Novel-novel oleh Jennthewriter

“And here I was feeling special.” Evan chuckled nervously, slurping a spoonful of the broth.Daniel's gaze lingered on Evan a little too long before he responded, “You are special.” “Mm…sure.” Evan added, staring down at his soup like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “You didn’t answer my question though. Why did you invite me here?”“Finish your dinner first.” Daniel watched him until Evan shifted uncomfortably on the stool.“I meant what I said earlier,” Daniel continued at last. “You were humiliated. Nobody should walk away from that without a place to go. You deserved better.”“From Liam?” Evan asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice cracked on the name.Daniel’s jaw flexed. “From everyone.”Silence settled between them, broken only by the rain and the clink of their spoons against the bowls.Evan set his spoon down, pushing the soup away though he’d barely eaten half. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know you think I’m pathetic. Showing up here. Staying

The breakup was humiliating. Not because Evan cried—though he did, it was loud and ugly—but because it happened in front of Liam’s entire friend group at a bar. And now, three weeks later, Evan had the nerve to show up at the Fitzgerald estate. Rain plastered his clothes to his body as he stood on the stone porch, shivering and fuming. He never should’ve taken Liam’s father up on his old offer. He'd told him after a huge fight with Liam, “If you ever need space, the pool house is yours.” And there he was standing in the rain with his duffel bag, in front of this beach house belonging to his Ex's father whom he'd informed of his arrival two days ago. He rang the doorbell and soon the door opened. And there stood him—Daniel Fitzgerald. Fifty three, greying hair. Fit physique, tall and breathtakingly good looking even for his age. “Evan.” Daniel’s voice was low, quite surprised even. “Hi, Mr. Fitz,” Evan shivered. “I thought you got my text.” “Oh, I did. I'm only surprised you a

The world had ended two years ago, and somehow, Jesse still hadn’t died. He blamed Marcus for that. Marcus, with his stupid muscles, gorgeous face, and unwillingness to die no matter how many zombies tried to use his guts as an offal meal.They were holed up in a half-collapsed roadside motel in Nowhere, Nebraska. The sky outside was smeared with blood-red clouds and ash. Their last meal had been nearly expired protein bars and something that might’ve been squirrel or worst—a sewer rat.“You know,” Jesse said, examining the dust-covered vending machine near the cracked wall. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance this thing dispenses snacks or severed fingers, which one do you wanna bet on?”Marcus grunted, prying open a boarded door with a rusted crowbar. “Better odds than usual, I call severed fingers.”Jesse opened the outlets and sure enough there was a severed hand inside it. “Sharp intuition you have, you know if the world hadn't gone into chaos, you would have won a guessing game show.”

William bit his lip, his eyes staring at Pete teasingly, “You want me that bad, huh?” “Yes, and you like it when I talk down on you, you dirty little cunt.” Pete whispered into his ear grabbing a handful of his surprisingly soft butt cheeks, eliciting a moan from William, who began stroking both of their dicks at the same time.“That's not what I asked you to do.” Pete sighed, giving William a reprimanded look.William licked his palm and continued stroking, “Don't act like you don't like this.” He said, and Pete couldn't deny how warm it felt rubbing their dicks together. Pete kissed him again, this time, deeper and rougher, biting his lip until William gasped. Then he spun him around with his chest to the cold bathroom tile, dragging the leotard down to his thighs.William arched his back with a sharp inhale. “So eager.”Pete spat into his palm, fumbled to pull his own pants down. His dick was hard and begging to be in William’s ass.He pressed himself against William’s ass and wh

The beat was in Pete’s bones. The studio echoed with the rhythmic squeaks of Pete’s sneakers and that of his crew against the polished dance floor.Sweat dripped down his brow, but he didn’t care. The regional competition was three weeks away, and their routine needed to be perfect. The hip hop showcase was one of Axiom Studio's pride, and he was the headliner.His crew mirrored him, following his movements and body's fluidity at once—until their music cut mid-drop.“Again?” Pete growled, turning to face the studio glass. Sure enough, the ballet class on the other side had flipped the speaker connection. Their music—something orchestral and older than God himself, drifted in, reverberating through the glass.A cluster of ballet dancers lined up, chuckling softly in their flats, eyes darting toward them like they were wild animals they had to endure.And at the center, as always, was William Whitlock. With his curly hair, sculpted cheekbones, and the smugness of someone born to look do