#but because when I try to tell people im getting dry needled they think i mean acupuncture | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aenaxes · 3 years ago

Note

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?��

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

#fun fact: my signature party trick is flirting with a guy and then stealing his blunt ✌️😗#thinking about how schlorbe n i agreed crosshair listens to souncloud mumble rap :/#its ok i kiss him anyways #hc that crosshair’s an econ/finance bro and hunter’s a history major hehe #sequel series: crosshair goes venture capital (gross)#tech's probably at like the space equivalent of mit or something #and i will Die on the hill that wrecker's super smart with kinesiology #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #anon #yaej.writes

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walkerwords · 4 years ago

Text

“By Firelight” Rick Grimes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2143

Summary: After escaping Terminus, you and the other survivors are on the run. You are a bit of a loner, but Rick has had his eye on your for a bit. Though, you’ve been pushing him away because you don’t think you deserve him. One night on watch, you finally take that jump in the light of the fire.

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Murder Song (5,4,3,2,1)” by AURORA

Note: This is just a short thing I wrote. It is loosely based on the Halsey song: I HATE EVERYBODY and includes some of the lyrics. I am currently workin in Bowman’s sister part II so look out for that. Okay, good night. also if there are typos im sorry im like half awake right now.

------

The group walked all day.

You kept ahead with Carl, who just walked with you and didn’t try to talk. Being on the run together for as long as you had, you didn’t need to have conversations, it was enough to just walk alongside each other as friends while keeping a look out for any threats.

You kept your weapon ready and whenever you came across the Dead, you would take them out. Abraham and Rosita were at the rear of the group, looking for stragglers that anyone missed and everyone in between was vigilant. It was a functioning system that had worked for the many months that you all had been traveling together.

As day turned to night, You started to head back to the main group. Carl had gone back a few hours before to check on Judith and give Rick a break so you were scouting solo. You retraced your steps and found them easily enough. Approaching Rick, you lowered your weapon.

“There’s an old hunter’s shack just up ahead. Plenty of space for us to set up camp outside and get Judith inside in case she starts crying,” you told him, glancing at the giggling baby that Maggie now held. Rick nodded, looking you over.

“And its (Y/L/N) approved?” he asked with a slick smile on his face. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, plenty of vantage points and it backs up to a cliff not too far away so I can watch all the directions.”

“You should be watching the inside of your eyelids,” Rick said, giving you a look of concern. “You need sleep, (Y/N).”

“I slept last night,” you reminded him.

“You work too hard,” he said, gesturing to the bloody spear you held that was soaked in Walker blood.

“Yeah, well, someone has to,” you said and turned away to lead the group to the camp for the night.

You kept watch as Carl got Judith settled into the small shack, trying his best to keep her shielded from the elements. Around you, the rest of the group began setting up for the night. You caught Gabriel looking at you, but you ignored him. He knew you didn’t trust him. Hell, nobody really trusted the priest. There was just something about him that just pissed you off.

Daryl handled the firewood as always. He always came trudging back into camp with logs stacked high in his arms. They all had parts to play in their group and while you knew that Daryl was just as skilled in a fight as you were, he had been trying to take care of everyone lately. You figured it was to keep his mind off of Beth.

As the night went on, Tara and Glenn made sure you had something to eat. You ate your portion in silence at the edge of the camp, keeping your ears open for threats in the surrounding trees. There had been a time where you weren’t as sharp and that had led to multiple deaths on your part even before you hooked up with Rick’s group at the prison.

You hadn’t seen the five Walkers and they had killed six of your people, tore them to shreds before your eyes. It had been Rick who had killed the last Walker and tried to convince you it wasn’t your fault, inviting you back to the prison, but you knew the truth: every death was on you.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

You leaned against a nearby tree, your back to the North that had the cliff. Unless the Dead could suddenly fly, nothing would be coming from that direction. Your knives were sheathed to your thighs and your spear lay next to you at the ready. Pulling the tie from your hair, you let your locks loose and scratched at your scalp. You really needed to wash your hair, it was starting to smell worse than the Dead.

Sitting there, your mind started to wander, thinking of a conversation you had had with Noah the other day.

Since the incident with the Governor and then at Terminus, you had started to become more reckless. Noah was concerned about you and what you were doing with your life.

You took on too many Walkers at once, barged into buildings without making noise first, and even threw yourself on top of a Walker to save Maggie who clearly didn’t need the help. Whenever someone tried to talk to you about your actions, you pushed them away. Noah said that it seemed like you hated everybody.

In truth, you hated yourself, not everybody. Because if you truly hated everybody, why did you stay and why were you always looking to make sure you weren’t alone? Why were you always looking for Rick?

Rick had always been there, watching you, making sure you were okay. It was always him. You knew that he looked out for you, but lately the two of you had grown closer. It was obvious to everyone. Michonne has even asked you if the two of you had been together at some point. There was a part of you that wished that was true and based on some of the looks Rick gave you, it seemed he wanted it to.

However, you were worried about becoming distracted, no matter how much you wanted the man. And if your own emotions and self guilt were threatening to overcome you, that wouldn’t help anyone. You had to be strong for your people and breaking down over your own fucked up problems would not help anyone. So you kept your eyes on your people and made sure they were safe.

As the fire slowly died down and people around you were snoring peacefully, you listened to the world around you, reading every sound like a word in a book. Analyzing the sharp sounds of a nearby bird or the way a branch snapped in a quick breeze. You could identify a threat and a harmless natural occurrence faster than anybody else, except maybe Daryl. It was why nobody argued with you when you kept watch.

A sound to your right had your hand sliding to your thigh, but you let it drop when you realized who was approaching. Rick moved through the dark, nearly invisible, but his boots was what gave him away. As well as his smell which was a mixture of dirt, blood, and pine needles. He didn’t say anything as he sat down next to you, keeping his eyes forward. His fingers fiddled with a few pieces of dry grass.

“Judith okay?” You asked quietly in the darkness. Rick turned to look at you as his hands stilled.

“She’s fine,” Rick said. “Carl is with her, Glenn and Maggie too.”

“That’s good,” you said, letting out a breath.

After a few more minutes of silence, Rick slowly moved his hand to where you had a grip on one of your weapons. You hadn’t even realized you had been holding onto it that tight.

Without a word, he gently loosened your fingers around the blade’s handle and let your hand fall to the ground. His hand lay next to yours, not wanting to intrude any further, but you did something that surprised him. You slowly laced your fingers between his, feeling the warmth of his palm in yours.

Rick didn’t move or even question it, he just sat there, breathing in the moment. You sighed, letting your head fall back against the rough bark of the tree. Slowly, your thumb began rubbing small circles on the back of Rick’s hand. You could hear his breathing start to match yours as if you were in tandem. It was peaceful.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” you whispered, keeping you eyes on the dying embers before you.

“You may not think I notice when you’re upset, but I do. I notice a lot more than you think.” Rick shuffled slightly closer, your shoulders now touching and your hand resting on his thigh. The tears came back at his words and he waited for you to speak.

“I’m broken, Rick,” you began. He didn’t correct you or disagree, he just listened while holding your hand. “I’ve been keeping up this facade that I don’t care about anything and that I hate everyone around me, but it’s not me. It’s not true. I just can’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” he asked gently. You looked at him as the tears flowed down your face.

“Be alone.”

“Who says you have to be?” he asked. “Why do you think that you need to be alone in all of this?”

“It’s easier,” you admitted.

“No, it’s not,” he whispered. “Blocking people out and going off your own is the opposite of easy. We need people, especially now. We need each other, (Y/N), We need you,” he paused and tightened his grip on your hand. “I need you.”

You looked at him through your tears, tilting your head as you always did when you were thinking. “Why?” you whispered. He knew what you were asking without having you explain.

“Because you smell of lavender and you like bad country music and hate when people walk slow,” he said with a small smile. “Because you call me out on my bullshit and you keep us safe. (Y/N), you are not broken, you’re the one thing that is keeping us together, keeping me together. You say you hate everybody, but maybe you don’t. Maybe you just haven’t found the right somebody.” Rick let his words sink in. He watched your face the best he could in the low light of the moon. You were thinking over everything he said and he was glad that you weren’t running.

Then, you took back your hand. Rick sighed, figuring you were going to tell him to stay out of you business and stalk off, but that wasn’t what you did at all.

Taking the hand that was holding his, you moved it to the side of his face. The beard on his chin and cheeks scratched at your palms as you placed your other hand on his other cheek. You searched his blue eyes, looking for anything that resembled a lie, but you couldn’t see one.

“I’m always trying to make a memory out of a feeling,” you whispered.

“What do you feel right now?” he asked, very aware that your faces were moving closer.

“Not alone,” you said after a moment of silence. Rick rested his forehead against yours, feeling your breath against his face.

“Then I hope you remember this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Rick placed his hands around your waist, pulling you closer and waited for you to push him away. When you didn’t, he nudged your chin up with his own and pressed his nose against yours. You met him the rest of the way and pressed your lips against his.

He kissed you in a slow but firm rhythm. Your hands threaded into his soft hair and his moved to cup the back of your neck and the small of your back to pull you even closer.

You sighed into his mouth and he relished in the feeling when your tongues met and you leaned into him. It wasn’t rushed or heated like the other times you had kissed men in your travels. You didn’t want it to be. You felt every firm touch of his fingers and the softness of his lips as he kissed you tenderly. There was no raging heat between you, just a loving warmth that surrounded you both.

You pulled back to catch your breath, looking at him and he smiled. You matched his expression easily. He whispered something that sounded like your name and you pulled him back to you. Your kisses started to get more languid as you held onto each other. Rick’s hands smoothed down your back and ran along your scalp, creating shudders from you as you held onto him.

Seeing as you were out in the open and on watch, you didn’t take it further as much as you both wanted to. As your fatigue caught up to you, Rick adjusted his position, leaning back against the tree with his gun at the ready and maneuvered you so you lay against his chest. “Sleep, (Y/N),” he said, “I’ll keep watch.”

For the first time in a long time, you nodded and did as he said. You lay your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You let out a deep breath and as you drifted off to sleep, his words from earlier echoed in her head. You thought you hated everybody, but hell, maybe you didn’t after all.

Note: this is strictly a one-shot. I dont see many rick x read stories and I love rick grimes so fucking much. If you know any good ones, please send them to me. Im desperate.

#the walking dead imagines #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #reader insert #twd #twd imagines #twd season 5 #fluff #twd imagine

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gingerwritess · 5 years ago

Note

Ok so first of all just read your latest installment of predating idiots and OMG IM IN LOVE, as always when I read your fics!😍 you were asking for ideas and my brain spit out a random piece of crap, feel free to hate it.... maybe Loki/Laing has another patient, that requires a LOT of magic to heal, and he uses so much effort in that his illusion starts to fade and reader sees his scars again and patches him up I guess? Angsty, soft, want to trust each other but afraid? Feel free to hate it😂

GASP i love it !!! thank you for sending this in! (combined with a request for “fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade” from @grufflepuff !)

part 15 FINALLY of predating idiots, featuring much idiocy, lots of cluelessness, and slow progression towards understanding

warning: includes mentions of Loki’s past abuse, descriptions of injuries, blood

— — — —

Robert Laing, as you are slowly finding out, has gathered quite the reputation among Stark employees.

Scattered whispers of saving a life, curing a disease, even reattaching limbs float among the break rooms and bathroom sinks, following you everywhere you try to escape.

Whether any of that is true or just a rumour started by the “doctor” himself, you don’t care.

Loki is…confusing. Not someone you should be worrying about when rebuilding your life is looking up, your professional life seems to be doing well, and someone even left a gift card for the bakery you frequent on your desk.

You’re guessing Marcus, one of your guards. The one who holds the doors for you—“not because you can’t,” he’d assured you, “just because I can.”

Your romantic life can’t possibly be on the rise, too, when everything else is going so well, right??

The rumours about you have started circulating, too.

Popular opinion decided that you and Dr. Laing never broke up in the first place, so you find yourself back in that fake little relationship—without having talked to the other member in nearly a month.

That does make it easier, though.

Acting is much simpler done solo.

Until, of course, someone comes up and asks you how skydiving over Paris was last weekend and you realise that oh yeah, this fake-relationship has to go two ways.

One of these days, one of you will screw this up.

You just weren’t ready for it to be today, and you always figured it’d be you who screws it up.

—

“I’ve made a mistake.”

You’ve heard that before—and in that case, you were the mistake he was referring to.

“I don’t care,” you reply, not bothering to look up from your laptop.

“Please.”

Figures that he chooses now to come taunt you.

“I’m sick of you, Loki, I’m not joking. Leave.”

All you hear in response is a heavy thud.

“Get out,” you repeat, slamming your hands on the desk as you stand. “I swear to god, I don’t want to hear—oh, my god.”

Fallen to his hands and knees, Loki’s covered in blood.

“What the hell—”

It’s not Loki, but it’s not Laing, either.

You slam the door shut and drop to your knees by his side. “What happened to you?”

“Messed up,” he grunts, eyes squeezed shut. “Can’t go to anyone else.”

Yeah, clearly; he’s half-and-half, right now, if anyone else saw him, there’s no denying who he is. Dark eyebrows furrow in pain over Loki’s blue-green eyes, but his hair is as short as Laing’s—though still as dark as Loki’s.

If he weren’t bleeding through his lab coat, you’d surely make fun of him for it…and desperately ignore how short, curly hair really suits him.

“How do you—uh, what do you want me to do?”

He winces, smashing a fist against the floor with a grunt of pain. “I need a cloth,” he says hoarsely. “Extra shirt, towel, something. Stop the blood.”

Nodding quickly, you hurry to the nearest bathroom and grab a handful of paper towels—they’ll have to do.

For a split-second you pause at the door. Déja vu sends your mind reeling—you’ve been in this situation before.

Loki has crawled to you before, bruised and bloodied, and here he is again.

“If you’re looking for gratitude, mortal, look elsewhere.”

You hear a grating cough from behind the door and steel yourself.

Compassion doesn’t come with gratitude.

You’ve already almost killed him twice now; the least you could do is not make it thrice.

“I need you to sit in a chair,” you say when you slip back through the door, shutting it behind you. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Setting the paper towels on the desk, you crouch beside his slumped form and sling his arm over your shoulders, heaving him as best you can into one of the chairs in front of your desk.

His weight falls limp onto your support—like a dead weight. Slumped and defeated.

The bleeding is coming from his back, no doubt from the cuts you saw all those days ago.

“Loki?”

Another grunt.

“I’m going to help you.” You crouch in front of him to meet his pained gaze. “But. You cannot threaten me, wipe my memory, kill me, or anything else to undermine my help after this.”

Slumped forward and gripping his knees to his chest, his eyes remain fixed on yours, silent.

“Is that clear?” Placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, you raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t trust you, I need to hear you say it.”

He grits his teeth, but croaks out a quiet “I understand” all the same.

“Great,” you smile dryly. “I’m gonna have to touch you, too, I hope that’s okay.”

All you get is a quick nod.

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Coat caked with blood, you take it from him and gingerly dump it in the trash before helping him carefully peel the soaked button-up from his torso.

“No questions,” he chokes, immediately going back to hugging his knees to his chest.

You can’t bring yourself to respond.

This is worse than you could’ve imagined.

“What happened?”

Ignoring his request completely, you quickly whet some of the paper towels and set to work wiping the blood off any unopened patches of skin, as few as there are.

His whole body jerks with each touch, every gentle press on a cut, and he ignores your question just the same.

“Loki,” you say again. “Just tell me what happened this time.”

Something awful, clearly, but surely not as bad as whatever made these scars in the first place. Blood trickles from each of the countless reopened wounds, and he just sits there, silently shaking as if the pain he must be feeling actually feels like nothing at all.

Your heart pounds, and you fear you can’t be soft enough for how badly he’s broken.

“Please, tell me something.”

“I made a mistake.” His voice cracks and wavers, like it might die altogether. “As usual.”

“Did you…blow your cover?”

“Nearly.”

“What happened?”

You know there’s a first aid kit in the bottom drawer of your desk, so you hurry to retrieve it when the blood flow slows, and Loki quietly answers.

“I tried to take another patient. Shrapnel lodged behind the ear, nothing I can’t handle. But people were watching, I–I had too many illusions, I couldn’t—”

“Loki,” you interrupt with a wince, the couple bandages from the kit in hand. “Get rid of all the illusions you’re using.”

“What?”

“I, uh, don’t know how your illusions work.” You tap the back of his head. “But your hair is still short, and that means you’ve still got one on. We should be treating you, just you. No illusions, then maybe you can actually heal.”

You hold your breath—he’ll either do it, or that’ll be the straw to break the camel’s back…

“No questions,” comes the quiet reply.

“No promises.”

He’s silent as the last bits of his energy wash over him.

“Loki.”

“I said no questions.”

Black and blue and purple and yellowed, he’s pale, bruised and lashed to pieces, slouched in front of your desk with his head on his knees, his spine protruding much too prominently from his skeletal frame.

Minutes from death, manifested in a human form.

“Oh, my god,” is all you can manage. You can’t wrap the bandages fast enough, shaking hands holding gauze to the cuts and wrapping the bandages tight around his chest and stomach. “Oh, my god.”

Securing the last bandage, you stumble away from him, still staring in horror at the barely alive form struggling to breathe.

“Don’t look,” he rasps.

You don’t want to, in all honesty, but you round his chair and crouch in front of him, cautiously laying a hand on his arm. He flinches as expected, but slowly lifts his head to look at you.

This isn’t a god.

“Oh, my god.”

“Stop,” he hisses, shoving your hand off his arm. “Stop pitying me, stop, stop it—”

“Shut up,” you order, still gaping at the state of his face, and surprisingly, he does.

Bloody, dotted wounds line his dry, cracked lips, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, lined with yellowed flesh that seems as if it’s been blistered from too much heat. You stare, shamelessly.

“Are you quite done—”

“No.”

Stuck in a horrified trance, you lift a hand towards his face and carefully, gently trace your fingertips along the wounds lining his mouth.

Those ones are peculiar. Small and precise, matched perfectly along the upper lip and under the lower.

Your mind jumps to the worst and you try not to entertain the possibility of needles, but Loki gives a grim laugh.

“Had to silence the silvertongue somehow.”

Your stomach churns just at the thought.

“Who did this to you?”

“That’s not of any importance.”

“This isn’t okay,” you say, a finger moving helplessly to trace down his nose, bruised and looking as though it’s been broken a couple times. “Oh, my god, Loki, you have to tell someone.”

He shakes his head, that same grim smile on his grotesque face. “People only listen to what they want to hear.”

“I–I think they’ll want to hear about this!” You gesture incredulously at, well, all of him. “Obviously someone was using you, tell Thor.”

“No. They wanted an origin story, so I gave them one.”

“But it’s a lie,” you plead, pulling yourself to unsteady feet.

“God of lies.” He points a bony finger at his chest.

Caught up in the shock of his horribly beaten state, you don’t catch the confession.

“Well, y-you need help,” you decide, voice shaky. Your hand ghosts along his shoulder, bringing a wince to the god when you reach his bruised neck. “Can I take you to a hospital?”

“Absolutely not.” Closing his eyes, he takes a couple deep, steadying breaths and the wounds start to fade, some stitching themselves shut. “Please, move your hand.”

You do, quickly pulling your hand back from his neck.

“At least tell me what’s going on.”

“I messed up,” he slowly replies, still focused with eyes closed. “Bit off more than I could stomach.”

“Learning your limits is good,” you offer quietly.

He gives a dry, breathy laugh, hands starting to shake as his skin returns to a normal, healthy colour. “I’m the only one keeping myself alive, at the moment,” he explains. “Between trying to heal, keeping up a facade, and now trying to treat your wounded kind, I’m losing strength.”

You hesitate, unsure as to why he would be admitting that to you.

“Losing the double was a relief.” He’s still talking, eyes shut and a trembling hand brushing over the the needlepoint wounds lining his mouth. “I couldn’t have kept it up much longer anyways.”

“Can’t you talk to Thor?”

“No, I—”

“Why not?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t go back to Asgard.”

“But Thor will understand,” you press again, meeting his gaze when he finally opens his eyes. “He’s your brother, all you have to do is explain what happened to you…don’t laugh.”

Loki just keeps laughing, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. Cold and humourless, but now falsely stronger.

“He’s not my brother.”

“What do you mean?” You laugh, too, just once and puzzled. “Of course he’s your brother, he talks about you all the time and calls you his brother—”

“I am not of the house of Odin,” Loki whispers, and a sick smile works it’s way onto his face. “If you knew what I am, you would have killed me when I asked you to.”

You steel yourself, gaze hardening against his own.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not doing this again.”

His eyebrow lifts—you glare back, no backing down this time.

“Doing…what, exactly?”

“Anything that has to do with you,” you snap.

It’s just more illusions, you know, but he gets so cocky and mean and cold when the facade is up. Always after you finish patching him up and send him back on his way.

The god smiles.

“I’m sick of you taking advantage of me,” you quickly blurt before he can say anything. “A–and I don’t get why you won’t just help yourself by talking to someone.”

“No one wants to hear my story,” he says simply. “Trust me.”

“You’re wrong.”

One of the bandages slips out of place, the end of it falling onto his thigh.

With a sigh, you trudge behind him again, grab the bandage, and start winding it around him, sure to make it more secure this time. “Kindness isn’t some myth,” you huff, tugging tighter than may be necessary. “Some people actually care about others and actually want to help other people on their journeys, but the universe hates you, hm?”

Loki doesn’t respond anything more than a grunt when you yank the bandage tight against one of the cuts.

“I get it though.” The bandage secure, your hands come to a stop just below his neck, staring at one of the scars streaking along his shoulder blade. “It’s a lot easier to feel sorry for yourself than to ask for help.”

“Don’t belittle me.”

You try not to roll your eyes. All that, and that’s how he interprets it.

“Well. If you ever get around to swallowing your pride, just know that there’s people willing to help you.”

Your gaze drops from the scar to his shoulder blade, half covered with a bandage but still adding a lovely dip to the planes of his battered back.

Without thinking, you touch him one more time.

“People like you?” He asks sharply, tensing under your touch.

Your fingers trail ever so softly, barely there to begin with, along the edge of his shoulder blade.

“Yeah.”

― ― ― ―

fuel the writer?

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas

~ breaking up the taglist to fix the scrolling problem! ~

@doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15

~ scroll here ~

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~ scroll here ~

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#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #loki slowburn series #loki x reader fluff #pre-dating idiots #loki requests #lets get some tension up in here #loki fanfiction #loki drabbles #loki laufeyson

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zweiginator · 6 years ago

Text

D’yer Mak’er

Brian May x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and your roommate Brian are losing sleep because of your neighbors’ loud sexual endeavors. What begins as a payback to annoy the couple ends in the eruption of years of tension, lust, and love. (Prompt idea from @okqueenie ;) )

Word Count: 6,933

Warnings: cuteness, pining, sexual tension, unprotected sex, oral, handjobs--VERY filthy oopsie (btw it’s late and im too lazy to proofread so sorry!) p.s sorry national geographic for defaming your brand :/

Your arm was tingling, your nerves needle-like, shooting through your bicep, then threading towards your elbow, down into your fingers which felt numb, prickly, and in pain. Your head rested upon your desk, your hair fanned out in front of you, covering your book--an awfully boring paperback of Hamlet that Brian, your roommate, so kindly let you borrow. You were groaning when your professor assigned the reading; Shakespeare’s language wasn’t one you spoke. So, Brian, being the sweetheart he is, shuffled to his room, his wool socks staticky against the wooden floors. He traced his elegant fingers along the spines of his books--all of them neatly arranged, from tallest to shortest. His fingers halted at a thin paperback, yellowed and dusty, with a cracked spine. He plucked it from the shelf and ran back into your room next door.

“Found it!” He tossed it to you, catching you off guard. The book fell open on the floor, a sepia dust bunny escaping from between the pages.

You picked it up apprehensively, holding it by the corner so dust wouldn’t latch onto your thick knit sweater. “Thanks?” You shook the book, jumping back as more dust fell from the copy, like a desert storm tumbling from sand pages. “But I already have a copy.” You cocked your head towards your desk, where a pristine, non-dusty copy sat, untouched.

“You don’t have Brian May’s copy though.” He grabbed the book from you, not caring about the particles that danced upon the sleeve of his blue zip-up hoodie. “Be ready to be amazed, Y/N.” He patted the spot next to him on your bed. Your comforter was piled into the corner, your sheets crinkled and cold from the winter air seeping through your window that never seemed to close completely. Instead, you sat on his leg, and he winced, his leg pulling away slightly.

“Your arse is cold as hell.” He looked up at you, his thumb marking the page he was going to show you--it must have been a good one.

“Shut up.” You motioned to the book, scooting yourself into a comfortable position which seemed to fare impossible; his leg was much too bony. “You know my ass is hot.” You wiggled a little, and he grabbed your waist reflexively, quickly turning to the page. He looked flustered, his eyebrows knitted together as he squinted at the text, the book tiny in his hands.

“See?” He ran a finger down the golden yellow page, tracing over countless translations and ideas he had written in the margins, some in smeared pencil, some in deep black ink.

You grabbed the book, squinting at the barely-legible handwriting that bordered the pages. “Too bad I can’t possibly decode what the hell this says.”

Brian rolled his eyes, his jaw tensing, just barely. “Forget about it, then.” He turned his nose up, yanking the book from you and softly pushing you off of him, getting up to return it to its rightful place in his own room.

“No!” You reached out, grabbing his leg and pulling him back to sit on the bed, but he slipped, and fell promptly on the floor, his tailbone smacking against the hardwood.

“Fuck!” He rubbed at his ass, wincing in pain, hissing at the ache that was climbing up his spine, tingly and sharp.

“I’m sorry, Brian!” You ruffled his hair, jumping up to get him an ice-pack, or really, a freezer-burned package of frozen vegetables which you and Brian would forever be too lazy to prepare. But instead, he grabbed your ankle, making you stumble to the ground like he did, catching yourself, your open palms tingling as they hit the floor. “Okay, I’m not sorry anymore.” You sat up, leaning against your bed like Brian was, grabbing the book from him and trying to read the margins. In reality, his handwriting wasn’t too difficult to decipher; you had known Brian for so long, it became second nature to read his chicken scratch. It was almost a test to see who was closest to Brian--it seemed only his bandmates and you could make out his convoluted lettering.

You shook your arm as you recalled the memory, lifting your head from its spot on the desk. Your ankles were crossed under the chair you were sitting at, and you realized Brian shoved a pillow between your back and the chair, which relieved some of the pain. Your neck hurt though, as it hung--almost lifelessly--for the entire night. You wiped some drool from your chin, grimacing at the gross sensation; it was semi-dry and crusted on your face. “Ew,” You sat up straight, your back cracking slightly as you maneuvered it. Brian’s copy of Hamlet was face down on the desk. You had actually been reading it pretty easily--thanks to Brian’s annotations--but you were exhausted from the antics of your neighbors.

For months now, you had been lacking sleep severely, waking up in the wee hours of the morning, your bed shaking from the arrhythmic banging of your neighbors’ headboard against the plastered walls. You always resorted to covering your head with your pillow, groaning and rolling your eyes and suppressing laughter at times--the couple’s moans were so fake and contrived. And every time they had sex--which was often--it seemed to get worse; more pornographic and less passionate--if that were possible, with the lack of chemistry these people seemed to have. There were plenty of times you had surrendered to your curiosity and held a cup against the wall, cringing as you heard screams that sounded more panicked than pleasured. Sometimes you would yelp as a firm, assured slapping noise would ping off of the walls, echoing in your ears even though they remained squished and completely covered by your pillows.

You had noticed Brian becoming more restless too; his eyes had become more sunken, his lips in a perpetual pout. Whenever he shaved, there was an uneven patch or two that he would forget to touch, and you would laugh at him, stroking your fingers over the thick, almost black hair, confused as to how he could have possibly missed it.

“Brian, come here.” You wiped your hands on your jeans as you chewed some buttered popcorn, your feet on the green coffee table, which didn’t match the design of the flat at all. You and a few friends were watching a soap opera, curled under Brian’s favorite knit blanket. You could tell he was mad you were using it, because he rose his eyebrows at you, cocking his head to the side as he sat next to you on the couch. There wasn’t much room for him, so he sat awkwardly on the edge, looking like a small child waiting for instructions of what to do next. You traced your fingers along his jaw, scratching at the dark stubble that was juxtaposed by the completely bare, hairless skin on the rest of his face. “You missed a spot.” Brian’s hand slapped yours away. “Just a smidge.” You tilted his head to the other side, seeing that the same spot on his right side was hairy as well.

“Stop!” He rolled his eyes, pinching your leg as he got up, pulling his hoodie over his head, mussing up his hair in the process. “I’m tired from rehearsals. Plus--” He shook his head, opting to leave his thoughts unsaid. He yanked his blanket off of your body, folding it neatly and tucking it under his willowy arm.

“What? Spit it out.” You and your friends looked at Brian inquisitively, all cocking your eyebrows at him, almost synchronized.

“The neighbors.” He mumbled, bending over the coffee table to straighten a book your foot had moved off-kilter. Brian’s body obscured the television, and you lightly pushed him back, your foot pressing against his hard stomach.

“Move,” You ate more popcorn, watching your program. “What about the neighbors?” You obviously knew what he was alluding to, but you wanted to see him flustered; you loved to tease him.

“You haven’t heard them, you know--” His voice faltered, falling a few decibels. “Doing it?”

“Oh God, Brian.” You giggled, a piece of popcorn falling onto your lap. “Grow up, man. ‘Doing it?’” You mocked him, and he tickled your foot, making you yelp, your head falling back as he scratched a nail on the underside of your sock-covered foot, knowing you were ticklish there. He grinned, canines exposed, his cheeks lifted. He took some popcorn from your bowl and walked into his room, giving you and your friends a quick wave before shutting the door softly behind him.

A few hours later, your legs were resting on Brian’s lap, your head laying against the arm of the couch. Brian was flipping through a National Geographic magazine, examining the wildlife pictures, like he always did when a new issue came out. You were reading Hamlet--still--but you were almost done, thanks to Brian, who happily analyzed the scenes for you, even insisting on pointing out some far-fetched allegories that made you second-guess trusting his far-fetched ideas.

“I don’t think that’s true, Brian.” You peered over your book and nudged his leg with your foot. Brian finished reading a particularly riveting line about the anemone in the Great Reef, holding a finger up until he was done reading.

“Hmm?” He bookmarked the magazine with an old receipt, throwing it on the coffee table.

“I don’t think that the costumes represent--” You started, before hearing a crashing noise next door--like metal pans clashing together, then falling twenty seven feet into jagged rocks. It was piercing and utterly startling, so your foot accidentally dug into Brian’s balls sharply.

“JESUS!” Brian tossed your legs off of his lap and held his groin, hissing in pain.

You hushed him, apologizing by stroking his hair a bit as you sat on your knees, leaning towards the noise. “What are they doing?” It sounded like they were in the kitchen; their apartment was a mirror image of yours, so everything was just a bit flipped around.

“I dunno.” Brian crossed his arms and picked his magazine back up, grumpy from lack of sleep and the dull pain stagnant in his balls. He picked a piece of lint from the page he was reading, flicking it onto your stomach, covered by his hoodie.

“I think they’re having sex in the kitchen this time.” You whispered for some reason, as if it were possible they could hear you. You braced your hand on Brian’s shoulder, the knobbed end of his collarbone hard against your touch.

“It’s weird to listen in on them.” Brian announced in monotone, flipping the page of his magazine, his eyes gleaming as he saw an article about space exploration. “Did you hear about thi-” Brian began to ask, before you interrupted him, which he registered as quite rude on your part, with a sharp inhale.

“Listen in on them?” You scoffed. “Bri, we haven’t slept for weeks because they’re fucking each other so loudly. We aren’t spying on them.” You shoved his shoulder a little, watching him as he nibbled at his lips as he attempted to focus on what he was reading. You could tell he was being stubborn, that he was curious like you, but he acted unfazed, shifting in his spot as his eyes scanned the glossy pages in front of him. Plus, he thought it was a little odd, listening to a middle-aged couple have sex with his roommate-slash-best friend.

You scooted your body closer to his, leaning forward to press your ear against the wall that the couch was leant against. Brian gulped and looked away, seeing your pajama shorts ride up a bit, the curve of your ass prominent from under the cotton fabric, lace trimming adorning the hem. He loved when you wore those, and he may have accidentally-on-purpose washed them extra frequently so they would shrink, just a bit. He moved the hair away from his eyes and tapped his fingers along the page he was reading--or attempting to read--before he shoved it in between the cushions and joined you, the peculiarity of the situation next door trumping his interest in space travels for the time being--no matter how pathetic that sounded to him.

The sides of your arms touched as you both listened, the sounds barely subdued by the layers of drywall in between you two--and the blood thumping, rushing towards your hot ears. It sounded like their sink had turned on in the process of their endeavors, and Brian, feeling cheeky, banged on the wall with a closed fist. “Turn off the bloody water! You’re wasting it!” He turned to you for approval, almost. You shoved him playfully and banged on the wall with him, cackling together as you heard the husband’s skin slapping. It was obscene and inappropriate, but you looked at Brian menacingly.

“OH ALLEN!” You moaned dramatically, coming up with an arbitrary name on the spot. It was completely fake-sounding, and Brian giggled, rocking on the couch to bang it against the wall repeatedly. You nodded at him, determined, doing the same thing that he was, rocking your bodies forward then backwards to push it against the wall forcefully. Your pinkies touched as your elbows did too, completely and utterly focused on annoying them just as much as they had you. Brian lifted his arms up and banged them against the wall again, his shirt riding up enough for you to see his stomach, toned and still tanned from a short-run of being a summer gardener--your idea to bring in more rent money. Your own stomach flipped and you turned away.

“PLEASE DON’T STOP AMANDA!” Brian moaned facetiously, pushing his knees into the back of the couch, his hips bucking forward dramatically. You looked at him questioningly, mouthing Amanda? Really?, as he smiled at you, his knuckles raw from beating on the wall.

And as suddenly as they began, the noises stopped. The pans halted their clanging, the grating sound of the metal fizzling, dissipating from your ears. You both sighed in relief, and Brian plopped down on his knees, taking a deep breath that ghosted just barely over your neck. You shivered, the aftershock of the odd situation making your breath hesitate as you also fell to your knees on the couch, the springs creaking as you both moved, unsure of what to say or do next.

Brian was panting, a coy smile on his lips. He was a bit sweaty, his neck was glistening, and his fingers fiddled with his silver necklace, the metal of the ring he was wearing clinking against the thin chain, the small tinkling pleasant in your ear after the horrible noises that had just stopped minutes before.

“Are you hungry?” Brian asked, pulling his legs out from under his butt, slipping his socks off. He saw you grimacing at him and clicked his tongue at you, his jaw twitching. “What? I’m sweaty.”

You feigned a gag as he held the sweaty socks in front of your nose, swinging them like a pendulum, soaked with body odor. “Gross!” You tried to smack them out of his hands, but he held them higher, just out of your reach to tease you. “Get your dirty socks out of my fucking face, or I swear to God--”

“You shouldn’t say that, Y/N!” He bit his lip and gasped dramatically as you tried to knock the socks out from in front of your face again. His voice was deeper than usual, and you grabbed his wrist as you fell forward; the couch cushions were unsteady. Brian fell backwards, his head hitting the arm of the couch opposite of you. His hair bounced, the ambient lighting shining against his brilliant curls. You had convinced him to embrace his natural hair, and it looked good on him, accentuating him, his look. Your thigh brushed against his crotch, and Brian hissed, sitting up quickly, shaking the curls from his eyes. “I’m going to get us some takeout. Chinese?” He rubbed the back of his neck, stretching as he stood up, the buttons of his shirt threatening to pop as he extended his long arms towards the humming ceiling fan.

“Yeah, sounds good.” You curled up on the couch, opening your book again, your eyes skimming the page, but not encoding a thing. You noticed Brian shifting his trousers, wincing as his hand brushed over the front of them. He grabbed his keys from the table, his magazine strategically placed in front of his groin as he said goodbye, waving at you, his keys tucked under three fingers.

“The usual?” He peeked his head through the door, his curls getting caught by a raw splinter of wood sticking out from the door frame. He pulled the strand from the sharp edge, waiting for your response.

“Yeah,” You nodded, tilting your head back to give him a grin. “But get extra white rice. You always forget.”

He began to shut the door, his large hand wrapped around the brass doorknob, shrouded by a dulled stain.

“Wait!” You jumped up, bracing yourself on the coffee table as you slipped. Brian flinched, lunging forward reflexively.

“You ok, sweets?” Brian lifted a brow, pulling fallen strands of his hair from his hoodie. You smiled at the nickname, standing up straight, adjusting your sweater that was becoming increasingly hot and heavy. You revealed a pen from behind your back, pulling Brian towards you by his hands which were warm, and very soft. You wondered if he had been using lotion more often--and then you coughed, registering the innuendo. You clicked the pen, poking your tongue out slightly as you wrote the note on his hand, underlining it twice, the scrape of the pen against his hand making a sharp white line appear, just momentarily.

“Don’t forget.” You looked up at him, noticing a faint droplet of sweat dripping down his neck, pooling into the hollow space where his collarbones protruded.

Your throat was dry when you woke up, and you didn’t know if it was because of your and Brian’s acting the day before, or the spicy kung pao chicken that Brian brought home in a greasy paper bag, beaming as he pulled out a giant takeout carton full of white rice, some of it spilling from the top. You swallowed, feeling a burn perfuse down your esophagus, wincing and coughing as you sat up. Your neck was still achey; your head automatically positioning itself in the position that allowed the least amount of sounds to pass through your ears--perks of having awful neighbors.

You pulled on a sweatshirt--one you stole from Brian’s room. It was red, and had that fresh, clean softness that proved it hadn’t been washed too many times. It was comforting; Brian’s scent pervaded the fabric, and you relished in the earthy, almost sweet smell of him, rubbing your hands together as you pulled your door open. You walked to the kitchen, where Brian’s guitar case was laid on the counter. You sighed, rolling your eyes. He knew you hated when he did that. You didn’t even have a reason for loathing it--you just did. Both you and Brian had little things that made you tic. The first time you ever heard Brian really yell was when you found out one of his--he despised disorganization. He was at a gig the year before, and the venue was a few hours away, so the boys slept in the van, half-drunk and a bit dizzy, weaned off of adrenaline highs. While he was gone, you rearranged all of his books. You flipped some so the pages faced forward, and kept some of the spines facing out. You took all of his pants from one drawer, and then all of his shirts from the other--then you switched them. You could have done more, but you didn’t hate Brian. So you fell asleep, curled into the corner of the couch to let Brian in more easily when he came home--he could never interpret how to work a key and a lock when he was drunk.

He wasn’t drunk when he returned, though. He opened the door discreetly, slipping through, taking his clogs off as he sat down, hunched over to be as quiet as possible. When he saw his bookshelf, he exploded.

“Y/N!” He slammed his duffle bag on the floor, his pins from all of the different cities he’d visited scratching against a raised floorboard. You jumped up, patting your hair down as you turned the floor lamp on, the warm light ambient and mellow.

“Brian? You’re home already?” You glanced at the clock; it was seven in the morning, so it made sense for him to be back.

“It’s seven.” He confirmed. “Can you explain this?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his forearms were veiny, bulging from his sleeves; one was pulled all of the way down, one was rolled up halfway.

You laughed softly. “The books? I just thought it would annoy you.”

His eyes hardened, and his jaw protruded as he sucked his bottom lip, before releasing it with a pronounced pop. “It worked. Don’t you have better shit to do than mess with my personal fucking belongings?”

You scowled, stepping closer to him. For the first time since you had met him, his tall frame wasn’t languid--it was intimidating. The shadow of a beard was forming on his cheeks, pebbling down his elegant neck, where two necklaces were layered, resting on his collarbones. “It’s not a big fucking deal, Brian.” You turned around to leave, but he grabbed your wrist, holding onto it so hard he could feel your pulse racing.

“Fix it.” He looked at you sternly, his eyes glaring into your own. You expected him to laugh and ruffle your hair a bit, but he didn’t. He just stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door; you heard the shower faucet creak a minute later. Your legs shook as you bent down to fix the books, trying to ignore the warmth pooling at your core.

You were reaching into a cupboard, trying to find a glass for some water, when you heard crashing in the bathroom and the shrieking of the shower curtain rings scraping at the curtain rod.

“Y/N!” Brian yelled, almost hopelessly.

“Hmm!” You scurried to the bathroom door, pressing your ear against it. You could faintly feel the warmth emanating from underneath the door.

“I forgot to bring a towel in with me. Can you get me one?” You could hear him gathering the fallen shampoo bottles and setting them on the ledge.

“What do you say?” You challenged.

“Please, would you so kindly fetch me a towel, Y/N?” He pleaded, half sarcastically.

You got him one, wiggling the doorknob to the bathroom as you held it underneath your arm. “Open up, Bri!”

He quickly unlocked the door, peering through the crack, reaching a soaked hand out. His wrist was dripping with steamy water, his arm a lot more defined than you remembered it being in the summer. He pulled the towel from your hands, quickly turning around so he could wrap it around his waist. You saw his ass for a split second, and you attempted to stifle your laughter, to no avail.

Brian shut the door, re-locking it as he dried his hair and got dressed for class. He had a denim button up on, and black velvet trousers that hugged him nicely. His hair was still sopping wet as he left the bathroom, but he softly dried his locks with the towel; you told him to be gentle with his curls.

You were biting your lip, trying to suppress the laughter which was bubbling up into your throat and quickly threatening to spill over. Brian looked at you, knowing that meant you were about to make fun of him for something.

“What is it? Lay it on me.” He sat down, resuming his reading of his National Geographic, his eyes roaming the pages quickly. He turned the magazine sideways, squinting at a picture of the stars that filled the entire two-page spread.

“Your butt.” You sat down next to him, poking at his ass as he attempted to focus on his reading.

“You saw my arse? Big deal.” He feigned to be uncaring, but you could see his cheeks flushing into a scarlet that seeped down his neck.

“It was small! Your butt is tiny.” You tickled at his hips, and he flinched, his teeth protruding from underneath his pink lips, forming the beginnings of a smile. “Tiny butt.” Brian rolled his eyes, turning his head to face you. He closed his magazine and crossed his arms, resting his legs on the coffee table.

“So what if I have a tiny butt--hey! That rhymed!” He realized, leaning his head on the cushion behind him.

You heard a crashing sound--the unfortunately familiar sound of clashing pans crossing your threshold, even between Brian’s Led Zeppelin vinyl and two--albeit thin--walls. “They’re fucking at it again!”

You both groaned, following the sounds like a labyrinth of awful moans and grunts swirling into one epicenter. “Wait.” Brian halted, holding his arm out, as a signal for you to stay still. “I think they’re in the shower.”

Sure enough, you heard their shower running, then panting, then the sound of someone’s body being slammed against the wall. “Ouch!” You looked at Brian, amazed. “That must’ve fucking hurt.” You leaned against the kitchen counter, Brian’s guitar leant against it; you smiled a bit, realizing he moved it off of the counter, knowing you hated when it was there.

The room was quiet, save for your and Brian’s breathing. The heel of your foot hit the wooden paneled column of the counter every once in awhile. You heard heavy panting, groans and whimpers from next door, and you and Brian just looked at each other, as if saying: Are we really gonna do this again? You both understood each other’s almost subliminal looks, and nodded simultaneously. You raced back to the couch, both of your socks making you slide against the floor, and you both braced your inevitable falls on the arms of the couch, climbing over them.

Brian held up three long fingers, then two, then just one, before giving you a firm nod, eyebrows concentrated, solemn looking. “Oh FUCK! RIGHT THERE!” He knelt on the couch, scooting forwards and backwards to imitate the harsh banging noises they so often made next door.

“THAT FEELS SO GOOD! OH GOD!” You did the same as he was; you two were synchronized, breathing heavily as you began to grunt and whimper, Brian clapping his hands to simulate skin-slapping sounds, and you rose your eyebrows, giving him a thumbs up. Nice touch, you mouthed, and he bowed a little, his hair bouncing, messy from his movements.

The couple was relentless though, continuing their desperate, obviously bad, sex. Brian held a finger up, before stepping off of the couch and kneeling in front of it. He gripped the bottom of the furniture, his wrists flexing from the weight, pulling it forward and slamming it back against the wall--with you still sat on top of it. He continued to do this, the grunts coming organically from his lips, from the exertion. You were panting, your chest heaving quickly from the yelling, from the odd exhilaration you were feeling, from the wetness you were feeling in your pajama shorts, which Brian couldn’t help but notice were riding up your thighs; he could see the hem of your lace panties from his position underneath you, looking up.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this, baby.” Brian moaned loudly, looking up at you. His mouth was hung open, hot breath fanning over your body. You returned the gaze, falling to sit on your feet in front of him, facing him.

“You’re fucking me so good!” You cried, cringing at the words, your mouth agape as you watched Brian’s forehead begin to sweat. Neither of you were laughing anymore. The air was dense, and tension-filled--wet almost. You sat down in front of where he was knelt, his hair matted a bit from the sweat, and still wet from his shower. You spread your legs, and your feet hung off of the couch, resting near either side of his head. He grabbed your ankle, looking at you with wide eyes as your fingers played with the elastic of your shorts, fiddling with the ties, the ends of them tickling at your inner thighs. Brian stared at the soft flesh of them, at a small freckle you had where the hem of your shorts laid. Your cheeks were flushing, your heart thundering in your chest, and Brian’s sweatshirt was becoming an actual sweat shirt. Your ankle was almost glowingly warm from Brian’s firm grip. His other hand grabbed your free ankle, which was noticeably colder, aching for his touch. His fingers began to ghost up your legs, inching up your shins, making you whimper softly from the anticipation of Brian to touch you more and more. His pupils were dilated and you noted how pretty his eyes looked, the yellow light shining into them. Brian was a beacon of allure, lust, love. You untied your shorts, watching as Brian’s eyes widened, his grip on you tightening, almost constricting, but in the best way possible. You pushed your hand down the shorts, slipping through your underwear to rub at your clit. You were soaked for him. Brian’s nails dug into your ankles as he pulled you forward on the couch, so his body was in between your legs, kneeling in front of you, on his knees. He ghosted a finger over your lips as you pushed a finger into your wet hole, gasping as you grazed against your clit. He breathed against your neck as he stroked your hair, kissing at your shoulder, his forehead resting upon it. He moved to kiss up the column of your neck. They were sloppy, open-mouthed kisses; he was desperate, rocking his cock against the couch as he held your waist, your fingers now deep in your pussy. You held his head, threading your fingers in his semi-dried curls, gasping as he sucked hickies on your collarbones, nibbling at the sensitive skin enough to make your hips jerk slightly. You pulled his head back by his hair, thick in your hand, kissing him on his bruised lips. He was fiery and passionate. He was making you dizzy, suffocating you from fresh air with passion-infused sucks to your bottom lip, his tongue massaging yours. Brian whined, his cock rubbing against the textured velvet of his trousers, leaking with precum, just for you. You pulled your fingers out, which were a bit pruned from the slickness which was staining the couch now, deepening the grey of the taut fabric. You held your fingers to his mouth, watching at his tongue swirled around your digits, sucking your juices from them.

“Taste me.” Your eyes were hooded, blown with desire. You felt like you were on the verge of fainting, or that you were experiencing a hypnagogic dream--like this was all altered from reality, not real. But the feelings--the sensations--you were experiencing in that moment, with your best friend’s tongue lapping up your wetness from your soaked fingers now coated with his saliva--were anything but a dream.

“So good.” He moaned, looking at you innocently. His chest was heaving as he grabbed your wrist, pulling your fingers from his mouth. He pulled at your shorts, his fingers shaky as he slid them down your legs, keeping your underwear on. “I love when you wear these fucking shorts, sweets.” He kissed your knee, scratching softly at your inner thighs, as you pulled at his hair. He threw the garment on the floor, scooting forward on his knees, yanking your underwear to the side. You gasped loudly at hearing his usually innocent nickname for you in such a dirty connotation. He ran his fingers up your neck before rubbing them along your soft lips, the calloused pads of his long fingers tickling the pink flesh barely. You sucked on his fingers this time, swirling your tongue around them, whimpering at how dirty this was, at how good it felt to feel Brian.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Brian’s fingers left your mouth, dripping with your spit. He trailed them up your leg, before pulling your legs over his shoulders, kissing at your inner thighs and softly biting the skin.

“Brian, oh my god.” Your hand grasped at his hair, desperate for his mouth to latch onto your clit--anywhere. He looked up at you, his eyes hooded, his nose nudging at your clit. His hand snaked around your waist, holding your hips down, his fingers splayed across your lower stomach. Then he began to lick at your folds, pointing his tongue and licking upwards, directly on your aching bundle of nerves. “Fuck, Bri!” Your heels dug into Brian’s upper back and he hummed in appreciation before sticking his tongue out and delving into your hole. You ground against his tongue, desperate for your orgasm, which proved to be approaching quickly.

“Cum on my tongue, honey.” He poked his tongue out, tilting his head to look at you. He was idle, and you realized quickly he was waiting on you to grind on his tongue. You did, holding his hair with one hand as the other grasped at the couch cushion. Your hips moved up and down repeatedly, his tongue sliding against your clit, the stimulation making your eyes water.

“Oh my god--” You were mewling, completely at his mercy. “Brian--your tongue feels so good.”

“Does it baby?” He batted his eyelashes, his curls tickling against your skin as you ground against his tongue faster.

“Fuck, it feels so good!” You screamed, your breaths becoming laborious as you came on his tongue, your wetness dripping down his chin. You had barely recovered from your orgasm before you pulled Brian’s mouth to yours, wrapping your legs around his waist, his body now hovering over yours, his knees resting on the edge of the couch. You scratched your nails at the nape of his neck, kissing at his stubble on his jaw. You both were starved--two years of friendship and a blindingly close proximity to each other in your entireties was being released by fervid kisses, frenzied touches. Your hands traveled down his chest, your fingers popping open a few buttons on the way to his cock, which was achingly hard and prominent in his trousers. You unbuttoned them, immediately shoving your hand down the front of his briefs, massaging at his balls.

“Fuuuck.” Brian let out a drawn-out moan, and it echoed across the room, making a tingle sprinkle down your shoulders and to your core. You dragged your nails softly up the shaft of his cock, and he buried his face in your neck, whimpering your name. Your hand held onto his hair as you pumped him, precum leaking onto the junction between your thumb and forefinger. “Jesus christ, more.” He whined, the couch hitting the wall forcefully as he thrusted into your hand.

“You’re so needy, Brian.” You pulled him forward. “Thrusting into my hand.” He nodded, a choked moan breathy against your lips.

“I need to fuck you, sweets.” He pushed his forehead against yours, digging his fingers into your hips. “I’ve needed to fuck you for so long.”

You exhaled, tightening your grip on his cock as he lazily thrust into your hand. “I need you so bad, Brian.” You pulled at his necklace, kissing him deeply. You felt his hips stutter, a low whimper tumbling from parted lips.

You shook your head. “Not yet.” Brian nodded, kissing your neck, just once, before he grabbed you by your waist, turning your body so your body laid across the couch, flat. He grabbed a throw pillow, putting it beneath your back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him forward by your locked ankles. Your arms grabbed at the arm of the couch as Brian spit in his hand, stroking his cock--which you noticed was a lot larger than you originally thought. The tip was bright red, still leaking, his shaft veiny and impossibly thick. You shifted beneath him, your entire body sheathed in sweat and a scarlet blush.

“Condom?” He asked, his thumb running over his tip, massaging his slit carefully.

“I want you raw, Brian.”

“Jesus Christ.” He hitched your legs up onto his hips, dragging his cock against your folds, the ridges of his veins blissful against your clit. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He dragged his hands up your torso, touching the fabric of his sweatshirt, damp from your sweat. His thumb and forefinger found the zipper, pulling it down agonizingly slow, groaning when he saw your bare chest revealed from underneath his hoodie. “Dirty girl.” He bit at his lips, and you sat up, shrugging the hoodie off. He pulled the sleeve back up over your shoulder, shaking his head. “No. I want you to keep my jumper on while I fuck you.” He held your chin as he said this, and you slipped his thumb into your mouth, making him twitch against your thigh.

Then he was thrusting into you--deep into you--his thumb stroking at your chin as his pelvic bone was flush against your inner thighs. You screamed, holding onto the arm of the couch as he pulled out, pushing himself back in immediately. “God, Brian it hurts.” He was stretching your walls, and your cheeks were blotched red from the dull pain--but it was a pain so akin to pleasure that you writhed underneath him, moaning.

“ ‘m sorry sweets. I’ll go slower baby.” He held onto your thighs, still wrapped around his waist.

“No. Fuck me.” You sat up, resting on your elbows as he obliged, Fucking into you at a brutal pace, his hand snaking up your torso, squeezing at your breasts. Your moans were breathy, hot, passionate--true. They were the antithesis of the sounds your neighbors were still making next door, opposite of the ones you and him were making seemingly seconds before. Brian was angling his hips up, thrusting deep inside of you as his thumb massaged your clit, savoring your noises, the way you arched into his every touch. Brian’s breaths were interwoven with impassioned moans, and the paradox of them sounding so angelic yet so sinful was making your orgasm near. He began to slow, his thrusts becoming erratic but far-in-between, his eyes rolling back as his voice cracked with a long groan. You began to fuck yourself on his dick, panting, the couch scooting loudly, creaking against the floor. Brian’s other hand trailed its way to your neck, his delicate fingers, wrapping around the hot skin, just touching. But you grabbed his wrist, tightening his grip around your neck, both yours and his moans becoming more primal and raw at the sensation.

“Brian--” You threw your head back, your legs unable to support themselves on Brian’s hips. He thrust harder, snapping his hips as he repeated your name, panting into the muggy air around you. A bead of sweat ran down his neck. His hair was wild from your pulling, his lips a deep pink from bruised kisses. Hickies adorned his collarbones, which his necklaces were bouncing upon with every yearning thrust. His hand was still wrapped tightly around your neck, pushing gently upon your throat, your hand gripping at his wrist.

“Good girl.” he gasped, as you clenched around him, involuntarily. “You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna cum.” He tilted his head back, somehow pushing deeper inside of you; he was completely sheathed inside of you. “Fu-I’m cumming!” He announced, barely pulling out before he came inside of you, the feeling bringing on your own release as you screamed his name, your walls clenching. He spurt more of his cum inside of you, hissing at the overstimulation as he pulled out, watching his seed spill out of you. He didn’t know what to do; and in a panic, he grabbed his magazine placing it so the cum leaked onto it and not the perfectly good couch you had. You both were panting, but you furrowed your eyebrows. “Now your magazine has your cum all over it.”

“I know, I’m not too happy about it. That was a good issue.” He said from the kitchen, wetting a cloth to clean you up with. He sat down next to you, pulling his National Geographic from under your ass to wipe you clean. “It’s cold, sorry sweets.” You winced at the cool water, but his warm touch on your lower belly acted as a needed equilibrium.

He kissed your collarbone, and you pulled him in, locking your lips with him as he zipped your--his--hoodie up, pulling the hood over your hair and yanking at the strings. He pulled your panties up your legs, and then your shorts, before he slipped his briefs back on, laying on his stomach, in between your legs, which were still shaky. You pet at his hair and noticed how normal this felt--you and him together like this. Brian, reading your mind, lifted his head and kissed your nose, pulling the hood down.

“I’m in love with you.” He confessed, hugging you tighter, anticipating your response.

“Hi, I’m in love with you, nice to meet you.” You picked his hand up, shaking it firmly. “Funny, because I’m in love with you too!” Brian laughed, muffled into your stomach as he kissed the fabric, his eyes fluttering shut.

taglist: @silencedleviathan @alexfayer @ledger-kaos @ma-ntequilla @discodeakky @richiethotzierz @thisloveisreal1 @heartsarecompatible @thelondondreamer5 @brian-may-brian-may @okqueenie @gailymlee @trickster-may @bubblypenguin123 @queensdarlingg @soloosunflower @dvndermifflinassociate @fredthelegend @miez-lakatz @arrowswithwifi @mouse507 @mespetitestortues @yourstateofdreaming @pamoreno @helenathe3rd @allie-of-asgard @deacytits @hystericallyqueen @missqueeniewrites @bulsarahutton @paper-queer-plane @xilann (message me if i forgot you/you want to be added!)

#brian may #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #gwilym lee #rami malek #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #queen #fanfiction #smut #au #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #ben hardy #joe mazzello

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jihyosforehead · 5 years ago

Text

also on ao3

shoutout 2 marina im pretending like this isnt almost a month late; hbd u foooool lov uuuuu!!!

based v loosely on @bbygirldahyun ‘s cheer au

...

Summary:

“You’re the prettiest, most beautiful girl in this whole entire world.” Nayeon resumed swinging herself around the lamp post again. “And you picked me. Out of all the people in the world. You picked me! You picked Nayeonnie!”

Dahyun felt her ears grow hot. How could a person be so annoying and so cute at the same time.

“Hey!” Nayeon suddenly yelled into the night sky, shaking one gloved fist at the moon. “Hey! She picked me! She! Picked! Me!”

...

“Have I ever told you about your eyes?”

There was a long suffering sigh.

“Yes. You haven’t stopped talking about it since I picked you up.”

Nayeon carried on, ignoring Dahyun's amused smile. The answer didn’t stop her.

“They’re so brown...” Nayeon sniffled, the tip of her nose going pink. She looked up at the sky, having a silent conversation with the stars. She jammed her hands deep into her coat pockets. “Hot coffee with honey swirls. A rock in the pond and the sun hits it and it's like a shiny and shimmery and special? Chocolate and hard toffee pieces with the swirlies in the middle—” Nayeon stopped in her tracks, heels trailing in the melting snow, “—golden amber when the sunlight hits you in the morning. Did you know? They light up like honey-bronze when you smile? Especially when you’re happy. Like you got the stars stuck in your eyes. Hey did you know—” Nayeon turns around to look at her, suddenly serious, “you look like you have fireworks in your eyes when you’re happy.” She gave a long, wistful sigh. “I love them. They’re one of my favourite things about you. I can’t get enough. I could probably never get enough.”

Dahyun felt the back of her neck get hotter and hotter with every word Nayeon spoke.

“Have I told you that I love your eyes?”

“Yes. You mentioned that earlier when I came to get you from the bar.”

“And your hair—” Nayeon scampered under a nearby lamp post and grabbed onto the metal pole with one gloved hand. Then proceeded to swing herself around it, letting her head hang carelessly, dark hair falling loosely down her back in waves. “Oh my god, your hair. I never thought much of it. I don’t think I thought about it all in school. And then you started dying it. Gosh. When you walked into school that day with your blue hair—” her voice lowered into a whisper so loud that the wind howling around them was barely audible. “—I remember thinking you were the prettiest girl I had ever seen in my whole life. My whole, entire life. Do you know! How many years my life is!” Nayeon waved her hands around in the air frantically, her coat sleeves flapping around, her gloved hands appearing smaller than usual. Dahyun thought it made it look especially snuggly. “You know when you live- like-when you- like- are alive for a long time, I-I don’t know - I remember you walking into school with your blue hair. You were so- I knew I was ruined.”

She spun around the lamp post again before pulling herself upright, rocking slightly on her toes. She swung herself around once more and staggered to a stop.

“I can’t believe I thought nothing about your hair. Until you dyed it blue. Because now it’s black. Like before we met properly. It was black back then." Dahyun scrunched her nose, trying to follow Nayeon's thought process. Nayeon turned to face her with wide eyes. "God. Baby. I love your hair. But I still think about your hair all the time. Like all the time. Someone said you’d look bad with green hair—” Nayeon looked at Dahyun earnestly, a solemn expression crossing her features. Her eyebrows furrowed together in a stupidly cute frown. “—I don’t think you could ever look bad. You could never look bad.” She scowled deeply for a moment, then her expression cleared to give way to a pompous smile.

Dahyun felt her ears grow hot. How could a person be so annoying and so cute at the same time.

“Hey!” Nayeon suddenly yelled into the night sky, shaking one gloved fist at the moon. “Hey! She picked me! She! Picked! Me!”

Dahyun rushed to clamp a hand over Nayeon's mouth, looking around the streets in a panic. Nayeon continued her announcement, completely unbothered by her predicament. Her eyebrows came together, perplexed by Dahyun's panicked expression. Dahyun sighed exasperatedly when Nayeon turned big, confused eyes at her.

There was a group of teenagers milling around a park bench, who whooped wildly at Nayeon's loud declaration. Nayeon turned to grace Dahyun with a dopey smile. Big, adoring, brown eyes focussed intensely on her face, tracing her features like she was trying to memorise them; regarding her with open affection. Dahyun felt her cheeks redden at the intensity.

It's mid-winter. It’s the coldest it's going to ever be this year, but the bone-chilling wind is non-existent. No frost in her bones. Her nose doesn't feel the cold sting. Not when Nayeon’s words radiate pure warmth. Dahyun feels like she’s got a permanent fireplace, happily crackling away in her chest. The embers burning red hot and settling into a steady, slow fire. Comfortable. Perfectly warm.

How she makes her feel cosy and snug under a big, wooly blanket; cold hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate; coming home to her love asleep on the sofa because she tried to stay up waiting for her. Nayeon's ability to make her feel safe and hopelessly in love, a constant.

Nayeon’s wrapped her arms around Dahyun’s waist and buried a cold nose in the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Nayeon pulled away suddenly.

“You picked me,” Nayeon whispered, awestruck. She cupped Dahyun’s face carefully, like she was holding something made of delicate glass, she brushed a strand of hair from falling into her eyes. Her gloved thumbs rubbed gentle lines across Dahyun’s pink cheeks. And then turning away abruptly to bellow into the sky, “you hear that! She picked me!”

Dahyun knocked her head forward onto Nayeon's cheek, fondly exasperated. Then suddenly very serious. Nayeon's voice dropped into a whisper.

"I rescued you that one time, remember?"

Dahyun briefly thinks back to the previous night. And how Nayeon had turned into a world-class rock climber and scaled the counter in order to sit on top of the fridge. All because she'd seen a bug crawling across the floor.

("It's winter! There's no such thing as bugs in winter!")

“I’m not sure that you’re remembering that night very well, sweetheart,” Dahyun tells her dryly, voice muffled by Nayeon’s shoulder. She breathes in the scent of fresh pine needles and hot chocolate. Nayeon smells like Christmas and happiness, Dahyun’s not really sure how.

“From those scientologists?"

Dahyun scowls at the memory. Of all the situations to pick. Of all the days Nayeon had chosen to remember.

She had been walking back to their apartment, earphones in, volume turned all the way up, when she had been approached by a few middle-aged people dressed in suits, asking for directions. They’d seemed pretty normal, at first glance. Their attempt at making small talk and asking personal questions was innocuous at first, if a little, intrusive. They talked about her relationships with friends and family, even romantic; to her job, her education and future goals. The immediate switch from deeply invasive and nudges at her potential to be successful, was tempting. But a little weird. Dahyun had just chalked it up to old-people-nosiness. Some old-fashioned tough love, she’d thought. Prodding lightly at her insecurities and then balancing it with a solution; dangling it on a string, enticingly.

That is, until, they had approached a discreet building. Dahyun cursed herself when she realised she’d been scammed. This seemed very… cult-y, all of a sudden. Just as she was about to walk in, a girl had come flying at them. And rather deliberately spilled her coffee all over Dahyun's right sleeve. Dahyun watched in disbelief as the liquid — thankfully cold — seeped through her clothes and dramatically dropped onto their shoes and the footpath. The sound of liquid hitting cement, dramatically punctuating the scene.

"God I'm so sorry!"

And then she kept dabbing at Dahyun's stomach with a tissue, apologising profusely the whole time. Dahyun was so distracted by how gently she was guided away. The steady weight of a slender hand at her elbow, the familiar fresh scent of barely there flowery perfume and coffee. Nayeon’s teasing laugh in her ear.

Nayeon pulled back to give a deep curtsy, nearly cracking her forehead open on the frost-coated footpath. Dahyun caught her by the scarf and straightened her girlfriend up with a muffled grunt, gripping her firmly by the waist. She could feel Nayeon wobbling unsteadily and grabbing wherever she could reach to keep upright.

They soon started wandering. One hand down the small of Dahyun's back, the other wrapping tightly around her shoulders, almost drawing her into a hug. Dahyun huffed an amused sigh.

“Yes. I’m sure you felt very chivalrous.” Dahyun’s voice was dry, muffled by Nayeon's shoulder.

Nayeon nodded heavily, wrapping her arms tightly around Dahyun's shoulders and drawing herself up before cockily saying, “I am a lady...”

There was a pause. She faltered, her expression shut down.

“I try—to be a lady. I try to be a good person.” Her voice wobbled dangerously. “I am trying to be a good person, I promise. I’m trying to be a good person. I promise, Dahyunnie.”

Dahyun looked up, inhaling sharply when she found Nayeon staring down at her. Her warm brown eyes were big and shiny, and starting to swim with unshed tears, the deep guilt beginning to creep through. Years upon years of guilt and regret behind a wide, vulnerable stare. Her jaw was trembling. She sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of a gloved hand. Dahyun felt her heart clench tightly.

How could someone look so impossibly pretty with tears running down their cheeks, it was beyond all logic; ocean deep eyes swirling with something. Dahyun can see the waves crash to shore.

“God—Dahyunnie—” Nayeon’s voice cracked, she gave another soft sniffle, “I’m so so so sorry for everything I did at school—how I treated you—I know you might never be able to forgive me—God I’ve been so horrible—you didn’t deserve any of that, you were so wonderful and always kind, how could I have been so—how could I have treated you so cruelly—”

Nayeon wrung her hands together and brought them up to her face, the heels of her palms covering both eyes as she tried to reign in her emotions. “I treated you so terribly just because it took me three seconds to fall in love with you and I didn’t know what to do with those feelings. God — I am so sorry. I’m trying to be good. I promise I’m trying my best. I know I’ve been—”

Dahyun cut her off hastily, unable to stand how sad Nayeon sounded. “What do you think of my ears?”

Nayeon blinked at her, dazed and thrown off for a loop. “Your—ears?”

“Yes,” Dahyun told her quickly, “my ears. What do you think of them?” She walked them briskly down the street, hooking an arm around Nayeon’s waist and pulling her close, while speaking. “I’ve always thought they were a bit funny looking and kind of big. They stick out too much. Don’t you think?

“No!” Nayeon inhaled sharply, aghast at the mere thought of Dahyun not liking her own ears. “Your ears are perfect. So so adorable and SO perfect. Like-like—little pink sea-shells. But…” her voice was loudly conspiratorial, furtive, “my favourite thing about you, my absolute favourite thing in the WHOLE entire UNIVERSE about you,” she was getting louder and louder with every word she spoke as they turned the corner, “despite how much I love your pretty eyes and your pretty ears and your pretty hair, are the little noises and grunts you make when I lick your pu—“

Dahyun clamped her hand firmly over Nayeon’s mouth and held it there until her jaw stopped moving. She glared at Nayeon when she finally ripped her hand away. Nayeon’s eyes were wide as she stared at Dahyun expectantly.

“Will you lower your voice, you absolutely incredible idiot?” Her face was visibly dark red, even in the dim of the streetlights. She could feel a furious blush travel all the way from her cheeks down to her spine.

“Rude,” Nayeon muttered under her breath, her lips jutting into a prominent frown. A frown that Dahyun was struggling not to lean over and kiss. Nayeon crossed her arms over her chest and repeated to herself, “rude. Rude. Rude. Rude. Rude. You are very, very VERY rude.”

Nayeon pulled away from her sulkily, and then pouted while walking over to a short wall. Dahyun watched as she leaned against the brick and proceeded to slither down it slowly, theatrically planting herself on the damp footpath. She swayed unsteadily, eyes closing, eyelashes fluttering.

Dahyun groaned, torn between feeling very annoyed very fond. She grabbed at the lapels of Nayeon’s thick coat and shook her gently, while also trying to pull her to her feet. Nayeon’s head lolled lazily at the movement. “No-no, no, Nayeonnie, keep your eyes open— oh for f— don’t close your eyes,” Dahyun shook her again and then hissed, “don’t you dare close your eyes.”

“Leave me alone, lady. I am spoken for,” Nayeon said slowly, turning the words over carefully in her mouth, eyes closed. She slapped at the air in front of her, uselessly swatting at Dahyun’s scarf. Her voice was slurring more thoroughly with every word she spoke, while sliding further down the wall.

Dahyun eyed her girlfriend exasperatedly. Somehow, despite all this, Nayeon still managed to look like the prettiest person she’d ever seen, drunk off her ass and half passed out in the middle of the street. Dahyun rubbed at the middle of her forehead, deeply pained. What was she supposed to do? Nayeon let out a soft snuffle. God, she was so cute.

“Come on.” Dahyun grunted. She hooked her arms around Nayeon’s middle and dug her heels into the ground, nearly falling backwards as she attempted to pull Nayeon off the pavement. She heaved another grunt when Nayeon fell into her arms as they stumbled into each other. Dahyun slung Nayeon’s arm around her shoulders, and held steadfastly to her waist.

Nayeon’s head lolled forward and she leaned heavily against her, nearly folding the both of them over as they stumbled down the street, snow beginning to lightly fall from the sky. Dahyun dragged her past three more buildings, not for lack of effort. Nayeon was completely enamoured by all the christmas lights. Forcing them to stop in front of every house that had visible decorations, which meant that they stopped at every house on the way back to their building.

They’d managed to finally make it to their building. Dahyun had bargained hard and promised her girlfriend at least six different types of dessert. She leaned Nayeon against a pillar, one hand firmly gripping onto the lapels of Nayeon’s coat and the other trying to fish out their key. It was a fight to keep her girlfriend on her feet, Nayeon was determined to slither down to the floor every time Dahyun so much as thought of looking the other direction. Dahyun managed to get them in front of the elevator. Then, with great effort, dragged Nayeon up the stairs and into their apartment. Only stopping halfway up the staircase to catch her breath, and brush stray wisps of hair from Nayeon’s face. Nayeon rewarded her with a dopey, sleepy grin and patted Dahyun’s cheek clumsily.

“Here we are.” Dahyun breathed out, breathless, as she fumbled at the doorknob, balancing Nayeon against the doorframe and they fell through the doorway landing in a heap on the carpeted floor.

Dahyun lay on the floor, gulping air into her lungs for several long seconds and then rolled Nayeon out of the way and kicked the door closed behind them. She coaxed a boneless Nayeon off the floor with gentle ministrations and helped her out of her heavy coat. Shucked off her shoes, peeled through the layers of clothes, and pulled an oversized hoodie over Nayeon’s head. She rubbed up and down Nayeon’s shoulders in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to keep her girlfriend awake. Nayeon was pliant and soft under her touch and Dahyun couldn’t help but feel intense affection fill her entire body when Nayeon gifted her with another wide, sleepy smile, eyes disappearing into happy crescents.

Dahyun propped Nayeon on the toilet seat and brushed her teeth carefully. Taking in Nayeon’s sleepy expression, Dahyun held Nayeon’s head up with one hand, thumb brushing Nayeon’s jawline fondly. She removed Nayeon’s makeup with slow, thorough movements, and somehow managed to take out her contacts without much of a fuss.

She tucked Nayeon carefully under the covers, pulling them up to her chin and patting the space around her. She gave Nayeon’s shoulder one last pat and made a noise of satisfaction before disappearing into the bathroom to carry out her own nighttime routine. She returned to the room and crawled into bed as quietly as possible; nudging herself into Nayeon’s shoulder, Nayeon’s arms automatically wrapped around her and pulled her close.

Dahyun lifted her head, angled herself just so, and pressed a kiss square on Nayeon’s lips before settling back into her shoulder with a satisfied sigh.

There was a moment there where the night stood still, the earth seemed to stop in its tracks just to remember.

Where only Dahyun and Nayeon existed.

Nayeon's eyes immediately snapped open and she snatched her arm from around Dahyun with a violent jolt, nearly tumbling off the bed.

Dahyun sat up, covers pulled to her chest and watched with wide, confused eyes as Nayeon hurriedly sat up, roughly grabbed her pillow and held it against her chest as she stood, back against the wall directly facing their bed. Nayeon blinked, squinting around their bedroom, as if looking for something before making a beeline to the far end, just behind the bedside table. She glanced around the room one final time and dropped her pillow on the floor and planted herself there, shuffling around a few times before settling. She plumped up her pillow under her head and closed her eyes with a deep sigh.

Dahyun stared at her for several long seconds, completely baffled, before finally speaking. “Nayeon...what on earth are you doing? Come to bed. It’s cold down there. Aren’t you going to sleep up here with me?”

Nayeon opened one eye blearily, to fix her with an intense stare. She shook her head so vehemently that her hair swished this way and that around her head. “No. You seem like a perfectly nice person. I’m sure you’re great, but I have a girlfriend. I’m not messing that up for anything. She’s my entire world. She’s the best person ever. And I love her and I want to be with her forever.” Nayeon shut her eyes and continued speaking. Meanwhile Dahyun grew warmer, and warmer with every word that came out of her mouth. Her ability to wrap her up in a warm blanket. Dahyun’s heartbeat quickened. “I’m going to marry that girl one day. I can’t mess this up. I already messed up once. I’m not going to mess it up. Not for anything.”

Nayeon closed her eyes again and promptly went to sleep. How could someone just say all those things without any regard for her heart, thrashing violently in her chest. She could hear Nayeon’s long, even breathing from where she lay, the sound of it soothing her bones.

Dahyun had never really understood the falling in love more everyday thing, until she met Nayeon. And really it wasn’t like she even had a choice. Nayeon loved effortlessly and with her whole heart, no reservations. No hesitation. Threw her soul in there too, for good measure. Dahyun knew she held Nayeon’s heart in her hands, but wasn’t sure of how long, until tonight.

They had fallen together so easily, Dahyun thought, buried under the covers, patting at the empty space next to her. But still feeling like her whole chest had ripped itself open. Finally realising the infinite galaxy-wide chasm of how deeply her love ran for Nayeon. And it should have been scary, in theory. To give yourself so completely, so wholly, to someone else. The strength of it, confused her as much as reassured her.

The incredible risk.

Dahyun had never thought she’d ever be capable of loving someone so intensely, so deeply. The way she loves Nayeon, sometimes it feels like she’s drowning. Like the ocean feels deep enough to swallow her completely. But they’re only little birds just on the verge of learning how to take flight. Young deer taking their very first steps, and losing balance. Because aren’t embers still tiny flames, even if they’re still fluttering and quivering now. Because one day, the stumbling will have turned into a graceful dance. And the embers will be a steady, unwavering fire.

But their love goes like this: in tiny, baby steps. With room to grow. Always with room to grow.

So here they are, in the still quiet of night, and Dahyun can hear Nayeon’s soft snores from across the room. The quiet hum of the heater overhead.

Because Nayeon doesn’t want anything from her except, maybe, lazy Sunday mornings watching the world rush by, while having a coffee on their balcony. Maybe, to go grocery shopping after work, and debate the importance of ice cream flavours in the freezer section but buys Dahyun’s favourite anyway. Wants to listen to music in their car, with the windows rolled down to let the gentle breeze in, and maybe have a quiet conversation about her day and everything in between.

She knows that Nayeon wants nothing more than to spend some time together, just them, for a little while.

Maybe while they’re at it, they may as well watch sunrises and sunsets together for the rest of their lives. Point out the purples and oranges and pinks and reds, no one else can see, from where they’re sitting together. Side by side, tucked into a quiet pocket.

And Dahyun’s okay with that. She climbed out of bed to drape a second blanket over Nayeon’s sleeping form, dropped a tiny, featherlight kiss onto Nayeon’s temple and tucked another pillow behind her shoulder.

She’d make them breakfast in the morning.

#dayeon #dahyun #nayeon #twice #twice hcs #twice headcannons #twice scenarios #twice imagines #UMM #i guess alcohol tw???#but anyways its winter in this but its summer where i live and i am Suffering #dw kids i asked permission #i hav known this kid since i was 16 :((( its so #IM EMO #i can pinpoint the EXACT moment where i went on a tangent and lost my braincell #and accidentally changed tone my bad LOOOL

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cole-grey-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Kiss Me Better

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Character(s): Sam Wilson

Pairing(s): Sam Wilson x Male Reader

Warning(s): swearing, completely inaccurate medical procedures because im not a doctor and 16 y/o

Summary: You were injured on a mission and in order to stave off infection, you have to get a shot...

OLD A/n from over a month ago: I got shots at the doctors probably a week ago (and I'm just now finishing this because frickin executive dysfunction kicked my ass). I don't have a bf/gf in real life to kiss me better, but I can always pretend with fanfiction. Enjoy

NEW A/n from right now: shit it’s been a long time huh? yeah, this was supposed to be uploaded over a month ago but for some reason I just... didn’t put it up. Idk, I think I was going through some shit so I wasn’t interested in anything at all and I was super unmotivated. Anyway, I finally got it up. Hope you all enjoy :)

“Sam!” you say his name with joy. The pain coursing through out your body isn’t enough to keep you from throwing your arms around your boyfriend as soon as he’s close enough to where you sit on the plain white bed in the SHIELD medbay.

You wrap your arms around him and squeeze as hard as you can without causing pain to shoot up your arms from your injuries. Sam returns the favor and hugs you close to his chest. You can’t help but wince when he unknowingly presses into a large bruise stretching across your stomach, but you don’t want the hug to end so you try to hide it. Sam obviously sees right through you and let’s go, although he doesn’t stop touching you. Sam’s hands rest on your arms gently, trying not to press on the bruises and cuts that are covered in bandages.

“Don’t ‘Sam’ me. You are an absolute moron,” Sam tells you, pointing a finger. Your mouth falls open in offense and try to say something but he interrupts you. “Did you think jumping in the line of fire was really your only option?”

“...Well, it seemed like the only option at the time.”

“Jesus,” Sam swears. “You are just as bad as Steve.”

“I am not nearly–”

“Don’t you dare try to deny it,” he tells you. He reaches up with his hand and shuts your mouth for you. “You know it's true,” Sam says it without judgement, like he knows how much people’s lives mean to you.

“Agent L/n,” SHIELD Doctor Vivienne Becker is suddenly standing next to you. She addresses you with a comfort as if talking with an old friend. Or maybe with exasperation of talking to an annoying younger sibling.

“Vivienne,” you greet back with a much lighter tone than her. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Dr. Becker says, “but you're covered in contusions, lacerations, and just had two bullets removed from your femur and scapula.”

You tense when you feel Sam shift next to you, feeling his gaze on the side of your face. You aren’t even looking at him and you just know that his eyebrows are raised in scorn. “Oh, so you were shot, too?”

“Uh.”

“Fortunately, there was no damage done to any vital organs or major arteries.”

“Well, at least that,” Sam mumbles.

“However,” Dr. Becker interrupts pointedly, “there was foreign residues found on the bullets that were designed to attract special bacteria.”

You sigh. “And now it’s in my blood.”

“Correct and we’ve figured out how to neutralize the effects, but…”

“‘But’?” you wonder, whining. “‘But’? No, why ‘but’, Vivienne?”

“But,” Dr. Becker continues, “the treatment is in the form of a syringe.”

You suddenly sit up straight. “A shot?!” you scream, eyes going wide.

“A shot?” Sam wonders completely cluelessly. “What’s wrong with a shot?”

“It is one shot and it will be injected into your right shoulder,” Dr. Becker informs you before walking away to let you wallow in self pity.

You groan and throw your head back because fucking goddamn it, this would be your luck. A shot right when you get back off the field.

“What’s wrong with a shot?” Sam wonders again. You sigh heavily and took at Sam with your eyebrows raised. He looks at you blankly for a few seconds before he breaks out into a smile. Sam aws at you, causing you to purse your lips. “Are you afraid of shots, baby?”

You click your tongue and say, “Sam,” while growing more annoyed with his sugar sweet smile.

You ignore him (whether it’s because you love him or because you have no idea how to respond to his question, you don’t know), deciding instead to work out some stress by looking at anything other than the needles that seemed to be everywhere you look now.

Sam actually has to reach over and stop you from wringing your hands dry. “Come one now, baby,” he untangles your hands and intertwines one of yours with his. You aren’t able to help just melting under his smooth and caring voice. “It’s just one shot, it won’t be that bad.”

You hum doubtfully, squinting your eyes at him but squeeze his hand harder. “I hate shots,” Sam nods understandingly. “Shots suck. Shots can go fuck–”

You don’t get a chance to finish your rant because Dr. Becker walks back over to you and wonders, “Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, you squeeze Sam’s hand to reassure yourself. “I suppose,” Dr. Becker doesn’t say anything, turning to grab the syringe. You bite your lip to steal yourself.

“Hey,” Sam says softly. You look at him and he shows you your interlocked hands. “Here, you can squeeze my hand to help you through it.”

“You sure?” You crack a smile, feigning hesitation. “I might break your hand.”

Sam hums dismissively. “I’m sure I can bear it.”

Dr. Becker turns back to you with a syringe in her hand. You tense at the sight of it but Sam moves closer, the warmth of Sam’s body on your leg enough for you to let go of your lip.

Dr. Becker pinches your arm and starts to inject you. Your face contorts and you wince in pain. While you’ve been punched, kicked, stabbed, and shot many times, it doesn’t make this any easier. You have to squeeze Sam’s hand as hard as your weakened state allows you. And it may be a bit of an ego boost but Sam winces from your grip.

In reality, it only takes about ten seconds but to you, it feels like a lifetime before Dr. Becker pulls the needle out. “Alright, all done,” she tells you, putting a bandaid where the dot of blood is. “The medicine should take effect immediately, so you need to rest up as much as possible. You can get your crutches from Nurse van Wieren when you’re ready,” she tells you and then leaves.

You look up at Sam to see him with a small smile on his face, looking back at you. “What?”

“Now, was that so bad?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you conclude firmly. You watch Sam try to hold back his smile, but failing miserably. You click your tongue at him, half heartedly hitting him in the chest. “I’m serious. Feels like a rod going through my arm.”

Sam chuckles but says, “Sorry, it’s just…” Sam shrugs. “I didn’t know that about you.”

He says it warmly. It reminds you of the first time you two had met almost a year ago when Sam had tested your name on his tongue right in the middle of HYDRA 2.0. You and Sam exchanged phone numbers right after the whole mess had been cleaned up.

“You know now,” you tell him. “So what?��

Sam shakes his head. “So nothing. I like learning new things about you, even almost a year into our relationship,” and isn’t that the sweetest goddamn thing? You are the luckiest guy in the world. Sam’s tone goes comically serious. “No, seriously… you want me to kiss it better?”

“Shut up,” You blush. “And help me down,” Sam smiles, holding out his arms for you to grab. You put a hand on his shoulder, balancing yourself. Wincing as you shimmy your way off the bed, you favor the leg that didn’t have a bullet in it.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem, baby,” Sam coos while gripping onto you. “And be prepared because I’ve got a special dinner waiting for you when we get home.”

You snort and scrunch your nose. “Dinner? It’s 10 o’clock.”

“Then, it’s a midnight snack,” Sam tells you sassily.

“It’s not midnight, either.”

“Humor me.”

You sigh. “Fine, it’s a late dinner snack.”

“Alright, then,” Sam concedes. “Let’s go.”

Nurse van Wieren hands you your crutches as you and Sam leave the medbay. You smile and thank him before he walks away.

Sam’s words finally hit you as you get into the hallway. “Wait, waiting for me? How did you know I was coming home today?” you question, grabbing your boyfriend’s attention. You watch as Sam’s face begins to flush. You squeal. “Oh my god! Did you make SHIELD tell you where I was?”

Sam doesn’t respond for a few seconds before, “...Maybe.”

“Aw,” you coo, causing Sam to scoff.

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your ego, L/n.”

“No, but you have to tell me,” you tell him, stepping into the elevator before Sam does. You stand side by side, staring at each other with matching grins on your faces. “Is this special treatment reserved for me alone… or do you keep tabs on Steve and Nat, too?” as you expected, Sam doesn’t answer and you can’t hide your laugh. “That’s sweet,” you praise. “I might just have to tell Steve and Nat about it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Sam warns, though the smile on his face doesn’t disappear.

“I won’t, I won’t,” you agree without a second thought. “I know Steve would be indignant for about a week and who knows what the hell Nat would do to you,” you and Sam share a laugh, Sam’s gaze falling to the floor while you continue to stare at him because god, you love that deep, breathy laugh he does. You feel like you’re a goddamn king everytime you manage to get even a single giggle out of your boyfriend.

“Hey,” you say, grabbing Sam’s attention. He turns to you, looking extra adorable with his hands in his pockets and that tooth rotting smile on his face. “I think I might take you up on that offer to kiss me better.”

This causes Sam to hum smugly, his grin growing bigger and even more sugary. “Really?” Sam says slowly while he places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down tenderly. He’s obviously being careful of your wounds. Noticing this single detail about Sam and how he is around you, you’re struck with how much you love this man standing in front of you.

Sam places a chaste kiss right over your bandaid before he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin. You feel your heart grow warm at his words.

“I love you, too,” you breath. “Now, let’s go home so you can kiss me better. And before dinner gets cold.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

#sam wilson x male reader #sam wilson x reader #reader insert #marvel cinematic universe

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littlebodybigdreamz · 6 years ago

Text

The Love Between Two

An Au about y/n (you) and Tony. Both Tony and you have always had an on and off again relationship. But this time he recently dumped his long-term girlfriend. Now you’re wondering where the relationship could take you both if you two would just stop with the games and got together finally.

Gif belongs to @spongebobsquarepants

“He dumped Pepper!”. I screamed eyes widening as I yelled into the phone. “Yes y/n calm down. Listen... I overheard him telling Vision, so don’t do anything drastic”. Natasha says whispering. “Nat... when have you known me to do anything drastic?”. I say plopping down on my red sofa. “Yeah y/n just... i’ll call you in a bit”. Before y/n could say anything else Natasha hangs up. With an annoyed huff y/n puts her phone down next to her turning on the tv.

Two hours and many episodes of Grey's Anatomy later, a loud thump is heard outside of y/n’s apartment door. Y/n uses her X-Ray vision to see it’s Natasha who is trying to hold someone up. Y/n realizes that Natasha needs help, jumps off the couch and flings open the door.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!?”. Y/n yells helping Natasha carry a hurt Tony to the couch. “Tony... he uh, he flew away with a bomb and then fell into the ocean. We gave him CPR right after we found him. Vision flew both of us here right away”.

“And you want me to....?”. Y/n says with a confused look. “Use your healing abilities and save him y/n!”. Natasha says becoming distressed. “I can’t remember the last time I used my healing abilities.....” y/n says reminiscing to the last time she used her abilities she was stuck in a hospital bed for over three months. “Y/N! Now is not the time for you to be worried about yourself, Tony is possibly dying Right Now!”. Natasha yells feeling Tony’s pulse. Y/n eyes widen as she notices Tony’s face becoming pale. “Crap- crap- crap- crap”. Y/n states before kneeling next to him and placing her hands on his bruises feeling all the trauma from his body soaring through her.

As y/n finishes she starts feelings weak and lightheaded before passing out onto the floor below her.

Three Months Later...

“It’s been three months- she’s been in a COMA FOR THREE MONTHS!”. I heard the familiar voice of Tony. I think he was holding my hand. Well someone was. The screaming kept getting louder and louder till Tony was crying. “C’mon y/n, you know I love you. Please wake up. PLEASE”. The sentence turned into a sob. I tried my hardest to wake up and sit up and tell Tony that I was okay. I gave up trying.

“WAIT! Y/n??”. Tony asked. My eyes slowly opening, I blinked a couple of times due to the hospital lights being so bright. I zoned in on the figure next to me.

“To-tony?”. My voice called out dryly. The nurse gave Tony a cup of what I assumed was water, with a straw. Nat helped me sit up fixing my pillow behind my back. “Don’t ever do anything like that again to us! You understand me?!?”. Nat said obviously on the verge of crying. Though before she could she hugged me then excused herself. Leaving Tony standing with the cup of water in his hand.

Putting the straw between my dry lips Tony said, “You scared me y/n... you really did”. I coughed which prompted Tony to put the cup aside and pat me on the back. Wiping my mouth I stated. “Well you scared me first. I thought you were dead. You freaked me out”.

“Listen y/n. I-I missed you. A lot of things have happened and I’m not sure what the next move for us is-”.

“Don’t, let’s not worry about us right now... let’s just be happy i’m out of that stupid Coma”. I said chuckling. Tony chuckles a bit. “All I want to say is I love and will always care for you. Okay?”. Tony says reaching to kiss me on my cheek.

A nurse coughs startling Tony, who stands up straightening his outfit. Now that I was paying attention to him I realized he looked tired and like he hadn’t shaved in weeks (which is possibly true).

“Okay well I’m going to go get some food to eat. Be back in a few darling”. Tony said leaving as a nurse started to sit me up. “Okay im just going to take a sample of blood. Just to make sure everything is perfectly normal”. The nurse said starting to prepare my arm. “Your boyfriend sure loves you a lot”. The nurse said. “He’s not my boyfriend”. I said sternly but even as I tried to be serious the word “boyfriend” still made me smile. “Well if he’s not then you should definitely lock that down. You know he came here everyday since you were admitted. Never leaving your side. The first couple of weeks we had to call security because he wouldn’t leave once visiting hours were over”. The nurse said sticking the needle into my arm.

About an hour later I was watching some romantic comedy when Tony popped his head in. “Hey sorry I took so long, everyone was asking about you”. Tony walked over to the side of my bed sitting on the chair. With a sigh I turned to him, making sure we had each other’s attention. Then I said the words I was thinking. “I- I still love you Tony. The truth is I never stopped. And I won’t because you’re the one for me. I know I said earlier let’s not worry about us but. But I’m willing to try this”. I said. Tony was now grinning from ear to ear. “Well luv, I’m glad to hear you say that. I have always loved and wanted you and only you. No one else. If you want to be together. Great. I’ll get people to move your stuff in. If you don’t want to be with me. I’ll be the bestet friend you’ve ever had. I love you y/n and I don’t ever plan on not loving you”.

“Hmm well how about we just take things slow for now. No moving in together just yet”. I said smiling. Tony nodded his head then kissed me with his tender-soft lips. We broke apart. Our foreheads touching.

“Oh honey whatever pleases you”.

The end.

Hope you all enjoyed :))

#marvel #peter parker x reader #marvel imagine #peter parker imagine #spider man imagine #steve rogers #infinity war #tony stark #tony stark x reader #captain america #deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #iron man imagine #iron man #star lord

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bxebxee · 7 years ago

Note

ok and i know yr on break so dont feel pressured to answer or anything!! and im sorry for writing a whole novel in yr inbox, i was trying to figure out how they might build up to actual penetrative sex and i got rlly invested 😳

omg do you know how much i love you!!!!!! I hope EVERYONE clicks on the read more because you are the best anon!!!!! I bolded and underlined my favorite bits and wrote a tiny thing at the end because you’re the BEST. I haven’t felt this rush-inspired in such a long time!!! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank youuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!

becky i was thinking ab yr nj humiliation drafts ([one] [two] [three] [four] [five] [six]) and how they might progress and i started thinking ab rope bondage and how at first she was too nervous to touch him but once she gets more comfortable its all she wants to do!! but hes worried bc of how restrained/repressed shes been in the past and to keep her from jumping the gun he starts tieing her up?? (1/5)

and its small things at first like restraining her hands behind her back so she wont touch him or herself while he makes himself cum (and then maybe if shes good and doesnt complain he’ll let her ride his fingers to get off, hers still tied behind her back. or if hes feeling mean he makes her grind herself against a pillow or the arm of his couch while he watches) (2/5)

and some mornings he’ll have her come over and strip so he can tie her up and then redress over the knots and spend the rest of the day like that under her clothes (esp patterns where the ropes pull straight up between her legs) and when he takes them off at the end of the day and hes rubbing her down where the skin mightve chaffed shes way more affected than she thought she’d be and comes untouched? (3/5)

and then one day when they both have a free day he spiral ties her legs and restrains her arms behind her and then after he makes sure shes comfortable and knows her limits he just- leans back on the bed and starts reading his book like she isnt tied up and at his mercy right next to him? (4/5)

and when he finally puts down his book after what feels like forever instead of doing anything right away he throws back to how this all started and tells her if she wants him to touch her tonight shes going to have to tell him exactly what she wants from him in excruciating detail. and before she can even think about it, this barely coherent, desperate plea for him to just fuck her escapes. and then after shes calmed down and can speak properly he does exactly as she asks. (5/5)

You’re nearly in tears when Namjoon puts his book down - finally, fucking finally. You hate crying in front of anyone because there’s always so much snot that goes into production. It’s the furthest thing from pretty or ladylike or decent. You don’t want to show Namjoon that side of you just yet.

There is an ache that’s been building at your core for quite some time that’s exacerbated by the numbness you feel at your legs and hands. It’s not the most uncomfortable thing in the world, but people have a tendency to overlook the importance of fidgeting in every day life. You know that you certainly didn’t know how much you missed simple movement until Namjoon tied you up and allowed you to “relax” for a hot second.

At first it felt fine - good even. He asked you a million questions about your comfort, and it just felt like you were laying down. And you might have been able sleep were it not for the itch on your nose that bloomed unexpectedly.

It’s the small things in life that set you off, and fixation over a small itch made you desire free hands like nothing else. The only way you could get over it was to focus on Namjoon reading silently at his desk, feet propped up as he concentrated on the book before him.

He looked so good, so perfect - all long limbs and careless expression of height for no reason. His fingers turned a page and your mouth went dry. You had never been jealous of paper before in your life.

You could have begged him to scratch your nose for you, but it seemed like such a silly reason to interrupt his reading. And it wasn’t until he made eye contact that you were pushed into some weird territory of desire. But Namjoon didn’t stop reading. You knew he was actively absorbing whatever it was he was reading because he had his literature face on - scrunched eyebrows that moved expressively as he took in the text.

Your boyfriend is a pervert, but so are you. By the time your mind has sent you to and from four different fantasy trips, each involving Namjoon’s pretty cock, your lips are dry from sucking in too much air. It’s a sharp contrast to the way your panties feel.

He puts his book down, and your heart races.

“You’re so obvious,” he says, eyes dripping with fondness.

“I’m not hiding anything,” you tell him, sincere and horny. “I want you so bad.”

And Namjoon is overjoyed really, and so, so proud that you’ve come this far. You admit things to him, but more importantly, to yourself without shame. You’re the same woman he met, but he’s pretty sure you’re a bit happier.

Namjoon pushes because that’s what he’s good at.

“I can tell,” he replies, undoing a few buttons of his shirt. He’s about ninety-nine percent sure he’s going to make you cum tonight. “But I’m not going to touch you until you’re more specific.”

You moan, biting your lip as your arousal grinds a heavy ax on your core.

“You need to tell me every, little detail,” Namjoon orders, “or I’m not doing anything.”

It’s excruciating the way you open your lips for nothing to come out. Speak, your mind begs. You’ve just had four delicious fantasies for material, and yet there’s a disconnect between your mind and your mouth. All you can think about is the lump in his pants covering his cock, and the way that cock felt in your dreams.

And you’ve done everything with him except actual, vaginal, penetrative sex. Namjoon makes your jaw hurt and your throat raw whenever you suck at him, and not a day goes by when you don’t think about how sore your vagina would feel with him stretching you out. Just two of his fingers feel like the end of the world for you.

Despite your reservations about penetration, you want to experience it. You want Namjoon to experience it. You’ve watched so much porn together - you seated on his lap with one of his long fingers shoved up your pussy while the two of you viewed some girl getting pounded by a well-endowed man. Every time you pictured Namjoon would one day try fucking you just like that.

A whine escapes your throat as the images are too clear in your mind. Namjoon has you face down on the bed in your fantasy, spreading apart your asscheeks with two hands to scrutinize your holes. He’s picking one to fuck and settles on rubbing his cock against your filthy slit weeping with arousal.

Namjoon in real life is patient as he sees you working up the courage. You waited for him as he read, and he could most certainly wait for you.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, and the expletive sounds like a gunshot even though your tone is softer than feathers. You close your eyes. “F-fuck me… ngh.” And in your head, the fantasy of Namjoon sinking in and using you until he’s satisfied play out again and again until the only things that come out of your mouth are sad little begs.

Namjoon still waits, taking in the show you’re putting on for him because it’s not every day you fantasize about him right in front of his eyes. He likes to watch you think things through.

You take long, shuttering gasps of air to calm the fuck down because you need to talk if any of this had a snowball’s chance in hell of coming true. And after some tens of seconds go by where the only thing you do is think of absolutely nothing, you are finally able to open your eyes and dislodge the stopper between brain and mouth.

“I wish you would untie me first,” you start. It’s not a question or a request. “Then undress me. Undress yourself. Touch me.”

“Slow down,” Namjoon chuckles. “You’re skipping all the good stuff.”

“All I want is for you to spread me open with those big hands of yours and shove your cock in whatever hole you want,” you continue as if he never said anything. You didn’t care about going through what he wanted because this is your fantasy, and he’s just here for the ride.

“Keep going.”

Good, you think. Namjoon is playing along.

“You’re going to choose my pussy.”

“Interesting that I have no say in my own choice.”

“Shut up.”

Namjoon’s heart seems to stutter in its beating, and he can tell you’re also surprised by your own outburst. He’s almost scared that you’re going to backtrack and take it back, because you were doing so good so far.

“Um,” you pause, “yeah… shut up.”

He can’t help but to smile when you forge ahead, and he zips his lips like the obedient boyfriend he wants to be for you.

“You go in slow just to test me. First the tip to see if I can take it at all. And then you push right in even though it feels like I’m going to spit you out.”

This is exhilarating. Your mind provides words for you easily, as if you’re lying down in bed with your phone in hand typing out something naughty for Namjoon. It feels just like that moment of freedom, and you relish it.

“You don’t go slow,” you say with a laugh. “You’re fucking me for you.”

“Stop right there,” Namjoon interrupts. “I’m going to untie you.”

“Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to remove the ties and toss them off the bed. He massages your arms and legs to help with the circulation and holds you as you shake from the pins and needles shooting its unpleasantness up and down your body.

“Is it going to be tonight?” Namjoon asks. “Because we don’t have to.”

You smile, a little teary because the pain was real after the ties were loosened. “I really want it to be tonight.”

Namjoon kisses your forehead.

“Okay.”

#answered #drafts #best anon

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topimagines · 7 years ago

Text

Columbus Ink

This was requested!

You'd been in the industry a long time, tattooing on many celebrities and normal folks in your time. You'd seen many different characters, to say the least. Your favourite phrase was "Tattoo parlors are like hair salons with more entertaining equipment." That was mostly because when people got their tattoos, they had a story or two behind them, whether it be a bad bet or a death in the family. You always had people telling you stories about anything and everything.

Your favourite was a certain yellow haired man name Joshua. Joshua came in every once in a while for touch ups and the odd addition to his intricate sleeve. He had the most amazing stories about his life, and you always found yourself enthralled by the fact that, in his twenty-eight years on this planet, he'd lived more life than most of the people who came in. You found out he was in a band when he came in for a final touch up before leaving for tour.

"Well, at least let me give you my number before you go so I can make sure you're healing properly," you said before cashing him out.

"T-totally," he stuttered, adorably. Usually he was so confident in himself and his music, it was nice to see him flustered, "and I'll see you when I get back? I'll have some great stories."

"You know it," you answered, coolly. You handed him your card with your information on it, "text me when you get the chance."

Joshua was gone for a whole four months, by your estimation. You didn't have much time to think about how much you missed seeing him, as you had many appointments scheduled after Josh said publicly that you were his artist, but when you did think about him, it hurt. He only texted you once in those four months, despite your efforts to talk, but you didn't blame him. Performing every night takes its toll on people.

Then, one night you got a text from him; however, it was not the one you were expecting. You unlocked the phone and opened the notification, and began to read.

Joshua: dude, i cant get her outta my head. weve been gone for four months and its like shes all i can think about. fuck it, i should just text her. but what woild I say? "hey, (y/n) the tattoo artist and most beautiful woman alive. wanna have drinks sometime? maybe when im not touring the world?"

You couldn't believe it. He found you beautiful? Since when? Why hadn't he just texted you normally, instead of mistaking your number for his best friend's? You quickly started to message back.

i would love drinks when you're not touring the world.

Your eyes were practically out of your skull as you waited for a response. He couldn't leave you hanging now, not after such a long message.

But, he did.

You fell asleep waiting for an answer that never came. Soon enough, you gave up hope. A week passes, no text. Two weeks pass, no text. A month, two months, three months pass, not even an appointment at the parlor.

You moved on. If he wasn't going to be a man and talk to you, you didn't want to talk to him. It was as simple as that.

One morning, you walked into work, your dusty boots clicking against the linoleum as you made your way to your room. You unlocked it and set up shop for the day, sterilizing your station and making sure every needle was in place. Your first appointment came in for the day. A lovely girl by the name of Jenna, who wanted two small black bands around her wrist.

"(Y/n)! There's a call for ya', sweet cheeks!" You heard your co-worker, Jason, call from the front desk.

"Can you tell them I have an appointment?" You yelled back.

"Na' he's sayin' it's urgent," he said. You groaned.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'll only be a minute," you calmly stated. You sat down the tattoo gun you were about to use, knowing full well it would be against your conscience to use it after laying stagnant for a few minutes. You quickly rushed to the phone and put the speaker against your ear, "This is (Y/n), how may I help you?"

The voice on the other end let out a shaky breath and said "yes, do you think I can fit an appointment in? I can pay out of pocket."

"Are you sure? They can get quite pricy if you don't know the price point."

"I know the price point, is there any way I can be fit in or not?" They seemed to be getting restless. Rustling and talking could be heard in the background and you had half a mind to hang up then and there, but you needed the hours.

"I have an opening at ten o'clock, PM," you suggest.

"That works! Thank you!"

The line went dead. You looked over at Jason, who was watching you intently to ensure you were okay, and shrugged your shoulders, "probably last minute touch ups." You swiftly walked back to your room and went on with your current client.

"And I told Tyler that he needs to take a break and he looked me dead in the eye and said 'baby, it's Taco Bell, I can't take a break,'" Jenna laughed. She had just explained that she was getting bands around her wrist to match her husband Tyler, and she'd told you stories about her adventures with him. You finally finished and looked over your work.

"You're all done, Jenna!" You giddily said, eager for her to see your work. She looked at the bands on her wrist and was surprised to see only one small edition to her wrist, the tiniest heart between the two bands. You could only tell it was there if you looked hard enough.

"You're amazing!" She exclaimed, pulling you into a hug.

"Oh, o-okay then" you stuttered, surprisedly. No one had ever reacted this way. The blonde pulled away and looked down at her wrist lovingly.

You glanced at the clock on your stations wall, it was almost ten. Your last client should have been coming in any minute. Your eyes began to shut, until you finally hear the bell ring.

You slid into the lobby and was surprised by a familiar head of yellow hair and the very blonde you were tattooing earlier, with who you assumed was her husband, Tyler. You let out a dry laugh as you walked toward them, "I guess you couldn't stay away that long."

They all looked at you. The colour drained from Joshs face, as if he wasn't expecting you to be there. Jenna nudged him forward and the other man chuckled.

"Yeah, well, um" he scratched the back of his neck, trying to find the right words, "I guess avoiding your texts and you was easier than embarrassing myself again."

"You didn't embarrass yourself, you just accidentally texted the girl you like," Jenna said, matter-of-factly.

"Not helping," Josh chastised, sending an icy glare at her. He looked back at you and the ice melted, "can we just, you know, start over?"

"Will you answer my texts this time?" You asked with a dry chuckle.

"If you agree to go on a date with me, yes."

"Agreed."

#josh dun fluff #josh dun fanfiction #josh x reader #josh dun imagine #josh dun x reader #twenty one pilots fluff #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots imagine #twenty one pilots fanfiction

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lalast0ne · 4 years ago

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The bad penny

Layla

*Sin City was definitely living up to its name. Our first night in Vegas had been one I’d never forget .. what I could remember of it. After leaving the “Art Gallery” which I’ve decided was not a legit gallery at all, we hit the shops then made our way back to the hotel room to get ready. With the key safely deposited in the safe, we headed out for dinner. Tao was amazing, the service, the atmosphere and the food. After dinner we paid well over the odds for a 5 minute ride in a gondola thru the Venetian then made our way to the hotel casino. Judging by the pounding of my head this morning we were in the casino a looooong time. The last thing I properly remember is Wilder tugging me to the high roller section .. after that it becomes hazy. I look towards the bathroom where the sound of the shower running and singing can be heard which makes me smile as I collapse back into the pillows groaning. The fact he’s in a seemingly good mood must mean he beat the house. Thank God. I look around the enormous room, my eyes landing on the safe. The safe that houses the most expensive key known to man and a flurry of questions rush thru my mind. We didn’t discuss it last night, I refused to taint our first night with talk of business (which is exactly what that was) and Wilder wasn’t forthcoming with the information, so I still remained clueless. I just couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing ...*

Wilder

*Vegas was growing on me. I had won big last night. At the tables and with my wife. I knew her mind was working in over drive but sometimes it was best to leave her guessing. All would be revealed in time. I towel dry, got dressed and stepped from the bathroom to find her lazy ass still in bed* Little Ball of Fire, time to get ready for the day. We have Vegas shit to do. I know you have things you would like to see that I ruined yesterday. *Smirking, I check the time.* You have 15 minutes or the party bus is leaving without you. No aquarium though. That’s not Vegas. *I pour a cup of coffee and wait as you scramble from the bed.* Make that 14 minutes.

Layla

*I see the way you look at me and know exactly what you’re waiting for my body isn’t ready to move at a fast pace yet .. I don’t even think it’s ready to move. I roll from the bed, my shoulders dropped slightly and my walk slow as I head to the bathroom* You’re so mean to me .. always putting me on a timer. How are you not feeling like shit this morning? I’m sure you drank just as much as, if not more than, me. *I step into the shower and wince as the water hits me, the cold feels like a thousand needles pricking my skin until it warms up and I relax a little. Even with no intention of rushing, I shower as quickly as possible then emerge feeling a little fresher.* I swear I’m never drinking again .. *I mumble as I pass by your to the closet and roll my eyes when you tap the face of your watch. I don’t waste anytime messing around. I slip into comfortable clothes and a pair of sneakers, tying my still wet hair back out of my face and stand in front of you and shudder as I say what I’m thinking.* Please don’t tell me today’s the day we’re going up the Stratosphere...

Wilder

*I finish the last of my coffee and eye you up and down.* Is that what you are wearing today? You should have switched to ginger ale after the first drink like I did. *I avoid the death glare you are giving me and hold the door open.* Was the Stratosphere not on your list? I’m catering to all things Layla today so smile Little Ball of Fire. You don’t always get me so accommodating so I recommend you take advantage.

Layla

*My eyes narrow at your treachery. If I’d known you’d switched to ginger ale I’d have made my cocktails virgin. I cover my mouth at the thought* What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? *I look down at my t-shirt, shorts and sneakers then back to you* Comfort is the aim of the game today, husband. And while the Stratosphere is on my list, I don’t think the people on the rides, or the good people of Vegas standing below, want to see the contents of my stomach. *I move to where you sit and position myself between your legs, my fingers teasing thru your hair* We can make our way to old Vegas this morning. Go to Fremont Street and check out the Mob museum?

Wilder

I don’t care to see a jail cell if you throw up on people and we need to fight. *I laugh and lift you up, taking long strides to leave our room.* First lets get some food in you to soak up all the alcohol and then find some mobs. Maybe if you are lucky, we can buy that thing you could not stop staring at last night. *The elevator takes us down and I keep a tight grip on your hand.* Don’t take any of those cards people try to hand you. We are not hitting up those places here.

Layla

*I wrap my legs around your waist and bury my face in your neck, humming softly as you walk us to the elevator. My feet hit the floor when the doors open and I pout at the loss of contact until your hand is on my hip and your pulling me close* I don’t think they’re for places to go .. I think they’re for girls *Chuckles* to come to your room .. so don’t you be taking any of those cards Mr *I reach down and pinch your cheek, laughing softly as the doors open* I hear Serendipity do the most amazing pancakes .. let’s head there .. because now I honestly feel like I could eat a horse.

Wilder

I think they cater to all baby girl. No discrimination. *I growl against your ear and head in the direction of pancakes, my hand firmly gripping your ass. Vegas might be growing on me but I will never understand the lengths one city goes through to steal your money and make you lose your entire life. I can do that in a heartbeat back home and feel no guilt. You will be as rich going in the ground as you were above. Life really is simple.* We should take in that volcano show tonight. Feel the heat from that fire. *Smirks as we stop at the restaurant and wait to be seated.*

Layla

If you want heat .. I can got you hot under the collar, baby *I smirk across to you as we stand and wait (im)patiently to be seated. I grab my stomach as it grumbles and thank the Lord, 10 minutes later, when we’re finally shown to a table for two on the terrace. Before the waitress can even ask if we know what we like, we’re reeling off our order and handing back the menus she’s just given us. I cross my arms and lean forward slightly, grinning at you as I admire the sight of Caesar’s Palace behind you* So what are your thoughts of Vegas so far, husband? Are you enjoying it?

Wilder

*My eyes cut in every direction since our chairs are out in the open on the terrace and I can’t see who is approaching from behind, landing back on yours. I reach up and flick your nose playfully.* It’s loud, dirty, has this smell you can’t wash off, everything is way too big. I think I would need need to see the seedy side before I can give you my honest opinion. It might be ok. *I lean back as the waitress brings our drinks, nodding my hand in thanks.* What is your opinion of all this sin?

Layla

*I laugh when you give me your opinion, not at all surprised, then smile at the waitress when she places our drinks on the table. I load my coffee wit way too much sugar and take a satisfying sip, smiling with I feel the caffeine taking immediate effect* This world of sin ... I love it. I couldn’t live here but for a trip, I’d happily return a couple of times a year. Whether Vegas would let us return .. well that remains to be seen *i smirk at you over the top of my cup*

Wilder

*My head falls back, booming laughter filling the terrace.* Mrs. Steele, I don’t know why you assume I will get us kicked out this city or even state. I have been on my best behavior. *I lower my voice.* I have not felt the need to pull my knife even once. I would say that is a record but the day is still young. I make no promises.

Layla

*I laugh and shake my head at your declaration* we’ve not been here 48 hours yet, there’s plenty of time for us to get thrown out. *I lean in and whisper back to you* Please try to keep your knife in your boot *I sit back when the waitress approaches with our food and thank her as she places the hugest plate of pancakes down in front of me, then look back to you* for a little longer, at least.

Wilder

You have my promise Fire. No knife will come out of my boot while we are here. *Stabs a huge bite of pancakes and shoves it in my mouth, not promising about the knife in the back of my pants.* I’m being accommodating remember. *My eye catches a profile that seems familiar as I continue to eat.*

Layla

So accommodating that you’ll even agree to come to the aquarium *I smirk taking a mouthful of pancake, nodding my head* Such a good husband. *My smile falters when I lose you for a moment, your eyes widening slightly when you clearly see something. I turn my head in the same direction and search the crowd to see what you’ve spotted and then I do.* What the hell ... *My head spins back and my mouth goes dry, the pancake suddenly feeling like I’m chewing cardboard* Is that ..?

Wilder

Carlos. All the way out here. *My fork drops to my plate and I push back from my chair. I stand to my full height and make my way across to the terrace and his table. He gives me his eat shit grin as I stare him down. My jaw clenched and I crack my knuckles to form a fist.* You are always one step behind Carlos. I already have what you are looking for. You can scurry back into your hole with your tail between your legs.

Layla

*I follow behind you and grab your hand, aware of eyes on us and not just Carlos’s* Wilder ... maybe we should take this somewhere a little less ..

“Well, what a pleasant surprise this is” He waves his hand away dismissively as I try to pull you away “Now now Mrs. Steele, there’s no need for that. We’re all friends here, Won’t you both join me? We can discuss ... business.” He smirks as he sips his coffee.

*I scowl, and it’s not a playful one, at the man who has just ruined this entire trip.* No, thank you. We have our own table that we should be getting back to. *I tug on your hand again a little more forcefully* Wilder ..

Wilder

You are a fucking asshole. *My words not loud enough for anyone else to hear.* I’ve played nice but not anymore. I will run you from this town and mine. *I take Layla’s hand and we head back to our table, sitting down. I slice through my pancake like I would the skin on his body and shovel another bite in my mouth. Trying to ignore the annoyance of his appearance.* Let’s forget about him Layla.

Layla

*i don’t look back when you take my hand and pull me away. Your words make me smile though when I take my seat and watch you* I don’t think I’m the one who needs to forget about him *I sit forward and lower my voice* but why the he’ll is he here? Now? The same time we’re here. That’s not a coincidence is it. *Its not a question, it’s a statement.*

Wilder

It’s Carlos. He is a thorn in my side. *I snag a piece of bacon from your plate, a smirk growing across my face.* Plus I got what he came here for. The key.....

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swampgallows · 7 years ago

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i just woke up, it’s close to noon here, five hours is good enough i guess. i keep thinking about college and how fucking suicidally depressed i was then and how ive spent half of this year being unemployed and generally just struggling to take care of myself in the most banal and basic ways possible, and how depression really does just delete years from your life. you live through them in a daze, you’re already a ghost, you’re already dead. questing in wrath of the lich king is honestly some of the last shit i remember concretely before going into a two year gray area of passing my classes and nothing else. i remember breaking up with my boyfriend because he chose raiding over me. i dont want to talk about it again. the memory is still painful. still, even still, ten years later. and in late 2008 i was attacked in my dorm room and i was screaming and my roommates thought i was being a big ol slut. they thought any guy that came over was someone i was fucking. when i went to blizzcon in 2008 and my brother stayed in my dorm they thought i was fucking him too until i told them he was my little brother. they tried so fucking hard to suppress my interests and make me “like them”. “there’s more to life than world of warcraft and pokemon” they said as if going to college basketball games and rewatching disney movies has any more enrichment or depth beyond what i was fucking doing. my life is so full of hatred, from myself, from other people, just being fostered in me in general, and it’s only within the last few years that i’ve gotten to heal from it at all, all the time being hurt more and more

i was talking to a friend yesterday who is just 19 and thinking about where i was when i was 19, which of course puts me in 2009 again, the year i dropped out of existence, and i was telling them about how i was essentially raised by the ilk of 4chan and the piece of shit community on wow that, like, since i’m around ~liberal genderqueer~ tumblr-type spaces all the time, genuinely shocks me to remember still exists, of those fucking hypermasculine overcompensating military dudes. and we were talking about how like, nerds in general tend to have shit social skills or anxiety or are Othered in ways that have them reinforce this piece of shit pecking order where the loudest and meanest proclaim themselves the Leader and everyone just follows them because theyre too meek to challenge them or they mistake arrogance for confidence and assume any asshole crowing that loud about how Right they are all the time Must Be Right.

and i thought of my own life, my ex QP, my old friend groups, my abusive ex boyfriend, how i mistook so long their malice as strength, how i was duped by their self-aggrandizement. they had no skills, no talents, no girlfriend (except when i dated them), no women in their lives in general, no real friends they could count on (except, for my abuser, an older man with 3 children and a brand new divorce whose house he muscled and manipulated himself into—”i cant even bear to be in the old master bedroom anymore”—and my abuser promptly MOVED HIMSELF INTO IT) no hobbies, and the one or two hobbies that they had—fishing, video games—they were fucking less-than-passable at. my ex-qp wasn’t good at video games. he would use cheat codes or just play the strongest character and rely on everyone else to pick up his slack. warrior, carry, tank, what have you; all of us his underlings to support him to victory—”I’m doing all of the damage and getting none of the kills”—he would whine, oblivious to the concept of teamwork and seeking credit within the only realm he had a semblance of succeeding in.

anyway so when i first joined tumblr i swung the pendulum in the other direction because i absolutely had to, it was for my survival to become a virulent feminazi as they put it, and i was obnoxious about it, and i reposted rape statistics all the time and challenged people all the time because i had to. i had to let it overtake me in order to purge all of the 10+ years of toxic social conditioning that places like 4chan and their little infestations in WoW and all of my abusive partners instilled in me. i had to be vocal about rape this and sexual assault that because i spent the better part of my adolescence trying to laugh away the fact that i was raped as a child, trying to make jokes about my “delicious flat chest” and pedobear and “surprise buttsecks/it’s not rape if you yell surprise” and “delicious loli”; some of the images i had willingly saved on my ancient hard drive are absolutely harrowing to go through now as an adult knowing my mushy impressionable 14 year old traumatized mind was trying to cope with and gloss over what had happened to me and with the future i was facing as a budding adolescent in this kind of environment. men didnt want to be responsible for what happened to me or with what would happen to me, it made them uncomfortable for me to talk about it, so i was told to laugh it away, that nobody cares that i was raped, that i was stronger if i could just laugh about it, that no topics were beyond reproach or off limits, and that if i wasnt desensitized to my own suffering then i was weak, i was a sheep, i was a burden, i was letting my emotions get the better of me.

obviously, tumblr as a whole DIRECTLY acts in opposition of this: everything is rooted in our traumas, which we are expected to lay bare for all to be taken seriously: 4chan demanded that we invalidate the trauma by making a joke of it and allowing the masses to pick it apart for their own entertainment, to become part of the anonymous “legion” by offering up our individuality to be consumed by the group (as a currency of “lulz”, basically); tumblr, reflexively, demands we validate the trauma by making it an open and public integral asset to our identity, to have easily digestible and categorized characteristics so as to fit into the tumblr hierarchy of needs, their own misinterpreted facsimile and microcosm of existing systematic oppression, and obtain a sort of fixed currency of privilege or “woke points” dependent on identity politics. so i definitely needed to purge my previous conditioning with this reclamation of my identity as a survivor, etc, and had about 7 years of misplaced anger and fury condensed into a good two or so years instead, and even now im still parsing details.

it wasnt until i was 22 that i had even heard the term asexuality and it wasnt until i was 25 that i realized i was bi (or “could be” bi), even though i had already been in love with and sexually active with women years prior lmao. i had been told by every possible source that having a dick inside me would change my life and change my outlook and change me into a better person or whatever the fuck, that i would “understand” and “grow up” and “become a woman” or whatever and guess what it did fucking NOTHING, just like every teen drama romance or whatever tries to stress over and over, sex is not a magical lifechanging event that hands you a million dollars and a healthy brain. it changes your life in some ways and it’s definitely not something to be taken lightly but in no way is it a cure for anything.

i dont know where i’m going with this, im just fucking pissed off about my life, im pissed off that healing takes so long and that i had to do any of it in the first place. im so pissed about all of my time wasted with this fucking piece of shit body and fucking piece of shit brain and i wish i could just go back to work and be a functional human being but im like just a short leap away from doing any of that. i have to get in touch w my previous HMO once the new year starts now that im confirmed for medi-cal, and i should have done it months ago, but i have to just accept that this whole time ive been not USELESS but just utterly CONSUMED by self-preservation, that it is taking most of my effort to want to be alive and stay on this planet any longer. especially now with my teeth bugging me so bad because i cant fucking take care of myself so im grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw and i guess eating improperly or what have you idont fucking know. im going to buy a waterpik even though it’s fifty dollars and i have not made ANY MONEY in the last 6 months or done ANY of what i wanted to do and i still have a number of commissions needling at me that i genuinely like cant fucking even look at withotu fucking hitting myself and crying, and im seriously not trying to make fucking excuses, i am so fucking ashamed and consumed by self-hatred about this, this has been a problem for me SINCE COLLEGE where i was an ART MAJOR that i had to fucking beat the shit out of myself to try to draw anything “seriously”, and i do mean literally beating myself, bludgeoning myself with my morris sticks and smacking myself in the face/head and clawing at my skin, and i fucking hate it

i just know i need like SO MUCH recovery or healing or whatever the fuck, i feel so long overdue for very basic shit, and part of me feels like a withering plant, like pouring water over dry leaves thinking it’s just going to saturate itself and be instantly rejuvenated. im losing leaves in the process, as it were, and getting no “water” all this time. i feel like i’m in drought mode. these last six months are me basically conserving all i have, toeing away from the edge of the cliff because iw as so ready yall i was so fucking ready, i was ready to jump off, i spent whole lunch hours just ready to fucking leap, staring down the void, staring at the winding road that went up the mountain, staring at the deer who stared back at me, hiding my face from Adults who treated me like a wind-up doll, i just couldnt take it, ic ouldnt be somewhere that sterile, i couldnt be spending so much of my life getting so little back, i coudlnt see my friends ever, i couldnt breathe, but in general my brain is sick and i need to heal from all of these things, i need to figure out how i can cope with being alive because i am going to be alive at least a little longer and i need to not fear and crave death simultaneously. i do not want to die, I DO NOT want to die, but i cannot live in a constant state of recuperating. my life has just felt like the Shutting Down... screen for the last 2 years.

NEED a new dentist NEED my teeth fixed PLEASE GOD open the stem cell dentin treatment to clinics worldwide GOD fix my TEETH PLEASE let me REGROW my TEETH NEED therapy NEED to fix my brain NEED to figure out how i can cope with being unable to support myself in this shit fucking economy NEED TO RECOVER NEED TO GET BETTER PLEASE IM FUCKING SUFFERING

#blathering

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mphfpc-n-stuff · 7 years ago

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Peculair children irrational fears

IM LIKE 99.999999998% I READ THIS SOMEWHERE AND IDK IF IM OG MAKING THIS CONCEPT UP OR IF MY STUPID BRAIN CANT REMEBER SO PLEASE CALL ME OUT AND ILL CREDIT YOU. MAYBE LINK IT SO WE CAN SEE WHAT WE DIFFERED ON HOW FUN WOULD THAT BE???

ALSO TRIGGER WARNING DEATH MENTION AND GENERALLY SPOOKY THINGS AHEAD.

Jacob: Nyctophobia; scared of the dark. Imagine your a young impressionable child and your grandpa tells you stories of fucking s h a d o w m o n s t e r s. “Invisible fuckers except for their shadows, hard to spot at night, Yakob.” And then describing how said shadow monsters would eat you alive then kissing you goodnight before turning the lights off. I’m not surprised if Jacobs had the same night light in his room since he was little. He’s not too spooked now because we’ll y’know but he ain’t dropping that night light for shit.

Emma: Ailurophobia; fear of cats. Tbh I didn’t know what to give Emma so I scrolled through most common fears and honestly this cracked me up. Maybe when she had to stay with her grandma over the weekend or something she had this really mean cat that sometimes hissed at her. Like this cat was evil incarnate and it was so old and just waiting to die. But this one time it got wayyy to close and Emma panicked and set it aflame. And that kinda scarred her for life so whenever she sees a cat she’s extremely careful to not have it touch her or get too close. She’s worried she’ll flip out and set it on fire. Brah it’s not her fault they’re so flammable.

Horace: Acrophobia; fear of heights. I mean this kid has enough to be scared by himself, like any conceivable way of dying should be checked off the list. But if I had future vision I’m sure the most common way I’d die was falling off some shit. Again Horace has plenty to be scared of but heights always seem the most immediately threatening in a prediction scenario, escpecially inescapable scenarios, like you have to cross some bridge to get away from the other spooky thing even if you know your going to fall. Poor dear.

Bronwyn: Astraphobia; fear of thunder and lighting. She can’t quiet explain it but she’s never liked thunder and therefore lightning (*cough* *cough* maybe it reminds her of something else loud, booming and threatening she probably heard on a regular basis during childhood *cough* *cough*). Regardless after Victor passed away she found suitable comforters amoungst her freinds and the little ones for stormy nights (which disappeared after the loop started, thank god)

Hugh; Arachnophobia; fear of spiders. This shouldn’t be too hard to explain. What fear would bee boi have besides the meaniest and spookiest of bee killers; big ol’ spooders. First of all they can kill his bees in the worst way possible; drink their blood out slowly and painfully, and second some can even kill him. Plus I’m sure dog sized people eaters exist somewhere in peculairdom and Hugh is good never seeing those no thanks. He loves all bugs and little spindly creatures so Fiona is trying to help him come over his fear but good god. Spooders are spooky.

Fiona: Pyrophobia; fear of fire. Fiona loves Emma like a sister but there are times when Emma isn’t to careful waving her flame around and Fiona backs up. It’s not so much the fear of fire but being on fire. Tied to a stake. As her family and freinds cheer her death. Fiona has a lot of issues surrounding being called a “witch” and having to flee her own home and fire is just one of them. She’s doing her best, most of the kids don’t even notice when she flinches around open fire. Also her plants are pretty flammable so back off. I wouldn’t be surprised if Emma wasn’t allowed in the green room on dry days. No offense hon but Fiona would probably have a silent heart attack if her plants went up in flame.

Claire: Musophobia; fear of mice. Claire thinks they’re awfully cute but at the same time she can’t imagine touching one without cringing. Her earliest memories of mice mishap was when a little on crawled into her curls and she didn’t notice until it crawled all the way into her dress. Now she’s afraid a momma mouse is gonna crawl in there and make babies. Claire is old but she isn’t ready for parenthood. Also baby mice are gross.

Olive: Claustrophobia; fear of small spaces. This lil girl needs SPACE, THE OPEN SKY. Getting put into small spaces gives her anxiety, and there’s no real reason why. She’s just used to floating above the clouds, not being crammed up into tiny spaces. If she’s inside too long she’ll get crabby and annoy the other kids to get her mind off it.

Millard: Trypanophobia; fear of needles. I actually have this myself and it’s just insanely terrifying. For Mill it comes out of place of control, or lack there of. Unless he’s doing it, which he can’t because he doesn’t know how, he freaks out. He won’t throw a temper tantrum of course but he’ll put it off until everyone is annoyed and then make himself sit through it. He usually ends up really sore because he’s so tense during the ordeal and when it’s over he’ll say he “wasn’t scared at, all just don’t like needles.” Getting blood drawn is just the worst, sometimes if it’s for a while he’ll try and sit up and walk away but can’t because then he’s afraid he’ll mess it up and see his blood. Seeing his own blood isn’t something he’s too happy with, mostly because it’s a little uncanny considering everything else is invisible.

Enoch: Vehophobia; fear of driving. Enoch would’ve been alive when cars were made of course but they weren’t to common. Most people walked or rode in carriages, and I doubt Enoch would’ve ever been in a car at anytime if his family wasn’t fairly stacked. Regardless modern cars can drive much faster than buggies or carriages, and imagining Enoch getting spooked the first time they have to travel by car cracks me up. Like he won’t make a big fuss just like clench up until it’s over and foucus on not throwing up. I know he’s been on a train but trains are a lot different than cars. “They move all around! And it doesn’t help an idiot’s at the wheel!”

#mphfpc #mphfpc book #the kids

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todokori-kun · 7 years ago

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No. NO.

DON’T FEEL DEPRESSED. YOU’RE A QUEEN, OK, YOU’RE AWESOME. tbh the real problem here is probably me, I’m such an anxious loser XD

Awww I’m gonna miss you ;-; but enjoy your trip, that sounds so fun! Is it ok if I ask where you’re going? :D

(also new icon omg it’s so pretty)

You’re welcome! AND YES I relate to the 6 pics thing so much. I can never get to 8 pictures. (Currently trying to make an Illumi aesthetic and dying inside because…um…what is Illumi’s aesthetic again? Lots of needles, mind control, yandere-ness…dead fish eyeballs…nice hair…and…uh…)

They’re beautiful eyes. Endless swirling pools of silent screams and blank despair.

“Look into your eyes and the sky’s the limit~”

(tbh if I ever met Illumi those would be my first and last words to him lol)

DO YOU KNOW WHAT ILLUMI WOULD DO

HE’D STAB A MIND-CONTROL NEEDLE IN ARMIN’S HEAD

SO EVERY TIME ARMIN LOOKS AT THE WALLS ALL HE CAN THINK IS

“wow must be dangerous out there I better stay put right here in this exact spot so I don’t get eaten. ocean? what ocean? I’m perfectly happy with my current life”

But he would eventually get dragged along to the military because Illumi would have to join the MP to do his murdery assassin work and he absolutely refuses to leave Armin behind (also y'know, the titans will never get near Armin when they’re in the MP so win-win…for Illumi)

(I’ll find some good ones and send them in a seperate submission :D along with a few more HxH characters, if that’s ok?)

(Yeah. But tbh Angelica is too fab for TJeffs)

It’s amazing. Just…I feel a strange urge to draw Jefferson’s face at that moment

She’s the purest cinnamon roll in Helpless! But for people who have a harder time getting into Hamilton, That Would Be Enough is probaby where they get to see more of her actual personality…maybe? That’s what I meant ^^;;

I KNOW. Like, I think it’s impossible to be a female member of the Schuyler family and not be a total queen.

Everyone must bow before Angelica’s rapping skills

And every day, while slaves were slaughtered and carted

Away across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up

Inside, he was longing for something to be a part of

The brother was willing to beg, steal, borrow, or barter

Can’t wait to see it :D

Yay I guessed right! As for how I knew…a fandom troll never reveals their secrets (jk, jk, I actually used to hang around on the edges of the Fairy Tail fandom for a while and I know a few tiny things. Like, if there’s a popular fandom on tumblr, I probably know a few basic facts about it even if I have no intention to ever watch/read/listen to it ^^;;)

*insert infinite Schwings here*

Yep.

Like I said though, he is DEFINITELY not dead. Character reasons and Ishida reasons (because tbh I hate to say this but TG’s writing style has gotten a bit predictable lately). Probably gonna cut his way out of there…or maybe he’ll frame out all the way

Oh no, that sounds frustrating ;-; *hugs* I’m sure it’ll still turn out amazing though! <3 Luna is the queen after all :D

Gon is the purest child. He’s right up there with Eliza and Armin.

(so it’s confusing how his dad, Ging, is such a trashcan.

Cousin: Ging, I don’t think you should do it

Ging: Imma go and become a hunter anyway

*promptly disappears for a few years and then suddenly returns with a tiny baby*

Ging: so yeah this is my son, his mom left, could you take care of him for, like, the next 12 to 13 years while I go and do mysterious hunter stuff and let him think I died in a car crash, leaving behind only a tiny locked box containing a recording of my voice, a weird ring and a game as a clue for him about who I am

Seriously, I found a pic on google that’s like

*Ging stares tenderly at his baby boy’s face*

Ging: “You’re gonna be Gon.

And I’m gonna be gone”)

Leorio is my absolute fav. I love him so much. (and yes he is very extra)

‘Sweet Sunshine Child’ might not be 100% correct but Killua is still cute. I think everyone in the fandom wants to adopt him and Gon lol (and Queen Luna would certainly be a much, MUCH better mom than Kikyo Zoldyck)

yeah, a lot of people mistake Pika for a girl, and a lot of people headcanon him as nonbinary too :) Yes, TRAGEDY. I think the main problem with Kurapika is that he isn’t able to let go of the anger inside him or express it in a healthy way, so his hatred for Chrollo and the rest of the Phantom Troupe is just destroying him.

Chrollo is also my problematic fav XD he does look really nice with his hair down. (And he is SUCH a Magnificent Bastard. I’ll send you another surprise pic of him soon)

I’ll give you updates on her reactions to major events :D

…I think you won’t be surprised to hear that my eyes stayed completely dry throughout the entire episode *troll face*

As for YoI…you’ll probably be seeing my reaction to that in the other submission :)

(but also I actually went back and read some of our older messages on there a while back and they’re hilarious.

Like, I’m really awkward in the older convos so it’s sorta cringe-y, but still. I sorta laughed when I read the convos where you weren’t quite into Hamilton yet and you were telling me that you didn’t really listen to musicals that much (LITTLE DID YOU KNOW I WOUD DRAG YOU INTO HAMILTRSH HELL))

DON’T LET ME EVER HEAR (read?) YOU CALL YOURSELF A LOSER, OK?? BECAUSE IF YOU DO, ILL BREAK SOMETHING =3= It’s my fault, really. I should’ve written the answer and then copy-pasted it when I had net.

We’re going to Norway! It’s gonna be so much fun :3 My sister is also going, so I’m very very excited about that ^^

I love my new icon *^* There’s a whole set of them, so chances are I’ll rotate them ^^;;;

Ahahahah good luck with that! I’d love to see it when it’s done, if you do manage to get it done XD Any ideas on which colours you want?

Welp, I’d say those would be pretty nice last words, especially considering the situation. Ahem.

But when I fantsize at night, it’s Illumi’s eyes

FOR FUCK’S SAKE ILLUMI YOU CAN’T JUST STAB A MIND CONTROL NEEDLE INTO SOMEONE AND DO THAT. THAT’S WRONG!

Well, uh, I mean, good for Armin? But, then again, how would he get Armin into the MP?

Oh joy more character reviews XD I’ll get to those at the end of the post ^^

Not a drawing but;

Replace Jackson with Jefferson and we have his thought process.

I bet he’d run away screaming. I know I would if I was him XDD

Ah, true... Still, Eliza is impressive no matter the song! She’s just too cinnamo roll-y not to be impressive. I love her T^T

Schuyler family in general is amazing. Even the generation after the sisters. Like PHILIP.

I’ve only managed to do Satisfied a few times, and her rapping skills are godly. Not that mine are very good XD

Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned Our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain Put a pencil to his temple, connected it to his brain And he wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain

Oh, I should do that XD

Aah, that makes sense... I mean, I knew tons about BnHA before watching and I still now about Joker Game despite not even being interested in it XD It’s just unavoidable on Tumblr :P

S C H W I N G

Well, I read your update and... KUROIWA IS DEAD??? WHY?? W H Y

Just.

This is why I gave up on TG.

Hnngh no one from here like anime =3=

Wow. Just wow. HxH seriously seems like an emotional ride. I’ll have to think about it XDDD

Also you’ll be Gon and I’ll be Gone is just...

Yay for magnificent bastards!! I like the last one you sent me the most, I think it had all hair down and no headband?

Yeah, Im not surprised. Tell me, did you cry during Hughes’ death? Or during hs funeral?

I got your submission XD I’ll answer it here so I don’t bother the people there but it’s magnificent! So. Many. Puns.

Ahahah. If only I’d known... I also went and rewatched The One Thing You Can’t replace. And I’m amazed again XD

AND WOW THE HAM/ELIZA FEELS. WOW. THERe GOES MY HEART.

Shaiapouf reminds me of Shuu... All those butterflies...

Tbh Ging (?) sounds like me as a parent XD Well, at least he tries?

#evans #submission

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feysand9299 · 8 years ago

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Love undercover Part 9

Previously...

"She's lying. I heard her screaming for people to stop. She then just screamed. She screamed your name..." Cassian said before I cut him off.

"Enough." I say.

"Yes my lady." Cassian says backing away from me.

"Cassian i didn't mean it like that." I say as i sit on the bed beside cassian i then take his hand in mine causing Rhys and Nesta to growl. We laugh. nesta then pulls out a needle and thread and sits on the stool in front of me.

"Cassian unless I'm dying or anyone is attacking my city i don't ever want you to think im ordering you to do anything. Now i can't say that about rhys." I say laughing and squeezing his hand as Nesta sews up my leg.

"Your still bleeding."

"No It's dry blood." I say getting up. I walk pass rhys brushing my fingers against his and winnow back to the manor. (158)

Now..

Once back in my room I walk down the stairs not caring about the blood. I clutch my stomach and hold on to the wall as black clouds the edge of my vision. I get to the bottom when I get to the bottom i fall down on my side. I roll on my back as I hear rhys beating on my shields again.

"FEYRE. FEYRE WHATS WRONG." He yells.

"Feyre. Please say something." He begs. I go to respond when I hear foot steps.

"Miss." Alis says sinking on to the floor.

"LORD TAMLIN."

"LORD TAMLIN IT"S MADAM FEYRE." She yells again. Tamlin comes dashing down the hall.

"Whats happened? Was she taken again." He says dashing to a stop before me.

"We have to get her to the infirmary."

"Yes Sir." She says as he picks me up in his arms.

"Feyre what happened."

"Adam and Evan."

"What about them."

"They did this." I say.

"What."

"They Are upstairs in my room."

"Ok. I will be back" He says sitting me on the bed. He then leaves. A few minutes later Beron comes in he tells alis to leave. She does. He then hooks me up to the heart monitor and gives me pain medicine.

"Madam Feyre. May i." He says asking and pointing to the now stained robe.

"Not without Lucien here." I say. Then as if heard Lucien walks in to the room. Lucien grabs my hand worried.

"Whats wrong."

"Where is he."

"He's dealing with Adam and Evan."

"My sons did this."

"Yes.Lucien you can't let him in here he will lose it and kill them."

"Feyre calm down. We don't even know what they did."

"I Do i know every damn letter and word they carved. i feel the words bleed and feel there meaning." I yell as Beron looks the door.

"Now can i see what damage my son's have done." He asks. I undone the robe with the last of my strength. I hear them gasp as I go unconscious.

(The next day.)

I wake up to see a shirtless Lucien asleep in the chair with my hand in both of his. On the side is Beron who's shirt is coated in blood. I left up the shirt Lucien put on me and look at my stomach to see a white bandage wrapped around me. I sigh as i look at the door that's now barely hanging on.

"After you went unconscious we almost lost you. Beron Patched you up."

"What about tamlin."

"We told him you didn't want him in here. That was of course followed by orders to let him in. We were to busy trying to keep you here that we didn't have time to deal with or baby him. That's exactly with beron told him to."

"I guess that didn't go well."

"Not at all." Lucien says Laughing. I sit up Slowly swinging my feet over the bed.

"What happened to Adam and Evan."

"My Father told tamlin to do what he thought was punishment so tamlin whipped them for hours then had them heal to do it again and again. Then beron sent the home to be dealt with by my mother." Lucien says. He then stands and comes to my side. I Pull on the bond. With in seconds rhys answers.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN I COULD FEEL YOU ALMOST DIE." He yells.

"I'm fine rhys. I'm Close to coming home though i'm going to tamlins study and war room. Then I Have to stop at the summer court."

"The lords are meeting tomorrow at the court of nightmares." He says stroking the bond

"Ok." I say. Stroking back.

"Lucien take me for a walk in the garden." I say smiling.

"OK." He say. He then leaves for a minute and comes back a few second later with alis who is packing a stack of clothes. I take them, go to the bathroom and put them on.

I come out and look at Lucien who hands me sandals.

"Thanks." I say. We hook arms and leave Beron sleeping. We then walk out to the garden and stop at a bench.

"What's up."

"Where is the war room."

"Next to your art room."

"Really."

"Yes."

"How did i not know that."

"It's strongly glamoured."

"Wow."

"And the information for hybern and beron are going to be in the study in his room."

"OK thanks."

"Feyre Be careful."

"I will be."

"Can i come with you."

"You can do that or you can be a inside source."

"If i come can i see her."

"That depend's if you wanna see her. But you can always ask elain loves giving second chances."

"OK. When do we leave."

"Midnight tonight we need to take beron though."

"How he will know it was us."

"No i've got a plan just be ready with armor and weapons at midnight."

"OK."

"Ok." I say as we stand.

"Where at." He says.

"My room."

"OK." He says taking my arm and leading my back to the house as soon as we open the doors. We are meet by the yells or Evan and Adam. I Turn to Lucien.

"Would you tell beron i would like to have to have tea with him at 4:30 this afternoon on the patio in the garden."

"Yes Ma'ma." He says walking off. I sigh and walk into the closed dining room. Tamlin's back is to me.

"Tamlin Honey." I say sounding upset. Tamlin jerks around and drops the whip and rushes to me.

"Feyre darling your up."

"Yeah, I had lucien take me for a walk and i'm having tea With lord beron." I say smiling and leaning into his hug as Wrap my arms around his waist.

"That's good and what about after that."

"I was hoping we can sit in your room and talk or something." I say smiling as i run a finger down his chest.

"Oh, OK." He says smiling.

"Would you mind Giving me a tour of the place." I say smiling..

"Yes Ma'ma." He says taking my hand I try not to jerk it away. We then walk off.

(At 4:15.)

Tamlin walks me to the patio and kisses me.

"I enjoyed that." He says.

"I did to."

"It makes my said to tell you that i'll be leaving tonight."

"What."

"Yeah i'm needed in hybern."

"When will you be back."

"in two weeks."

"Can i come." I ask smiling.

"No it's Dangerous."

"Fine." I say pouting. He laughs and smiles.

"When do you leave."

"Tonight around 6 or 7." He says.

"Will we still be able to go to your room."

"Oh yes." He says.

"Are you taking Lucien."

"No he said that someone needed to supervise the estate with Beron here, I agreed with him."

"OK." I say kissing him. Beron luckily coughs when tamlin opens my mouth. I jerk back. Tamlin smiles and kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear.

"I'll be in my room by 6:15." He says. I make myself blush as he pulls away. He smiles like a cat and walks away. I turn as we sit down. I cross my legs. I look at beron to see him starignat my leg where my cut is.

"How are you doing." Beron asks. Alis puts the tea pot, sugar jar, and creamer pitcher on the table along with a cup on a tiny plate in front of both of us

"Good. I wanted to thank you." I say pouring us tea as Alis returns back to the house.

"No Problem my dear i cant believe my boys would do something like that." He says shaking his head as I sit down again.

"So i was wondering if you'd like to come by my room tonight and talk about adventures. I mean im still new to this world and would love to hear all your storys in exchange for mine. That and tamlin's leaving." I say winking

"That sound's lovely." He says still looking at the cut.

"Can I ask one question."

"Yeah."

"When did you get that cut."

"Last night."

"Who sewed it."

"Myself I taught myself when i started hunting."

"Why did you not sew up your stomach then."

"I Can't look at my stomach."

"What."

"I can't look at it."

"Why."

"Because I refuse to let them get me."

"Ok." He says drinking his tea.

"So.."

"What happened to you under the mountain."

"I was told to clean while i awaited what i thought was going to be my death and then i rhys would come in at night at get me drunk so i wouldn't remember what happened."

"Then." He says his eyes wide.

"We can talk about it tonight."

"OK."

(2 hour later.)

I kiss beron's cheek and tell him bye he then goes in to maze. I look to see its 6. I winnow to my room and a change into a blue lace teddy. I then quickly walk over to tamlins room. I walk past the foyer, living room, and some other rooms not looking around.

I climb on top of tamlin's bed I then lay on my side with my back towards the door and prop my head on my elbow just as the front door opens and tamlin comes in.

"Feyre?" He says.

"In here love." I say. he then walks in the room. He looks me up then down his gaze changing from passionate to lust and hunger as he licks his lips.

#tamlin #feyre #lucien #feysand9299 #feysand

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