin off of his face. Your adrenaline spiking as he takes another step towards you.

"You're really annoying, you know that?"

"I've heard that once or twice over the years. Still doesn't answer my question though,"

"I think you're attractive, okay?" You finally blurt out. Looking at everything but him in the gym. Studiously focused on one of the treadmills in towards the back, over his shoulder.

"Aw, I'm flattered," he responds, so close to you now that all you'd have to do is reach out, and you'd be touching his bare chest. You have a feeling this isn't going to bode well for you.

"Whatever. You got the answer you wanted. Are you happy now?"

"You know, for being one of the smartest women I know, you're pretty dense," he responds dryly.

"What? Hey!"

"Do you really think I'd react this way to anyone saying they think I'm hot? Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

All you can do is owlishly blink at him. His words washing over you, trying your hardest to digest what he just said to you.

"I think you might have to spell it out for me, yeah," you mutter more breathlessly than you care to admit. It certainly doesn't become any easier to breathe when Chan is fully in your space, crowding you against the gym wall. His scent flooding your system, worsening the wetness between your thighs and muddling your mind even more.

"Is this okay?" He whispers, mere centimetres away from your mouth. His eyes considerably darker than they were minutes ago.

"Yes,"

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes," if anyone asks, you don't sound needy in the slightest when you reply to him.

You quickly learn that Lee Chan, as with many other facets of his life, excels in kissing you until you can think of nothing but, him. Not your mind has been anywhere else for the past few hours to begin with.

Your hands make themselves at home on his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there as you pour what feels like centuries worth of yearning into this kiss.

"May I touch you?" He mutters against your mouth and, you wonder why he'd ever stop kissing you to ask such a stupid question.

"Yes, Chan. You can do whatever you want. I don't care," you rush out in response, dragging his mouth back to yours to feed into what is quickly becoming your newest addiction.

With your green light, his hands drift towards your oversized shirt. Smiling against your mouth when you shudder from the brief brushes of his fingertips along your abdomen while he toys with the hem of your shirt.

"I didn't think you'd be one to tease," you say.

"Have you thought about me like this often?" You really had to be so weak for such an insufferable man huh.

You choose to kiss him instead of replying, tugging on his hair in retaliation for the grin you know is on his face. Luckily for you, Chan seems to have had his fill of toying with you for now. Shoving your shirt upwards, pulling away from you briefly to tug it off of you fully.

He just stares at you. Want clear as day in his eyes as he watches your chest rise and fall and how your sports bra outlines your hardened nipples. You find yourself growing a little self-conscious under his heavy gaze. You hadn't picked your outfit with the goal of winding up like this in mind.

"You're staring," you finally find the courage to say, pushing down every instinct to cross your arms over your chest.

"Just returning the favour," he quips back, jumping back into action and acquainting himself with your throat. You can't help the moans and throaty gasps that leave your lips as his kisses and nips at your sensitive skin, exploiting every weak spot he can find. One of his hands reaching down to fondle your breast, running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric of your bra.

All you can manage to do is lean against the wall for stability. Every kiss and lick and squeeze sending lightning down your spine straight to your clit. You wouldn't be surprised if your legging were wet, too, at this point.

"You're so responsive," he whispers against your neck. Given how quietly he said it, you're not sure whether he meant to verbalise that thought or not, but you can't think to respond when he pushes your bra up.

He dots kisses along your breasts. Each press of his lips bringing him closer and closer to one of your nipples before he envelopes one into his warm mouth. He seems intent to wring every noise, every reaction out of you that he possibly can. Teasingly running his teeth along the sensitive bud, smiling when you arch into his touch. His nimble fingers find themselves at the waistband of your leggings. Slipping into them and pulling a particularly loud gasp from you when they come into contact with your more than likely ruined panties.

Your face burns when Chan's expression morphs into one of surprise, his fingers running along your panty covered slit as if to affirm to himself you're really this wet already.

"I didn't realise I had such a strong effect on you," he says against your breast, his voice gravelly, "Fuck, you're already so wet."

A strangled moan is all you can offer when he finds your swollen clit.

"Poor baby. Don't worry, I'll take care of you. Just need to get you out of these," he says, kneeling in front of you and pulling your leggings and panties down. You kick off your shoes impatiently to help ease the process, leaving you almost fully naked.

"I can't believe you're this wet when I haven't even touched you properly," he says, sounding genuinely amazed. Intense gaze focused on your swollen, slick slit. Lifting one of your legs and letting it rest over one of his shoulders.

Anticipation settles in your gut as Chan makes himself comfortable between your thighs. Your hips jolting into him when he experimentally touches you once more, completely bare this time. Your wetness generously coating his thick fingers. Your eyes flutter shut as he shifts closer, goosebumps rising all over your body when his warm breaths hit you.

His first lap of you is messy and passionate. A muffled groan is your only warning before he grips your thigh and all but shoves his face into you. One of your hands fists his hair, not sure if you want him even closer or whether you need a minute from the sensations wreaking your system.

"Ch-Chan ah god," you cry out, your hold on his hair worsening. He doesn't seem to mind all that much, however. Intently focused on grinding your pussy against tongue until you fall into pieces for him.

With his mouth latched onto your clit, he teases your entrance with two of his fingers and you feel faint. His eyes find yours momentarily, looking at you through his hair as he checks for any signs of discomfort or reservations. Watching your face while he slowly sinks his fingers into you. His cock leaking even more when your warm, wet walls squeeze his fingers for dear life. He's so fucked.

The stretch his fingers provide requires some adjusting to, and Chan catches onto that. Focusing his attention back on your clit and providing some distraction while you get used to his fingers.

The wall behind you is proving to be extremely helpful. You're sure you would've crumpled onto the floor by now with the way Chan is determined to devour you whole and his fingers curl inside of you. Embarrassment warming your face as the squelching sounds of your wetness and his fingers moving inside of you hit your ears. Those sounds are accompanied by louder moans and whimpers from you when his fingers strike gold. Finding your weak spot and going for the kill.

He exploits your weaknesses gleefully, assaulting the spot over and over again while he continues his ministrations on your clit. It's no wonder your orgasm doesn't take long to slam into you. Watery cries of his name and jumbled curses echoing throughout the empty gym. You're sure you're hurting him from how fiercely you're gripping his hair. You couldn't remember the last time you'd cum this hard. Sagging against the wall when the most intense parts of it subside.

Chan presses one last kiss to your pussy before easing his fingers out of you. Standing up on unsteady legs, cupping your jaw and slamming his mouth against yours. The taste of yourself on his tongue further fueling the fog clouding your mind. Desperate hands dragging him closer to you, revelling in his closeness and the firmness of his body against your own.

"If I knew you tasted this good, I would've offered to eat you out a long time ago," he says when you shift to litter kisses on his jaw.

"If I knew you did it so well, I would've let you," you respond with an easy smile. However, any humour in your tone dissipates when you register his cock pressing against your thigh. Scorching and heavy even through the material of his shorts. Fuck.

Your mouth finds his once more. Teeth and tongue clashing with one another as he grinds himself against you, groaning into you.

"Chan, please," you whine.

"Hmm? Please, what?" You're not sure if he's genuinely too disoriented to understand what you're asking of him or if he wants you to beg. Either way, you've long since abandoned any semblance of pride.

"Please fuck me,"

His eyes shut briefly, and you watch the way his jaw clenches, "You're going to be the death of me."

If you weren't aching and noticeably empty, you might've giggled at his words. Watching him shove his shorts and underwear down his thick, muscular thighs through lidded eyes. A fresh wave of wetness gushes out of you when his cock springs free. Of course his cock would look mouthwatering too. Of course.

"You really do like to stare, huh?" he muses, stepping closer to you. Hoisting one of your legs over his elbow.

"Sh-Shut up," you stutter, fingernails digging into his biceps as he drags his cock along your pussy. His cock glistening with your arousal in no time.

"That's not nice," he faux pouts, nudging your entrance with his tip. Your knees almost buckle underneath you. A moan bubbling out of just from him toying with you.

"Chan, please. I want it. I want you, please-"

You're promptly cut off when he pushes inside of you. If you thought the stretch provided by his fingers was overwhelming, the girth of cock brings tears to your eyes. Your strained gasps and his restrained groans intertwining.

Is it possible to cum just from being so full? Lee Chan might just help you answer that question. You're not sure you've ever felt so full and stretched out in your entire life. A few stray tears running down your face already.

"Are you okay?" He asks, looking just as wrecked and overwhelmed as you feel. He's practically vibrating from the effort not to move. His cock pulsing inside of you.

"Ye-Yeah. It doesn't hurt. You can move," you respond. It's now or never.

Chan starts off very slowly. Letting you grow accustomed to his girth with every drag of him along your walls. Muttering quiet praises into your neck about how well you're doing, how good you feel, and how you're taking him so well. His words prompting you to clench around him and gush around him.

"Chan, faster, please. You can move faster. It's okay, I can take it," you whine. You feel like you're going to lose your mind if he keeps thrusting so slowly. His consideration is sweet. Really, it is, but it's torturous too. From the way he seems to be restraining himself, you assume the feeling is mutual.

Something snaps in him then. His eyes more feral than they were moments ago as he picks up his pace considerably. The sounds of your wetness and skin slapping against skin mingling with your respective noises of pleasure.

"Taking my cock like such a good girl," he groans into your shoulder, sliding impossibly deeper into you when he angles himself a little differently than before.

Perhaps he's noticed the way his praise impacts you. His filthy mouth not stopping.

"Look, baby," he mutters lowly into your ear, "I want you to look at how well your pussy takes me,"

You can't find it in you to disobey. Chasing the high of being his good girl. So, you glance downwards. Your cheeks heating up as you watch him fuck into you and the way you're being split open by him. You never thought the sight of yourself being fucked would garner such a strong reaction from you but, you've been learning quite a bit about yourself today.

"It's hot, isn't it?" He asks, a moan falling from his lips when you tighten around him, "So hot watching me fuck this pretty pussy of yours."

You've never cum just from penetration but, Chan is proving himself to be head and shoulders above every other man you've slept with. You're completely and utterly caught off guard when you cum for a second time and, Chan seems to be too. Startled, wide eyes watching you shatter in front and around him for a second time. Ever the caring gentleman as he soothes and fucks you through it.

You're barely coherent when Chan's pitchy moans of your name register to your mind and you feel his warm, thick cum flood your awaiting pussy. His hips weakly twitching into yours with ever spurt of his cum inside of you.

Honestly, it's a wonder both of you are still standing. Barely, but you're standing. Leaning into each other and the trusty wall for support as you come back to yourselves.

"If working out with you always ends up like this, we should work out together more often," he says, kissing your neck and shoulder lazily.

You really just had to fall for one of the most eye roll inducing men you've ever met, huh.

#lee chan smut #dino smut #seventeen smut #seventeen dino smut #dino seventeen smut #chan smut #chan seventeen smut #seventeen chan smut #1k followers celebration day 6 #1k followers celebration #1k followers milestone

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