#&. out of character.

[viktorsnations]

I really like the idea that Silco raised Jinx as a nice, caring yet cold and distant, father figure.

Like image little Jinx trying to climb her way up to the rafters in Silcos office, but slipping and falling to the floor. She’s tough, she doesn’t need anyone to protect her anymore, Vi already left her.

She sucks it up and goes on until Silco takes a closer look at her the next day and sees a new bruise. He asks her what happens and she says she can’t remember, but he thinks back to yesterday and the little bootprint on his desk, and gives her a soft, understanding smile.

Silco lets her climb onto his lap and they don’t speak about it. Until a couple days later Jinx goes to try again and what’s sitting there near Silcos desk? A ladder perched up to the rafters.

[detpxwell]

Spencer is in a cuddly mood he wants to cuddle everyone…except Kai…he looks like a little and Spencer wants to be the little spoon

[on-the-clear-blue]

Tim walking into the dining room: Oh B, i just realized, happy 5 years sober, I am really proud of you.

Bruce, small smile and sipping his tea: Thank you Tim.

Dick, looking up confused from his bowl of cereal: What? Sober? Weren't you drinking last night at the gala?

Bruce, brows furrowed: Not from alcohol, Chum.

Tim, after downing his cup of coffee: Damn you didn't know? It was cocain. B was on that booger sugar.

Bruce, making a face: Please, never call it that again.

Dick, after his brain rebooted: You...you did cocain?

Bruce sighing :Yes I did...I though you knew.

Dick, abandoning his bowl of cereal: No, no I very much didn't! How did you...like get into that?

Tim: Dick take it down a notch, please? Bruce has been clean for years.

Bruce, shaking his head: It's fine Tim, I should have been more up front with this to the others.

Dick, with his head tilted and still a bit upset: Others? You mean only Tim knew?

Bruce, nodding: He caught me taking a key from one of Penguins supply when he was Robin and forced me to confess, I went to rehab a week later.

Dick, sitting back down in a stupor: Wait...You mean the thing when you were gone for like a few months? I thought you were on a deep space mission with the league! Hell, Uncle Clark even said so!

Bruce, wincing: Y-Yes...I was in a treatment center in Sweden...Tim found them and signed me up without telling me, and had Clark take me there...

Bruce side eyeing Tim: Took my Kryptonite before doing so...and my stash.

Tim, unapologetic, shrugging: Mom used the same place when she was getting off of Quaaludes.

Bruce, shrunching his nose: Never did like downers, made it harder to think.

Dick, having a mental breakdown: So you just...did drugs? For like a while? When did this even start?

Bruce, silent for a while, moving his breakfast around for a moment: It started when I was about...16? When I was in the club scene for a bit I got wild, taking pills and such that I didn't need, it was the 80s, blow was all the rage with the youth in higher circles and...well one thing lead to another and I got hooked.

Dick, holding his head in his hands: Oh my God...Wait.. Were you actively doing drugs when you adopted me???

Bruce, groaning: Yes...Didn't it ever seem strange that sometimes I was very lively and then suddenly was practically dead an hour later before getting back to lively?

Dick, horror coming across his face: Oh my God the signs...

Tim, chuckling: B was a God damn drug fiend, practically snorted half of Columbia.

Bruce, looking scandalized: Tim! I was not that bad...

Tim staring at Bruce:

Bruce staring back:

Bruce, sighing: Fine yes it was that bad.

Dick: uninhorant screeching

Bruce, tsking: I quit a few years after taking you in Chum, I only relapsed when Jason...temporarily passed...and that was only for at most a year, Tim found me out, sent me to rehab and while I have had a few scares, I have been sober for years.

Dick: Happy for you, really but holy fuck.

Tim, snorting: It wasn't the first time I caught you B, imagine little old 10 year old me following Batman and Robin and stumbling across the Dark Knight of Gotham doing a line on a gargoyle while Robin beat the shit out of the dealers below.

Dick, agape: Really Bruce? Do you even remember that?

Bruce, Blushing: i...may have done that more than once...

Dick, crying on the inside: BRUCE?!

Jason, walking in with a smoothie: Oh what are we yelling at B for? I want in.

Dick, wildly pointing at Bruce: BATMAN DID COCAIN.

Jason, slowly taking a drag from his smoothie, before turning to Bruce: w h a t?

Bruce, hiding his face in his hands, sullenly: I trained you all better than this. Yes I did drugs, I am 5 years sober.

Jason, softly putting his smoothie down before walking over to Bruce and patting his shoulder: Proud of you for that, like actually good job, holy shit that is hard. But also WHAT THE FUCK.

Bruce, sighing hard: I thought you all knew...

Jason flopping down in a chair, counting on his fingers: Wait a God damn minute, you got on my case for smoking while doing cocain!

Bruce, dead panned: it's a gate way to much harder things.

Jason, squinting: Who are you D.A.R.E?

Tim, cackling: he was! Did a whole speech about it! Full Batman regalia and was talking about how weed is bad!

Bruce glaring lightly at Tim: It is! It can cause lung damage, a build up of black tar in the lungs and can dull your mind when you are in a tike of crisis!

Jason, rolling his eyes: B, Shut the fuck up you did cocain.

Bruce, sighing yet again: You really are not letting that go are you...

Tim, sipping his coffee: Think of it like this, there is a reason B was able to get back to fighting like a week after Bane broke his back.

Bruce, pursing his lips,: Not the time Tim.

Tim, grinning evilly: Oh no, it is very much the time, I have been waiting till the others knew...I have so many blackmail stories....and pictures

Bruce, a look of true fear on his face: Oh God no...

[raileurta]

Humans are scary friends

A great reason I saw why humanity is always attacked by aliens is that humans comparatively evolve technology thousands of times faster than other sentients. So in fear they try to get rid of us early.

I'm imagining a scenario where the autobots are being kept hostage in deep space and the humans who can't reach them yet try to advance their technology. 10 years pass and with lots of hard work with some help with transformers' tech this is essentially what happens.

Megatron: Haha admit it Optimus there's no one left to save you.

Optimus: We still have humanity.

Megatron: It's pathetic that you think those puny organics can save yo-

*stabbed through the chest*

Human: Get knifed bitch.

*disintegrates*

Autobots: (⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠) ?????

Human: Hey guys we finally saved you! :3

Bumblebee: *questioning bot noises*

Human: Long story short we used plutonium plus a fuck ton of energon to blow our way through the universe, and this sword sword is filled with what is essentially black matter.

Human: Anyways let's get you out of here.

Human: Before I forget we made another all-spark by accident so you guys deserve to have the first one we originally remade.

Optimus: T-thank you... I never. What?

Ratchet: I never thought I would live to see the day Optimus broke.

[kentahoe]

a nameless hamzah fic because i said so

srry i can’t NEVER come up with proper names for my fics. THIS PIC OF HIM MAKES ME TWEAKKK

hamzah x reader. female anatomy. friends to lovers sorta >_< .

cw: SEX idk what else to put i’ve never written smth like this before🤕 nothing out of pocket but nothing short of freaky deaky.

He was gentle, an easy smile played across his pretty lips, and his eyes were half-lidded in a way that made you feel casual. In every sense, he was someone you wanted to be around. The low hum of his voice when he told jokes, his cute teeth and calming smell.

Hamzah held himself on the couch very languidly, legs comfortably spread, leaning onto the arm rest, head tilted back ever so slightly so you could see the expanse of his neck.

Sitting up, he tilted his head towards you, smirking easily. “What? You picked this movie and suddenly you don’t like it anymore?”

Of course the one time you indulged; allowed yourself a glance, to drink in his essence next to you, of course that’s when he noticed.

“No, I just spaced out. I like it,” You turned back towards the TV, but you felt his lingering eyes on you. You almost felt like they had lasers, heat washing over you wherever they swept past on your face and body, like you had been zapped.

“What are you thinking about? You were looking right at me.” He still has that easy grin, and you feel your eye twitch in annoyance.

But could you ever really be annoyed at him?

“I don’t even remember.” Shaking your head, you chanced looking over at him, meeting his eyes.

They were deep and warm and pretty. Dark eyelashes that curled slightly, that made him even more beautiful. “I think you do.”

Simple response. Simple enough that you couldn’t come up with an answer. One flutter of his eyes and all the words were stolen from your chest. In your head, you were filing through things to say, and the longer you were quiet, the more stupid you were sure you seemed.

“I…don’t.”

Hamzah inhaled a breath, removing his hand from the side of his face where it was resting. He lifted himself with his arms, shifting in his cross-legged position to face you on the couch. It startled you a bit, because you didn’t know what he could possibly be implying. Well, you did, but there was a nervousness in your gut.

He uncrossed one leg, letting it fall over the edge of the couch, and he looked at you. With intention in his eyes. There was a goal he was working towards, but you weren’t sure what it was, if it wasn’t what you were thinking. His grey t-shirt was wrinkled a bit, and his black basketball shorts were riding up on his thighs, and you could help but exhale a breath looking at him, swallowing.

“I think you look really good,” you somehow found, straightening your back.

Hamzah’s grin grew, like he reached a new achievement. It would almost annoy you if he wasn’t so handsome. And if there wasn’t a heat boiling inside you that made the hoodie you were wearing almost unbearable. You could see his breath pick up, his chest moving.

It was almost a bit awkward, he let out a chuckle—a giggle— and your face heated up. Hamzah had inched closer to you on the couch, crossing over the barrier of his cushion to yours, and you suddenly felt a lot more nervous.

You shifted, thinking maybe you had read the situation wrong. “What? You asked.” You wanted to get defensive, blow the whole thing off and finish watching the movie so you could run away and die.

The giggle stopped, and Hamzah’s voice became very genuine, a comforting, inviting smile on his lips, that you couldn’t help but stare at as he spoke, low and intimate. “No, no. I—thank you, is what I meant.” He paused watching you, “I got nervous.” There was that giggle again.

Uncrossing your arms, you turned to face him again, lowering your voice to match his. “Nervous. In a good way?” Your eyes danced across his face. Although he tried his best to hide it, the shyness creeped up his neck and seeped into his expression. It was cute.

It was hot.

“Yeah.” It was almost a whisper.

His hand had moved up to his face again, half leaning into it, and half maybe to cover his face from the nervousness he was feeling.

And suddenly you felt very brave.

You scooted towards him, wrapping your fingers gently around his wrist and lowering his hand from his face, watching as he chuckled again, leaning closer. “I think you look very good right now.”

Hamzah’s eyelids seemed to lower even more, and he hummed, his face hovering closer to yours, looking into your eyes through his lashes.

Fuck, you wanted him badly.

“You.. I—“ He started weakly.

There wasn’t enough time to process what you had done before you acted, closing the gap, pressing your lips together. You chest jumped at the feeling, and then flipped indefinitely when you realized he was kissing you back, heavily, needy. His large hand had splayed across your thigh, his other wrapping around the back of the couch as he leaned in.

Deciding after a few seconds that there wasn’t enough contact between you two, you moved your hand that was on his wrist up to his shoulder, then his neck, and the base of his jaw, guiding him to deepen the kiss, which he welcomed with fever, letting out a deep exhale through his nose. His hand became restless on your thigh, and he lazily moved it up and down, prompting you to scoot closer, where you eventually ended up on his lap.

For a moment the difference was odd, being slightly taller than him. But the way he looked up at you, god it was one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. His beckoning hands shyly trailing up your sides.

You wanted to take this moment in. A moment to look at him. You laced your fingers into his curls at the back of his head, leaning down to connect your lips again, where you let out a breath into his mouth you didn’t know you were holding. It came out sounding like a whine, which he clearly didn’t expect, because there was a hesitation at your audible desire. He chanced it and licked into your mouth, which produced a real whine from you, pulling slightly at his hair.

His chest rumbled slightly with each breath, as his hands found their way under your hoodie and to your back. You pressed closer to him, wanting to be in contact with every part of him. You met his tongue with your own, finding your jaw becoming slightly sore.

Pulling back, you breathed heavily, looking at Hamzah, whose eyes were almost closed, also breathing deeply.

You sat up and ran both of your hands over his shoulders and chest from your position straddling him on the couch. Down his chest and over his stomach. You scooted back more, letting your hands roam over his thighs.

And god, they made you more wet. Squeezing them slightly in awe. They were so strong and you always found them incredibly sexy.

“Fuck Hamzah,” You breathed, and Hamzah raised his eyes from your hands on him to your face.

“Hmm?” He was smirking again, though it faltered slightly when your hands ran close to his dick.

“You’re so hot. Can I…I need to.” You let your fingers dance over his growing dick, and he jolted slightly.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, please.” It was quick, in one breath, desperate as he made eye contact with you, brows furrowed slightly.

Letting yourself caress him fully, you rubbed your flat hand over his bulge, stroking it between your pointed and middle finger, dancing all of your fingers over him.

Hamzah’s own hands were on your knees, squeezing them in reaction to your touches, his stomach flexing. You moved back more, allowing space to pull at the waistband of his basketball shorts that were probably too small, the way they hugged his ass and thighs. Pulling them down, he kicked them off and spread his legs wider, giving you access to his dick, that was growing hotter and hotter under your hand in his boxers.

His tip was sticky, and you used it when you wrapped your hand around him, stroking him up and down. Fuck, he was big. Girthy and heavy, stiff in your hand as you worked him.

The glimmer of sweat was beginning to form on Hamzah’s hairline, and he breathed heavily, still looking up at you. You used your other hand to push his hair back, leaning down to kiss him hard, trying to get more sounds out of him.

It worked, as the sensations seemed to overwhelm him, because he stopped kissing you back after a few seconds, screwing his eyes shut and groaning, leaning his head down and forward. “Fuck, shit.” He breathed, and his hips rolled up into your slick hand.

You stared at him, amazed. “Hamzah,”

You didn’t know why you said his name, maybe it was just acknowledgement in what you were seeing. Him being so pliable and good for you. “You’re so hot, holy shit.”

Even in the middle of getting his dick stroked, he managed to let out a chuckle, not quite used to your praise yet, or how much it excited him.

He was getting dangerously close before he stopped you, grabbing your wrist. “Hey, hey stop. Can I make you feel good? Please?”

You suddenly remembered your own need. The burning heat that shot straight from your stomach, inflaming your limbs and igniting your core. You didn’t have to hesitate to answer him this time. “Yes, yes.”

And you kissed him again, gentler, letting him take the lead. He did, and he grabbed your waist, and slowly laid you back onto the couch, using both his hands to hold up his weight above you as you hand your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. “I want you, so bad.”

Hamzah knelt between your legs, using his knees to spread them. “You’re so pretty. Your hair…looked really good today.”

The comment made you giggle unexpectedly, and you brushed it behind your ear. You remember dreading hanging out with Hamzah because you thought it was a particularly bad hair day for you. “Thank you, handsome. You are, you know? Really handsome.”

“I think I believe you.” Hamzah says, letting his eyes wander over your body.

You become aware of how hot you are, letting go of Hamzah to wiggle out of your hoodie, throwing it to the side. He grins, letting his hand fall to your hip, brushing his thumb over the material of your sweatpants. You kick them off shortly after, left in your underwear and sports bra. Too bad you weren’t wearing something cuter, but that did not seem to matter to Hamzah, he looked at you like you were the most gorgeous being he’s ever seen.

“You look good. Look hot.” It was a little awkward coming from his mouth, but it was so cute that it didn’t deter you one bit.

Instead you put your hands on his shoulders, grabbing his shirt. “Can you take this off for me?”

And he did without another word.

This position, felt so much more real. Hamzah was about to fuck you, and you were wanting it badly.

Hamzah leaned down to kiss you again, connecting his tongue to yours immediately, hands roaming up your waist to your bra, his fingertips slipping under the fabric. You grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand up, lifting your bra and making his hand meet your breast, to which you sighed at, the pressure of his hand feeling euphoric.

Taking your bra off fully, Hamzah pulled back to look at you. Only for a moment, though he was internal freaking out, he told himself he needed to act cool. So, he exhaled and found it in himself let his fingers wander, caressing you gently, firmly. When you let out a whine, he let out what sounded like a surprised cough, “Fuck,”

There seemed to be a lot of that, one word cursing. But it seemed to convey communication well, enough to be able to grasp each others thoughts.

You were kind of tired of it.

“Hamzah, fuck me. If you wanna.” You didn’t know another way to phrase it.

“I do, I will.” A whisper, almost sounding like a threat.

To you, it sounded like a promise.

Finding the waistband of his boxers in the dim lighting, you tugged on them weakly, and after Hamzah had pulled them off, you ran your hands over the curve of his hips and the small of his back, admiring him. God, you could do this all day, you thought, running your nails down his spine.

He shuddered for a second, looking at your underwear before repeating (maybe to himself again), “I will,” With more desperation, an airy voice that made your cunt writhe and stutter. He hooked two fingers at the bottom of the fabric by your leg, sliding them over your smooth legs, dropping them at your feet on the couch, behind him.

“Baby,” he breathed, leaning to kiss you as his hand wandered, searing your body, down your stomach and to your cunt, and the same two fingers grazed your clit, sliding up the folds in an experimental way.

Jolting under him, you lifted your hips in protest. “Hamzah,” you warned, though it came out more like a plea.

Hamzah giggled into your neck, kissing it before moving back to your lips to give them a quick peck. He wrapped a hand around his dick and stroked it a couple times, aligning it with your entrance, rubbing it through your wet folds and over your clit, you hissed out in pleasure at the contact, it was becoming unbearable not to have his dick in you right now. As soon as he started to push in, you wrapped your legs around him and squeezed, ushering him in faster.

“Okay, okay baby.” He cooed coolly, his other hand grasping at your waist for leverage to thrust in. “Ah, shit…” Once he was fully in, he didn’t have the resolve to wait, and immediately set a thorough, deep pace.

And just as quickly, you couldn’t think straight, restlessly squirming, trying to move in time with Hamzah’s thrusts, beckoning him to go faster. The stretch was mind-bending, you needed more. “Hamzah, harder. Please.”

“So polite,” he teased, and you sighed when he complied, though just as deep as before, the thrust became harder and licked the spot inside you that caused a moan to lurch from your throat.

As some form of gratitude, you kissed him, lacing your fingers back into his hair. It didn’t last long, as Hamzah’s cool demeanor was slowly melting, and his own moans seeped from their trapped place at the back his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed pleasantly when his head leant back. “You feel so fucking good,” he babbled, eyes closed, subconsciously moving faster. “So good.”

Fucked out, is what he looked like. Sweat had accumulated farther down his hairline, and upon his top lip that was glistening, occasionally wetted by his tongue that would flick out on concentration. His eyes were screwed shut, thick eyebrows furrowed.

You moved your hands from the back of his head to the top of his head, pushing his curls back that were almost covering his eyes, wanting him to look at you. “Hamzah, open.” You told him, and though it took a moment, he did, and blinked heavily at you, his brows furrowed even more, and his lips parted in a pant, that could have been mistaken for a lazy chuckle.

“Hey,” He said with faux coolness again, and you snickered.

“Keep going,” you grunted, “like that.” Moving in time with his thrusts became easy and mindless— mindless: like he made you feel about everything— and quickly you were approaching your climax, a red-hot rod shooting up your center from your cunt, to the apples of your cheeks, and you new you were getting close.

The thought made you even more feverish, becoming louder and less concerned about your facial expressions. “I need—Hamzah I’m, ah—” He suddenly bit on you neck, not particularly hard, but the sensation was jarring enough, and it deployed a pang straight to your core, you squeezed around his cock desperately.

“I know, I know, baby. Come here.” Wrapping his hands around your torso and pulling you close to him as the reach of his thrusts increased, stroking your insides over and over again, and you finally teetered over the edge.

Hot magma poured from your center and oozed throughout your limbs, white heat flooding every cell, and you were trembling violently, opening your mouth in a moan and tilting your head back, to which Hamzah connected his mouth with again, giving his own indications that he was on the brink of cumming, too.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum, I—“

There it was.

“Don’t stop,” you assured when he hesitated.

You were still riding out your high when the heat inside you increased, and Hamzah’s thrust were almost animalistic, nails digging into your waist in a way that made your eyes roll back, and your insides were drowned in his cum, deep and full. Hamzah’s hands immediately traveled up to your chest again, rubbing comfortingly over your breasts, he didn’t pull out for a moment, panting, swimming in the aftershock of his orgasm. You ran your nails up and down his back again, and felt the muscles in his back relax, and he eased into you, pulling out and letting his body weight fall comfortably on top of yours.

You twirled his hair in your fingertips, slightly scratching his scalp as your breaths fell in rhythm, hearts connected, chest to chest, and each others warmth’s joining into one, sleep-inducing flame.

“You okay?” He mumbled into your neck.

“Of course,” You replied, looking down at him. “Are you?”

“I…can’t think.” He admitted sheepishly, smiling and kissing your neck.

“Can you think enough to make it to the shower, handsome?” You smiled at him.

Hamzah grew a grin on his lips. “We’ll see.” And he slowly rolled off of you, throwing his boxers on easily, picking up a blanket for you that was on the back of the couch, wrapping it around you and picking up your clothes, setting it on the couch. “After you,” he gestured in front of him, and you led your way into the bathroom.

second freaky fic i’ve ever written ;-; pls be gracious.

also lmk if u see any typos bc i am NOT proofreading allat😭🙏

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 3/7

[part 4]

summary: part 3 of my short story naive (go read the others first)!! hamzah attempts to keep your sanity as your feelings for each other unravel and martin gets in arguments with you and mandy bc what else would he be doing???

contains: SFW content, no spoilers (wink wink) ((smooching))

wc: 2.6k-ish

~

"And that's how I managed to catch my first ever legendary Pokémon."

"Riveting." You nod.

Martin rolls his eyes at your dry response.

"Be honest, do you hate me?"

You take a moment to contemplate your answer and he gasps in offense. "Um...no?"

"Well, maybe if I was Hamzah you'd actually care to listen to my stories."

Now you roll your eyes.

The four of you have been relaxing on the beach, taking the day off from tourist activities to soak up the sun and enjoy the present moment. However, it's difficult to do so when you have a yapping social-cue-ignorer next to you, taking all of your attention away from your much-needed quiet time. As the day has slowly melded into the night, you feel the growing urge to stab your eardrums with the tiny umbrella floats in your cocktail glasses.

"No clue what you mean by that," you say, reclining back on your towel.

"You look at him like the sun shines out of his ass when he talks," Martin quips, looking to Mandy for reassurance, who just shrugs and continues queuing music on her phone to play from her bluetooth speaker. "See? I'm right!"

"Right about what?"

The man of the hour jogs up the shoreline and grabs his towel from his chair, tossing it around his shoulders to dry his sopping wet curls. Your eyes stray down to his pecs and before they can go any lower, you avert your stare to the billowing waves.

"That my dearest girl-pause-friend has feelings for—"

"Hey, look over there!" You point at nothing and their eyes follow, bestowing upon you the golden opportunity to march away with your drink clutched in your tense hands.

You sigh once you reach the bar and rest your cheeks on your fists. The bartender gives you a look so you order a sparkling water, slouching onto one of the stools. A minute passes as you breathe in and out, thinking of ways you're going to torture Martin. Then, a hand is placed on your shoulder.

"Martin, I swear to—oh."

Hamzah raises his hands innocently and sits next to you, a startled expression on his face.

"Sorry. He just pushes too much sometimes," you explain sheepishly.

"Unfortunately, I can be a victim of it, too," he jokes, managing to earn an amused huff from you. "He means well, though. I think."

You smile, about to speak when he notices the drink the bartender places in front of you.

"Another already?" He tsks, grabbing it for himself. "What is it this time?"

He takes a languid gulp before slamming the cup down and making a face.

"It's just water," you laugh out.

"I was expecting a vodka Sprite!" He shudders and blinks repeatedly like he's consumed some sort of evil potion. "You enjoy this?"

"It's refreshing!"

"It's disgusting is what it is." He places his palm on his bare stomach.

"Did you come here just to criticize my choice of beverage?"

"No, no," he says, sliding it over to you as his expression softens. "Um, I actually wanted to see if you were alright."

"Oh... I am," you say, your words sounding uncertain. "Don't get me wrong, I love your guys' company, but my social battery can only handle so much, y'know?"

"I get you." He nods, standing. "Do you want me to—?"

"Stay. Please." You motion for him to sit back down and he does. "I don't know what's up with me, I kinda overreacted."

"What was he talking about anyway?"

Your face warms and you hide behind your other drink, taking a sip of the alcohol to soothe your nerves. There's two ways you can go about this: one, tell him that you see him as more than a friend or two, deflect.

You choose the latter.

"Pokémon."

It's not a complete lie.

Hamzah nods while looking confused. "And that made you angry enough to walk away from the conversation?"

"I can be passionate about my pocket monsters..." you trail off, cringing inwardly.

"Right," he says. He doesn't push any further and for that you are grateful. "Well, you can always talk to me when you get sick of him."

You try, really try to keep your eyes off Hamzah when the two of you make it back, but it's like they wander on their own accord. You watch as he pours the last of his water bottle over his head and ruffles his curls to shake them free of any sand. The salty ocean water leaves his hair to dry in defined coils across his forehead. His tanned skin is lit up in a slight orange tinge from the bonfire you guys are sitting in front of, making his eyes shine in the darkness of the night.

You don't have to talk to Martin to make him realize what he did was too obnoxious, even for him. He hands you his wax pen, resuming casual conversation as if the previous couple minutes didn't happen. With smoke filling your lungs and the heat of the fire against your skin, you relax on your back to observe the stars in the clear sky.

You feel a shift in the sand on your right and turn your head to find Hamzah situating himself next to you. He looks down at you and silently gestures for you to pass the pen to him, inadvertently grazing your fingers when he takes it from your grasp.

"How did you guys get so close?" he asks, slowly exhaling. "You 'nd Martin."

"I don't know, honestly." You paused to think, slinging your arm up to rest your head on. "We always had this sense of understanding with each other. I never really questioned our bond from the moment we met, it came so naturally. Well, except that time I thought I liked him."

Hamzah coughs on smoke suddenly, making you tilt your head up at him. He gives a thumbs up as he clears his throat to mutter a small "I'm fine." You take it as your cue to continue speaking.

"I got over that quick, though. I guess I just wasn't used to a guy making me that happy as only a friend," you think out loud. "When Mandy came along, I would push him to get closer with her because I could see how good they were for each other. Then, I realized the possibility of me falling in love with her was way higher than me ever seeing Martin that way."

You crack a smile, Hamzah following suit. He lies down next to you and returns the pen. The couple are dancing nearby. Mandy puts the volume on her speaker up, attempting to do a spin in her boyfriend's arms just for him to spin in hers instead.

"Has that ever happened to you?" you ask. "Unrequited feelings?"

"Too much," he admits bashfully. "I fall way too fast. Like, it's embarrassing."

"No, don't be embarrassed," you say, turning on your side to face him. "It's endearing."

"Really?" He raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. "It's the worst. I get addicted to their laugh and touch. I can't stop thinking of them, of spending time with them. But I never act on it."

You take his words in, staring at his side profile. "Why not?"

"Fear of rejection," he answers. "I don't know where the fear came from. I wish it would stop me from developing feelings in the first place, though."

"But if you never act on it, how can you be sure that they're unrequited?"

He turns to meet your eyes, "I'd rather keep them as a friend than find out they don't feel the same and lose them altogether."

You feel it then, a pang in your chest. This sweet, oblivious boy would rather bottle his emotions away than take his chances. You can't say you're surprised, Martin had made it pretty clear that his best friend was clueless with love—was that too far fetched of a label to put on this thing emerging between you?

"I think you should have some more confidence in yourself," you say, toying with the bow on your bikini. "Whoever it may be, they'd be lucky to have you."

"Thanks?" He laughs the word out. "Maybe I'm too neurotic."

You hum in agreement, shifting closer to his body, feeling his warmth. "Maybe."

He was swaying his legs, but he freezes as soon as he feels you in his space. You hear his breathing falter and pivot your head to hide your smile. You feel particularly bold in that moment, cross faded and giddy. It doesn't even cross your mind that his words might not have been directed at you. Unlike him, you're willing to take that chance.

Your fingers inch across the sand and make contact with his, intertwining after a considerable pause.

"Hey!" Martin shouts, turning the group's attention on him. "Watch this!"

It all happens in a blur. The idiot gets a running start to jump over the bonfire and the rest of you scream. You and Hamzah sit up to watch as he tumbles over the blistering embers, falling onto his knees on the other side. He throws his fists up in celebration while Mandy rushes over to his side.

"Are you crazy?" she scolds him.

"Damn, I should've recorded that," he mumbles.

She scoffs and crosses her arms, storming off. Martin gets on his feet and chases after her.

"Babe, wait—ah!" He trips and quickly scrambles up the beach. "I was just playing around!"

The couple wander off as you and Hamzah are left in the remnants of the scene, avoiding onlookers' stares. When you finally make eye contact with each other, you burst into chest-clutching laughter.

"I feel bad," you say once you calm down, "Mandy looked genuinely pissed."

"I'm sure she's used to it by now, dating him." He sniffles and wipes a tear from his eye. "Not gonna lie, I thought we were about to watch him cook alive."

The two of you get a few more giggles out, peering forward at the crackling fire wordlessly. Although it's on the way to dying out, what he did was still really stupid. Not to mention the fact that he could've been badly hurt and you guys would've had to spend the rest of the trip taking care of him because of his impulsive actions.

"...I kinda wanna do it now."

"...Me too."

So, the two of you stand a couple feet in front of the flames, on your marks like race horses. Your fingers are still comfortably slotted into his, clutching for dear life. You jump up and down, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin from not only the cold, but your nerves, as well.

"Count down?" you suggest.

"On 3," Hamzah says. "Alright?"

"1." You squeeze his hand.

"2." He squeezes back.

"3." You take a deep breath.

"Go!" Both of you scream and charge forward.

You halt at the last second, but Hamzah follows through. A squeal rises from your lungs as you watch him bound over the fire and land on the other side, alone. He whips around as soon as his feet are planted, looking at you with wide eyes.

"Holy fuck!" He pats his unblemished swim shorts, as if he's expecting to be swallowed in flames. "Why didn't you go?!"

"I got scared!" you cry out, hopping from one foot to the other.

"C'mon, no backing out!"

"I hate this!" You reluctantly shuffle back to your spot at his encouragement. "I don't wanna!"

"Don't think, just run!"

Before you have a chance to deliberate your choice, you sprint alongside the footsteps in the sand and launch yourself over the fire. Shrieking with your eyes closed, you reach the other side and instantly topple into Hamzah's outstretched arms, sending the both of you to the ground.

When you open your eyes, you're on top of him. "You did it! We did—!"

You lean down and capture his lips in a kiss. He's shocked for a moment, his exclamation caught in his throat as your mouths connect. Then, his palms trail up the dips of your waist and he gently kisses you back. Adrenaline rushes through your veins and you tingle all over, from your head to your toes.

He flips the two of you over so his body engulfs yours, your hair splaying out across the sand. Your hands rest on his shoulders, fingers pressing into his skin, trying to grasp at him, grasp at the fact that this is real and you're actually kissing him. He breaks away momentarily.

"It." He breathlessly completes his sentence, exhaling a laugh against your lips before reconnecting your mouths with fervor.

Your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, about to deepen the kiss when you smell something off. You break it apart this time, but he continues to kiss a trail from your cheek to below your ear. When you look down between your chests, you are welcomed by the sight of the hair on his left calf burning up.

"Oh, shit!" you shout, pushing him off of you and rising to your feet.

His eyes drag down your body, then to his, and his eyes widen.

"Oh, shit!" he echoes.

You run over to Martin's towel to grab his abandoned bottle as Hamzah kicks his legs against the ground, trying to suffocate the fire. When you return, you hurriedly toss the water at his shins. You crouch to his level once the flames are extinguished and hold his leg up to see its devastation. His singed follicles crumble off his body, leaving the back of his calf bare and slightly pink with irritation.

"Um," you begin, breathing heavy. "Free hair removal?"

"Fuck," he pants. He scoots farther away from the bonfire and lays flat like a starfish. "That was scary."

You clamber down next to him, slightly delirious.

“We’re back!” Martin announces from afar, his arm around his girlfriend as they draw nearer. “What’d we miss?”

“Nothing.” You and Hamzah speak at the same time, earning weird looks from the couple.

“Okaaay.” Martin narrows his eyes. “Sure.”

“Are you guys good?” Mandy addresses both of you, but she’s looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Hamzah’s leg caught on fire,” you blurt out.

Martin cackles, but Mandy looks genuinely concerned. “How’d that even happen? As if one fire scare wasn’t enough.”

Her subtle jab restarts their bickering, freeing you from having to answer her question. You help Hamzah off the ground and the two of you dust yourselves off. The adrenaline and intoxication seem to wear off at once and you begin shivering from the cold. When you go to grab your measly coverup, Hamzah stops you.

“Here,” he says, handing you his shirt that was tossed aside his towel earlier in the day. “Put it on.”

“Thanks,” you mumble and pull the tee over your head. “What about you?”

He takes the coverup and slips it over his arms, the lace fitting taut against his skin. “It’s a good look, right?”

You grin, nodding.

The dark beach clears of vacationers as the four of you pack your things to head back to the hotel. The couple give each other silent treatment. You and Hamzah attempt to make the situation less awkward by cracking jokes, but it hardly helps. It seems all of you just need to go to your rooms and sleep it off. It’s been a loaded day.

You’re accompanied on your walk to your room by Hamzah, as per usual. You hold your belongings in one hand and his hand in the other.

“So,” he says, running his thumb over your skin.

“Sooo.”

“I guess my fear of rejection was for nothing.”

“You’re so naive.”

~

a/n: BOOM ROLL CREDITS. sorry for the holdup, college and writer’s block are kicking my ass!! lmk if u liked it and how u think this story should/will end ;)

[bitin-and-barkin]

Come Back To Me

Currently imagining Arthur Morgans reaction to seeing you again after you supposedly died.

Warnings: Angst, mentions/descriptions of blood/injuries + torture, eventual fluff, no smut (yet), Arthur Morgan x reader, gender neutral reader, religious talk, probably out of character, but he just really loves you okay, so he gets emotional

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT + PT 2 HERE, PT 3 HERE

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Let's say when Dutch was going to meet up with Colm, you offered yourself to act as backup instead, not wanting to make Arthur work any harder than he had.

Infact, seeing how exhausted your husband was, you were about to tear Dutch a new one for trying to make him work even more.

But they needed a sniper. And sure, you were tired. You had just gotten back from another solo job, where you scored a pretty penny for the gang. But you knew Arthur deserved a break. And so you said you'd help instead.

But while waiting on that mountain top for Colm to try something, you got distracted. You were tired, and you got sloppy. You weren't expecting his men to come for you. They snuck up behind you and wrangled you to the ground, with it taking four, maybe five men to keep you pinned down before they finally knocked you out.

When Dutch returned without you, Arthur knew something was wrong. Dutch claimed that you were probably out just doing another job, running off like you always did. Your horse was even gone from where you hitched it. And foolishly, Arthur believed him.

Now, it had been 5, maybe, 6 months after your disappearance. One month in Dutch stopped sending out search parties after they found your hat bloodied in an abandoned house, along with your ring finger.

They knew it was your ring finger, as it still had the wedding band Arthur bought for you on it.

Charles and Javier searched the area for any trails, but all of them were ruined past the point of tracking.

They arrived back to camp, bearing the bad news, that no trail could be found. Dutch pronounced you dead and had a honorary funeral. Swearing they would all eventually get revenge on Colm for this.

Revenge hadn't come.

It became even more of a common sight to see Arthur come back to camp covered in blood that wasn't his. He obsessively picked off O'Driscolls, killing and torturing every camp he found. Questioning every single one; Where were you? Where was Colm? What had Colm done to you? Were you even still alive?

Screaming that if he ever found Colm, he would rip him apart. Telling Dutch he should've killed him when he had the chance.

The image of your severed finger was engraved into his mind. They hadn't even sold the ring. They left it on just to rub it in his face.

He almost collapsed to the floor when he first saw it. He felt like he was dying. Who knew emotional pain could be so physical?

Even after the camp had sat him down and told him you were probably dead, and that he needed to accept that, he had never stopped searching. In fact, he punched Dutch in the face after he told him that.

He drew away from the gang, isolating himself. Dutch, Tilly, Hosea, Marybeth, Charles. Nobody could get through to him. He shut them all out, trying to act like everything was fine.

But nothing was fine. He knew that. He hated the world for moving on without you.

Every night he was drinking himself into a stupor, it was the only thing that let him sleep. He stopped talking or eating much, he was obviously losing weight. Always working, bringing in cash but never staying for too long.

He stopped sleeping at camp. He stopped sleeping much in general. He had nightmares whenever he did.

Your tent reminded him of you. Whenever he did sleep, it was always in your tent. It made him feel less alone.

Nobody ever took it over or moved your things because they all knew Arthur would gut whoever did.

He always thought of you, and whenever he did, he couldn't help but blame himself.

Why did he let you take his place? Why hadn't he searched for you the second Dutch came home without you? He couldn't do anything right. The same thing that happened to Eliza and Issac had happened to you. And all he did was sit around like a fool and let it happen.

How many days, weeks, had they tortured you before you died? Months, even? God, did they even wait for you to die before they took your finger off? Could you still be alive? You've always been a fighter, he knows that. If anybody was to survive being at Colm's mercy, it would be you. Could you still be waiting? In some basement, some hole in the ground, some old shack for Arthur? For the gang? For anybody to come save you? He knew what type of man Colm was. He knows Colm would do worse just to spite Dutch.

Was this punishment? For everything he had done? Was this hell? He wasn't religious, but every night where he went to bed without your presence next to his, it sure felt like it.

He was losing Dutch to his insanity. He was losing his way of life to the passing time.

And now he had lost you.

You.

God,

Why did it have to be you?

Why couldn't it have been him? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't he have at least died with you? He would spend an eternity in hell if he could spend his eternity with you.

But what could he do about it?

What was he doing about it?

Riding into Valentine to drink himself half dead. Alone. Riding into an endless nightmare alone without you.

As he was hitching his horse outside the saloon, he saw your distinct mare hitched right next to his.

For a moment he was happy. Happy for the first time in a long time. As this was proof that maybe, just maybe you were alive. And then, he realized what had actually happened.

Some bastard after killing you had taken your horse. Like some sort of trophy.

He stomped inside the saloon. He bought that horse for you. Saw it at Strawberry while going to free Micah and just knew that you had to have it after your last one died in Blackwater.

The girl was so sweet, and obedient too. He had hunted down a panther in Lemoyne and sold it to the trapper to make a saddle for you. He made sure to fill up the saddle bags with everything you'd need to care for it, along with a couple of other gifts for you sprinkled in. When he shyly brought the whole ensemble to you, you jumped into his arms like you two were young again.

And now some selfish bastard was making a mockery of it.

He walked up to the Bartender and slammed his hands on the bar, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. Demanding to know who rode in with that horse.

The bartender nervously said they had rented a room. Were still upstairs as they spoke. He walked upstairs, unholstering his knife.

He was gonna make this slow.

Treading carefully towards the bedroom, turning the handle. It was locked. He backed up and kicked the door open, pointing his gun at whoever was inside, ready to shoot them in the leg if they tried to escape. No way was he gonna give them an easy death with a headshot.

And then?

He saw you.

Standing near the bed, bruises and cuts, scars new and old littering your body. Wrapped in bandages soaked in blood. Leaning against a bedpost, barely able to stand, pointing a shaky gun at the intruder.

Time stood still as your eyes met.

He dropped his gun. You lowered yours.

He whispered your name, almost like a prayer. Praying this was real.

You said his back.

Then, he ran towards you. Wrapping you in a hug, holding onto you for dear life.

Praying that if this was a dream, he would never have to wake up.

Running his fingers through your hair, gripping onto your shirt, he felt your chest heave. Your tears falling onto his shoulder, wetting his jacket.

You were crying- no, you were apologizing.

To him.

For worrying him.

And then he started crying too.

Crying into the crook of your neck like a little boy.

Arthur never really cried. He hadn't cried in so long. After your death, he never let himself cry. He felt like he didn't deserve it.

But you?

You were alive.

Your hands wrapped around his back, the distinct pressure of your ring finger missing.

Feeling your missing ring burn a hole through his pocket. Remembering the sight of your severed finger.

And the hell you must've gone through to stay alive.

He felt sick, as he sobbed into your shoulder.

What kind of man was he? Needing you to comfort him after you were tortured?

He dropped to the floor, his knees couldn't hold him anymore. Still holding onto your body, now just your legs, for dear christ. Like you might fade away if he let go. He wouldn't let you go.

He missed you more than anything.

You slowly bent down, running your fingers through his hair.

He began wondering if you were real. Was this real?

You got down to his level, sitting on your knees. Kissing him on the forehead and putting your hand on the back of his head. Pushing him into your chest, as he only sobbed louder, blubbering and crying like a fool.

About how he thought he lost you. How the whole gang thought you had died. How he never stopped looking for you. How he thought he was dying after you didn't show up back home. How he never stopped wearing his wedding ring. How he always kept yours in his pocket. How he cradled a photo of you the first time he slept after you died.

How he wanted to bleed the world for killing you.

How he wanted to shoot everything to ashes.

How he missed you every waking moment.

How he dreamed of you every night.

How he would've given anything just to hold you one more time.

Crying into your arms,

Begging you not to leave him.

You rubbed circles onto the back of his head as you comforted him. Whispering that they only tortured you, that you eventually managed to get out, that you were fine. That you're alive. That you're here with him. That you're here for him. That you weren't going anywhere.

The months that he thought you were dead melted away as he felt your fingers run through his hair,

As you promised you weren't leaving him.

You're alive.

You're with him.

You're here.

And he swore to fucking God,

He was never letting you go again.

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Okay, so should I do a smutty pt2 where he REALLY shows you how much he missed you, or should I do one who he goes fucking yandere esque from the prospect of almost losing you?? Or should I do both??

[cheesecakeluver]

BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND

hamzahthefantastic x reader

When your brother calls you to pick him up from a house party, he forgets to mention his best friend is coming along for the ride.

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

I sigh when receiving the phone call, as it had awoken me from my slumber. It was currently 2:43 am, and my completely wasted older brother was whining into the phone, desperate for me to pick him up from this random house party after his girlfriend had left without him. I knew this would happen, deep down. My brother always over drank on alcohol, then came crying to me because i'm the one with a license. Unlike that asshole, i wasn't high when doing my drivers test.

i hung up on him after telling him i'd be there in ten minutes, as i lazily slouched out of my bed and threw a hoodie on. I was only wearing shorts and the grey, slightly oversized hoodie, but if there was nobody to impress, then what did i care. I just had to hope he wasn't overly drunk, causing one of his friends to have to help him to the car.

Grabbing my keys, i quietly made my out of the house, closing the door as slowly and soundlessly as i could to avoid waking my parents, who would kill my brother if they found out he was out this late. Thankfully, my parents always preferred me over my brother, so none of the heat would ever land on me.

When in my car, i carefully pull out of the driveway, looking around at the houses around me, now empty of light at this time of night. When far enough away from my house, i allow myself to lightly play music. "3005" by Childish Gambino comes on, and i hum along to it as i gradually get closer to the house where my brother was. I just had to hope he wasn't going to be sick in my car when i picked up, or i'd kill him.

Soon enough, i take a sharp left and down a long, narrow lane, leading me to a classy, white manor, bright colourful lights and pounding music leaking out of it. I drive even closer, parking in front of it, making sure my brother would know where i was.

People filter in and out of the house, laughing, stumbling, crying, you name it. As i watched the party goers interact with their friends and lovers, part of me yearned to be invited to such gatherings, to be in a social circle as large as my brothers.

I hear a commotion, and see my brother vomiting as he escaped out of the doorway of the manor, causing me to cringe in embarassment, sinking a little lower into my car seat. Another boy, who i recognised as his best friend, Hamzah, was holding him upright, as tears streamed down his face. Jesus, he was a mess. If my parents saw him like this, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house.

Hamzah spots me almost instantly, his eyes squinting due to the darkness outside contrasting with the brightness inside, and i wave a gentle hand in the air, calling him over.

He does as i motion, my drunken brother in his arms as he unlocks the car door, throwing him into the backseat. I sigh in relief, thankful he hadn't seen me in my attire. It was bad enough already that my hair was messy, and not a drop of makeup graced my face.

Until, Hamzah opens the passenger door beside me, and slides in, shifting as he started to make himself comfortable. For a minute, i pause, confusion evident on my face as the boy sighed, running a finger through his dark curls, unaware of my state.

He eventually noticed my eyes on him, and turned to me, staring deep into my eyes with his warm brown ones, his cheeks flushed a dark pink.

"Did your brother not mention i'm supposed to be staying are your place?"

No he fucking didn’t.

My mouth gaped open slightly, before i shut it, realising i was making a fool of myself, in front of my brothers best friend.

It's almost a worldwide phenomenon that as a teenage girl, It's not abnormal to have a crush on at least one of your brothers friends, if not all of them. The only thing was, my crush on Hamzah hadn't faded since we were children, and now here he was, sitting dressed up in my car, slightly drunk, with my vomiting brother in the back.

I caught myself on, becoming flustered as i responded quietly.

"Uh, no... he doesn't tell me much these days." i mumbled, ripping my eyes away from his as i turned my attention back on the wheel in front of me, as he shrugged, reaching for his phone.

"It's fine though, i can stay at another friends place. Don't wanna be an inconvienience or anything" He sighed, scrolling through his contacts.

“Wait, Hamzah.. “ i interrupted, a feeling of guilt washing over me.

“Listen it’s fine. I just didn’t know, and was a little surprised.” I spoke softly, my eyes still firmly in front of me, on the wheel, as my fingers nervously tapped against the window to my side.

He buckles his seatbelt, rolling his eyes as he listens to my brother make strange gurgles and bleary whines from the backseat.

“Sorry about him being well..that drunk” He mutters, apologising.

“It’s not the first time” I joke, a small laugh escaping my lips as i start the car, the small engine shuttling.

He laughs quietly, watching my brother wriggle around as he finally becomes comfortable, and lays face down in the backseat.

“I bet it won’t be the last either” He says, smiling softly.

I settle down, my nerves calming as i allow myself to glance at him every now and then throughout the drive. Music still floods through the speakers, making the awkward silence dissipate slowly as the journey continues. Every now and then, when the right song came on, Hamzah would hum along slightly, and my heart would flutter. The only words spoken were those of my brother, and at one point, i just began to drown him out, his moans ruining the moment.

He continues to hum along to the music quietly, sneaking glances at me as my heart pounds against my chest. It was only when my brother would loudly moan and make a fool out of himself that hamzah’s gaze would be broken, his eyes drifting away to look straight ahead instead, leaving me yearning for his gaze.

Soon enough, we pull into our street, and i switch my lights off, not wanting to awaken my parents. Especially not when my brother was on the brink of vomiting again.

Slowing down, i park a couple metres away from the house, and exiting my car, closing the door ever so gently.

Hamzah unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to check on my brother, who was now drooling everywhere, making a fool out of himself.

“Jesus..” He murmur’s under his breath, opening the door quietly and carefully lifting my brother out of the backseat, holding him against his side steadily, making me wish i was the one in his arms.

i shuddered, prying my eyes off of him as i carefully unlocked and unlatched the front door, my heart stopping as it creaked a couple of times.

He grimaced as the door creaked loudly, shifting my brother’s weight to a more balanced position before stepping inside, trying to close the door as quietly as possible, and succeeding, turning around to face me.

I let out a shaky breath, locking eyes with Hamzah, and in that moment, the situation and realisation finally hitting us like bricks, we burst out laughing, covering our mouths and shaking, tears streaming down our eyes.

My eyes still on Hamzah, it was clear he couldn’t help but erupt into laughter at the situation we were in, his laugh becoming louder than it probably should’ve with it being nearly 2AM, he attempts to muffle his laughter while also struggling to hold my brother upright making me cackle even more.

Still with a cheesy grin on my face, i began to tiptoe upstairs, motioning Hamzah, with my brothers fatigued body in his arms, to follow me.

I carefully avoid the creaky steps, and make it to my brothers room, swinging the door open gently, and ushering the pair inside, my brothers eyes fluttering a little, before he becomes unconscious, drool slipping out of his mouth.

“finally” Hamzah sighs, resting my brothers sleeping body onto the bed, throwing a blanket over him, before coming to lean in the doorframe, his large stature rivalling mine, his warm eyes scanning over me.

He stretches his arms, which were now free from my brother’s weight, his biceps curling as he rested his hands on the door.

“I think we can safely say he’s passed out now”

“Oh, definitely. He’s not waking up for another.. two, three days?” i joke, a small, faint blush flooding my cheeks in the dark.

He chuckles quietly at my joke, noticing my faint blush even in the low light, turning his head to nod towards my brother.

“Oh, for sure. You could even scream in his ear and he probably won’t budge” He teases

i smile, containing my laughter. As much as it pained me to depart, i was tired, and in need of my bed.

“I’ll see you in the morning Hamzah”

He nods in response, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, and retreating into my brothers room, his eyes torn away from mine.

“Yeah, goodnight.” He replied, his eyes watching me leave the room and head down the hall to my bedroom.

As i make my way under the covers, kicking my slippers off in the process, i think back on the night, and the events of it.

Never in a million years would i have thought that maybe, just maybe, Hamzah liked me back. But tonight… something happened. Wether it was my delusions, or reality, i knew i would fall asleep soundly tonight, awaiting the morning where i could see him again.

———————-

The light shone through my curtains, brightening my bedroom with a soft glow as the golden sun rays drifted in. As i turned in bed, memories flooded me, and i smiled to myself, knowing that in the room down the hall, my brother wasn’t the only boy.

Yawning, i stumble out of bed, stretching my arms as i grab my phone from my bedside table, and slide my slippers on, ready to head downstairs. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, and i was in need of a good breakfast, especially after being up so late last night.

I exit my room, my feet padding softly against the carpeted hallway. My heart skips a beat once i slip past the room Hamzah resides in, and i smile to myself as i hastily make my way downstairs, entering the kitchen, romantic thoughts filling my head.

Pouring the coffee, i had to wonder if Hamzah was feeling the same way i was. Did he get flustered as often as i did? Did he think of me, as much as i thought of him? Questions raced in my head, and as i add the final ice cube to my coffee, i hear footsteps behind me.

Turning, i see Hamzah, leant against the doorway, eyes scanning over me. His hands were stuffed in the pocket of a hoodie, one i assumed he must have borrowed from my brother.

“Hamzah.. didn’t expect you up this early” i spoke, my cheeks flushing as i checked the time on my phone. 6:27 AM.

He chuckled quietly at my statement, running a hand through his messy curls, trying to look somewhat presentable in front of me, causing me to smile.

“I could say the same to you” He teased

He took a step closer to me, his muscular arms being on full show as he rolled his sleeves up, veins protruding, causing me to nearly melt as i sipped my coffee, placing my phone on the kitchen counter.

He smirked slightly at how flushed i was becoming, his smirk only growing larger as i placed the phone down, my eyes darting up to look at his face.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, right beside me, looking down at me. The closer he got to me, the more he could see the slight blush that adorned my face.

“You seem a little… red” He teased, referring to my heated cheeks, making me want to curl up and disappear.

I smiled, looking away. I would not let this man get the better of me, not in my own home.

He laughed, a hearty chuckle escaping him. “You’re fine, honestly. I’m just playing with you.”

Even though, deep down inside i was feeling queasy, nervous and anxious about this interaction, something inside me calmed as he told me i was fine. It was like my body was listening to him.

My head hung low as the embarrassment and shame hit me, as i realised i was making a fool of myself in front of him. The guy i had liked ever since my brother introduced us. I turned to walk away, needing a breath of fresh air.

He grinned as i attempted to walk away, his hand quickly latching around my wrist, easily pulling me closer to him before gripping my waist, stopping me in your tracks. His chest was touching my back, trapping me between him and the kitchen counter.

“Now, now, where are you going in a rush?”

His touch felt like fire across my skin, lighting it with every hitch.

“My parents will be up soon.. and i need to hide the events of last night” i admitted, my brothers puddle of vomit lying on the floor of my kitchen, five to six metres from me and Hamzah. Other miscellaneous items from the party, such as red solo cups, and a flower chain lay discarded.

He smirked as he looked down at my figure, so close to his.

“Your parents will be up soon, yet here we are..” He muttered, his breath hot against my ear as he continued to speak in a low whisper.

“Then what can we do…” i whispered, breathlessly. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening, after all this time of dreaming, and wishing, and praying for a moment like this.

He couldn’t help but chuckle lowly, seeing how breathless i had become from his touch, his body pressed against mine and his breath on my skin. He slowly leaned down, his lips almost touching the skin of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“There’s a lot we can do..” He whispered, his voice sultry and teasing.

“What the fuck?” a voice behind us yelled. We pull away instantly, our bodies disconnecting due to shock. Turning to see who it was, i sigh, placing my head in my hands.

Of course my brother had to ruin everything.

Hamzah chuckled lowly as he pulled away, taking in my expression as i turned to face my now awake brother, who seemed to walk in and interrupt the moment. He always had to take whatever i had, even if he didn’t want it, and he was doing the same now.

He shoved his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie, turning to look at my brother with raised eyebrows.

“Well, well, look who’s alive” He teased, gesturing to your brother.

“What are you doing with my sister?” My brother asked, his eyes brows furrowed. He better not ruin this moment for me, not for a second time.

Hamzah chuckled at the concern in my brother’s eyes but remained calm, his hands still deep in his hoodie’s pockets. I almost yearned for his hands to be around me. Around my hands. Around my waist.

“Relax, we were just having a.. conversation” He responded unbelievably, raising an eyebrow at my brother’s tone, as if challenging him. Completely dismissing the fact we were flushed and body to body.

“I can’t fucking believe you. Don’t pull this shit with my sister Hamzah. Don’t you fucking do this to me...” My brother continued, anger in his eyes as he began to step closer to Hamzah, fists clenched.

He stayed still, remaining completely calm at my brother’s sudden outburst, unmoving as my brother stepped closer to him.

“And what are you gonna do exactly?” He teased, a glint of challenge in his eyes as he smirked.

“I’m going to fucking kill you” My brother yelled, lunging for Hamzah.

I knew i should have probably been on my brothers side. They do say blood is thicker than water. But how could i? He was preventing me from doing the one thing i had wanted since i was a little girl. He was preventing me from the one man who i had wanted since i was a little girl.

He dodged out of the way of my brother’s attack, laughing to himself as he easily avoided my brother throwing himself at him. God, he looked attractive.

“You’re gonna kill me? With what? You can barely walk in a straight line” He teased, his smirk only growing as he looked at my brother. struggling to even stay standing without support. He was a wreck, and Hamzah knew it.

He chuckled lowly, a little surprised with my brother’s behaviour, but still calm and collected.

He continued to dodge my brother, watching him stumbling around in an attempt to attack, as i stood by the counter, shocked and slightly overwhelmed at the situation in front of me.

As my brother went on another drunken attack, he took the moment to quickly sneak over to my side, grabbing me by my waist and pulling me to his side.

Quickly and gently, he pressed a kiss to my cheek before backing out of your brother’s reach again, smiling ear to ear, his face flushing dark pink, as did mine.

While it wasn’t what i had been imagining, it was still good enough to give me butterflies, as i watched my brother tell obscenities at him while chasing him with random kitchenware.

“Looks like I should be going before your dumbass brother decides to get up off the floor” He called out, still remaining a safe distance away from my still angry brother, who was furious, and a deep shade of red.

“Well.. call me!” i yelled, grinning as i watched him avoid my brothers grasp, and run out of my house, sprinting down my street as my hungover brother, wobbled behind.

He grinned as he sprinted away, turning his head around to look back at me, a playful smirk plastered across his lips, before he turned back around and continued bolting down the road with my brother still trying to catch up to him in his drunken state.

Watching the pair disappear around a corner, i sighed, content. I knew they would make up. They always did after having stupid arguments. I was aware this one would be a little different, due to the fact i was involved, but i knew it would work out in the end.

Placing my hand to my cheek, i could feel Hamzah’s lingering touch there, filling me with warmth and a sense of hope.

Hope for the future, which, could contain him.

———————-

[bublebunni]

thank you, chase🫡

[sicklysaccharinerush]

he's about to jump the Lamb out of excitement

[fanartist666]

TW: Discussion of needles, phobias and blood Reader can be anyone, tried to be as gender neutral as possible, just rambling tbh, Price is a big soft baby and needs to be coddled when he isn't spoiling you

I headcanon this man as being scared of needles.

Hear me out, going by Barry's height Price is like 6'3, and just look at the size of him! Yeah he has Ser Harwin Strong vibes and absolutely would beat the shit out of anyone that ever insulted you and he kills people. But imagine if he was unreasonably scared of it, and it gets worse around you.

Not because you're bad for him, or you make him feel unsafe, but the opposite. His walls come down around you, and you make him feel the safest he's ever felt, so instead of gritting his teeth and hyperventilating a little (shutting down very mildly) but getting himself through it when he's away, he's got the safety to express his actual terror around you.

You go with him to get blood drawn, or a vaccination, and the phlebotomist comes out and asks if you can come in because your fucking bear of a husband is bouncing off the walls because he can't handle it.

It wasn't until ten had passed that you suspected there might be something wrong. Maybe he'd passed out, you thought with a soft snort at the absurdity of the idea. John wasn't squeamish, but it shouldn't have taken this long, surely?

"Alright luvvie, see you in a min." John said, kissing your forehead as he left to step into a little consult room. Shouldn't be long, he was going to take you for coffee afterwards, so you took out your phone and crossed your legs in the waiting room chair. The same weird, NHS logo blue and white tones in seemingly every hospital with the sickly green floors. You wrinkled your nose slightly at the stench of antiseptic stinging at the inside of your skull and settled for a five minute wait.

Just as you raised your head to glance at the clock, the door John had walked through opened, and a nurse stuck her head out.

"Is there a (Y/N) Price here?" You stood up immediately, mouth going dry at the thought that something could have gone wrong. It was only a blood sample, what the hell could have happened?

"Yes, yes that's me- is everything alright?" You asked, squeezing your phone so tight your knuckles were going white.

"No need to worry! We're just having a little trouble, would you be able to come in?" You nodded and followed her in. Your eyes landed on your very embarrassed, jumpy husband.

"John?" You asked, coming closer to him but he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

"I don't like needles." He mumbled as you took his hand, immediately feeling his weight against your shoulder. "Apparently when I'm home, I can't cope so well."

"Oh John... Sweetheart, you could've told me." You said, kissing his cheek and taking his massive shoulders under your arms as he pressed his hot, red face into your neck.

And that was how you wound up with your 6'3 200+lbs husband half in your lap, stroking his hair and holding his hand while he had his blood sample taken, and walked out hand in hand. In return for your silence, he bought you a pastry, which you accepted, but promised him wasn't needed. Inwardly you were actually pleased that he felt safe enough with you near him to not force down his fears, to express them and by extension, himself.

If the 141 boys ever saw him with you they'd hardly recognise him, he's the same guy, his personality never changes, but he's a hundred times more expressive in every way.

idk this just kinda poured outta my head lmao

[elegantolive4332]

yall thinking what im thinking

[kirbysdreamlandd]

Calm to my chaos

Hamzah X Y/N (GN)

SFW, Fluff, Hamzah X Reader

This was an Anonymous request :)

It was so fun and enjoyable to write, I sincerely hope you like it!!! (Requests open atm!)

You toss the last pillow onto the freshly made bed and step back, hands on your hips. The room looks better now; everything in its place, laundry done, clothes not piled up and tossed on the bed by Hamzah in his usual rush to “find something more comfortable.”

Your eyes drift to the nightstand, cluttered with a mix of strange AI-generated photos of Hamzah and a collection of Polaroids he’d gifted you.

One, in particular, stands out to you: a snapshot Claire had taken of the two of you cuddled on the couch. His head rested on your shoulder, and you were wearing his worn Canada hat, both of you sticky and asleep after accidentally spilling cans of Celsius on each other.

That night had started as a drunken dare to stay awake until sunrise, fueled by way too many energy drinks and the leftover buzz of the day’s events.

Neither of you made it, crashing in a heap before midnight. The morning was a blur of “peach vibe”scented regret, waiting for your clothes to finish washing in the laundry room. And that’s where it happened: Hamzah confessed his feelings as you sat perched on the vibrating machine, quietly wondering if the masturbation theory really was true.

“Celsi US ❤️” was scrawled at the bottom of the Polaroid in Hamzah’s messy handwriting. A painfully corny wordplay only he could come up with, that somehow stirred a cheesy smile in you every time.

Your thoughts wander to him. He’d been on the go all day, between filming the OOC podcast and inhaling the dinner you’d carefully plated for him after work like a perfect 1950s housewife. Then, instead of unwinding for the evening, he’d smothered you on the couch for two minutes before disappearing back into his office.

The Christmas project they were working on consumed so much of his time, leaving you with nothing but the lonely holiday breaks you had hoped to spend with him.

You grab a stray water glass from the nightstand and head toward the office. The hallway is quiet except for the faint clicking of a keyboard and an occasional muttered word—probably him cursing over Adobe Premiere again.

You push the door open gently, pausing for a moment to scan the room, almost as if you expected him to be anywhere but sitting in front of his computer.

You make your way to the water dispenser, the one you always reminded Hamzah to refill, yet there it was again: stagnant water sitting at the bottom that for some strange reason Hamzah was still adamant about drinking.

His hoodie is bunched up around his elbows, his finger rapidly tapping on the table while staring at a loading screen. His lips pursed in concentration, he seemed so lost in whatever he was doing that you almost felt guilty for even thinking about interrupting his trance.

You reached a hand on the dispenser.

The object had become a strange kind of gateway for both of you. You, of course, would never drink from it given it was clearly Hamzah’s idea to buy it in the first place. So, whenever you walked into the office and reached for the dispenser, Hamzah knew instantly you were after him and not the water.

He slightly turned his head, a half-smile quickly tugging at the corner of his lips.

He leaned back in his chair, a loud, almost exaggerated groan escaping his mouth as he stretched his arms over his head, his body slightly spasming from the effort.

The movement was dramatic, the kind of over-the-top action that only Hamzah could pull off.

He looked at you, then at your glass of water.

“Baby,” he called, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “What’s up? Want some water?”

He joked, a hand patting the water dispenser with a grin that was equal parts teasing and fond.

“No thanks, I’ll pass on the ancient waters that rest in this sacred device.” you quipped back, your hand now resting on the dispenser as well, locking eyes with him in a silent stare-off.

He chuckled before getting distracted by a noise coming through his headphones.

“You really should try it though.” he continued, his eyes still locked on the bright screen, a cocky smile on his lips you knew was directed to you. “How do you think I got so beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes, a disappointed yet frustrated scoff escaping your lips as you set the glass down on the table, hoping the loud clink would catch his attention. But of course, his headphones were on now, completely blocking out the world around him.

He was usually the affectionate type, even when you were the one working. He loved sitting next to you, his hand casually resting on your thigh as he scrolled through his phone, chuckling at the silly videos he stumbled upon. Sometimes he’d even comment on your work, assisted you with technical problems or just gave you a smile or nod of approval after you turned to him for feedback.

But when it came to his work, he always felt a little distant. Hours could pass with him hunched over his desk, his face and Martin’s flashing repeatedly on the screen as he clipped, trimmed, and adjusted footage.

The only time he emerged from his bubble was for the occasional bathroom break or to refill his water bottle before diving right back in.

Sure, he paid attention to you, but only if you sought it out. You had to knock, call his name, or physically step into the room to remind him you were there. Otherwise, he’d remain buried in his tasks, entirely absorbed in his world. And no matter how many times you pulled him out of it, he never stopped himself.

You leaned against the wooden rack, watching him work. His head tilted slightly, the tip of his tongue resting on his top teeth as he dragged the cursor across the screen with precision. As much as you hated him for overworking himself so much, you couldn’t help but find his focused expressions incredibly cute.

You let out a quiet sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. The faint clatter of his keyboard softened, and when you glanced back at him, you noticed Hamzah’s gaze flick toward you. He paused his work, tilting his head slightly as if to catch your attention. A small, playful pout formed on his lips as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes wide and pleading like a puppy’s. He pursed his lips dramatically, making a soft “mwah” sound as he leaned forward, signaling for a kiss.

“Seriously?” You leaned, folding your arms even more against your chest.

His expression didn’t falter. He kept the same exaggerated pout on his lips, his big, expectant eyes locked on yours. Slowly, his headphones slipped off his head, coming to rest around his neck, his body leaning slightly toward you as if silently urging you closer.

You rolled your eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at your lips. “Okay.” you muttered, leaning down and brushing your lips against his in a quick, playful kiss.

Pulling back from him, you caught the sight of a flustered smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his cheeks faintly pink under the soft glow of the monitor.

Sliding his headphones back over his ears, he muttered a quiet, almost shy, “Love you” the words slipping out like second nature. You didn’t miss the way his tongue darted out to subtly lick his lips, a small, involuntary gesture that made you melt.

“Love you too.” you replied under your breath, knowing he wouldn’t hear you as he was already absorbed in his editing.

You made your way to the messy bed across the room, a sigh escaping you as you took in the scene. A couple of items of clothing lay haphazardly across the mattress; an old hoodie, a pair of socks half-bunched together like they’d been tossed aside by a messy boyfriend who couldn’t be bothered to clean up.

Hamzah didn’t look back, already focused on his work again, but the flustered smile lingered on his face, and you couldn’t help but feel a little proud that you’d managed to break through his usual focused working state.

You instinctively folded and placed the clothes on the edge of the bed before exhaustedly plopping yourself onto your clean side of the bed.

As you settled under the blanket, you watched him for a while longer, a small smile tugging at your lips. You loved staring at your boyfriend when he wasn’t noticing, when he was lost in his world, unaware of how intently you observed him. There was something comforting about it, the way he existed so naturally, so unguarded, even in the midst of his chaotic work.

His resting face was soft, the tension that usually marked his features fading away when he was absorbed in editing. His dark eyes darted quickly between the screen and the clips, a mix of concentration and effortless focus.

You would tease him about it often, the way his mouth was usually slightly open when he was concentrating on something. But in reality, you found it incredibly endearing.

Eventually, the rhythmic sound of his typing, the small heater emanating warm air around the room and the coziness of the blanket pulled you under, your eyes growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling completely at ease in the little space you both shared.

Rousing you up from your slumber was the faint sensation of the bed shifting.

Then came the warmth of Hamzah’s body pressed against yours, his arms wrapping around you as he cuddled up beside you.

His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breathing soft but steady. “I think I need a break…” he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion and his jaw hitting your collarbone as he spoke.

You didn’t stir much, still half-dreaming, but you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. His usual energetic presence, always so absorbed in his work, seemed to fade as he sought the comfort of your closeness.

You let out a soft hum, your voice still heavy with sleep. “Finally realizing you’re not a robot?” you teased lightly, though your tone was warm, not sharp.

Hamzah chuckled weakly, his breath tickling your neck. “Maybe. Or maybe I just needed you to remind me.” he murmured, his words soft and unhurried.

You smiled faintly, your hand coming to rest over his where it still lingered on your abdomen. “That’s what I’m here for. To make sure you don’t completely burn out.”

He shuffled even closer, his face nestled in your passion fruit-scented hair. It was a scent he’d grown to adore, one that always brought a cheesy smile to his lips. You couldn’t help but think back to the day he bought that shampoo for you, completely clueless about hair products but determined to help when you had run out. He’d simply picked one that smelled like your favorite fruit, hoping it would please you.

Even though you’d stocked up on your preferred brand soon after, you still used the one he bought every now and then. You loved the way it made his face light up when he caught the scent, a subtle reminder of the effort he put in, even in the smallest things.

Hamzah let out a soft hum, the warmth of his breath brushing against your hair. “Yum, passion fruit.” he mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled but laced with a smile.

You chuckled, your stomach rising and falling, causing his and your hand to bounce slightly with the motion.

“I’m glad you like that shampoo,” he continued, his voice teasing but warm. “It was either that, or the one with Bluey on the packaging.”

You laughed, turning your head just enough to catch his sleepy grin. You turned back, gently shaking your head in an annoyed but amused manner.

“You say that like you wouldn’t have bought that one for yourself.” you teased, grinning at the thought.

“No” he exclaimed with mock offense, his tone exaggerated and dramatic. “You would never let me.”

His head shifted, his nose brushing against your shoulder as he adjusted closer. The exaggerated pout on his lips melted away, replaced by soft, tender kisses planted along your back. Each one was unhurried, a quiet apology for his earlier teasing and an expression of the affection he couldn’t easily put into words. You interlocked your fingers with his, still resting on your stomach.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Hamzah murmured, his breath warm against your skin. You smiled softly, gently squeezing his hand into yours.

“And not just because you clean up my mess.” he added.

You scoffed playfully, lightly slapping the back of his hand.

He paused for a moment, his breathing shifting as he seemed to collect his thoughts.

“Actually, it is because of that.” he continued, his hand moving away from your stomach and slowly drifting up your torso. “You clean up my mess. Whether it’s in my house or in my mind.”

His voice was firm now, his words no longer just a casual remark but a deep, genuine expression as he leaned in closer.

His arm wrapped around you like a safety belt, a hand resting softly on your heart, making you feel if his words were reaching deep inside you.

“You’re the calm to my chaos.” His words hung between you, and you could feel your heartbeat slow as it was enveloped by the warmth of Hamzah’s hand covering your chest.

You rested your head against his, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his arm, shivers running down from it from your touch. The quiet breathing against your ear, his subtle shifts as he held you close, it all blended into a perfect harmony, a peaceful rhythm that wrapped you both the comforting embrace of eachother.

[mystic-vibeszz]

now why he mad, also I feel like I made Lore a little short so lmao my bad (ᵕ—ᴗ—) don't come for me...

also sorry for the robot emoji lore, pretend that there's an android emoji out there somewhere~

[axstoria]

Damian Wayne having a school crush on Jon, yet not understanding why he is feeling this way.

His face gets hot, and he finds himself staring at the boy for much longer than needed. He's distracted from his classes, yet, for some reason, he feels perfectly fine when not in the vicinity of his self-proclaimed best friend.

The Kryptonian had cursed him with some magic he had not known about, he swears, pouring over his father's near-infinite research notes for an explanation.

He finds none. Perhaps, it was time for another course of action.

Grayson laughs at him when he explains his ailment, giving him a firm pat on the back and a knowing grin, telling him he'd "figure it out." Whatever that meant...

Todd is—for obvious reasons—skipped, and Drake (sadly) is his next confidant. Nobody knows random illnesses like Drake, especially after that long, arduous period where the boy spent hours in front of the computer researching different viruses in case anyone on any one of his teams fell ill.

Drake looks at him like he is an idiot.

Drake is no longer an option.

He is dumbfounded when his father claps a hand over his shoulder after Damian finished his long rant. The older man only sighs and steers his son to sit on the nearest surface.

"It's that charm, Damian... that damned Midwestern charm."

It suddenly clicked in his head why Father had been so... odd with Superman as of late.

Damian does not want to fall to the same fate, so he starts avoiding Jon at all costs. He switches class periods and stops all patrols where they would be partnered. When the both of them are dragged along by their fathers to meetings, he stays tucked to Bruce's side and refuses to make conversation with anyone.

Jon can't figure out what is going on, and he's starting to think Damian is sick.