#but last night as i was falling asleep somehow i stumbled upon a bunch of ideas for different writing projects of mine

[televinita]

Ship-a-palooza!

Loki/Sylvie is currently whipping my brain into an absolute frenzy because a) they're back! I'm ready! hit me!, but also b) like nothing has happened that I can cling to yet, so I've churned up all this shipping energy in preparation but there's no place for it to vent. Which is giving me insomnia.

So last night, I was on YouTube putting in I-don't-even-know-how-many random keywords trying to call up...something for my voracious mind to settle and snack upon, and after a bunch of meh I somehow I hit a trifecta of new-to-me-AND-ALSO-PERFECT comfort-cuddle times:

Supergirl 2x14: Kara & Mon-El, the latter of whom has a whatever face despite my respect for this crossing over from fiction to reality in a much healthier way than her previous costar relationship, but that matters zero percent because WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHAT IS THIS PERFECTLY POSED COUCH SNUGGLE COMPLETE WITH FOREHEAD KISSING. (ignore the disruptive ending of the clip)

2. Hellcats, the show I know about but have never seen anything from, featuring my dashing reliable fave Matt Barr, 1x18: basically THE EXACT SAME SCENE AS ABOVE?? anyway I can't focus on anything being said because I am obsessed with how his hand never stops moving, constantly running soothing motions over her back except once when he briefly pets her hair (!) before tightening into a full hug. This is like watching a 10.0 gymnastics routine. Everything choreographed to my exact peak desire.

(stay tuned I am definitely coming back to them at some point; this has gone from "would be nice to see someday" to "banging down the doors demanding access")

3. And then I stumble into "it's alright, I'm here," which by the title alone is already making me sit up straighter, "a short film about depression" (interest rising) where "a young man has a depressive breakdown in front of his unsuspecting friend" [seems more like girlfriend. given the kissing and all.]

And it...is just the entire standard contents of my daydreams, splashed out for the world to see. This is the kind of stuff I run when I lack new content or am bored with the old content and just need maximum cotton fluff STAT, this is what happens. All the tears, all the comfort via at least five differet varieties of cuddling, including falling asleep together.

And then for an EXTRA layer, I can't stop obsessing about how the lack of polish not only makes this look far more real compared to the above to, this...is actually what I've experienced in life. Like exactly. Complete with not knowing exactly what to do or say except to Be There and offer uncertain but earnest hugs and reassurances, because how do you imitate what you've seen on TV when it's real and it turns out all the observational study in the world does not actually prepare you to be good at it. But you try and it seems to help, at least for a bit, maybe. It's kind of overwhelming to see yourself in a scene like that.

(Side note: the actress in particular is such a highlight; I hope she finds more things to act in because she has such quiet but compelling charisma. But adding to the "televinita this is your life" feeling -- roughly my body type? her hair the exact length and color of mine, thicker but otherwise the same style, complete with slight frizz that I don't even realize is a thing until I see it catching the light on film and recognize mine does that too? I am losing my mind)

=========

Anyway I would like to bless whatever the equivalent of book fairies* are for sending this set my way; I've never had this kind of luck with finding clips before but this is everything I needed and with perfect timing, too.

*it's the much less romantic, cold-hard-science of unfeeling algorithms, ain't it

[elvencantation]

nobody fall off your chairs, but i finally started the next chapter of my giant zhao yunlantern fic

[struggling-with-time]

The Man That Is Wilbur Soot [Wilbur Soot x reader]

Paring: c!Wilbur Soot x Gender neutral!reader

Summary: Inspired by the Song Honey Honey by ABBA aka I took the line "I'd heard about you before I wanted to know some more"

Warnings: Fluff?

Words: 3.4K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Event Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: This was made for my ABBA event. Check it out here! (Also requests are still open! Click here!) btw, this was supposed to be like 1k

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You had heard about Wilbur Soot before. Everyone had heard about Wilbur Soot the President of L’Manberg. The guy who stood up to the Tyrant Dream of the SMP. And came out victorious, unlike the others whose life has been lost to the Tyrant, and their names to the passage of time.

You can’t say, he didn’t intrigue you enough, for you to set out on the dangerous journey that is crossing the SMP. Because he did. His country did. The ideals that you’ve heard about did. Everything intrigued you enough to leave your village behind and track into the world.

So that’s what you did, backpack on your shoulders, map in hand. You set into the big world, on the tracks to the dangerous country that the SMP is. You barely get out of the village before you are able to hitch a ride.

It’s a merchant that is headed for one of the villages closer to the border. It’s a bigger village than your own. The name rings a bell, maybe a traveller has mentioned it when passing by. So you hitch the ride, he tells you about his trades. He’s a merchant of fabrics, listing many places you haven’t even heard of. But there is one that catches your attention.

“You’ve been to L’Manberg?”

“Before it became independent yes.”

“Tell me about it!”

And the merchant does, for the entirety of the ride. He talks about the few people that resided there when he passed through the back then settlement. You beg him to tell each detail he can remember. And he happily provides. You take note of every you hear in your notebook. Your travel journal. Your… well diary.

He’s a good man, you note to yourself when he pulls into the bigger villages. The sun on the horizon.

You’re much further than you thought you would be on your first day.

This is going to be a good trip.

---

This is going to be a horrible trip.

You’ve been wandering for days, the closer to the border of the SMP, the fewer carts had come by, and even fewer willing to take a traveller with them.

You sigh as you watch the sun starting to set, and you are forced to make camp once more. It has been days since you last slept in a bed. To be exact 16 days. You had only managed to stay in an inn for the first night, realising your small amount of money wouldn’t get you far if you spent it all on beds.

You are reminded of the people whom you met that first night, a girl who talked about how President Soot had come by the town in his own travels to the SMP, and she had met him. No not just met him. She had spent the night with him.

And you just couldn’t help yourself, you had to quill your curiosity somehow, so you had once again asked for details, and she had provided.

The fire you get going is better than the last one. Not that the last one had ever turned into a fire. It had rained in the morning, and most of the wood you could find yesterday was still wet by the time you wanted to settle down.

But today, you had been lucky, it had been sunny all day, leading to being able to find dry sticks and a couple of pieces of logs. That you could make into a fire.

A clear stary night over your head as you turn in for the night. Hoping to get at least a couple of hours out of the fire to keep you warm. And to keep the mobs away. Knowing you still have a couple of days of wandering left before you will reach the borders of the SMP. You sigh as you jolt down the few interesting pieces of the day in your notebook.

Not that anything of importance actually happened. But maybe out there someone would read your notebook and find the fact that you saw a parrot in a birch forest be found interesting.

---

You have under half a day of walking left when a cart is willing to pick you up. Turning the hours of walking into a mere hour in the cart. You can feel yourself squirm in your seat as the silence falls upon you and the woman who picked you up.

“…So… Why are you heading to the border?”

She lets you sit in silence.

Rude much?

But… You can’t really call her rude, she was nice enough to pick you up and take you to the border. Where she very unceremoniously dropped you off, and headed off east, seemingly following the border never crossing it. She was… weird.

You instead tighten your back, and head over to the guarded tollbooth. A man looking bored out of his mind and close to sleep sits there. Not even having registered the cart that was there moments ago.

How often do people come through here?

The thought crosses your mind. You know it isn’t one of the main border entrances. You know of one that lies further west. But still, a good 2 to 3 days travel away. Besides you’re pretty sure someone told you the toll at the busy entrances is higher than the ones people rarely use.

But now that you are here and can read the price yourself. It seems the person had either lied to you, or the price at the main entrances are a lot higher than you could ever think about paying.

An idea strikes you, maybe… Just maybe… The guard will fall asleep. Just maybe. You linger on the side of the road. Seemingly interested in the plants nearby. You start jotting down stuff in your notebook. Taking note of the size of the leaves, the colour. You mumble the information to yourself.

Your eyes keep glancing over, as his head slumps down further and further.

It barely takes you a few more minutes of stalling before the guard is full-on snoring. You barely catch yourself nearly letting out a sound in victory.

Silent. Right. No noise.

You can do this. You can sneak past him. You can be silent.

You suck in a breath, as you start moving as slowly as you’ve ever done in your life. Hoping to the sky gods the slowness helps you with being silent. And it does, to some extent. But your backpack still rustles around, and the loose stones on the pathway still skirt across the dirt.

But he keeps sleeping, and before you know it, you’ve managed to sneak past him. Sneak into a country. You did it!

You decide your celebration is best celebrated far from here, and you make your way on the now stone path.

---

It takes you a couple of days before you hit your first village. You’re surprised by this. Normally there is a city around half a days’ time from most border crossings. But this is the SMP. The fact that its citizens aren’t exactly allowed to leave. Is more than public knowledge in other countries. They are under the rule of a Tyrant after all.

You figure it’s time to sleep in a real bed, you deserve it.

You head straight into the in, it’s barely past lunch, but there is a plentiful of people in there already. You stumble a bit at the sight, you had expected a couple of patrons, not a room full of people. But nonetheless, you make your way to the bar.

Conversations bustling around you, a waiter running around, and either the innkeeper themselves behind the bar, or just a barkeeper. You aren’t exactly sure. But you wave them down anyway. Maybe she can help you find the innkeeper and ask for a room.

“Well, hello there, you look exhausted.” Your shoulders sink further down at the comment. Did you really look that bad?

“I was wondering if you had a room I could rent?” you ignore the rude comment and stick to politeness.

“I figured.”

“… So um… Do you have a room free?” You try once again.

“Sorry hun, but if you hadn’t noticed we are full right now.” You completely deflate at the answer. In return, she takes pity on you. “But if you ask around over at the stables, someone might let you on as a passenger and take you to the next city. It’s half a day by cart, so you might just catch one if you’re fast.”

You beam up that answer, profusely thanking her, before running back into the street. Before realising you have no clue where the stables are.

It takes you two people, and three wrong turns to find the stables. And nobody is preparing any carts when you get there. Just a guy saddling his own horse.

Ah well, it never hurts to ask.

You approach the guy.

“Hi!”

He looks a bit confused when you stand across from him, on the other side of the horse.

“Um… good evening?”

You smile at him.

“Can I help you?” He speaks slowly.

“Ah yes! Sorry! I’m a bit out of it. I’m trying to get to the next town over.” You happily tell him.

“And you’re telling me this because…” He trails off. Leaving time for you to answer, instead, you leave him hanging. Until he coughs.

“Because…” He repeats.

“Because I was thinking, maybe you were heading that way.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I can pay…” You try.

“Well then, why didn’t you start with that.” He looks you and your baggage up and down twice before clicking his tongue. “We can make this work. Do you know how to hold on?”

You nod, and he settles onto his horse, waiting for you to do the same. You manage to hoist yourself up and onto the horse. It doesn’t even flinch at the added weight. You’re thankful to the sky gods for that.

He rides the two of you out of town and onto the road for the next town.

“What’s someone like you this far out in the country?”

“I’m a traveller.” You tell him.

“To the border? So you could look at it and head home?” He snorts.

“No no, I’m not from the SMP, I’m just travelling through. I’m headed to L’Manberg.” He snorts once more.

“L’Manberg? That bunch of spoiled brats.”

“Spoiled brats?”

He laughs this time.

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“You truly aren’t from these parts.” He comments, and let the conversation fade out after that.

You don’t question the man, instead just pays him as the sun starts to set, and you are once again in an unfamiliar village. At this point, you barely remember the route you used to take in your home from your house to the baker.

Okay, that’s a lie, that is a route that is embedded into your mind, that you could sleepwalk it. For the sole reason that the route had you pass the library. Which was a place you spent a lot of time. Especially after finding out about the interesting man of Wilbur Soot.

Some books portrayed him as a traitor of the SMP, others the hero of the folk. But every single depiction had one thing in common. That he was an interesting enough man for people to want to write about him.

And that made you interested in him. He had started a revolution in a country that wasn’t his. You weren’t sure where he was from. None of the books in your village had mentioned that.

You head into the inn, this time, it’s bustling from evening patrons, but nowhere as lively as the one in the previous town. The reception this time has a separate table. Which you welcome happily. This means you don’t have to cross another sea of half-drunken people you don’t know.

However once again, the inn is full.

What’s going on here?

This one is even larger than the other one and seemingly has fewer patrons. But you take the rejection with a head held high. Thank them for their time, as you head into the now dark streets.

You sit now on a couple of steps, you’re tired, exhausted, and just want to sleep in a bed.

The door opens.

You nearly leave your skin in shock. You had expected the owner to be asleep. Instead, an elderly lady stands there.

“Would you look at that? It seems I have a guest.” She speaks.

“No no, I’m just passing through, I’m sorry I just needed to rest for a moment. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way!” You ramble on as you scramble from the stone step.

“Nonsense.” She tsks at you. “Come in you poor child.”

She steps back into the house, leaving the door open.

“You coming? Close the door after you, it gets so terrible cold at night.”

You find yourself following her. Closing the door after yourself. You carefully put down your backpack as she ushers you into a seat in the kitchen. Setting a plate of hot steaming soup in front of you. You nearly drool at the sight. You can’t remember the last time you had warm food. Especially not warm homemade food.

You are quick to dig in, and she laughs warmly at you. You feel comfortable here.

“Why were you out in the street this late? That’s no safe place to be.”

You stop the spoon still in your mouth. She laughs once again, but the kind air around her never leaves. You swallow and pull out the spoon.

“I’m making my way to L’Manberg.” You tell her.

“Ah, L’Manberg. I’ve heard about that place. President Soot right?”

“Yes, yes.” You nod at her. “Wilbur Soot.”

“Ah, the Antarctic prince.”

You stop once again.

“The what?”

“The Antarctic Prince?”

You hum.

“Ah my dear, President Soot is the second born of King Philza from the Antarctic Empire.”

You stare at her; this was new information. She laughs once more. You are quick to grab your notebook and write down the new information. How had something this important not been mentioned before? This explains so much to you. And it eagers you even more to continue the trip.

The man of Wilbur Soot only seems to keep getting more and more interesting as each day passes.

The kind lady offers you a bed and a bath.

You are more than happy to receive both. Although you would never admit that to anyone that you could barely recognise yourself in the mirror. And for the second realisation that night. You understood why the innkeepers didn’t want you around.

You’ve never slept as good as you did that night during your travels.

---

You stretch as you can feel the scorching heat of the sun above you. It has been three weeks since you left the kind lady. She had asked for her son to help you move deeper into the country, so you were closer to the border you are desperately trying to reach.

You had travelled with her son for about a week, when he had to start heading more west than south, you had thanked him as much as his mother. But he had brushed you off that having a travelling partner was nice, and that you if came back through he would love to hear stories of the famous L’Manberg and its citizens.

The map you had brought seems to not be well mapped in the SMP. It wasn’t something you were unprepared for, but it did surprise you how little it truly resembled the mapping of the roads.

But a map is a map, and a destination is a destination. So you head onwards.

And onwards…

And onwards…

And onwards…

Sometimes meeting other travellers now that you are deeper in the countries. The nights where you aren’t alone passes faster than the ones where you are.

You hear stories of L’Manberg you have never heard before, and retellings of events but in other perspectives.

It seems a lot of people have a lot of opinions on the small country. But you understand, you too would have a lot of opinions if a city suddenly started wanting independence from its country.

It takes you weeks before you start coming across people who have been near L’Manberg regularly. It gives you a sign of hope. You’re getting closer, your journey is reaching its destination.

---

It’s storming the day you spot the country on the horizon. It’s still storming by the time you reach the country. The SMP toll guard is seemingly nowhere nearby and you pass the border with ease this time. Luckily for you. Or else you would have to explain why a traveller like you didn’t have travel papers.

You had expected to be met with one of the cities of the small country immediately. But it seems they are further from the border. And by further, it takes you an hour at foot-travel to meet the capital of the small country.

The streets are bustling.

That’s when it hits you.

You’ve made it.

You’ve actually made it.

You might look mad, but you let out a laugh right then and there. A laugh of relief. A laugh of victory. A laugh of … being alive.

“Having fun there?”

You turn around, to be met with the eyes of a stranger. A tall brown-haired stranger, nonetheless.

“Yeah, I just… Yeah.” You trail off. You eye him up and down, he’s cute. You put your hand out to present yourself, your name, the country you came from, and the name of the village you used to live in.

“Wilbur Soot, President of L’Manberg.” He returns with a smile. You barely listen to his words. Too captured by his smile. When…

Oh.

Oh, sky gods.

This is the man.

This beautiful human being of a man is the man.

“You alright there?” He asks as he watches you falter for a moment.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. More than fine actually.” You tell him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” You smile at him, and he smiles back.

“So, what are you doing here? You are an awful long way from home.”

He starts walking, and you fall in step with him.

“I’m here to see the country. I’ve heard a lot about it.” Leaving out the unsaid, I’ve heard a lot about you. He didn’t need to know yet, just how intriguing you found him.

You follow him down the street as he points a couple of things out, a couple of buildings, a couple of people. You listen and stop to note something down a couple of times, and he waits, patiently. Until he leads you to the local inn.

He holds the door open.

“A drink?”

“Yes please.”

He finds the two of you a booth, and you easily fall into conversation.

He asks you about your hometown, you about his.

He asks about your journey, you ask about the revolution.

You continue this game of ping pong. And the further down your drinks you get, the more personal the conversation gets. The less you note down. Yet, the man himself never falters from being the most interesting thing you’ve ever encountered.

And the night moves along, your conversation following.

You don’t really know when his hand landed on your thigh. Or when your lips met his. But suddenly you’re stumbling into a room together.

His touch setting you on fire, and your touch egging him on.

Your head is spinning as your back hits the bed.

Your notebook is lying tucked away safely in your backpack, staying there all the way into midday when you finally wake up. Disorientated, confused, and hungover.

Sitting there in that bed, you can’t help but remember the words of the girl you met the first night. And you can’t help but agree with her. Wilbur Soot surely is a love machine.

You hear rustling beside you, and you turn your head.

He’s awake.

He’s watching.

He’s watching you.

You lazily smile at him.

And at that moment, there is nowhere else you would rather be.

You had heard about him before, and you wanted to know some more.

People later down the line found your meeting story anywhere from boring to fate. But one thing was sure, you entered L’Manberg with one goal in mind. And never left again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[ppersonna]

wanna be yours - knj | m

if you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot.  you call the shots babe, i just wanna be yours - i wanna be yours, the arctic monkeys

↳ summary- your camping trip with your date namjoon goes south, leaving you to camp in your car.  somehow, he helps you make the best of it.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 2.9k

↳ pairing-  namjoon x reader

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- public sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (be smrt friends!), dirty talk, creampie, smutty fluff man it’s cute as shit

↳ a/n- hi friends! welcome back to another fun fic with lindy!  i was in my feels tihs morning and this little piece came out.  i hope you enjoy it!  i also felt like making sure namjoon was well represented in more than just a hard dom way LOL.  enjoy babies!  feel free to comment, message me, etc etc.  i love you!

The sunlight pours in through the car windows with no care of disturbing you. It shines bright on your face and heats your skin. It’s uncomfortable—too bright. But, you’re unwilling to move from the warmth and safety of the arms encircling you, so you accept the punishment of the too bright light and remain rooted to your spot.

Sleeping in your car hadn’t been in the itinerary for your impromptu camping date with Namjoon. In fact, you had promised a tent and homemade meals, a campfire, and s’mores. But the torrential rain and downpour that never ended as soon as you arrived at your campground washed away those plans.

You had been distraught—your very new relationship with Namjoon was important to you and you wanted to give him a memorable night. You wanted to show him how invested in him you were, how much you enjoyed being with him. You hoped the night would end with him making love to you and asking to be your boyfriend.

Instead, it ended huddled in your car—soaking wet and eating cold cuts from your cooler, and falling asleep from utter exhaustion of the day. No romance, no passionate lovemaking, only lumpy sleeping bags and open containers of cheese strewn about the car.

Namjoon groans in his sleep as he finally registers the cursed sun pounding into his skull.  He wiggles around in the blankets, arms pulling you in tighter and grumbles about the sun being too noisy.  It makes you laugh—Namjoon always makes you laugh, and it pulls him even further from his rest.

He cracks an eye open and looks down at you.

“What’s so funny, huh?” He teases. His voice is rough around the edges from sleep and it makes your heart beat too fast.

“You said the sun was too noisy,” you giggle as you press your face into his chest.

He huffs a laugh and tries to feign insult.

“It is!”  His fingers dig into your armpits to tickle you, and it makes you squeal.  The ensuing tickle fight fills the car with laughter and you squirm to get away from the onslaught.  Namjoon turns you on to your back and hovers over you.  He has you pinned, and you’re whining for mercy through your laughter.

“Okay! I give! I surrender!” You pout through the tears of your laughter. 

Joon smirks in triumph and moves his hands down and away from your arms and settles them on your hips. 

A silent beat passes and you find yourself lost in Namjoon’s heated gaze. It warms you more than the overbearing sun pounding through the glass of your four-door sedan, and you feel your cheeks flush from the stimulation. 

“I’m sorry this camping thing didn’t really work out,” you mumble to dispel some fire in your chest. 

Namjoon smiles down at you. His eyes glitter with something unreadable to you, but it makes your stomach jump, regardless.

“It was perfect,” he says.  A hand comes up to stroke your head.  “I got to wake up next to you.  I’d say it was a successful trip.

Your throat loses the ability to function—you can’t breathe or form coherent words.  It all dries up on your tongue as you peer into Namjoon’s sincere gaze.

“I want to be with you,” he whispers as he continues to stroke your cheek.  “I’ve had the best time of my life over the last few weeks getting to know you.  I’d like to make you mine.”

Namjoon sounds so confident, so sure of himself and his feelings for you.  It’s intoxicating the way he’s able to be so open with his feelings. His bold first move to you so many weeks ago hooked you at the very start, and every overt attempt at continuing your blossoming romance pulled you further into his captivating orbit.

“I hope you feel the same way.  I’d like to keep getting to know you for the rest of my life.”

His words melt straight through you—you’re certain your heart is a puddle now.

“I’d like that to,” you murmur in agreement.  “I like you a lot.”

His megawatt smile lights up brighter than the gleaming billboards of Las Vegas and it stirs something inside you that has your core clenching.

 “I like you, a lot, a lot.”  

He doesn’t allow you to retort—instead he presses his lips to yours as he holds himself above your body.  

The kiss is so sweet.  There’s no tongue, no diving in for a taste quite yet.  It’s careful, yet confident.  He kisses you like he’s wanted to kiss you from the moment he set eyes on you.  Even though you’ve shared kisses since your first date, this one feels familiar and yet so different.  It feels like the start of something new.

You kiss him languidly, eventually allowing your tongue to slip through his lips and peruse the cavern of his mouth and slide over his own. He accepts it heartily and allows his own tongue to mimic your movements.  You note that despite his morning breath, he still tastes like something spicy, something sweet, and all together Namjoon and it has you weak.  

His hands move up your body, lifting at your shirt, and you’re eager to accept and let him undress you as his kissing turns hotter and more intense.  He sucks on your lips and smiles as the shirt comes off easily and reveals your bare chest.  You took your bra off the night previous and changed into a dry shirt, after spending an uncomfortable few hours in the rain trying and failing to set up a tent.  

He’s mesmerized by your breasts and the way the yellow light of the sun spreads across your pink nipples.  It nearly makes him salivate and you can feel a growing bulge in his sweats pressing into you. It causes you to feel even needier than you were before.  You’ve wanted this since the moment you saw him, and now you would finally get your chance.

Namjoon lowers his head down towards your chest and eagerly laps at your tits, perky nipples slipping into his mouth and being swirled around his tongue.  It shakes a groan out of you and makes your spine tingle.  He’s smiling around your buds now;  you can tell by the shape of his mouth against you, and it makes your own lips curl into a matching one.

The feeling of his mouth latched to your nipple has your core heated and you’re positive you’re soaking through the thin cotton panties covering you.

“Joon,” you sigh. 

He doesn’t offer a response, only hums around the nipple in his mouth as his other hand comes to pinch and pull at the neglected one.  He cups your breast too, squeezing the ample flesh there and enjoying the way it fills his palms.

“So good,” you encourage.  He doesn’t need much encouragement other than your pleased moans, but he likes that you’re talkative and eager to provide.  

He switches off, allowing the soaked nub to experience the pinch of his fingers as the other gets sucked into his warm mouth and nibbled on by his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” he coos, eyes flickering between the reddened nipples and your blissful face.  “I’m so lucky.”

Normally, you’d roll your eyes at such a cheesy admittance but now that you’re here experiencing his magic mouth on your chest, it feels less corny and more romantic than anything you’ve ever heard before.

“Joonie,” you sigh again. “I want you.  Need you.”

You’re needy and unashamed of it now.  You can tell by the pleased look on his face that he likes it so there’s no need to hide how you feel.  

Your hand slips down to the growing bulge in his sweats and you grip it tight.  It makes him hiss through his teeth and he nods quickly.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he moans.  “I need you too.”

Your eyes stare into his—he nearly melts at your doe's eyes glossed over with adoration.  He’s sure he could lose all track of time and reality in your gaze.  

He’s tugging off your sleep shorts as quickly as he can, not bothering to take his time and unwrap you like a gift.  He’s past that point now—you can blame your breathy and desperate whines for more for his haste. 

You want to hide, to cover yourself, to not let your whole body be exposed in the blinding light of the morning sun, but when you see Namjoon gape at you like he’s just stumbled upon an angel, you feel the growing embarrassment stop in its tracks and retreat to the far, dark corners of your mind.  Namjoon doesn’t care about the freckles on your legs, the way you feel your body is too much or too little in places it should be different.  Namjoon is seeing you, all of you, and recognizes that he doesn’t think he’ll want anything else the rest of his life.

“I want to blow you,” you start as you sit up on your elbows.  “But, I think… lack of space is against us right now.”  Your cheeks flare red.  You’re bold, but only just enough to get the words out.  Now that they’re out, you feel the flicking flames of regret.

He pushes all embarrassed thoughts away with a sincere chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wanna eat you out for a month straight but I might break my leg trying to do it here.  I think we’ll be lucky to do everything the old-fashioned way.”  He winks at you.  There’s no reason to feel stupid or too much around Namjoon.  It’s as if he’s molded, body and personality, to be your perfect match.  It’s complementary in nature and it spurs you into action.

“Fuck me, please,” you gasp.  If he’s phased at all by your plea, he doesn’t show it.  Instead, he smiles and presses you down to lie flat on the bed of your car.  It’s not comfortable—the folded seats aren’t the world’s most comfortable bed, and the blankets and sleeping bags bunch under you awkwardly.  But you don’t care.  It simply doesn’t even enter your thought process to care.  You’re too focused on how Namjoon is kissing you, caressing the skin of your obliques as he travels down to allow his finger to drag through the wetness gathering at the apex of your thighs.  It pulls a loud moan out of you as he skims a finger of your clit and your eyes widen in blissful pleasure.

He smirks against your lips and removes his hands.  He wants to play, oh does he ever want to play, but he thinks if he’s not inside you in the next minute or less, he’ll have an uncomfortable wet spot in his pants and some bruised dignity.  You’re so hot like this he thinks he’ll definitely bust in his pants before he even gets inside of you if he’s not quick.

He pushes the sweats down, kicks them off to some corner of your car and continues kissing you.

He pulls away for a moment as he grips his cock. 

“Shit, I didn’t bring any condoms.”

You bite your lip carefully.  You should have thought ahead but you foolishly always believe the man would be prepared.   He can tell by your features you’re lacking too.

“I mean, I wanted to bring some, but I worried you’d think I was presuming something and I didn’t want-... you know… I didn’t want you to think that’s all I was after.”

His confession makes you nearly cry and you’re thanking whatever god or higher power is up there that this beautiful, considerate, and honest man landed in your lap and soon, in your pussy.

“I’m clean,” you state. “I only have sex with partners.  And it’s been awhile.”  He leans down to kiss you but you interrupt one last time. “And I’m on birth control.”

He smiles at you and presses his lips to yours.  It’s comforting and sweet and still carries the heat of before but it’s held to a simmer.

“I’m clean too,” he replies.  “I actually have the printout of my test results last month in my wallet.”  He blushes at his admittance.  “Most guys carry condoms in their wallets and I just have my STD test results and a Costco membership.”

Uproarious laughter escapes both of you, and you cling to each other as you giggle together.  Your stomach hurts from the force of your laughter and you have to wipe away a few tears as you come down.  

“Maybe we can use that membership to get bulk amounts of condoms, then?” You postulate and it triggers another giggle session.

You’re not sure when the laughing ends and when his request for permission to slide into you starts, but you’re soon nodding your approval and allowing his thick cock to spear into you and stretch you wider than you think you’ve been stretched in your life.

You moan in unison, both overcome by the feel of your tight channel gripping his girth.  Namjoon stills inside of you once he’s fully sheathed and he wraps a hand around the back of your head and lets you rest on it like a pillow.

“Fuuuuck,” he nearly whines. “Shit, you feel so good.”

You whimper a reply, non-verbal agreement that the way he slots himself inside of you feels better than anything you’ve felt before.  He’s big and thick, and it feels like you’ve maybe bitten off more than you can chew but it mellows out to the perfect feeling of fullness and satisfaction.

You wiggle your hips to get him to move and he gets the hint.  He starts a pace that feels slow and gentle. You arch your back into him, press your chest against his.  The slow drag of his cock in and out of you is stimulating, it feels like it’s wired with electricity.  He holds you tight, an arm snaking around your waist and pulling you even closer.

“That’s right, baby,” he praises. “You look so good under me. Taking me so well.” 

Somehow Namjoon knew how much you needed the talking during sex, how you craved the interaction verbally as much as you needed it physically.  It spurs you on, gets you even wetter and you clench around him.  He notices and bites his lip.  He’s being rewarded for his gentle dirty talk and he’s encouraged to do it even more.

He picks up the pace and clings to you, eyes flickering between your face, your bouncing tits and the way his dick disappears inside of you and reappears covered in your creamy essence.

“Oh, baby,” he groans.  “You’re so good, baby.  Look at you making my cock all creamy.”

It’s impossible now to hold back your cries of passion.  He ups his pace, makes his strokes deeper and faster and it hits the spot inside you that makes your toes curl.  It feels like your every pore is soaking in every aspect of Namjoon.  Not only does your cunt accept him inside you, but your body craves to have him in your bloodstream.

“Yes, Joonie, yes!” Your hips match his pace and you’re spewing all the praise you can at the man above you. He feels so good inside you, feels like he’s lighting something you didn’t know was extinguished to begin with.

He pumps harder and moves his hands to your hips and grips tightly.  He watches as he continues to drill into you and it hypnotizes him.  The way you feel combined with the way your body sucks him in has him captivated.

Your combined breath heats the car, the windows steaming up from the heat in your pants.  Your skin feels clammy and the sheen of sweat appears on Namjoon’s forehead but none of it fucking matters.  All that matters is the way he pounds into you and pushes you closer and closer to the edge of euphoria that has you raking your hands on any surface of his skin you can reach, leaving trails of fire red lines in your wake.

“Close! Holy fuck, Namjoon!” You cry as your back tips up towards him again.  The coil in your belly is tightening impossibly—it feels like you’re cresting an enormous tidal wave.   “Gonna cum, Joon!”  

Namjoon goes even faster, determined to make you hit your high when he does and he’s nearly there.  Just a little more, a little longer.  

The increase in speed and intensity does the trick for both of you and the loud echo of your moans ring through the small enclosure of the car.  Namjoon pumps himself into your womb, suddenly grateful he knows you’re protected because he didn’t even comprehend a finish other than inside you.   You’re spasming around him and it feels so impossibly tight, tighter than a vice grip, and it makes him whine needily as you milk his cock for all he’s worth.

It takes nearly five minutes to regain complete consciousness and the ability to speak again.  Your breathing evens out from the heavy, gasping pants to light inhales.  Namjoon falls to lie beside you, pressing you into him as he pushes his sticky, sweaty hair out of his face.  

The sound of you laughing shakes Namjoon from his post-coital bliss.  He peers down at your curiously.

“Okay, what is so funny?” He asks.

You snort as you point a finger behind him.  He turns to look and sees an opened container of meat and cheese from your makeshift dinner the night before strewn about the car.  There're pieces of lunchmeat and cheese everywhere, stuck to the sleeping bag and the car seats.

“We fucked on top of cheese.”

Namjoon can’t help but laugh as he pulls you in closer and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

Yeah, he’s found the one. He’s sure of it.

[neon-junkie]

Duality - Chpt.4

Summary: There’s a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you’ve told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: lots idk its multi-chapter

Rating: NSFW

[First chapter] [next chapter not posted yet]

It's funny how Micah somehow guessed the perfect size for your new lingerie. Maybe he's held you one too many times, making a mental note of how each part of your body feels in his hands. You can picture that vividly, Micah explaining to the tailor that your breast size is "this big," as he holds his hands out in a cupping motion. You pray he hasn't actually done that, but this is Micah Bell, after all. You pull on the laces of your new corset, fastening yourself up, and then shrug a pretty yet simple dress on. Today seems pleasant, well, it looked pleasant when you peered through your tent flaps this morning, groggy and half-asleep. There's nothing wrong with being a little vain, and you enjoy putting extra effort into your appearance today, fitting in your new lingerie like a glove, and dolling yourself up to... do chores... At least you're doing your chores in style!

The effort in your appearance hasn't gone unnoticed, as many camp members throw compliments your way, along with curious pairs of eyes that trail over your figure for a few moments too long, not that you mind. The camp women are particularly kind, not that they aren't to begin with, fussing and gushing over how pretty you look. Maybe this is what you needed? a day to doll yourself up and soak up all the compliments you receive? and maybe you'll do it more often, seeing as you're feeling rather wonderful today. But all good things must come to an end... you find yourself at Pearson's wagon, chopping vegetables for tonight's supper, sliding another batch off your chopping board straight into the stew pot. It's a boring job, but it beats scrubbing laundry for hours on end, constantly feeling defeated as everybody's clothes are so stained that it's impossible to get them clean. As always, you're minding your own business, your head dipped down, focusing on the task at hand. Of course, you don't notice your partner approaching, but your ears perk up as he lets out a long whistle. "My, oh my," Micah comments. "I didn't realize it was my birthday, but I appreciate you dressin' up for such a special occasion," Micah flirts as he trails over, leaning his weight against the table. He's eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat, and you notice the way he licks his lips. "Mister Bell," you monotonously greet him, "bold of you to assume I dress for anybody but myself," you jab back. Micah lets out a long and irritating laugh, drawn out for longer than necessary. He peers over his shoulder, checking to see if anybody is nearby, before scooting a little closer to speak directly to you. "Guess you are dressin' for me when you're wearin' the lingerie I brought you," he grins. You double-check your surroundings, and once you're happy with how empty the coast is, you lean across the table, speaking under your breath. "It's a replacement, considering you ruined my last set," you remind him, shaking your head as you speak. Yet again, Micah chuckles. "And I'll ruin this set too," he smirks, and you unfortunately know that's a promise. "And then you'll have to buy another replacement," you tut. "That's fine by me. I ain't short on cash, sweetheart. I'll buy and ruin as many as I like." "I ain't your sweetheart, I told you that last night," you grumble under your breath. You straighten your back, and speak slightly above your normal tone of voice, "now if you'll excuse me, Mister Bell, I'm quite busy here," you brush him off, returning to chopping vegetables. "Oh, I do apologise for taking up your precious time, darlin'," Micah sarcastically replies, raising his hands innocently as he moves his weight off the table. "I'll leave you to it," he says with a soft laugh, then turns heel and wanders back through camp, probably debating which victim to pester next. Your brows furrow as you watch him leave, grumbling to yourself. He knows damn well that neither of you are meant to bring your business into camp, and he especially knows that you're not meant to openly talk about it. Somebody could be lurking nearby, somebody could be on the other side of the wagon, accidentally stumbling upon this juicy piece of information. The camp loves gossip, and something like that would spread like a wildfire. You hate how vividly you can picture it, the faces of everybody scowling your way as they find out that you're sleeping with a pest that you claim to hate. You've had one too many fights with Micah, both inside and outside of camp; imagine how hypocritical people would find you if they suddenly found out that you enjoy his company when nobody else is around. Honestly, what else did you expect? Micah rarely ever keeps his word, and you're surprised that he did when he said he'd buy you replacement lingerie. Oh well, that conversation is done now, and you'll have to keep on your toes around camp, just in case Micah decides to try and pull something stupid on you.

  By the time evening rolls around, your body is exhausted. You've fastened your corset a little too tight this morning, although at the time it felt comfortable. After slipping into something loose and cosy, you start your final chore for today - guard duty. Lenny makes a passing comment about how tonight is quiet and boring, as always, and wishes you luck as he hands you the rifle.

Lenny was right, this is boring. You're currently leaning against a tree on the outskirts of camp, the rifle gripped loosely in your hands; you can feel yourself nodding off, your head dipping and your eyes falling shut. Unlike others, you try to take your jobs seriously, so you push your weight off the tree, doing another lap of the camp in an attempt to wake yourself up.

As you pass by a lantern, you take out your pocket watch, checking how long you have left before you can finally crawl into bed. It's 2am, one hour to go. You make your way down one of the paths leading into camp, eventually dipping off into the trees once you meet the entrance; you never normally trail this far from camp, but why not shake things up a bit?

"Fancy meetin' you out here," Micah comments out of nowhere, making you jump out of your skin, almost dropping your rifle.

"Shit, Micah!" you snap at him, "why you gotta scare me like that?"

"Ain't you on guard duty? you ain't doin' a very good job," he snickers, leaning his weight against a nearby tree, his hands resting on the waistband of his pants. Usually, Micah would rest his hands on his gun belt, but he's stripped of most clothing tonight, wandering around in his simple pants, shirt, and hat.

"I must be more tired than I thought, I'm surprised I didn't notice a buffoon approaching me," you jab back, rolling your eyes at his comment. No doubt, Micah has been stalking you for some time, waiting for the right moment to give you a sudden wakeup call.

"Oh, doll, you poor thing. You want me to go and warm your bed up for you?" Micah taunts, making you grip your rifle tighter. He lets out a chuckle, noticing how angry you look, even through the darkness of the trees.

"What is it with you?" you snap. "Did you really come out here just to pester me?!"

"Mhm," Micah agrees with a nod. He shifts his weight off the tree, taking a few steps over to you, bridging the gap. Before you can swat him away, his hand is pulling at your neckline, peering down your blouse. "Why ain't you wearing the lingerie that I brought you?" he asks, pouting dramatically.

"Off," you command, slapping his hand away. Micah begins to laugh, and without thinking, you slap him across the face, cutting his laughter short.

"Oooh," Micah sighs, giving his cheek a rub. "Not very friendly tonight, are we?"

"I ain't very friendly to anybody who puts their dirty paws on me," you grunt, and turn heel, attempting to walk away. Micah reaches out to take a hold of your wrist, his grip tightening when you try to shake him off. "Doll, I only came out here to let off some steam with you."

"You really think I'm gonna fuck you after that?"

"Yep."

You let out a long, defeated sigh. There are two options presented to you: you can either turn down Micah and let the next hour slowly trail by, bored with nothing to do, or you can enjoy his unwelcomed company, tiring yourself out before bed.

"Alright, but let's make this quick," you agree, pulling your wrist free from Micah's grasp.

There's an awkward pause, both of you staring at each other, as if you've both suddenly forgotten how to initiate sex. Micah then waves his hands about, and orders you to bend over against a nearby tree. "We ain't supposed to do this in camp, that was part of the agreement," you comment.

"This ain't in camp, it's in a forest, sweetheart," Micah corrects you. Well, he's not exactly wrong...

You roll your eyes and let out a huff, but prop your rifle up against a tree. Your skirts are bunched up to your hips, reaching beneath them to pull your undergarments down, letting them settle around your thighs; you then turn to question why Micah is stood there awkwardly.

"I was just enjoying the show," Micah replies with a shrug. He begins unfastening his pants as he approaches, palming at his cock with one hand, whilst the other dips between your legs to slide a finger over your slit.

Micah slides his fingers over you a few times, before slipping a digit in, slowly working his finger in and out. His head dips down to catch your lips, lightly kissing you, enjoying the soft whimpers you make against his lips. He doesn't bother sliding another finger in, and moves his hand away to nudge you against the tree.

Your hands rest on the trunk, and you peer over your shoulder to watch as Micah holds your skirt up around your hips, his other hand slicking his cock against your folds. He's clearly in a rush as he doesn't bother teasing you for long, instead, slipping his cock in and slowly sheathing himself inside you.

Micah mutters something under his breath as he grips onto your hips, and pulls you back onto his cock, pushing himself as deep as he can go. He holds himself there as he lets out a long, deep groan, followed by starting his thrusts, jumping straight into a quick pace. You feel something tap against your foot, peering down to see Micah tapping at you; you know what he wants, so you spread your legs wider, arching your back, gripping onto the tree trunk for support.

This needs to be quick. You dip your hand down between your legs, rubbing at your clit, building your orgasm with Micah's help. He's quieter than usual, the sound of skin against skin filling the air, and hopefully not echoing all the way back to camp.

A hand weaves its way around your waist, and Micah pulls you upright, your back pressed to his chest. He speaks in a deep, husk voice, almost growling into your ear. "I am a little disappointed that you ain't wearing my fancy lingerie, means I'll have to wait to cut it off you," he comments, still attempting to thrust into you, despite the awkward position.

"You ain't even got your knife on you," you say with a laugh. Your laughter is cut short as Micah moves his hand to your neck, gripping oh-so-perfectly, just how you like it.

"I'd use my bare hands, but I can be patient, I'll wait," he says with a soft shrug.

Micah manages to make do, bucking up into you, your hand still rubbing your clit. His thumb removes itself from your neck, only to be replaced with his lips, sucking and kissing your skin so hard that you know it's going to leave marks. You mutter his name, and Micah pleasantly hums as a reply. "Come on, sweetheart," he urges, picking up the pace, and chuckling at his pun.

Your back may be hurting, but you roll your head against Micah's shoulder, moaning away. Only your moans are cut short as you suddenly orgasm, tightening around Micah's length. He quickly removes himself from you, almost shoving you out of the way as he pulls out, spilling himself over the forest floor. "Hell," Micah mutters under his breath, finishing up, and then tucking himself away.

"Pretty," Micah comments as he lightly slaps your ass, just as you're pulling your undergarments back up.

"I know," you smugly reply, and Micah giggles at your comment. He reaches in his back pocket, fishing out a packet of cigarettes, and offers you one. Rather than using one of his matches, you light yours on the end of Micah's, blowing smoke in his face on your first exhale.

"Petty," Micah grumbles, "c'mon, I'm sure your shift has finished by now."

"You can walk ahead, Micah. I ain't risking being seen wandering into camp with you."

"Alright, suit yourself," he shrugs, turning heel and heading back to camp.

You watch him go, wandering off into the darkness, disappearing into the trees, the light from his cigarette eventually fading black. It's too dark out here to check your pocket watch, but after a handful of minutes, you finish off your smoke, and assume it's time to wake the next person up for guard duty.

The walk back to camp is quiet, as always, and for some reason, you're looking out for Micah as you enter camp. He's nowhere to be seen, probably wandered off down the shoreline, and you can't help but scold yourself for being so curious as to his whereabouts.

You shake your head, trailing over to your tent after passing the rifle over to the next camp member on watch, and soon fall asleep, despite the stinging sensation on your neck. 

[7-wonders]

Any chance you could do a professor Duncan and reader, where the reader goes to a college party and gets drunk. She calls him to pick her up and she’s just being clingy and shit?

I’ve literally been thinking about this idea on and off for MONTHS now, so I’m really glad that you sent this to me!

The blue light emanating from the phone has Duncan’s eyes fluttering open. Although he had promised himself that he wasn’t going to fall asleep, the late hour--Duncan checks the time and groans when he sees that it’s only 1 in the morning, begrudgingly conceding that you may be right when you tease him about being an old man--dragging his eyelids shut. The only reason he’s up this late is also the reason why his phone is now blowing up.

Logically, Duncan knows that he doesn’t need to stay up and make sure that your night at a college party goes well. After all, you are a pseudo-adult who is perfectly capable of making her own choices and being responsible for her own wellbeing. Still, he can’t help but feel mildly responsible for you. You’re not even in an actual relationship, although that’s more due to stubbornness than a lack of actual feelings. But, for better or for worse, you trust him, and he holds your opinion of him in high regard.

Duncan hadn’t expected you to even spare him a passing thought tonight. After all, you’re young and vibrant and fun, surrounded by others who are like you. What makes him believe that you’re going to think about the older professor who you can’t even be seen in public with? It’s unhealthy, how much Duncan cares for you, but he can’t deny how his heart stutters when he answers his phone.

“Hello?” Duncan says, the heavy bass of whatever bar or house party you’re at forcing him to hold the phone away from his ear just slightly.

“Hi!” you squeal loudly, Duncan immediately relaxing upon hearing the sound of your voice. “Oh shit, did I wake you up?”

“No, I haven't gone to bed yet.” A half-truth, but it’s one that you accept easily. “Are you having fun?”

“So much fun!” All of the different sounds of music and people talking and yelling would be a little overwhelming, but all that Duncan can hear are your drunken giggles as you try to decide what you want to say next. Despite the late hour, Duncan can’t help but smile. “Duncan?”

The background noise softens, and Duncan assumes you’ve managed to make your way outside. “Hm?”

“Oh,” you laugh, “I thought you had hung up.”

“Nope, I’m still here, princess.” He hears someone, probably one of your friends, call your name. “Why are you on the phone with me? Shouldn’t you be with your friends?”

“Mm, it’s almost last call.”

“How are you getting home?” Duncan knows that you would never drive drunk, but he doesn’t trust your friends as much as he trusts you.

“We’re getting a Lyft, but...” you trail off, attention captured by the sound of people cheering in the bar before the clearing of Duncan’s throat steers you back on track. “Oh my god I’m so sorry, I promise I’m not drunk!”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Duncan chuckles at your obvious lie. “What were you saying?”

“Umm, we’re getting a Lyft, but I really don’t want to ride with a bunch of drunk people since I, myself, am not drunk.”

“Of course.”

“Soooooo,” you drag out the word, and he knows what you’re going to ask before you ask it. You’re not nearly as clever as drunk you thinks you are. “I was wondering if you would wanna pick me up?”

“That wouldn’t be overstepping any boundaries?” Duncan had actually offered to pick you up in the first place, but you had turned him down based on the fear of somebody seeing you with him.

“Boundaries, schmoundaries! I miss you, and I wanna see you!”

He should at least attempt to act a little annoyed at the request, but Duncan’s so thrilled to be needed by you in such a domestic way that he’s immediately up and grabbing his keys. “Send me your location, okay?”

“Oh my god!” you gasp. “I love that song!”

“Not what I meant. I don’t know where to pick you up if I don’t know where you are.”

“Location incoming! See you soon, Dunc!” You hang up before Duncan can get another word in, sending him the requested location so that he can pick you up.

As expected, you’re at one of the popular college bars. Duncan hates that he knows which bars are popular with students, but it’s impossible to tune out his students excitedly chattering on Monday mornings about their weekends. He pulls into a parking spot, thanking his tinted windows for the privacy they provide. He’s about to text you when you come stumbling out of the bar, waving exaggeratedly in his direction.

Duncan’s eyes shamelessly rack up and down your figure, the high-waisted jeans you’re wearing perfectly accentuating your ass and the white crop top flashing a strip of your stomach. You open the passenger door, laughing in glee when you see that Duncan actually is here.

“Duncan!” you cheer, clambering into the car and closing the door behind you. “You came!”

“You asked me to, remember?”

Nodding, you fumble with the seatbelt before finally getting yourself buckled into the car. Duncan stifles a laugh at the way you stare at everything your gaze falls on, as if you’re seeing it for the first time. As Duncan begins to drive, he notices that you’re inching your outstretched palm closer to him. It’s an obvious plea for him to hold your hand, but he’s interested to see how drunk you handles the lack of attention.

As it turns out, you don’t handle inattention very well when you’re drunk. You keep glancing over at him as you hope to get his attention until your hand is nearly on his lap. Finally you’ve had enough, and you huff loudly.

“Dunc, hold my hand!” you groan, jutting your bottom lip out in a pout.

“Oh, I’m sorry princess, you didn’t ask!” You’re a little too inebriated to detect his sarcasm, continuing to frown at him until he places his large hand in yours. “I’m assuming you enjoyed yourself, then?”

“Yes!” You kiss Duncan’s cheek before laying your head on his shoulder. “We played a couple of rounds of pool, which I’m shockingly good at when I’ve had a couple of drinks.”

Duncan pretends to be shocked. “I thought you said you weren’t drunk!”

“I may have fibbed just a little bit.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

When Duncan parks in the parking garage of his apartment, it takes a moment for you to realize that you’re not at your apartment. “Why are we here?”

“I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re drunk, (Y/N).”

“I’d be fine,” you huff, getting out of the car.

“I know that, but it makes me feel better to know you’re not going to get into any drunken accidents.”

Duncan comes around to the other side of the car to make sure that you haven’t fallen over, smiling at you when you hold your arms out to him. He places his hands on your hips, pulling you to him and letting you kiss him.

“Can we go inside now?” Duncan asks, watching as you disentangle yourself from his arms to slip out of your heeled shoes.

“Will you carry me?” A hopeful smile spreads on your face and Duncan sighs, knowing that it’s already over for him.

“Your legs aren’t suddenly broken, are they?”

“But my feet hurt!”

Duncan attempts to shake his head, but the way you grin at him melts any resistance he may have had. “Fine.”

“Yay!” You hop on Duncan’s back, wrapping your arms around him as you snuggle into him. 

“You smell nice,” you note as the elevator takes you up to Duncan’s floor.

“Thank you, you smell like tequila.”

“Somebody spilled tequila on me when we were dancing,” you mutter into Duncan’s ear, peppering his skin in kisses between the words.

“You’re awfully clingy when you’re drunk.” Then, you say the words that make his heart stop.

“It’s because I love you!” you croon, somehow sensing when Duncan freezes even though the complexities of a seatbelt stumped you less than 20 minutes ago. “Uh oh, was I not supposed to say that?”

“Um…” Thankfully, Duncan needs to focus on unlocking his door, giving him time to formulate a response as you continue to cling to his back like a koala. “It’s not that you weren’t supposed to say it, it’s just that you’ve never said it before. Plus, we’re not actually dating.”

“Well that’s stupid!” You let go of Duncan when you reach his bed, falling back onto the mattress and giggling. “Sober me is a pussy.”

Duncan coughs to hide his surprised laugh. “(Y/N), don’t say that!”

“What? It’s true.” 

When you start to lay back against the pillows, Duncan grabs your ankle and pulls you down the bed. “Nope, you’re not falling asleep smelling like a bar.” He grabs a shirt that you had left at his place on accident (and that he certainly hadn’t washed and kept in a dresser) and tosses it to you. “Go take a shower.”

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“If you don’t want to sleep on the floor, then yes.” He’s exaggerating. He knows it, you know it, even the dog barking outside knows it. Still, you’ve found it’s impossible to say “no” to Duncan, so you grab the shirt from him and stand from the bed.

“Not worried I’m going to drown in the shower?” you tease.

“Yell if you start to drown,” Duncan deadpans, smiling as he finds you once again hugging him.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable by saying I love you,” you mutter against his chest.

“You didn’t. Besides, I know you’re drunk, and you won’t mean it in the morning.”

You shake your head. “I will. I think...I’ve loved you for a little bit now, but I just haven’t realized it.” Kissing him, you let go of him and head towards the bathroom. “I love you, Duncan.”

The door closes before you can hear Duncan quietly say “I love you, too.”

[starryikevamp]

愛の光

a napoleon imagine.

by: admin xuan

note: in case you were wondering, i really wanted to just title this ““the light of love” but both the count and arthur imagine had “love” in it so being the unoriginal person i am, i gave up and named this in japanese.

There’s many people who would claim to have no fears.

They would either boast, with an impressive inflated ego and a spectacular ignorance, or some others would simply say this devoid of any emotion. The proud, and the dead. But there’s always something that strikes fear into our souls— we are, after all, human. It is natural for humans to fear, and such sources come from million of things, including holes, sharp objects, etcetera.

And there’s one of them. It’s not darker than the rest, but it’s horrible. Nobody human in a sense could possibly come to like it. And this thing, this source of fear, is war.

You don’t know when an area was going to be blown up, or marched down by soldiers, and you don’t know when you might end up dead. All you can hear is the thunderous roar of aircrafts zooming past the sky like ravens meant to kill. To your left, there’s a mother holding her newborn, her hands working deftly to soothe the high-pitched high, while her eyes tremble. On your right, there’s a family who looked like part of their soul left along with their loved ones. The air stinks of uncertainty along with gunpowder, and fire is everywhere, and you don’t know where your feet is leading you to.

If you take cover for a few days, at the best, you would probably stumble upon a man with fatal wounds. There’s a piece of ripped cloth stained with black, a sign of long-dried blood wrapped around his shoulder, and his clothes are burnt and tattered at places. He barely has the energy to breathe, much less spare a glance towards you. He can’t move, can’t fall asleep, can’t do anything except to wait till he’s saved or succumb to death itself.

Fire. Screams. Gunshots. And blood.

Blood.

-

“...Napoleon. Napoleon? Are you listening?”

The sight of your eyes basked in worry snapped the said man back to reality and away from the snares of his mind. He reminded himself, briefly, that you would trouble yourself to no ends just to make him feel at ease, and immediately rearranged his features to a more relaxed one.

“I’m sorry.”

“Geez, you… oh well, whatever. I was just asking if you’d like to go with me to Theo’s art exhibition this weekend. He was just boasting about it to me this morning.” If Napoleon wasn’t listening, he hid it well. It’s almost like a default mode he’s in, especially when you’re at this proximity to him, he just can’t help but admire you, all while absorbing your words completely. Today, like any other days, you’re glowing. It wasn’t like a harsh glare of the sun, but more like the comforting dim lighting from a bunch of fireflies in a dark field. The type where you can fall back onto the soft grass, and allow those tiny sparks to overtake you gently.

Other suitable comparisons would be like the streak of light across the night sky as it approached dawn, or the silver threads of moonlight. It’s all about light with you.

“If you want to go, I’ll come along too.”

“Really? In that case then, thank you!”

There was only one thing that was comparable to the sun, in his opinion. And that was your smile.

It had been a Tuesday when you told him that, and as clocks tick away, the much beloved weekends finally arrived. The whole mansion was very much alive with buzz, however subtle it was. You and Vincent were of course, the middle of it all, being two balls of pure excitement, jumping around and being all over the place since early morning. The rest would’ve no doubt loved to join in, but it was too amusing to watch from the sidelines than to be directly involved.

Out of the rest, a few weren’t going, but majority was. Isaac couldn’t place the priority of his student’s education before this, and couldn’t join with much regret; Jeanne said he had some business to take care of, which probably wasn’t a really good thing. As an ally and friend, Napoleon would step in, but the former assured that he would be fine, and won’t she be sad if you came with me? convinced him well enough.

Regardless, the rest travelled together, something rare since everyone did what they wanted to do all the time. Until you arrived, that is. Somehow, your smile has been their motivation to do anything, and it was one common goal they all had— whether Napoleon’s happy or not, he couldn’t deny that you did have that effect on people. It was kind of like a drug in some sense. Even now, as you skipped happily alongside him, your arm carelessly linked with his, there was a carefree and beautiful smile, blooming like the most vibrant of flowers. The sight brought butterflies in Napoleon stomach.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?”

A most nondescript building, just like the one Theo described, stood a few hundred meters away. From here, Napoleon could spy a few people streaming into it just as you spoke. Theo must’ve done something to attract them, since all the artworks were by talented, but unpopular artists. It was truly a kind thing to do, he decided, as the group drew closer to the entrance.

The exhibition, in summary, was an interesting one. Napoleon wasn’t one to pay much attention to the arts, and he realises it even more so whenever Vincent or Theo ask about his opinion on something, or even Mozart. Literature-wise, he didn’t fare as bad, but the point was that he did expect to breeze through room after room in this building. And yet, something about these paintings rendered him speechless, made him feel as if he was sucked into this otherworldly place— the stoic woman, the merry young girl on the swings, he could see all this happening in front of his eyes, like a animated picture.

And then he saw it.

The enormous painting of two worlds merged into one, namely, Hell and Heaven. The way the artist expressed their form of Hell was painful to even look at. Bare, bloody bodies twisting and turning, people moaning for salvation, all while standing atop of a black, burnt mass, and fire could be seen dancing in the background.

It reminded him of something.

Fire. Screaming. Blood.

Gunshot.

The moment it rang out, he stiffened. For a while, Napoleon thought the nightmares that he thought had faded long ago rushed back all to him, and that he heard it all in his head, but there were people screaming, running and shoving past him, and smoke assaulted his nostrils. His reflexes told him to run, but his eyes searched for you; you should be around him, nearby, or with one of the guys, and Isaac was tugging on his sleeve with surprising force, so he caved in and ran to the exit. All was well, or so he hoped.

One person was missing.

“Damn. Damn!” Theo muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.

The building was now in flames, shining like an unearthly light amidst the deep darkness of the night, and Napoleon was starting to think that it might not be a fleeting nightmare after all. This was real. There were kids wailing, people screaming, there had been a gunshot, and there’s a fire. To him, Hell just presented itself in the human world; and to make matters worse, you were gone.

“I’m going in.” He declares to no one in particular.

“Are you out of your mind? We don’t even know if she’s trapped in there for sure. What if she’s somewhere out here, safe?”

Anyone who’s seen his expression that night would’ve said that he looked like a man on the brink of desperation. That there was a insane fire in his eyes rivaling the one right in front of him, and that he ran into the fiery inferno without even a second’s hesitation.

It was hot. Of course it was, with the long tongues of flames licking any surface possible bare, and the wooden structure of the ceiling was about to collapse any moment soon. The cement floor, however, was safe enough to cross, and with a great kick, Napoleon easily unhinged the door to the next room. He seemed calm enough, and one would’ve thought that he’s got his nerves together. It wasn’t true at all, for his mind was a mess of thoughts, ranging from what if it’s too late to what if I don’t find her. His muscles were the ones that deserved the credit for his fluid actions, toned by years after years on the battlefield. It was so vividly imprinted into his mind, and the images flash across his eyelids whenever he closes them. Crimson-dyed dried grass, the remains of a tattered flag dancing its last solo— it makes him sick. Just like that first time, bile threatens to spill out, and his heart is hammering away at his ribcage. He can’t move an inch, nor mutter a single word. It was terrifying to the core, and everything stench of death.

A single, weak cough. Then two. It sounded like heaven compared to the crackling of fire surrounding him, and the sight of you curled up in a corner of the room almost brought him to his knees.

You were decently away from any flame nearby, thanks to the lack of objects in the room itself, except for one painting that’s reduced to blackened metal and ashes on the ground. Your clothes were dirty and soot stuck to your sweaty limbs and face, but all that matters was that you were very much alive, and without anything like a bullet wound found on your body. Napoleon silently held you up in his arms, bridal-style, and although you could barely crack open your eyes to look at him through the sting, the way you relaxed into his arms brought him back to earth a little. It was a reminder, of how you trusted him with your life, and that you two would never be apart in times like this.

And so, just like that, the whole thing ends with the both of you exiting the place from the window in the room. Thankfully, you were on the first floor, but Napoleon doubted that it would’ve been a problem even if he jumped from the second. There’s the rest of the guys, for one, who attended immediately and somewhat frantically to you, and secondly, you weren’t majorly harmed. Napoleon had got you out just in time before you could inhale too much of the smoke, and you obtained some first degree burns, but it was overall a miracle that you should be generally fine after being stuck in a burning building.

Everything afterwards passed by in a flash. The fire and gunshot were caused by a man called Gauguin, and Napoleon would’ve liked to personally give him a piece of his mind, but he entrusted the task to Theo instead. It wasn’t really his part to interfere, especially when it concerns past grudges and such affairs.

He remembers so clearly when it happened. It was nighttime, and there was a gunshot, followed by screaming and fire, and later he discovered that he obtained a bleeding ankle. It would’ve been an eternal night, if not for his love of the dim little fireflies.

If not for his love of light.

[startofamoment]

I HAD THE CRAZIEST B99-TGP “CROSSOVER” DREAM THE OTHER NIGHT

Kevin and Shawn were the same person. For the most part, he was living a human life as Kevin Cozner – Professor and Head of the Classics Department at Columbia University, husband to Captain Raymond Holt. His identity as an Immortal Being was a complete secret that not even Holt knew about.

Somehow, despite being a true human with no idea of his own husband’s immortality, Holt knew about The Good and Bad Places and was trying to help Jake not end up in The Bad Place.

At some point (presumably after Jake did something terrible), Holt decided he was a lost cause. Kevin, not enjoying seeing his husband so miserable and hopeless, tried to tell him everything... except Holt refused to believe him and just kept thinking that Jake put him up to this. 

My alarm woke me up right before this crazy dream could progress further than that, but I created a bunch of additional headcanons with some help from @jokeperatla and @proofthatihaveaheart! (Be warned that this is gonna take a hella cliche turn, as human-demon love stories often do.) 

Kevin wanted to torture humans before they even reached The Bad Place, but he was more interested in causing mental/emotional torment than the typical physical suffering... thus the role of classics professor. 

Meeting and falling in love with Raymond Holt, a man most definitely destined for The Good Place, was the last thing Kevin expected and is possibly the highest form of torture for a demon. 

As head honcho of The Bad Place High Council, Kevin’s free to do whatever he wishes without his worldly actions being monitored. Since he works remotely and only communicates via video conference, none of the other Immortal Beings know much about his personal life. 

Kevin personally arranges the most special of tortures for everyone who mistreats his Raymond for when they reach The Bad Place.

Since he technically doesn’t need sleep, Kevin sneaks out of bed every so often to call up his subordinates and get work done. Holt, while mostly-asleep, overhears a few of these conversations and subconsciously picks up bits and pieces about The Good and Bad Places. This happens enough times that he’s eventually convinced some higher being is speaking to him about the afterlife. 

At some point, Kevin accidentally leaves a page or two of notes from his work binder somewhere around their house. When Holt stumbles upon this, all his suspicions about life after death are confirmed. 

Holt becomes obsessed with trying to get into The Good Place. Of course, if anything, his “good” actions only decrease his total point score because his motivations aren’t right. As much as Kevin would love for his husband to go to The Bad Place and for them to be together for all eternity, he doesn’t want him to have to go through any torture. Holt’s fake altruism streak comes to an end when Kevin, somewhat out of context, says: “You’re a good person, Raymond. This is why I love you.” 

When Holt transfers to the Nine-Nine, Kevin’s prepared to add more people to the long list of Raymond’s Homophobic and/or Racist Co-Workers, i.e. the list he’s passing on to only his most ruthless torturers. He’s surprised when they turn out to be genuinely nice people who love Holt almost as much as he does. Seeing this, he’s suddenly struck with the feeling that he doesn’t really want any of them to be tortured.

Holt knows Jake’s a good person, but there’s just some part of him that’s worried the detective’s done enough reckless, self-serving things to land him in The Bad Place. He takes it upon himself to try to guide Jake, but it quickly becomes obvious that this is a lot harder than training Cheddar to do a new trick. After Jake ignores his advice for the umpteenth time, Holt sits him down and tells him everything he knows about the afterlife.

Jake’s not entirely sure Holt is right about The Good and Bad Places, but he does respect him and appreciate all his help, so he at least tries to make better choices. This isn’t always easy because his robot of a captain has such a strict moral compass, and he sometimes can’t help but just go with his gut. 

Holt gives up after Jake goes against his direct orders and does something gravely wrong despite having the best intentions. This sends him on a spiral of disappointment and helplessness, ultimately leading him to question everything he believes in. Kevin gets home from work to find him in this state and decides it’s time to come clean about everything. It takes showing him his full binder of notes to convince him he’s telling the truth.

Kevin’s greatest fear, apart from inevitably getting separated from the love of his life after he dies, is him finding out about his true self and leaving him altogether. Still, he knows that he doesn't deserve this pure human being at all and only wants the best for him. “Raymond, if you want me to pack my bags and leave, I completely understand." To his surprise, all his husband does is kiss him and nod. “I suppose I always knew you were a demon in bed."

It’s impossible for Kevin to know exactly how Jake is doing in terms of the point system, but he does want to help him get into The Good Place especially if it makes his Raymond happy. He decides to orchestrate Jake and Amy getting together because she seems like the best person to whip his moral compass into shape. He’s floored when, even before he starts to intervene, the two detectives fall in love on their own. 

Kevin’s true identity remains a secret, but Gina once catches him making the snarkiest of comments about Margo and her trip to Scottsdale. Following this, they have weekly meetings specifically to roast people. He thinks that maybe she’d do well as a torturer or architect, if she ever did feel like leaving The Good Place. 

Kevin’s lost count of the number of times he’s tried to figure out how to stay with his husband in the afterlife. He’s considered creating a perfect neighborhood for the two of them, one that he’ll claim is an experiment of a new kind of torture to avoid questions from the High Council. He knows this wouldn’t work though because he really only has jurisdiction over people in The Bad Place; he wouldn’t be able to put his Raymond in any sort of neighborhood since he’ll be all the way in The Good Place. 

After deliberating for ages, Kevin decides that his only shot at maybe getting to be with his husband for all eternity is giving up his immortality. Even then, something like this has never been done before, and it’s hard to say whether the point system will take all his actions into account or only what he’s done on earth. The act of giving up his immortality and power for just one person holds such great value but could also be determined to be something done for his own happiness. As far as he can tell, it’s impossible to predict whether he could end up in The Good Place.

AAAAND... SCENE! Y’all, I honestly have no idea how this crossover AU would end. Does Kevin automatically get placed wherever Holt is because they’re soulmates and his utopia wouldn’t be complete without him? Does Kevin bargain with the higher ups at The Good Place and beg to work for them instead? Does Holt become the equivalent of an angel, and do they then proceed to have the most illicit romance of all time? Really, your guess is as good as mine. 

[hunterpuff]

T-Shirt (RobxReader)

Pairing: Rob x Reader

Word Count: 2,359

Warnings: Heavy making out, implied smut (nothing graphic)

A/N: (Very) Loosely based on the Thomas Rhett song “T-Shirt” I have no idea where this came from, it was supposed to be a lot more innocent than this, I promise. I’m pretty sure I didn’t write this, the story literally wrote itself. I’m a bit nervous about posting this, because...this is the closest to smut I’ve ever written and I’m pretty sure it sucks. Purely fiction. No disrespect meant to any actors or their significant others. It’s all for entertainment and to fulfill fantasies of fan girls.

Bright sunlight was peeking in through the blinds and falling across your face, waking you slowly as it infiltrated the thin covering your eyelids provided. Sucking in a deep breathe as you slowly came back to consciousness, you let out a soft groan as you rolled over, trying to ignore the glaring evidence that it was now morning time and, therefore, it was time to wake up. As you turned to your side you felt your body press up against something soft and warm and you finally allowed your eyes to slowly flutter open. Seeing the sleeping form next to you, you reached over to run your fingers softly through his hair and a small smile played at the corner of your lips as you recalled the events of the night before.

_____________________________________________

It had all started after the Saturday Night Special concert. It was late and everyone knew they should probably be heading to bed before Sunday morning snuck up on them, but you were too wired to sleep. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something had been different. The energy from the crowd had felt different and it had translated into a special kind of energy on the stage, running through each of the people who had performed like an electric current. The entire time you had been performing your favorite song, Hell on Heels, you had felt as if every one of your nerves were standing on edge, ready to explode at any given moment. Following a night like that, you knew there was no way you could just go back to your room and fall asleep; you needed to unwind somehow, you needed to blow off some steam. So, when Rob had asked if you wanted to go grab a drink, you had immediately said yes.

The two of you had ended up at the bar in your hotel, sipping drinks on the patio, as you both talked animatedly about the night. It seemed as if you weren’t the only one who’d noticed something different in the air, Rob had felt it too. While you had attributed the difference to the band feeding off the crowd’s energy, Rob disagreed and said that the crowd had been feeding off the chemistry on stage. More specifically, he’d said, they had been feeding off of you. According to Rob, you were the one who had been different. You’d been putting off a different vibe, getting more into your song than you ever had before. You, in his words, seemed to have set out to seduce everyone watching you and had succeeded.

Maybe it was still the leftover effects of the concert, maybe it was the two glasses of wine slowly seeping into your brain and making it fuzzy, maybe it was the fact that you had been crushing on the man sitting across from you for months now. Most likely it was all three things crashing together into an overwhelming explosion. All you knew was that one minute you were sitting there, looking at Rob from across the table, and the next you were moving in towards him and crashing your mouth against his as if you needed him as much as the very air you breathed.

He had stiffened a little at first, clearly having not expected the assault on his lips, but he quickly relaxed and you realized he was kissing you back with just as much need and desire as you. Your lips parted slightly for him, allowing his tongue to slide softly against your lips, and you couldn’t stop yourself from whimpering softly at the contact. Your body seemed to have taken over on it’s own, your brain no longer having any sort of control over what you were doing. You felt your hands lift and run slowly through his hair, causing him to moan softly against your lips when your fingers got stuck and slightly pulled at his hair.

Somewhere in the middle of the kiss, you vaguely heard him asking you if you wanted to come up to his room. You heard yourself saying no, but even as you said it you were standing up from your seat and grabbing onto his hand, pulling him behind you. As you made your way through the hotel lobby you giggled like a teenage girl and kept glancing back behind you too look at him. His face was slightly flushed and his lips still swollen from the kiss you had shared on the patio, he had never been more attractive to you than he was right now and suddenly you weren’t too sure how you were going to last until you made it upstairs to his room. Upon arriving at the elevator you found yourself pressing the button repeatedly in the hopes that it would get to you faster.

Once the elevator had arrived, after what felt like an excruciatingly long wait, Rob waited until the doors had closed behind you before he slammed you against the wall and pressed against you as he crashed his lips down on yours; causing you to moan softly as you felt your back hit against the cool metal of the elevator. You’d never taken Rob to be someone dominant or rough and the realization that maybe he was a little authoritative in the bedroom sent a rush through you, turning you on even more than you already had been. Reaching up to grab onto his t-shirt, you bunched it tightly in your fists as you moved to rock your hips against him. The sound that came from his lips as he felt you pressing against him shot straight to your core, and you found yourself wondering how much trouble the two of you would get into if you begged him to take you right there in the elevator.

Thankfully there didn’t seem to be anyone else awake this time of night and the elevator never stopped until it reached the floor all of the cast was staying on. Though you gave Rob a little push to let him know you needed to get off the elevator, the two of you never broke apart as you stumbled down the hallway to his room. In the back of your mind you were silently saying a small prayer of thanks that the only other people staying on this floor were your friends and people you knew. You kept stumbling and banging into other doors as you made your way down the hall; you were even fairly certain that a few of those doors opened as you moved away and you heard familiar voices telling you to keep it down and find a room. As soon as you finally got to his room, Rob pinned you against the door as he fumbled with the keycard and tried to unlock the door without ever removing his mouth from yours. You probably weren’t helping the situation any, either; as you kept sliding your hands under his shirt and up his back before slowly scratching your nails down over his chest and stomach.

Somehow, Rob finally managed to unlock the door and push you into his room, using his foot to kick the door shut behind him as he followed you into the room. As soon as the door was closed tight, the clothes started coming off. Your dress was unzipped and pushed to the floor as you took a step backwards and stepped out of it, his shirt was pulled over his head and tossed somewhere in the general direction of the bed. Every few steps you mumbled that you should stop, but then you would be the one to lean in and press your lips against his as you reached for another article clothing that needed to be discarded. Before you knew it, you could feel the bed pressing against your knees and you fell backwards into the mattress, breaking apart from Rob for the first time since the two of you had stepped into the elevator.

Rob stood over you, his chest heaving slightly as he tried to catch his breath, and looked down to take in the sight of you sprawled across his bed. For one heart stopping moment, you were afraid that he was coming to his senses and was about to put a stop to this whole thing. You were just about to grab the blanket to cover yourself in an attempt to retain a little bit of your dignity when he finally moved, crawling onto the bed to hover over you. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours before moving to press his soft lips in a trail over your warm skin to your neck, where he began to suck softly at the sensitive spot just behind your ear. You lifted your hips up from the bed and arched your back slightly against him, causing him to pull away from you slightly. His breath tickled against your skin, causing you to shiver slightly and goosebumps to break out over your flesh as you hear his voice right in your ear. “Are you sure about this? Before I let this go any further, I need to know it’s what you want. I need to hear you say yes.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders and you nodded your head as you pushed yourself up against him, a softly whimper escaping your lips as you felt your skin pressed against his. “Yes. God, yes. Please.”

_____________________________________________

You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as last night’s events rolled through your mind. At the time, part of you had thought you’d had to be dreaming, there was no way any of it could be real. But now, in the light of day, there was no denying that it had been real. Rob was laying next to you, peacefully asleep, and you could feel a satisfying ache radiating through your body. You weren’t sure how he would feel once he woke up and reality settled in, but you knew that you wouldn’t mind many more repeats of last night.

Looking over his body to the clock on the nightstand, you sighed softly when you realized that you both needed to start getting ready for the day, sooner rather than later. Rob didn’t need to be awake just yet, you figured you still had a good hour or so before you needed to disturb him, so you carefully moved to get out of the bed without waking him. Reaching for the first article of clothing you found on the floor, you smiled as you realized it was the t-shirt he had been wearing the night before and you slid it over your head. It was a little big on you, but it smelled like him and the well worn fabric felt soft and comfortable against your skin.

With one last glance over your shoulder, you smiled and felt your heart flutter in your chest at how peaceful Rob looked as he slept. A part of you knew that it was a sight you could get used to seeing frequently. As you carefully stood from the bed, doing your best not to wake him, the sheet slowly slid down your bare legs and you stretched your arms over your head before you padded softly across the room to the coffee pot. After the late night you’d had you knew that both Rob and you would need it, and you figured the least you could do was make a pot before he woke up. It took you a second to figure out how the hotel coffee pot worked, it had been awhile since you’d made coffee with anything other than your Keurig, but in no time at all the smell of fresh coffee was permeating the room as it brewed.

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and moved out to the outside balcony to take in the view of the city as you drank it; you had been out there about twenty minutes when you felt strong arms wrap around your waist and the scruff of a beard brushing against your neck as soft, warm lips pressed against your skin. Sighing softly, you settled back into his embrace and laid your head back against his shoulder as you closed your eyes. Yeah, you could definitely see yourself getting used to this on a regular basis.

“I woke up to an empty bed. Thought maybe you’d had some regrets and decide to skip out on me.”

You hummed softly and shook your head as you turned to press your lips softly against his cheek. “No regrets. You just looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn’t want to disturb you. Figured I’d take longer to get ready than you would, so I was going to shower before I bothered you.”

“Or…you could crawl back in bed with me for awhile, and we could share that shower to save a little time.”

Laughing softly, you shook your head as you turned in his arms to face him and looked up at his smiling face; getting lost for a second in the way his bright blue eyes were looking at you. As if you were the best thing he had ever seen. “What’s that look on your face for, Benedict?”

“I don’t know. Just admiring the way you look right now.” He smiled softly as he leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose softly. “I always thought you were sexy before, but nothing compares to how you look right now, your hair a mess and wearing my t-shirt. It looks good on you.”

“My, aren’t you a sweet talker? A girl might think you were trying to get lucky. Again.” A wide grin broke out on your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought your hands to play softly with his hair. “You know, I might be able to be talked into that idea of sharing a shower…under one condition.”

“Oh, already hitting me with conditions and ultimatums? And what’s this condition you have?”

“After we get out of that shower…give me one of your t-shirts to wear today.”

Tags: @natasha-cole

[violetsystems]

#personal

For once I’m not terribly moody although I did wake up pretty early.  My mom called last night presumably while I fell asleep watching the Road Warrior.  I also watched Alien Covenant for the first time yesterday all the way through.  I’ve been living all this time thinking they never patched the plot holes together from Prometheus.  Lots of DNA porn in that.  If there is such a thing.  I’m sure everyone has seen it by now so I’m not spoiling anything.  But the bomb dropping on an alien planet in the form of a chain of nucleotides is kind of raw.  Bleached blond android reminiscent of 1940′s Germany though still undoubtably referencing Lawrence of Arabia.   It reminds me of an avalanche moreover the effect of how snow particles reorganize themselves.  This effect is called the Catherine Wheel and forms together when smaller particles shift together between bigger mass movements.  I love that quote from Stone Island somewhere back in 2008.  A purple jacket with embroidery talking about snowflake responsibility when it all comes tumbling down.  Life lately seems to be a nonstop seesaw of hope and fear.  I’ve been kind of stuck in a holding pattern with everything.  One of the biggest roadblocks was a vaccine.  I took the train earlier in the week one block to Bulls Stadium.  I live that close.  In about twenty minutes I was all patched up with the latest update.  It’s 2021 mind you.  I’m still recovering from a mortal wound back last July.  I was in New York that February at the heat of it.  The simple fact that I’ve stayed alive is a triumph to me.  But after a full five days after being vaccinated there are no real side effects to talk about.  I read somewhere someone who wrote at length how the side effect they felt was guilt.  That somehow they didn’t deserve this when the rest of the world is suffering.  That narrative is problematic at the moment for me.  The sticker I received after getting poked in the arm helped me understand it better.  Protect Chicago.  When the military nurse injected me I replied that I was thankful for their help.  They replied it was the other way around.  Getting vaccinated is certainly the healthy thing you can do if you can get it.  It’s also rather understandable to feel confused as to which one to get.  I do feel lucky to be able to experience a platform that is the start of something new for medical science.  MRNA is about as real as it gets.  There is no live virus.  It is more a set of instructions.  I was eligible because I live in a high risk zip code.  The dosages for Chicago were made available federally.  So I don’t feel so much as guilt really after what I’ve been through.  However it all worked out in the end doesn’t honor or dignify all that was sacrificed in the process.  The virus to me was an exogenous shock to the system here in America.  And it was ongoing.  It trapped me.  It trapped us all really.  And the light at the end of the tunnel couldn’t start until the shot was in my arm.  It’s too bad the tunnel pretty much collapsed behind me.  But things reorder themselves after a disaster.  Gravity pulls everything back to earth.  My mom’s call was to inform me her new neighbors knocked on the door.  Her old neighbor died.  A terribly awful lady who yelled at my mom anytime she stepped into her backyard.  My mom suspects her new neighbors are from Jamaica.  She loves Jamaica.  We went there one summer when I was little.  She loved embarrassing me dancing to live music.  I love the clear ocean water and being solicited on the street with huge garbage bags of weed.  I was twelve back then.  I thought it was salad.  Either way I mentioned to her not to assume anything from an accent.  She’s going to go to Home Depot and buy them a plant to show them some love.

As far as neighbors go, we’ve had a little turnover in my building.  According to my landlord, it’s a full house.  My mom lives just outside the city on the border.  I live near the Heart of Chicago in an area called the Lower West Side.  West side and south side are night and day.  People from the South Side wear their White Sox hats like they’re part of a shock troop invasion sometimes.  People on the west side don’t give a fuck.  Dance Mania records originated in the Lawndale neighborhood far west.  Most of the Teklife footwork culture started further south near 95th and the Dan Ryan.  My mom lives a bus ride away from the old Battlegrounds spot.  But Chicago is by definition safer when you understand we live block by block.  DJ Deeon said it best.  Block business.  Every street has it’s own culture and lore.  It gets harder to parse as the years go by mostly because things get more diverse.  Narratives get buried.  People get it twisted.  And you never know whose toes you are stepping on.  People are always trying to get a read on you.  Maybe pigeonhole you into a social group so they can worry less.  I’ve had people tell me they get nervous when they couldn’t keep tabs on me.  I’ve never been one to hold myself back from exploring.  I’ve wandered back and forth to Korea, Japan and China by myself.  The last year and a half has been sort of torture for me.  I’ve felt trapped and in limbo.  Much less the last few weeks.  There’s always little signs that things are getting better around you.  Or at least signs that people understand your context and what it is that makes you happy.  There’s also always people out there that think they know you better.  Chicago can be up in your face at times.  Accusatory.  It doesn’t like lone wolves unless it can corral them together in a pen.  There’s always an agenda here.  Much like anywhere.  But in Chicago, it moves slower.  Gentrification to me here has always been a sweeping motion.  People come in that you don’t know and claim to be neighbors.  They set up camp in your sacred spaces and you assume there’s some sort of mutual understanding.  Community can be somewhat pushy when it comes to sharing power.  Nobody has ever really ever asked me anything.  It’s always statements or projections.  I can explain this by how many times people have asked or said my name in the last year.  It’s painfully low.  People aren’t polite.  They are balancing huge weights on their shoulders.  I get that nobody has time for me.  Living in a city like Chicago is facetime every time you walk out the door.  But there’s times when people would rather just be rid of you than have to settle up.  And there’s enough intimidation out here that goes hand in hand with gentrification.  If you resist you obviously have some problem.  And when you do, you are asking for more trouble.  And yet after awhile standing your ground in Chicago is a lot like being a stick in the mud.  There’s a point when people give up trying to push an immovable object.  They just build around the foundation of it.  And in some ways having a history of being both exceptionally mobile and classically predictable is a good thing.  Of all the things I could have worried about the last nine months it was having a place to live and shelter in place.  It isn’t like I have to go very far for real culture.  I don’t own a car.  The train is literally out my kitchen window.  I can walk to Chinatown.  I get Korean stew every Sunday.  The faces I see every day are not exclusively Caucasian although the intimidation I feel is primarily from White people.  I stumbled the other day when the operator on the vaccine line asked my race.  I said white at first but white isn’t a race.  It isn’t even a culture.  I’m half Swedish, a little German and Croatian.  I don’t see anybody sitting home on a Saturday night watching Anthony Hopkins as Hrothgar to celebrate their heritage around here with me.  I do see a bunch of generic white people fearful that I’m something they can’t control.  Welcome to America I guess.  

I have family all over the world.  A cousin who lives in Hong Kong who I’ve reached out to again but has gone silent.  Another cousin from Africa I’ve never met who shares the same name as me but not the same color of skin.  These little details are lost amongst a sea of paranoia, disinformation and pranks.  I write the same shit here every weekend like a faq on Usenet.  Frequently asked questions about our friend we’ve known for years but can’t trust.  Things better left unsaid or skimmed over.  Most of being confident in this age is realizing when you are not the problem.  Everybody is looking for someone to blame.  And everybody is talking on the internet.  Everybody wants to win their argument in a cage match to an audience of influencers around the globe.  There are real people in every situation suffering in complex ways that you size up on your forums.  Everyone is a private detective.  Everybody plays CSI.  Everybody got the latest dirt on the tiniest speck of dust in the wind.  And everything is twisted to fit a larger agenda and narrative that becomes impossibly complex until it collapses.  We all get lost in the Avalanche.  Failures and fuckups get lost in an alternate reality game of ABC’s and P’s and Q’s.  Trying to juggle and wiggle through these busy bodies that don’t give a fuck about us.  Trying to argue with a brick wall that will soon shift and crumble.  And we all feel completely small in the process.  A little snowflake.  All by itself.  Resorted by the tides of the moon with each passing invisible wave of gravity and physics.  The entropy of things that what we build can fall apart eventually.  How long that happens is determined by the bonds we keep.  Whether it’s worth it in the long run.  And I worry less these days about what isn’t working and more about what keeps me together.  Where I land within all of this.  I’ve felt alone and not so much over the last year or so.  I long for physical connection just like anybody else.  But without the right foundation it’s damn near impossible to connect it all together.  Sometimes when the avalanche comes, it’s better to roll with the punches and see how it all sorts out.  And there are plenty of seismic rifts happening in the world today acting upon by any number of exogenous shocks.  The virus being one of them.  When it’s lifted, the problems we had before all of this are still there.  And the tunnel to the past has all but been demolished.  Where do you go forward in the light?  Maybe you just take a rest.  Maybe you wait for people to recover their sense of balance and direction.  After that kind of disaster you definitely don’t make any sudden movements.  I’ve thought about travelling again this summer.  This idea of revenge travel is ridiculous to me and slightly toxic.  If everybody is filled with bloodlust, I’d rather just relax at home until it’s my time to shine.  I’ve been to New York so many times already and nobody ever wants to hang out.  And for once in my life all the signposts point back to here at least when it comes to sanctuary.  Everybody in the world is looking for Sanctuary.  Everybody in the world wants peace.  And yet not everyone in the world wants to see eye to eye and share this planet together.  Not everyone wants to put their ego aside and respect the dignity and horror of being alive.  And subsequently many people have an internalized guilt over this.  They romanticize it.  They deflect and project it back onto you.  They gaslight and pretend you are invisible.  They create false narratives to help them sleep at night when their nerves are on fire from consumption, greed, and guilt.  And the bullshit ultimately floats to the surface of this toilet we call life.  My life at times in the last nine months feels like it was flushed down the toilet.  Like some well meaning android dropped a bomb of toxic shit on my entire game plan.  I’m resilient enough to live through it.  I’m smart enough not to consider revenge.  I’ll be more comfortable with that statement after I get my second shot.  Until then I’m not making any sudden moves.  Or any controversial statements other than I still love you. <3 Tim  

[ijustwant2write]

A Different Background-Eggsy Unwin x Reader

(GIF credit to owner)

Masterlist

Summary: Requested by anonymous: ‘Hi! I really like your writing it’s incredible ❤❤ can you please write an Eggsy x reader where the reader is a very serious agent and she’s been part of the kingsman before Eggsy and he really likes her and try to grab her attention in many ways and most of them fail leaving him embarrassed while Charlie and the others make fun of him but when he refuses to shoot JB that’s when he caught her attention (it takes place during the first film)? I’ll love you forever if you did it! ❤❤’

Characters: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Meanings: (Y/H/L)= Your hair length (Y/H/C)= Your hair colour

Warnings: Bit of swearing

(A/N: Gonna do third person again. Also may have changed it slightly.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Merlin stood with his clipboard, his back straight as he eyed down the new recruits. They too were stood in two lines in front of him, hands behind their backs, awaiting their orders. Most of them looked like the usual material; posh, a wealthy background, maybe a little snobby. All except one. Perhaps thing would be a little different during this recruitment. Merlin started by introducing himself, explaining how the how this job interview would play out. He loved to see the petrified faces as he mentioned the body bags.

Eggsy Unwin was a little disturbed by it all. These people weren’t fucking around. He tried to maintain a stern face, recalling his training in the marines. No way were these people going to care him off on the first day.

“Alright, now that we’ve gone that settled,” Merlin’s posture became a little relaxed,“I will not be alone on this. I have one of our finest members joining me. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Agent Guinevere.” Eggsy was suddenly paying more attention. The most gorgeous woman he had ever seen walked in, her steps silent as if she were on clouds. Her (Y/H/L), (Y/H/C) framed her face which held a plain expression, though that didn’t make her any less beautiful. She held such a confidence stance, she knew she was good but not in an obnoxious way. Eggsy found himself standing a little taller, chest popping out and head held high.

“I have never seen a better agent than her. Don’t let her intimidate you though, she’s really a sweetheart.” Merlin reassured them.

She smirked slightly, scaring some of the recruitments. They knew what they were getting themselves into, but that didn’t mean they were any less afraid. Merlin continued to brief them, giving her time to assess them. They were only but a year or so younger than her, she was one of the youngest agents. None of them stood out to her, except one man. He wasn’t dressed like the rest, sweatpants, bomber jacket and a snapback hat. Whoever picked him saw something, what is was she didn’t know yet. Perhaps this recruitment would be interesting.

It was their first night at Kingsman, but little did they know that it was also their first test. Merlin and Guinevere stood at the two way mirror, watching as they settled down for the night.

“That Eggsy, he’s different from the others.” she spoke up.

“Yes, very good skills though. Great in gymnastics, coach said he could go to the olympics, did very well in the marines until he quit. Has family problems.” Merlin informed her.

“They’re a good bunch. Let’s hope they do well.” Their attention went back to the mirror.

“Eggy, saw you checking out the agent.” Charlie teased arrogantly. They had some sort of beef between them.

Eggsy ingnored him whilst Guinevere blushed slightly.

“As if you would ever be with someone like that. She hardly spared a glance at you. It’s not like you’re going to pass these tests anyway.”

Eggsy spun around, ready to punch him before another recruitment, Roxy, stopped him. Charlie and his followers laughed, enjoying this. He was a stuck up brat, he had probably always got his way. Guinevere hated people like that.

They were all finally asleep, unaware of what was to come. Silently, water began to fill the room, waking them up as it reached their beds. Panicked, they all started to shout over on another until someone had the idea of using the showers as air tubes. Heading straight towards them, they bent them round the U-bend of the toilet, breathing through them. Eggsy had swam to the door, using all his strength to get it open. Guinevere bit her lip, anxious for all of them. But when Eggsy approached the window, she knew that it had clicked in his mind what I do. Her and Merlin simply stood to the side as the glass broke, the recruitments all falling out with the water. He had done it, he figured it out.

Merlin congratulated Eggsy and the others who figured out the U-bend trick.

“That’s cause he’s seen a lot of them.” Charlie smirked, referring to the two way mirror.

“I didn’t see you breaking the glass.” Guinevere snapped.“What were you planning to do? Stay next to the toilet for the rest of your life?”

Some of them snickered, especially Eggsy. Listening to the others accents made him cringe at how posh they were, but when he heard her speaking, he somehow fell in love with it.

The tasks continued, more trainees were eliminated. Guinevere knew who would be in the finals, something inside her made her happy that Eggsy was there. Perhaps it was because he had proved himself in front of the others, perhaps it was because he had been constantly flirting with her. She quite enoyed it but wouldn’t let it show.

There was the time where they had to do their paper test. Those who remained sat at desks like school children, whilst Guinevere sat at a desk like a teacher. When they were finished, they would hand them in to the agent. As she sat there with a book to keep her occupied, she didn’t really pay attention when they brought up their papers. Eggsy saw his opportunity, swiping up his papers with a flourish, he swaggered his way towards the desk, sliding the paper towards her. He willed for her to put the book down, just to look at him once. Her eyes lifted from the book for a second, just to catch him tripping over his own feet. Stumbling towards the door, he regained his posture, clearing his throat before walking out. As usual, Charlie was snickering, immediately shutting up when he fell upon Guinevere’s stare.

Then there was the parachute task. This decided the final three. As they plummeted thousands of feet towards the ground, Eggsy had to hold onto Roxy, thinking that he was without a parachute. They were lucky not to be detected in the radars and land in the 'K’. Merlin complimented him on his quick thinking, only to be snapped at. Eggsy felt targeted, embarrassed and frustrated that he was picked out, just because he was different. For a moment he didn’t care that Guinevere was seeing him like this; he was sick of her turning her nose up at him too. What was the point anymore? Merlin obviously took none of it, pulling in a string on Eggsy’s suit, deploying a parachute that had been there all along. For the second time he fell in front of his new crush, unable to get back up. Though he was happy to have got through, his heart saddened when He saw her walk away from him again, no second glance spared.

Guinevere was sat in a hallway, awaiting whoever would be the new Galahad. It was down to the worst test, the shooting of the dogs. Crossing her legs, she took in the peace, knowing some sort of shot storm would come along at one point. The doors to Arthur’s office slammed open then quickly shut as Eggsy stormed out. Yet again he was angry, fuming that someone could belittle him like that. He stopped in his tracks as he spotted the young woman sat down.

Just as he was about to storm away again, she called out to him.“Eggsy, stop where you are.”

For some reason he listened.“What? You want to kick me while I’m down too? Go on then, you posh totties get off on it, dont ya’?”

She widened her eyes, sarcasm rolling off her tongue.“Wow, haven’t heard that one before.” her eyes softened, smiling slightly.“Why didn’t you just do it Eggsy? Why throw it all away now?”

“I just couldn’t. JB was my only other friend besides Roxy.”

“Jason Bourne?”

He smiled.“Yeah.”

“Good, for a moment I thought you named him after James Bond or something; that would be too cliche.”

Eggsy couldn’t believe she was talking to him.“Why are you talkin’ to me now? All this time you ignored me.”

Guinevere laughed.“I have to ignore everyone, I cant get attached to anyone, not that I would anyway.”

He felt slightly embarrassed.“O-oh, course, why would you…”

“Looking back on it, I’ve got to say, I’m very impressed, especially not shooting your dog in front of the big boss man.”

“Well, thanks.”

A gunshot rang out, startling Eggsy. Guinevere didn’t even blink, the sound being white noise to her.

“Looks like Roxy got the job.” Guinevere said.

“She deserves it.” Eggsy nodded to himself, slumping down the corridor.

“Eggsy,” Guinevere called his name again. He looked over his shoulder,“this won’t be the last time we see each other.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling. I’m looking forward to it though.”

[scarystoriestoreadonthesubway]

Tai squinted her eyes in the rude fluorescent light of the L train as it barreled on from 1st Ave into Williamsburg.

This devastating Sunday morning hangover had been sponsored by the previous evening’s festivities: an old high school friend’s birthday party at some terrible “bridge and tunnel” bar in Murray Hill, complete with over-priced well-drinks and a godforsaken skee-ball room.

Most of the night had been a blur of “Michaels” and “Caitlyns” but one moment remained crystal-clear in Tai’s memory. She had made brunch plans with a pre-med student named Anya who taught self-defense classes on weeknights.

The two had struck up a conversation around 2am while smoking just outside the bar. Neither of them really smoked but it was a helpful habit to pick up when the need arose to escape a basic DJ’s playlist.

Tai was smitten with Anya’s wicked sense of humor and her high level of badassery that suddenly became apparent when she shoved away a bloody-faced drunk who had staggered in their direction. She then resumed her conversation with Tai without missing a beat, describing her favorite “Black Mirror” episode as the drunk idiot rerouted, moaning and shuffling after a screaming gang of bachelor party bros.

When the clock struck three, Tai was hoping for an invitation back to Anya’s place, but instead she got an invitation to meet her for brunch the next morning at some place called “Cadave” in Williamsburg.

Tai’s heart sank. She knew the truth about next-day brunch plans. They never happen. Especially on Sunday. But especially in Williamsburg.

Still, she rattled off her digits to Anya with feigned perkiness as though this wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other.  Tai said goodbye and took a car home, where she flung herself onto her boxspring-less bed and fell asleep to the sounds of her roommate and his boyfriend groaning and pounding on the other side of the wall.

They were still groaning and pounding at 8:40am, when Tai’s phone buzzed to life, lighting up every corner of her windowless room. “Jesus, they’ve been at it for hours,” she thought as she typed in her passcode, “Wonder what they’re on.”

After a moment, her eyes focused on the phone screen to read the message: “hey its Anya. 9:30a at Cadave off Bedford L.”

The hallelujah chorus rang out in Tai’s head as she ran a celebratory lap around her room. Minutes later, she was out the door, looking surprisingly fresh for such little prep time.

The hangover had only now really just hit her, as she sat on the L speeding along under the East River. At least she didn’t have to stand. The train car was somehow empty, a rarity on any line, but especially one heading into Williamsburg on a weekend. Then again, during her walk to the subway she hadn’t seen too many people either, except for some stumbling jerks slamming themselves up against a coffee shop door.

“Drunk idiots.” Tai had thought. “Is it SantaCon already?”

As the train stopped at Bedford and she walked out onto the platform, Tai worried for the first time that maybe brunch would be weird. What if she’d blown this out of proportion and Anya just wanted to be friends? Or worse, what if last night had been a fluke and today they had zero chemistry? Just two uncomfortable women looking at their watches, wasting $75 on a couple plates of Huevos Rancheros and a pitcher of Mimosas.

But on her climb up the stairs to Bedford Avenue, the sun hit her face and she snapped herself out of it. “Don’t fall back on failure,” Tai said under breath, repeating the mantra from a book her mom had given her. “Step toward success.”

Williamsburg was dead that morning. The mustachioed cyclists, big-hatted jewelry designers and marketing execs in distressed denim were nowhere to be found. Without the sounds of a single designer dog yap, or the snap of a LaCroix being popped open, the streets were silent.

“I guess it’s early,” Tai deliberated as she approached the intersection. “Maybe...too early.”

Tai was set to arrive a full three minutes before 9:30a which she knew was a bad move. It was always better to show up late to brunch, but not more than seven minutes late. That way, you don’t seem too eager, but you also don’t seem totally disrespectful.

But she remembered the mantra and repeated “Step toward success Tai. For once, just go with the flow. If this goes well, it goes well. If not, that’s fine too.”

When she turned the corner onto 3rd St, she saw a massive gathering of no less than 400 people packed against Cadave.

“Oh god,” she thought, “Look at that wait.”

As she approached the crowd, she called out “Does anyone know where the back of the line is?”

That’s when all four hundred people turned their heads and looked at Tai. And that’s when Tai realized that all 400 of them were zombies.

They raced towards her, hobbling, shambling, screaming, growling. Their arms outstretched, their filthy hands clutching in her direction, their lifeless eyes dead set on their target.

A strange switch clicked in Tai’s brain that immediately convinced her that this was real and she could either buy it and run or get ripped apart by a bunch of zombies. So she ran.

She turned tail and sprinted towards Bedford, but immediately found herself blocked by an approaching horde of undead mustachioed cyclists, partially decapitated jewelry designers and marketing execs in blood-drenched denim, limping with great purpose in her direction.

More poured out of store fronts and food trucks, all snarling and drooling behind Invisalign braces.

There was no escaping them. Tai was trapped.

For a moment, she despaired right there on 3rd street between Bedford and Berry. But as the zombies encroached upon her, she for one last time slapped some sense into herself and bellowed “I AM NOT. GOING TO DIE. IN WILLIAMSBURG!” before barreling herself into the zombie horde, back towards Cadave.

Tai body-checked a ghoul in yoga-gear and head-butted another who she recognized as once being a Warby Parker employee who was rude to her. She grabbed yet another by his leather iPad satchel and slammed him into a zombified Apple employee, leaving them both in a mangled heap. She tackled, flipped and sacked every fiend standing in her way until she ended up at the entrance to Cadave.

She tried the door handle. Locked. Of course.

Tai slammed her fists against the door again and again as the sounds of groaning and the shuffling of Toms grew louder and louder.

Suddenly, from the crowd, a voice cried “TAI!”

Tai looked back, stunned. Through the wall of gnashing teeth and gory limbs, burst Anya. At 9:37am exactly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Anya panted, gasping for air. “I didn’t want to seem too-”

“I get it,” Tai interrupted, grabbing Anya’s hand and pulling her up before they sprinted out of Williamsburg as fast as their legs would carry them, “I totally get it.”

[mcrmadness]

Dreams vol 5787520

Oh I think I really have to stop reading this fantasy novel before bed because all my dreams are some damn adventures that wear me out and make me extremely exhausted. I sleep 10-12h every time because my body tries to wake up from those dreams but I can’t stay awake and I fall asleep only to continue the same dreams. And they are so exhausting, I don’t feel like I’d have been sleeping at all, I feel like I’d have been on an adventure the whole night instead. I’ve got a whole bunch of these dreams already because I’ve been too tired to write them down...

1. Last night: I was to some sort of school trip with people I don’t even know in real life. They all were like they’d have been from a reality show, something like Big Brother or something, but I didn’t recognize any of the faces. I knew the names of some of them but I’ve never had friends with those faces or names either. It was some quite long trip, I think, but the main stuff was happening in this “resort” that was very weird place. It had one hallway with doors to rooms with one or two beds and each had a window and some also had a door to outside. Then it had this hallway area that was like stairways from a huge school or so, but also tunnels dug into this dark orange sand, and even these had windows. We were also hiding from someone/something. I just remember being to one of these caves in this sand thing with couple of people and I originally thought I would sleep there that night, but I still continued investigating this place. At some point I realized that people had dogs with them and a horror took over me because I realized I also had taken my parents’ dog with me there but I had NO CLUE where she was. I did not remember bringing her box to this building at all and I was horrified to think the dog was probably in this box now somewhere all alone without food or water and no way to get out, and I had no memory of bringing her with me, and I was also feeling so stupid because I realized I had left with the dog but didn’t even bring food to her with me and now I even forgot the dog to somewhere. I think she was with me in this place after all, tho, but I’m gonna tell more about that soon.

At some point everyone went to sleep and I started to feel alone. There was a certain person and I’d have wanted to sleep in the same “room” with her but someone else had already “stolen her from me” (thanks rsd, really had to make it into my dreams too?) and I was just walking around this place, looking for something while seeing every place being taken and people sleeping. I also walked these stairways downstairs and some people were still awake there and there was another set of stairs going down but it was pitch black in there, and I asked them if anyone had gone there yet and if anyone knew what was there, and they said no. And I guess someone said that someone did go there and told stories but that “we don’t believe them”. So I left upstairs again.

There I went to this hallway with rooms and it was weird that everyone decided to sleep on the floors or in these sand caves but not in these rooms with beds. I also shouted at the other people, asking if any of them would sleep in the same room with me because I was too afraid to sleep alone. But no one wanted to do that. And I hated that and I either thought or said “Of course that time when I would want to share a room with someone, no one wants to do that; when normally it’s me who always wants to have a room for oneself.” So such big forever alone feels over there :)))

After that I looked into each of them to see what I’d like the most and then started over, now visiting all of the rooms. All of them had their windows open and not just like... one window, but also the bigger windows. And the possible outside doors were unlocked. And this all made me fearful because a) anyone could just walk in and do bad things or b) the dog, that apparently was now there with me, could possibly escape through the windows. But because of the dog, I felt like I could sleep alone in one of the rooms after all. I started closing the windows but those were like some damn brain exercises and I moved from one room to another because in each room a piece of window was missing so that I could not fully close them. And finally I found one room that’s window made sense and I could close it properly. But here I realized that it was already morning, to be exact, the time was 55. Yes, 55. And I had started with the windows when it was still dark but I didn’t realize I had been up the whole night trying to fix the windows and when I was finished, I no longer had time to sleep. But I didn’t even feel sleepy at all (not the first time when I dream about sleeping little or nothing at all and I feel fine), others were already packing up their stuff as we were heading to somewhere else from there. I also lost some stuff here and couldn’t find them, but I don’t remember what was it that I lost. Then soon after this I saw myself driving a car. And then a while after we were in some sort of a shopping mall and everyone went to eat in this hamburger place and everyone was dressed in black, but there were a lot more people than what there was in the resort originally. I just looked at something that looked like the left side beef pizza image from Tumblr, but I’m not sure if it was real or just an imagine. Anyway, I really felt like eating a hamburger as well but this place had no organic meat so I couldn’t do so.

After this I was trying to wake up so many times but I fell asleep to the same dream that was pretty much nothing but nonograms and the images being very vivid and about a curse or so. I don’t knwo where this came from but it was so distressing because the dream was so damn hard to end.

2. And some night I dreamt about Bela and Farin, but that was back in the late 70s and they were still teenagers, so much so that Farin hadn’t grown as tall yet so Bela was still taller than him for a moment :DDDD I just saw them walking down a street, to an underpass or so, and I’m not sure if I was actually Farin at some point too. But that was all, it made me exhausted as well because it was so hard to remember.

3. And several nights ago I was again having a dream that was more like a video game or movie plot. I was a guy and I was somewhere with another guy. It was like some amusement park and a slow “rollercoaster” type of ride through buildings, but we could also walk there. We were also climbing lots of ladders and stairs or so. At some point we climber ladders that led to a latch on the ceiling and outside it was on a roof and it was pretty high above the ground and it had no railings whatsoever, and that’s where I said “Nope, I can’t do that, I don’t have fear of hights but even this is too much to me!” And then I was me for a moment, I think, because then I had this idea: “But wait a second, I need to take a photo of this to send a friend!!!” I wanted to show this friend what kind of high places make me feel fear of heights :D But then there started to appear more and more people because it was more like a tourist attraction of some sort, and I couldn’t take the photo anymore.

This dream also changed at some point and I was in the “final stage” of that dream and I was in this building with several other people, but I was too slow so I was left behind. There were monsters in this place. They looked like small humans made out of melted cheese. And if you walked towards the wrong direction, you’d get a jumpscare with these monsters but if you headed the correct way, you were fine. I also stumbled upon this guy with a huge gun and he knew the way and I was walking with him from that on. But once I got out - it was a balcony and it was summer outside. But somehow time did not act the same way inside the building as it did outside, so when I got out, the people who I was in that building with, were already there but they had gotten older by decades. For me it was just minutes inside that house but for them it was years and years. And here I don’t know if I was some sort of hay or herb but there were herbs in a box and one of them was supposed to be “my” herb dad, I guess. Anyway, the ending of this was so sad because I was an adult and I felt do detached to all of the other people that I was sitting there on the verge of crying because I just needed a hug so bad, but no one cared enough to even ask me how I was doing. And I felt like it was not good to ask for a hug anymore because I no longer was a child, but it was the child in me who had never had hugs? I don’t know if I shouted something at them, but I was looking at “my father” (a human being now, not a herb) and just wishing I was a child and he would hug me like how parent is supposed to comfort a child, but I could do nothing but sit there and hope someone would care for me for once. I’m not sure if they all were totally fine with me being “lost” for decades while I was in that house, and when I got back, no one was like “omg you’re still alive???”, idk, this was just so damn distressing dream.

I often dream about being abandoned or that I need comfort or hugs (I hate hugs in real life) and everyone just ignores me. I sometimes even see dreams where people DO comfort and hug me, and it feels so good in the dream but I don’t like it in real life. In dreams it’s nicer because it feels real but it’s no real people there.