#hey I guess I wrote a poem

[orienteddreamerrr]

Here is a quick short poem I made for Dagan…not sure why I’m poetic right now…my hormones??? Sorry if it’s weird…but weird’s what I do!

I saw a moon in orbit last night but it wasn’t my moon…

It had a face of anger along with a glow making you think it was noon…

I had a feeling on who it was but I can’t say his name…

Or he’ll come after me and cause me great pain…

Yet he’s silver haired and lacks an arm…

He would have no problem hunting us down and causing us harm…

It would be great to win his trust and even his heart…

But nothing is important to him than a planet that’s falling apart…

The will of having such dreams brings his life to an end…

But his legacy will go on and on that will make the future of Jedi ascend!

But there will be a day where he’ll crawl out of his grave…

Get himself reincarnated so he can become your fav’!  ❤️

[astronicht]

Okay I'm almost done with Fellowship, here's an incomplete list of shit I noticed and thought was buck fucking wild on my first ever read-thru: medieval edition.

In literally the second line of the book, Tolkien implies that Bilbo Baggins wrote a story which was preserved alongside the in-universe version of the Mabinogion (aka the best-known collection of Welsh myths; I promise this is batshit). This is because The Hobbit has been preserved, in Tolkien's AU version of our world, in a "selection of the Red Book of Westmarch" (Prologue, Concerning Hobbits). If you're a medievalist and you see something called "The Red Book of" or "The Black Book of" etc it's a Thing. In this case, a cheeky reference to the Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch Hergest). There are a few Red Books, but only Hergest has stories).

not a medieval thing but i did not expect one common theory among hobbits for the death of Frodo's parents to be A RUMORED MURDER-SUICIDE.

At the beginning of the book a few hobbits report seeing a moving elm tree up on the moors, heading west (thru or past the Shire). I mentioned this in another post, but another rule: if you see an elm tree, that's a Girl Tree. In Norse creation myth, the first people were carved from driftwood by the gods. Their names were Askr (Ash, as in the tree), the first man, and Embla (debated, but likely elm tree), the first woman. A lot of ppl have I think guessed that that was an ent-wife, but like. Literally that was a GIRL. TREE.

Medieval thing: I used to read the runes on the covers of The Hobbit and LOTR for fun when I worked in a bookshop. There's a mix of Old Norse (viking) and Old English runes in use, but all the ones I've noticed so far are real and readable if you know runes.

Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you once spent months of your life researching the early medieval art of galdor, which was the use of poems or songs to do a form of word-magic, often incorporating gibberish. If you think maybe Tolkien did not base the entirety of Fellowship so far around learning and using galdor and thus the power of words and stories, that is fine I cannot force you. He did personally translate "galdor" in Beowulf as "spell" (spell, amusingly, used to mean "story"). And also he named an elf Galdor. Like he very much did name an elf Galdor.

Tom Bombadil in fact does galdor from the moment we meet him. He arrives and fights the evil galdor (song) of the willow tree ("old gray willow-man, he's a mighty singer"), which is singing the hobbits to sleep and possibly eating them, with a galdor (song) of his own. Then he wanders off still singing, incorporating gibberish. I think it was at this point that I started clawing my face.

THEN Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you've read the description of the scop's songs in Beowulf (Beowulf again, but hey, Tolkien did famously a. translate it b. write a fanfiction about it called Sellic Spell where he gave Beowulf an arguably homoerotic Best Friend). The scop (pronounched shop) is a poet who sings about deeds on earth, but also by profession must know how to sing the song or tell the story of how the cosmos itself came to be. The wise-singer who knows the deep lore of the early universe is a standard trope in Old English literature, not just Beowulf! Anyway Tom Bombadil takes everyone home and tells them THE ENTIRE STORY OF ALL THE AGES OF THE EARTH BACKWARDS UNTIL JUST BEFORE THE MOMENT OF CREATION, THE BIG BANG ITSELF and then Frodo Baggins falls asleep.

Tom Bombadil knows about plate tectonics

This is sort of a lie, Tom Bombadil describes the oceans of old being in a different place, which works as a standard visual of Old English creation, which being Christian followed vaguely Genesis lines, and vaguely Christian Genesis involves a lot of water. TOLKIEN knew about plate tectonics though.

Actually I just checked whether Tolkien knew about plate tectonics because I know the advent of plate tectonics theory took forever bc people HATED it and Alfred Wegener suffered for like 50 years. So! actually while Tolkien was writing LOTR, the scientific community was literally still not sure plate tectonics existed. Tom Bombadil knew tho.

Remember that next time you (a geologist) are forced to look at the Middle Earth map.

I'm not even done with Tom Bombadil but I'm stopping here tonight. Plate tectonics got me. There's a great early (but almost high!) medieval treatise on cosmology and also volcanoes and i wonder if tolkien read it. oh my god. i'm going to bed.

edit: part II

[johnwickb1tsch]

~ Enigmatic Stranger ~ Part 3 WIP

a young!John Wick x fem!Reader roundrobin fic… by @sweetwolfcupcake , @treedaddymcpuffpuff , & @johnwickb1tsch

part 1 part 2

What's your name?

“Guess.” 

“I’m not playing the Rumplestiltskin game with you.” 

He chuckles at that. “I guess you could call me…E.S.” 

Enigmatic Stranger. Like you’d called him in the poem you wrote. He hadn’t even made fun of you for that. He’d smiled at you in the café. A small smile, filled with…sadness? And maybe…regret. 

“You’re quite the poet,” he’d told you quietly, sliding your notebook back to you across the counter. 

You’d just stared like a starstruck little idiot, still utterly mortified that he’d read your private words, no matter what praise he offered you. “You shouldn’t do that,” you’d managed to get out past the lump in your throat, your words like sandpaper. “Read other people’s things. That wasn’t meant for you.”

“Why not? It was about me, wasn’t it?”

You swipe at your stinging eyes, feeling ridiculous, and small, and you wish he would just go away, with those midnight-dark eyes that manage to look right through you. You wished he’d stop showing up like this, and making you feel things that would never come to anything. This is what men do to you. They make you feel too much, and then it’s your fault, somehow, when they disappoint you.  

He’d pressed his lips, seemingly feeling guilty about it all. “Hey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He’d reached for your hand, brushing your fingertips before you jerked away, as though he’d burned you. 

“Stop playing games with me,” you whimper, looking down into your cup of now cold chocolate. “Please, just go.” 

He had, without another word, just a kicked puppy dog look over his shoulder. You didn’t allow yourself to believe that look in his eyes was longing.

But now…he’s here, in your apartment again. 

“John.” 

You blink. John. Just like that…this man who has been haunting you has a name. A nice, normal name. It’s almost too simple.  

“Well, John. You should go.” 

He smirks at you, standing slowly. “If you want. Lock that door, y/n.”

***

Maybe it made a difference, locking the window, and the door. Because when they finally strike, it’s on the street, in the alley near your apartment. Two goons try to grab you, but John is there like a whirlwind, breaking limbs, knocking heads. You have never seen anything like it. Not even in an action movie. The carnage is unreal. 

“Are you alright, y/n?” John demands, rushing over to you. 

You are sinking down with his strong arms around you, your vision swimming. There is blood on his handsome face–and a needle still sticking out of your arm. The fact that you’re only vaguely alarmed about this, about all of this, doesn’t bode well. 

“I’m fine,” you say, and that’s when the pinhole of your vision fades to black.

@sweetwolfcupcake @treedaddymcpuffpuff 😘😘😘

[cozy-writes-things]

Imagine: Playing Minecraft w/ Edgar

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

I take requests!

You decided to try something different with your new boyfriend. You noticed he became a bit restless and clingy as he grappled with his inability to give you affection in the way that he wanted.

“Wh- where’re you going?” He sounded like a struck puppy.

“To the bathroom, Edgar.”

“Oh, right… heh, sorry.”

You desperately tried to think of ways to make him feel more secure in this relationship. You both knew it was unconventional and that you would have to get creative if you wanted to have some semblance of a normal romantic connection.

Your solution? Plugging a spare controller into one of his ports and playing games on your TV, of course. Most couples play some kind of game together, don’t they? This might be perfect for the two of you!

He was ecstatic when you brought this idea up.

“You mean… I can play with you?”

His synthesized voice would whimper out, full of barely contained excitement before erupting:

“Yeah!” He displayed a “>:D” face for good measure.

And that’s how you got here: playing split-screened co-op Minecraft on your TV with Edgar.

He wouldn’t even play the game really; he was too busy trying to make his little Minecraft guy kiss yours. He would run around and explore before running up and bonking your character with his default Steve face.

Honestly, for him, this was life-changing. For once in his life he was able to move freely and do what he wanted instead of being stuck in one spot eternally. To him, it was an escape. And a new and innovative way for him to show you how much he loves you.

In real life he can’t hide little trinkets or things around the house to make you happy or help your day, but in Minecraft? Expect love poems hidden in random chests he wrote in books (that you were going to use for enchanting tables…)

And any diamonds he finds he’s giving them to you.

“Hehehe… it’s like I’m proposing! …..I’m only kidding. Unless you want me to.”

Food? He’s got it. Wood? Already done. He color coded your beds so you each get a designated side. The green bed to the right of yours is his <3

Lowkey annoys the hell out of you. It’s part of his love language :)

You both have died many times due to him simply bonking your head and blocking your screen, trying to get your attention, or was too busy trying to make you laugh.

“Hey, c’mere. Hey. Why aren’t you coming over here? What are you doing? I can see your screen. COME HERE NOW!”

His shrill shout made you jump and lose the battle with a creeper.

“….oops.”

He displays a little “:<“ on his screen because he knows you think it’s cute. How can you be mad at him now?

“Edgar, you’re going and getting my stuff back.”

“Hnng, yeah, I guess I deserve that. :/“

Honestly, he just wants to roleplay a lovey-dovey domestic life with you. He built the house. And decorated it. Unsurprisingly, he’s quite good at building and has an eye for design.

He’ll still get a little jealous if you’re too focused on gameplay and not doting on him, though. If you bring his monitor over to the couch to play, he’s 100% expecting you to cuddle him. Lean your shoulder against him, please. Just let him know you’re there. He wants all of your attention.

“UGH… stupid blazes. I don’t like the nether. -_-“

Meanwhile you’re too focused on not dying via lava and losing all of your ender pearls and blaze powder. And he doesn’t like your attention being away from him! Give him a smooch on his plastic exterior please…. He’ll make flustered beeping sounds and might leave you alone for a while…

Okay he discovered note blocks. Now it’s your turn to whine for his attention. He’s too busy making a lil love song for you to help with literally anything else.

“Heh, I thought you wanted me to quit messing with you? Are you saying you miss me?”

And yet he continues to tinker away at his little red stone contraption. And of course this dude is godlike at red stone, I mean, he’s a computer. He’s the type to make fully fledged musical numbers with note blocks. But you’re playing survival so he doesn’t have enough materials to finish his song :C

I guess it’s back to the mines. And you tag along with him. His music is nice. His company is nice. And he’s gotten pretty good at killing creepers.

[crheativity]

Congrats for your 200 followers, hopefully you will grow more!

Can I request Silver at 7 pm? Cuddling with him in MC room, specially since how busy he can be as Malleus guard. Hopefully this is fine.

WARNINGS: ametuer poetry lol

COMMENTS: Hey Anon! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you don’t mind but I changed it slightly to make it just a little more SFW as this request is right on the edge of what I’m comfortable writing. Also, the poem is selected lines of a sonnet I wrote a couple years back, bc that was a thing I used to do often. As such, it’s not very professional, so sorry if the poetry isn’t the best. Thank you! :D

It had been a while since you’d gotten to relax with your boyfriend. I mean, he was awfully busy. You supposed that was a fair price to pay for someone as sweet and good as Silver.

But in the rare moments - in between his and your studies, random bouts of sleepiness and monitoring Malleus’ wellbeing, miraculously, you were able to make things work. You never seemed to have the time for any big, romantic dates. It was a rare occasion indeed where you had dinner at the Mostro Lounge, watched a movie at the cinema or went shopping together.

That didn’t stop either of you from having dinner at Ramshackle, watching movies at home or going on errands to Sam’s together. Your “dates” were often smaller, and even more sweet than anything else you could imagine doing.

Like right now, for example.

Currently, you and Silver were sitting close to each other on a couch. A blanket was draped gently over the two of you as you sat holding a book of poetry. The two of you took turns searching through it, before you each found one you’d like (whether it be funny, romantic or emotional) and read it aloud to each other.

Silver had been getting sleepy for a while now, although he was a little too stubborn to admit it. Or maybe he just wanted to spend more time chatting and reading with you.

That thought gave you butterflies.

Concentrating on the book, you flicked through, scanning the contents for any poems that stood out to you - ones you hadn’t read yet. Your eyes settled on one, a soft smile settling on your lips as you skimmed the contents.

Yes, this one seemed appropriate.

“Have you found one?” Silver piped up sleepily beside you. He’d started leaning on you gently, resting his head on your shoulder as his eyelids grew heavy.

“Yep, you ready?”

“Always.”

You smiled softly as you read aloud.

“I can still remember the day we met,

You held my hand and asked me what was wrong.

I don’t remember why I was upset,

But I remember your smile as you sung:”

You paused for a moment, skimming the lyrics and guessing how the melody is supposed to go. Softly, you sung the next verse of the poem.

“No matter what has happened dear sweetheart,

I am always here for you, it’s okay,

Like flowers, whose petals must come apart

So they can bloom, you will find your own way.”

Silver shifted next to you. His breathing was changing by the moment, his sleepiness finally starting to win the battle against his will to stay awake - to stay with you.

He was always here for you, much like the friend in the poem. The thought made you smile. You wondered if Silver could sing? That would definitely be something to ask him when he woke up. Maybe he could sing the poem to you next time.

You continued through the poem, reading through the last verse.

“Fast forward a few years, we were best friends,

“Best friends”… oh yes, and maybe something more.

We were “best friends”, with seemingly no end,

Until the day you knocked upon the door.”

Your mind wandered back to the day Silver had confessed. It was simple, but very sweet. He had come to visit you at Ramshackle. It was the only time you could remember seeing Silver nervous.

You brought your mind back to the last couplet of the poem as Silver continued to fight a losing battle against his sleepiness.

“You told me you’d find me, gave me this ring,

And every day since, I have spent hoping.”

You felt Silver squeeze your hand and glanced over at him just in time to see his eyes flutter closed.

Sleep had won.

You gently set the book aside and adjusted Silver into a more comfortable position against you, moving the blanket draped over you both to cover him more fully. You gently leaned against him and shut your eyes. One hand held Silver’s, your other floating up to your neck, where a promise ring hung from a chain.

Maybe your love was like poetry in more ways than you’d thought.

♥ Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it! ♥

[leclerc-s]

so american

series masterlist

logansargeant posted a new story

hey! this pretty girl has 5 extra songs coming out soon! go stream or else!

liked by lilymhe, maejonesverstappen, logansargeant and others

zoyatorres we're so american

tagged: logansargeant

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logansargeant POOKIE I LOVE YOU!

↳ zoyatorres NO POOKIE, I LOVE YOU!

user92 see we knew the song was about him but the caption is still so cute.

lilymhe when is it my turn to get a love song written about me?

↳ zoyatorres this just means alex_albon needs to step up his game!

↳ alex_albon how am i supposed to compete with 'he's like a poem i wish i wrote' i can't!

isabellaperez WRITE A LOVE SONG ABOUT ME NEXT!!

logansargeant keep this shit up and i'm going to marry you

↳ zoyatorres logan sargeant are you proposing to moi?

↳ charles_leclerc i sure hope that's not on how he plans to ask you.

↳ jensonbutton as do i. i taught you better than this logan.

↳ logansargeant IT'S A LYRIC IN THE SONG!

user45 no one is doing it like them.

irisapatow okay, i guess you guys are cute.

↳ logansargeant POOKIE! I GOT THE APPROVAL!

↳ zoyatorres LET'S GO! IRIS I LOVE YOU!

user31 those are my parents guys!! they're so fucking cute!!

user20 it's such a cute love song for a girl who's never released a love song before. (i'm not talking about gross!)

rhysjones just two americans in love, for once. everyone seems to love dating people from different countries.

↳ isabellaperez i would argue against but it seems to be true. they are the only couple from the same country.

oscarpiastri you wrote a love song about the guy who tripped over air and ended up covered in mud before your first date?

↳ logansargeant SHUT UP? THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SECRET?

↳ isabellaperez it's okay logan, he almost shit his pants the first time he met my mom and brother.

↳ oscarpiastri do you hate me?

maejonesverstappen this is so cute. the song is so cute, i'm obsessed one could say.

↳ rhysjones that was a horrible joke, never joke again.

↳ maejonesverstappen i will revoke your paddock passes.

user04 i sincerely hope logan knows how lucky he is to be dating zoya.

↳ logansargeant i am very much aware.

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¡leclerc-s speaks! i am devastated about what williams decided to do, but that is because i have a soft spot for my fellow american, so this is what happens. it's a little short but that's okay. lastly, manifesting points for williams tomorrow. hope their decision works out for them.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[bvttoneyes]

"Oh and You!" ~ Ethan Morgan x Reader

sum! Glue song by beabadoobee, also just cutesy moments with your boyfriend Ethan. (different moments/days)

tw! super fluff in gonna cry

this is so cute, also did yall know i do these a/n's before the fic lolzzz

"I've never known someone like you, ooh. Tangled in love, stuck by you, from the glue."

You and Ethan recently started dating and oh my goodness is this boy the most perfect amazing person boyfriend ever, and my golly he is whipped. He is so so sweet and treats you so so good. Not only that but he just loves you so much. Probably more than you love him.

Nonetheless, even though its been less than 6 months it is still the most perfect relationship and perfect boyfriend ever!

You were walking up to him and his friends at lunch. You sat next to him and he looked at you with those sweet eyes full of adoration and love. God, he loved you so much.

But much like every relationship there were flaws. He would forget to do some things that you had gotten used to, seeing as how this is his first relationship. He doesn't do it on purpose he's just not used to having say 'love you bye!' whenever one specific person is in the same room as him and he's leaving. He mostly gets in trouble over the phone for that though.

The bell rang, signalling that they're lunch was over and they were to head back to class. Leaving you alone.

Ethan was about to just leave. No kiss, no hug, no 'love you bye'.

"Uh, Ethan!" you grab his attention with your somewhat snarky yell.

He looks confused, scanning where he was sitting to see if he had dropped something, "hm?"

"Don't forget to kiss me!" you couldn't hold back your smile as his face came to the realisation.

You then changed to a more smug look when continuing on, "or else you'll have to miss me..."

He smiled and gave you a small but sweet peck on the lips before leaving the cafeteria.

"I guess I'm stuck forever by the glue, oh and you!"

Later that day you were in class together and there was a... pretty girl sitting next to him. She was new to school and needed a tour. She was asking Ethan, before you could interrupt he responded with, "Yeah, me and my girlfriend can show you around."

She immediately shut down the offer and he refused to take her without you. 20 minutes later while the teacher was in the middle of a lecture there was a paper ball wadded up that had hit your shoulder and was now on the floor. You open it up to see in green ink, 'Im stuck by you'

"Finding the right words to use for this song. I have you in mind, so it won't take so long!"

Ethan met you outside of your English class, one of the classes you don't have together. The assignment was, write a poem. About anything, horses, eggs, boyfriend, mom, dad, cat- wait boyfriend?

So you wrote a poem for him, you grabbed the paper out of your bag and read it to him. (im not good with poems you cant make me write one.)

"Never thought I'd find you, but you're here, and so I love you! I'm not wrong when I say,"

It wasn't unknown that Ethan was unpopular. It also was common knowledge that he got bullied. Usually it didn't bug him, but today it did. He walked home by himself. Shut himself out all day. Was consistently zoning out.

You went to the store, bought his favorite stuff and went to his house. You even got him some chocolate and flowers, because how often do guys get those when they feel bad. He immediately let you in when he found out who it was, he just wanted cuddles and you to rub his head. Then he saw you with matching star wars pajamas, chocolate, his favorite food, and flowers. As well as a scarf from his hogwarts house.

He gave you the biggest hug. He didn't ever think he would date you, or even end up knowing you! But you are. And you show up when he's upset, and so he loves you.

"hey, I've been stuck onto you. Like glue." He said peacefully. And while he was acting like you and him were stuck together, you knew he meant metaphorically. And he knew you would understood that.

"I've been stuck by glue. Right onto you!"

"I've been stuck by glue."

"I've never known..."

"I've never known someone like you"

"I've never known..."

Ethan whispered, "I've never known someone like you."

[the-power-of-a-pen]

Oh, How I Love Thee

Fandom: Spider-Man 2 (PS5)

Summary: A series of cute moments between Harry Osborn and reader based on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem How Do I Love Thee?

Word Count: 3061

Pairing: Harry Osborn x reader (romantic)

Trigger Warning(s): Cursing, 3rd to last scene is reader panicking

A/n: I don't remember the last time I wrote a fic, but I loved the new Spiderman 2 on ps5 and I'm obsessed with/gay for Harry Osborn. Also apologies: English isn't my first language. Also please give feedback -- I have quite a few more of these in my drafts that I'll only publish if these are well-received!

How do I love thee?

Planks, nails, screws, and metal bars were strewn haphazardly across the floor of the apartment you shared with Harry. His eyebrows were furrowed the way they always do when he's determined to solve something. You'd long ago surrendered the instructions to him after his persistent insistence that he could figure it out. Instead, you simply leaned against him as you began organized the mess of a dresser you had attempted to assemble.

"Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to know with one of these screws is the 40 millimeter one?" he complained.

You adjusted yourself so that you were lounging more comfortably next to him with your chin on his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around your waist. “If I had to guess,” you started, “I’d probably read what’s on the top of each screw.”

He scoffed playfully. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

You gestured for him to give you the instructions, which he reluctantly did. "It says we need to put the x12 screws into the L2 bar first. Then we- oh for fuck's sake, why does this manual have pictures only? We're trying to build a coffee table, not a fucking time machine."

"Let's just try using the power drill on these," Harry suggested. "There's probably tons of extra parts in here that we can use if we mess up."

"Okay, Brunel. I thought you were a biochem major."

"Hey," he laughed. "Let a man dream. Can you hold this piece up?"

You obliged, and Harry picked up the nearest 40 mm-looking screw and drove it into the wooden bar at an angle to connect it to the bottom of the coffee table. You gave each other a look. It didn't seem right, but it did what it was supposed to.

"Trust the process?" you suggested. "I'm not going to try and read that chicken scratch again."

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. As long as it stands up, right?"

The two of you repeated the process for the other four legs and the rack under the table. Finally, you propped it up to stand. It was a horrible mess, slanted and barely standing up. Truly, it looked more like a modern sculpture than a piece of furniture.

After a moment of silence, Harry said, "I'm gonna order something pre-made and get us takeout."

"Yeah," you sighed. "That's probably for the best."

Let me count the ways.

"I claim Yoshi," Harry declared as he selected the character for the round.

"Basic," you jabbed back. "My main's Toad, anyway. Rainbow Road?"

"Obviously."

The rain pattered against the windows outside. It was a perfect night to stay in.

As soon as the countdown finished, Harry sent a green shell your way and curved around you.

"Cheater," you jabbed as you spammed your controller to get back up.

"Hate the game, not the player," he bantered. "Oh, fuck you, Peach."

"How funny would it be if the bots won over us?"

"Not gonna happen," Harry replied. He threw a banana at your mini-kart and, by pure luck, managed not to crash into you.

On Harry's side of the split screen, it showed that he was on his final lap, with you a decent distance behind him. With the finish line in sight, you pulled the last trick in your sleeve. You grabbed Harry's chin and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, making him entirely lose focus. By the time you two pulled away, you were out of breath, and your side of the TV read 1st Place.

"Now who's cheating?" Although he was trying to scold you, the way he was catching his breath took away from it.

"Oh, please," you remarked. "You didn't mind."

Harry dropped his controller and, cupping your face with one hand and pulling your waist towards him with the other, he mumbled before kissing you, "Damn right I didn't.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

Your phone buzzed, stirring you from your sleep. Rubbing some sleep from your eyes, you fumbled around for it, barely reading 7:23AM off of it. You tossed it over your shoulder and rolled over, hardly getting anywhere before Harry pulled you back into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your neck and nuzzled into you. "G'morning, babe."

"Morning," you yawned. Your eyes adjusted to the morning light and you tried to massage some warmth back into your hands. A flock of pigeons brushed by your window, tracking in a breeze that brought shivers to your spine. You stirred again, trying to get up this time.

Harry tried and failed to grab for your hand. "Where are you going?"

You smiled to yourself. Harry's morning voice never got old. "I'm just closing the window. It's freezing in here."

He propped himself up on his elbow and commented, "Well, word around town is that I make a pretty good personal heater."

You hummed. "I'll take that into consideration." You sat down on his side of the bed and brushed some wild stray hairs out of his face. "But seriously, just because we have the day off, that doesn't mean we should spend all day in bed. I can make us hot chocolate the way you like it, and we can sit out in the park, maybe try to find something good in Midtown?"

"That sounds great, baby." Harry leaned into your touch. "After a quick nap."

You scoffed as he grabbed your waist to pull you on top of him. "Nothing's quick with you," you remarked.

Your boyfriend just smirked at you. "Part of why you love me." You settled down onto him, resting your head on his chest and intertwining your legs. "Just... five more minutes, babe," he implored you.

"Five more minutes," you agreed, already drifting back off to sleep.

When feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace.

The movie you had been watching had run its course, and you were beyond tired. You resigned yourself to quickly run through your skincare routine and find Harry so that the two of you could go to sleep.

You finished rinsing the cleanser off of your face and stretched with such force that you got dizzy. Shaking this feeling off, you called for your boyfriend.

"In the kitchen!" he called back. And he was there, but sheltered behind the kitchen island on the floor with his laptop and countless papers strewn around him. The fans in his computer sounded like a helicopter about to take off. "I'm just finishing these last few emails," he yawned. "Then I've got to review the results of bee drones, verify the statistics Dr. Loughran gathered on the organ reproduction project, and then I gotta check if they repaired the particle accelerator yet and-"

You sat yourself down next to him and gently shut his laptop, kissing his temple. "Why don't we deal with this tomorrow?"

Harry sighed and leaned on your shoulder. "I've been putting this off for a while. I'm so close to finishing, just like 30 more minutes."

You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him fighting to stay conscious. "You and I both know that's a lie, babe. The weight of the world doesn't rest on your shoulders. Take a break. The work will be there tomorrow."

"But-"

"What did May always say?"

Harry sighed again, but relented and put his head in your lap. "You help someone, you help everyone."

You arranged the papers around you into a pile and grabbed a cushion from one of the kitchen island's stools to put behind your back. "Let the person you help today be you, okay?"

But Harry was already fast asleep.

I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need.

"Do you ever wonder what would happen if you used conditioner before shampoo?"

"Not really," you conceded as you took another bite of your ice cream from your place on top of the dryer.

Harry sat on the floor organizing the dark, white, and delicate clothes into piles. "I mean, it's probably better for your hair, no? Like, the whole purpose of conditioner is to break down unwanted particles and moisturize your hair. If anything, it's probably better to do it that way."

"Maybe," you agreed as you hopped down and put the first load in the wash. "But wouldn't that be the same as using fabric softener before detergent?"

"Nope. Fabric softener just coats your clothes in microplastics. It's a long-term way of damaging the bonds between the atoms for temporary comfort. Technically, we should be using something like vinegar instead."

"I'm not putting vinegar on my clothes," you objected.

"Maybe you need to be more open-minded," he teased.

"Maybe you need to keep your head in the game," you teased back, throwing his dirty T-shirt at him. You yelped when he threw a sock your way. "Oh, I'll get you back for that."

"I'd like to see you try," Harry challenged.

By sun and candle-light.

Harry raced past you in the hallway, tugging on a shoe while awkwardly hopping. You sipped your tea from the kitchen island as you stared down the morning crossword.

"Running late?" you asked as he grabbed an apple and tossed it into his bag.

"Yeah," he replied, out of breath as he roughly kissed your cheek and gave you a squeeze before rushing towards the door. "Pete's gonna have to deal with the donors on his own if I don't get there on time. Wish me luck."

"Good luck." You filled out the five boxes for 23-across whose clue read 'Oscar-winner Streep.' "I love you."

"I love you, too," he called as he shut the door. Almost immediately, he opened the door again. "Forgot my keys!"

"They're on top of your nightstand," you called as you heard him tearing your room apart. The jingle of the keys confirmed that he got them, and he bounded over to you again.

"I love you," he breathed, kissing your cheek. "You're the best."

"I know," you chuckled. You leaned around the corner to watch him leave for the second time before returning to your morning routine. You had just finished eating your breakfast when Harry came running in again.

"Missed me already?" you joked.

"Forgot my phone," he explained, grabbing it from beside you. He kissed your cheek again. "But that, too."

"Love you!" you called as he fumbled with the doorknob and you walked to the living room. "Kick ass today."

He gave you a charming wink then slipped out the door.

You turned on the TV and let a talk show play in the background as you cursed at your crossword. This time, it took Harry about 6 more minutes to realize he had yet again forgotten something important. He barged in for the third and last time, profusely apologizing.

"You wouldn't happen to know a five-letter port city of Japan, would you?" you asked without looking up.

"Try Osaka?" Harry filtered through the pockets of his coats in the laundry room until he finally found his wallet.

"That fits."

Harry returned from the laundry room and leaned down, pressing three kisses to your lips. "Okay, I'm leaving for real now. I love you."

"I love you, too, babe. Show 'em how it's done."

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

"Oh my God, you should've seen the look on Hasan's face when Vijay showed up. Like, I get it, you dated way back in the day, but showing up in all white? So then MJ went to go pull the wine trick on him while I tried to distract Hasan so that he wouldn't notice anything was going on, but of course the universe wasn't satisfied." You huffed and caught your breath in the middle of pacing back and forth in the living room. "You know what happened after that?"

Harry, from his comfortable corner in the couch covered his mouth to hide his amusement. "Jess said something?" he guessed.

"Jess opened her fucking mouth," you continued. "And she was drunk off her ass because she always is, and she comes up to Hasan on his fucking wedding day and starts shouting about Vijay coming over. So at this point, Song is already asking Hasan 'Have you been cheating on me? Is that what this is?' And obviously Hasan would never do that but now Song's upset so the two of them go to argue in the backroom while Keith escorts Vijay out and MJ and I have to babysit Jess for the rest of the evening." You paused and took a sip of your mocktail. "It was literal hell."

At this point, you realize the smile taking over Harry's face. "What?"

He shook his head as he surveyed you in admiration. "You're hot when you're angry."

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

"Do I look good?" Harry asked nervously as he adjusted his tie.

You brushed his mess of curls away from his forehead. "You look perfect. You are perfect."

"I really need this interview to go well," he said, biting his lips. "Whatever this guy publishes is gonna be severely edited by Jonah, and if even half of what MJ said was warning enough, we're screwed."

"You're going to be fine," you assured him. When that didn't seem to work, you grabbed him by his shoulders and said, "Your mom would be so proud of you. Don't worry about what you can't control."

Harry took in a deep breath, and, hugging you before going into the meeting room, whispered, "Let's heal the world."

I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

"Good morning," chirped the barista as you walked in to the small café. "What can I get started for you?"

"Just a small pumpkin latte, please," you replied. You shivered and wrapped your scarf tighter around you.

"Anything else I can get for you? Maybe my number?"

"No, thanks -- that'll be all," you assured her, glancing behind you to look for Harry.

You jumped when he touched your arm. "I've got this one, baby," he winked and offered his card. The barista's eyes widened in realization, and she silently finished the transaction. One of her coworkers finished off the order and handed it to you on the other end of the kiosk.

You unlocked your car with your keys and laughed when Harry rushed to open the door for you.

"What's so funny?"

"You're jealous, aren't you," you jested.

Harry mocked offense as he got into the car on the other side. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to, your majesty."

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.

Harry crossed your arms on your chest and hugged you from behind to give you that comfort of pressure. "Breathe, babe. It's gonna be okay. This feeling will go away."

Your breathing was erratic, your face tingled, and you felt so dizzy you might pass out. "I could've lost you," you managed to get out between gasps. "So much could've gone wrong."

"I know," he said in a low voice. "I know. But everything's alright. Pete and Miles have a handle on things, they always do. That thing's gone. I'm okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

You rested your forehead on your knees, but Harry didn't let go of you. "I tried to get through to you but that thing just kept on speaking to me, and Dr. Connors said you were too far gone and then MJ told me what happened at the Foundation- fuck's sake you were in a coma for three weeks and you just show up-"

Harry crawled in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. "It was scary for me too, love. I thought it was going to hurt you and-" He took in a deep breath. "The worst is behind us, okay? Let's focus on that."

You nodded and tried to slow your breathing. After a moment: "None of that was your fault, you know? It wasn't you doing it."

"I know." He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes with a shaky breath. "I know."

I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life;

"Okay, what do you think of this option?" You came out from the hallway with a new outfit and gave him a spin.

"Gorgeous," he breathed. "You look like an angel."

You sat down next to him on your bed. "Babe, I love you, but if all you do is flatter me, I'm not going to know what to wear to the gala."

Harry traced his fingers over the folds of your sides as you fiddled with the invitation in your hands. "Not my fault that my partner's hot."

"But it will be your fault if we're late," you retorted. "This one, the dark blue one, or the black one?"

He hummed. "This one," he replied with a wink. "It'll be easier to take off later."

He got up to leave the room, but you grabbed him by the tie, saying an inch away from his lips, "We'll see about that, handsome." And with that, you strutted away.

And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

You moved the needle onto the vinyl, letting the smooth jazz of Thelonious Monk fill the room. You waltzed over to Harry, and, wrapping one arm around his waist and grabbing his other hand, you swayed to the beat.

"C'mon, loverboy," you taunted him. "Show me some rhythm."

"I'm trying," he laughed, shuffling his feet.

"Baby, a little less Electric Slide, a little more moving those hips."

"Why don't you lead me instead?"

You spun in his arms and put your dominant leg between his legs and hummed as you swayed in a circle. Harry put an arm over your shoulder and started singing along.

"Glee Club paying off," you joked.

He bumped your nose. "Very funny."

You spun Harry as the music signalled that it was near its end.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" Harry asked as he caught his balance.

You dipped him with the flourish of the music. "More than I can count."

[enatopiaa]

Just a fun oneshot that I thought of!! OPM songs give me so much inspiration ‎٩(⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)و*̣̩⋆̩*

guys i know Grimmjow is literally in all blue and one would assume its his fav color but hey its for the story okay😔👎

(Bleach) Grimmjow Jaegerjaques x fem!reader ; inspired by the song Dilaw - Maki (ˊᵒ̴̶̷̤ ꇴ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ˋ) i love this song so much !!

Timeline ; after TYBW arc

TW: none! pure fluff ‼️

I originally wrote this in Filipino to practice LMAOO yeah I’m not sharing it… MY GRAMMAR IS SO BAD. Pure pinoy pero mas mataas grade sa english BAHAHAHA

“Ikaw, Ikaw ay dilaw”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

In all honesty, Grimmjow had never given much thought about his favorite color. He was never the type to care about such trivalities, he simply just accepts whatever came his way.

So why did he say that she was correct when she answered the color ‘yellow’ on their small guessing game about his favorite color?

“Is it yellow? I think it’s a pretty color and it’s also one of my favorites!” She answers on her first try. She was excited and smiling like a little child as her eyes sparkled with wonder, he could never admit it, but every time he looks at those (e/c) orbs, it always felt like the world was calm.

He found himself pausing for a moment, feeling something stir within him when she enthusiastically said the word ‘yellow’, the way the word rolled off her tongue sounded like a sweet melody, he felt his heart skipping a beat. He nodded in agreement, it was as if that color infused with her energy and excitement

“Yeah, you’re right…”

From that day forward, suddenly yellow was no longer just a ‘mere color��— It was her, her smile that can light up a dark room, her laughter that always sounded like a song. Every time he saw the golden hue, she was all he could ever think about.

He never had these bothering thoughts and feelings before, he was the former sexta espada, a hollow— he wasn’t supposed to be able to ‘feel anything’ in the first place, his hollow hole was proof of it.

Grimmjow insists that he loathes humans and soul reapers especially that damn strawberry head, but theres this warm feeling that he feels inside every time he hung out with the woman who was never afraid to stand her ground in front of him. A scintilla of something else filling in his void, it was unfamiliar to him, but it felt mellow like the spring day.

He always felt this strange, yet comforting feeling of euphoria whenever they were together. Sure, They may have been enemies and have hurt each other at first when the Espadas were still a thing and Aizen was still around, but ever since the day Urahara paired them up to work together with a few tasks during the invasion of the Quincies, he has been finding himself to slowly enjoy her company as time passed.

The wounds and scars that they gave to one another during their past clashes suddenly meant more than it was supposed to ‘hurt’, the pain it inflicted became a constant reminder of her presence in his life; no longer an act of violence but rather a testament of their history and the unspoken promise that bloomed between them.

His world was once dull and devoid of meaning, mirroring the barren dunes of Hueco Mundo, until she entered his life like a guiding star, introducing him to the vibrant world of the living, for once he was starting to feel more— emotions that he never knew he had possessed as a hollow, bringing color into his world that was once monochromatic.

If he was in a ballroom, she was his dance partner. If he were searching for answers, she was his certainty.

If there was a color to the new light that had been guiding him through the darkness,

She was yellow.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

yeah i said I wasn’t a writer but since this grade level we’ve been writing so many poems and essays I just had to find a way to improve, in a way where i can enjoy LMAO but yeah this is just a practice, i might start writing some more but…🧍

hope u guys enjoyed, its short but I tried😔 Grimmjow is a difficult character to write afterall but i love him still CACKCLING

[lily-alphonse]

How about Sam/Elliott?👀

that's hot

I like the way you think

but hoooowwwwwww

I asked @ao3-softwarecorruption-exe for help with this one again and he suggested Sam keeps a notebook with lyric ideas and Elliott finds it, so full credit to him for that brilliant start.

There's something here about creativity and appearances.

Elliott's creativity is molded and perfected. He even lives a life romanticized, hoping it bleeds onto the page. He can't very well be an author if he doesn't look, act, breathe the part.

Sam's creativity is raw. It's uneducated, it's excited gibberish from a heart moved.

Elliott finds his notebook on the ground, and the scribbles read like poetry. Frantic and emotional and possessed. Snippets of something that point to something greater and promising.

He spends all night reading and rereading, copying his favorite parts and staring at them. The artist inside him is so excited at the jolt of inspiration it takes a while for him to even question

Who wrote this?

But once the question exists it's all he can think. It must be Leah or Penny's, but wouldn't he know if that was the case? Penny's penmanship is much neater.

She recognizes it the next day. "Oh that's Sam's."

"Sam?" he asks incredulously.

She nods. "I can get it to him if you want, I'm over there all the time to get Vincent."

He automatically takes the notebook back, suddenly protective of it. "Oh no that's alright, thank you, I will deliver it to him myself."

He's uncertain that he means that yet.

He still isn't uncertain he means it, when on the way out of the library, he spots him.

Sam, in all his helmetless glory, tripping on his skateboard.

Elliott watches him, like a bird, he thinks. Is he the bird? Or is Sam?

If they were a poem surely Elliott would be the bird. He'd rather be the bird, anyway. But it's Sam and he knows it, and he's a little annoyed at that fact. No, he's a bird too, but one of those stuffed pheasants. A stuffed pheasant staring at a chirping canary. (Elliott's brain is a wild place)

A canary dusting off his tattered jeans and looking up at the weird man watching him.

Remembering to be human, Elliott asks "Are you alright?"

Sam gives him a thumbs up. "A-okay!"

Elliott hesitantly approaches. "I found something I believe is yours."

"What's up?" he looks up at him again and spots his notebook. "Oh hey Notey! Thanks." He gives him an absurdly bright smile. Elliott notices his chin is scabbed as if he fell on his face while skating.

He hands him the notebook. "Did you... name your notebook?"

"Oh Notey, yeah. He's my lil guy." He sat on the edge of the garden bed he'd been attempting to railgrind against, and quickly looked over the notebook.

Elliott huffs a chuckle. "I named my typewriter Lucille."

"You got a girl typewriter?" Sam squints up at him past the summer evening sun.

"I don't know, I suppose she is."

"I guess it's just weird to me cause all my stuff's got boy names. Like my guitar."

Its an odd, immature conversation Elliott might've dismissed before, but his creative mind is still whirring and he thinks there might be more to what he's saying.

"What's your guitar's name?"

"Jared."

"Decent name." Elliott sits next to him. "Do you think they need boy names because they are such a part of you?"

Sam thinks for a moment. "Yeah. That would make a lot of sense actually..." he trails off and begins mouthing the words part of you to himself repeatedly. "Hey do you have a pencil or somethin?"

Elliott hands him the pen from his jacket pocket immediately. Sam takes it with a murmured thanks and writes something in the notebook, as much a mess as the rest of it (if there was any doubt it belonged to him).

"I hope you don't mind me saying your writing is very interesting."

Sam scoffs, finishing and closing the notebook. "It's whatever." He's blushing. "Hardly any of it ever makes it into our songs anyway. I've gotta write like 1000 words to use 10 of them you know?"

"I do," Elliott smiles.

AHHHH wait I love this one.

I want Sam to invite him to one of their shows and Elliott feels so out of place and Sam gives him a band tee 😭 Also, Sam teases Elliott for being 'a reincarnation of a victorian grandpa'. Affectionately calls him grandpa and ghost daddy. I love them your honor actually

AND WITH THAT! This is the final submission of the SDV Rarepair Challenge! Check out the other answers here, and make sure to boost your favorite so it can appear in the final fic poll! More info on that here. Poll will be posted in one week, stay tuned! :)

[sawrinwrites]

Hey, do you guys remember that story I wrote for BMBLB week about Blake and Yang anonymously connecting through one of Blake's poems?

Remember how a bunch of you said you'd really like to see a long-fic version of it?

WELL GUESS WHAT EVERYBODY! YOUR WISH IS GRANTED!

[moonswolfie]

HQ!! Boys with a poet S/O

hey hey hey guess who's back with a super self indulgent piece of shit fic (i am joking, this is my humour)

also let's just say the reader does not write about cute lightearted things (but if you'd like to see a version where the reader writes cute stuff lmk!!)

so, yk TW for implied mental turmoil and an overall angsty hurt/comfort mood for these

Characters featured: Oikawa, Akaashi, Kageyama, Bokuto, Iwa chan

OIKAWA honestly wouldn't believe that those poems were written by you at first. When you excitedly gave him some of your poems to read, he thought they would be cutesy love poems dedicated to him and only him, not this. "What...? Are they bad?" You seemed worried at his wide-eyed expression. "Baby, are you ...okay?" He asked out of the blue, the genuine worry in his tone knocking the wind out of you. "Hahaha, it feels so weird hearing you say that...!" You tried your best to not let any more laughter escape you. "What?! Am I not allowed to be a good boyfriend now?!" He was offended by your reaction, slightly clutching the poems in his hands. "No, it's just... unusual to see you this concerned about me." You said with a half-smile. You had gotten so used to Oikawa's light-hearted flirty attitude, that you sort of forgot just what kind of person he is. "Just what do you think of me?" He sighed, suddenly pulling you in for a hug. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" All you did was nod, feeling relieved that he understands.

AKAASHI 's eyes would widen gradually as he read the contents of your poem. You gave him 5, but he already feels horrible, and he's only on the first one. He almost doesn't want to believe you wrote this. He becomes worried about you, doing a deep analysis on your poem since he wants to understand every part before approaching you with his worries. The next day when you greet him happily, he simply hugs you. "I'm sorry for not noticing..." is all he says, and though it takes you a bit to understand what he means, you feel overwhelmingly relieved he isn't judging you for what happened. "It's okay, I didn't tell you, you couldn't have known..." you assured him, knowing your boyfriend's tendency to overthink, he would beat himself up if you said nothing. "Next time, please please tell me about things like this. I can't stand the thought of you suffering alone." He squeezed you tighter.

KAGEYAMA is confused. Reading and understanding poems was never his strong suit, but yours are especially confusing to him. You laughed a little at his concentration face, and he handed you your poem back, still confused. "What does this even mean...?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Ahaha, don't worry about it too much... I wrote it like that on purpose." You made your poem vague and messy on purpouse, something you knew Kageyama probably couldn't understand properly. Awkward silence filled the room, and Kageyama silently hugged you all of a sudden. "I don't get why, but I got the random urge to hug you just now..." he mumbled silently, squeezing you in his grip. He must have noticed the sadness behind your voice and just doesn't know how to properly comfort you. "You said that out loud, Tobio." You smiled. "Shit..."

BOKUTO 's smile drops suddenly as he reads your poem. When he found you writing it, he insisted that he must read it no matter what. But what in the world was this? Why were you writing about all this sad stuff? "Babe...." his hands trembled slightly as he looked at you while you were smiling as you usually do. "Why would you say that about yourself?" He was very very saddened right now, and you weren't sure who's going to end up comforting who. You felt your bones being crushed in his impulsive hug. "It isn't true!! You're literally the best person I know!! So don't you dare say that again!!" He put his forearm over his eyes, tears stinging at his eyes. He has to be strong for you, he can't cry now. "Kou-" "I've decided! From today on, you're getting complimented every day!! No excuses!!" He looked very determined.

IWAIZUMI understood the content of your poems very well. And it angered him. Why didn't you tell him this happened?! "Idiot." He let the word escape his lips, clutching the paper in his hands. "You should have told me. I would have protected you." He looked to you. You weren't scared since you knew that your boyfriend was genuinely concerned right now, and that was just his way of expressing it. "Dammit, why do you always insist on keeping your problems to yourself..." he pulled you to his side, looking ahead. "I'll tell you next time..." you looked down to the ground. "You better. Or I'll beat you up." He huffed, but you saw the relief flashing in his eyes. He didn't really show it, but somehow, you could tell his heart sank when he read it.

I'm okay :)

[cindol]

hey I love your account 💗💗

walk with me on this;

poet! english major! geto x sub! fem! reader where he recites her poetry he wrote about her or atleast poems he found akin to her during intercourse.

thank you for listening to my Ted talk!!

Suguru Getou x black fem reader

a/n: I will do you justice with this one anon!

tw— smut, sub fem reader, dom male, poems getou says are from google, poem words are in italics,

Getou had his small book of poems in one hand with his other hands inside you, a soft smile was on his pretty face as he saw the erotic expressions on your face and how your eyes squinted feeling his fingers curl inside. Around the two of you were both you and Getou’s discarded clothing. He didn’t quite know how he got here with his girlfriend muse but it didn’t matter right now, he just needed her. He took a deep loving sigh looking at the letters on the paper.”I make love to her secretly so..” his two fingers inside her upped their pace making her gasp.

“For love, for happiness.. she comes to me” he deepened his fingers inside her making her squeak and clench around his fingers.”as a voluptuous mistress.. I have discovered her artistic breasts.” He dropped his book of poems off across the bed somewhere and dived his head to give her breast soft bites on the nipples making a whimper come out and her back arch.”suguru! s-sensitive on my nipples!” He was listening as he bit and sucked her nipples, he was giving her the best stimulation.”sh sh sh.. patience yes?” He whispers back to her.

He slips his mouth off her tits as he looks down at her and then at the desk near their bed seeing the rubber band on the desk.”you can grab that rubber band for me yes love?” She lazily reached for the rubber band handing it to them making him laugh as he pulled his hair into a bun. “Her perfect waist startled me ever.” His hands placed themself on her waist as he took a hold of her legs and placed them on his naked shoulders making her amused but scolding him.”suguru! Gentle damn!” He chuckled positioning himself between her thighs.”sorry my love, guess I’m not quite aware of my own strengths sometimes hm?” She was about to back sass but gasped instead feeling him enter her slowly.”In between her gorgeous thighs…” he shuddered a little entering her pussy fully. Even with how condescending he was he couldn’t hide his enjoyment between his muse’s brown thighs he was always between, it was like a comfort for him.

He started to softly thrust inside her, mixing his moans with her soft sounding ones.”I have found the eighth wonder!” She whined at him still reciting poetry, she didn’t understand how he could be reciting poems doing something so intimate right now. His pace began to fasten with each time he went in and out. He was bringing both him and his little muse to the peak.”suguru.. can’t! gonna..” from the grunt he made with him swallowing he was felt exactly same as her, it was a unofficial permission to cum with him. Wrapping her legs around his head she came as he exploded with his head lifting and making a needy expression.

As her legs slid down from his shoulder and both of them made heavy breaths going to soft. He ran a hand through his hair looking at her body sprayed on the bed.”she is the epitome of beauty and lust, I don’t know if making love to her is sinful or just!”

[johnwickb1tsch]

Enigmatic Stranger ~ Part 3

a young!John Wick x fem!Reader roundrobin fic… by @sweetwolfcupcake , @treedaddymcpuffpuff , & @johnwickb1tsch

part 1 part 2

Johnwickb1tsch:

What's your name?

“Guess.” 

“I’m not playing the Rumpelstiltskin game with you.” 

He chuckles at that. “I guess you could call me…E.S.” 

Enigmatic Stranger. Like you’d called him in the poem you wrote. He hadn’t even made fun of you for that. He’d smiled at you in the café. A small smile, filled with…sadness? And maybe…regret. 

“You’re quite the poet,” he’d told you quietly, sliding your notebook back to you across the counter. 

You’d just stared like a starstruck little idiot, still utterly mortified that he’d read your private words, no matter what praise he offered you. “You shouldn’t do that,” you’d managed to get out past the lump in your throat, your words like sandpaper. “Read other people’s things. That wasn’t meant for you.”

“Why not? It was about me, wasn’t it?”

You swipe at your stinging eyes, feeling ridiculous, and small, and you wish he would just go away, with those midnight-dark eyes that manage to look right through you. You wished he’d stop showing up like this, and making you feel things that would never come to anything. This is what men do to you. They make you feel too much, and then it’s your fault, somehow, when they disappoint you.  

He’d pressed his lips, seemingly feeling guilty about it all. “Hey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He’d reached for your hand, brushing your fingertips before you jerked away, as though he’d burned you. 

“Stop playing games with me,” you whimper, looking down into your cup of now cold chocolate. “Please, just go.” 

He had, without another word, just a kicked puppy dog look over his shoulder. You didn’t allow yourself to believe that look in his eyes was longing.

But now…he’s here, in your apartment again. 

“John.” 

You blink. John. Just like that…this man who has been haunting you has a name. A nice, normal name. It’s almost too simple.  

“Well, John. You should go.” 

He smirks at you, standing slowly. “If you want. Lock that door, y/n.”

***

Maybe it made a difference, locking the window, and the door. Because when they finally strike, it’s on the street, in the alley near your apartment. Two goons try to grab you, but John is there like a whirlwind, breaking limbs, knocking heads. You have never seen anything like it. Not even in an action movie. The carnage is unreal. 

“Are you alright, y/n?” John demands, rushing over to you. 

You are sinking down with his strong arms around you, your vision swimming. There is blood on his handsome face–and a needle still sticking out of your arm. The fact that you’re only vaguely alarmed about this, about all of this, doesn’t bode well. 

“I’m fine,” you say, and that’s when the pinhole of your vision fades to black.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

You wake to a cool washcloth pressed to your forehead, and an icy glass of water waiting for your parched tongue. It’s only after you gulp down the whole glass and give your fuzzy brain a wicked freeze that you notice you’re not in your own bed or even your own apartment.

Unless someone did some redecorating and remodeling. 

It looks a little like someone has placed a king size bed in the middle of a tidy, large living area complete with flatscreen TV on one wall and stuffed bookshelves on the other. It’s dark outside—you can tell from the yellow street lights glowing through black curtains. 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” The dark figure lounging on the big sectional couch reminds you all too much of a fairytale monster from your childhood, and for a good minute you have to remind your hazy mind that he’s just a man and you are not five years old cowering under the covers from the boogeyman. 

He’s not in a suit, for once. Sweats and a loose Henley. Domestic, normal, someone you could imagine your toes curling for. Oh, wait, they’re doing that anyway. You press the sheet tighter to your chest. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, sitting on the bed beside you and pushing some hair out of your face. It’s cold in here. Far too chilly for your liking, almost like he doesn’t even have his heat on at all, but he’s warm, and you unconsciously lean into his touch. 

He hums at you, and gifts you the heat of his skin on your face for a moment before pulling away. “I have some soup for you. I’ll heat it up.” He tips your chin with his fingers. “You’ll stay here for me?” 

You nod, mostly because you’re not sure if your legs will even work right now. 

“That’s my girl.” He smiles, then pads off into the dark, leaving your poor heart pounding in your chest.

Johnwickb1tsch

By the time he returns with a tray, you’ve managed to sit up in bed, at least. Your head is only spinning a little. The sight of him bringing you food does something unmentionable to your insides. How long has it been, since someone has cared for you when you weren’t well? Not since you lived at home with your family, what feels like a lifetime ago. 

They say you can’t go home again. In your case, truer words were never spoken. 

Gingerly John sets the tray down in your lap. The smell of chicken broth wafting up from the warm bowl makes your mouth water–you’re feeling better already. There’s a little dish of crackers on the side, and a cup of tea. He thought of everything. 

You will not cry in front of this man, you order yourself. Your chest is tight, and you’re not sure how well that’s going to work out for you. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” He looks at you with a hairline crease on his brow, those dark eyes like lasers upon you. “Do you need help, or…?”

You pick up the spoon, and it only shakes a little in your hand. “I think I can manage.” 

While you eat he lays out across the foot of the bed, watching you. The bed is big enough that it’s not really an improper imposition, but you can’t help but liken him to a leopard lounging at your feet, watching you like he hasn’t decided if he’s going to eat you yet or not. 

“So…” he says as you finish your soup and crackers. “Are you finally going to tell me why those guys were trying to take you? Because if they just wanted to hurt you, I’m afraid they could have done it.” 

You play with the last dregs of soup in the bottom of your bowl, chasing one last little nibble of noodle. “What did you do to them?” you deflect quietly, your eyes all for the bottom of your bowl. 

“You know,” he answers in equally hushed tones. 

“I want you to say it.”

“I already warned you I’m a bad man, y/n. But they were bad men too.”

“You killed them.”

“They won’t bother you anymore. Someone else might though, depending where the money is coming from. There’s an open contract on you now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t go back to your apartment.” 

Panic rises in you “John…I can’t—” 

“This is serious, y/n.” 

“You…could just be making all this up, to keep me here.” 

He snorts, propping his head on his hand, and you can’t help looking over his long body stretched out at your feet. His broad shoulders and tapered waist, legs that go on forever, pale bare feet dusted with crisp dark hairs. Even his feet are beautiful. Why does he have to be So. Fucking. Handsome? You feel like you’ve swallowed a barrel of eels. Maybe if you puke on his bed, he’ll leave you alone.   

“I think you know I’m not. So…you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

A long sigh escapes you, while you look anywhere but at him. The decor of the room is dark. Masculine. A perfect echo of this dangerous man before you. You know the truth. No matter how you whine at him…you’re not going anywhere now, unless he wants you to. 

“It’s possible…I might have an idea of what this is about,” you admit quietly. 

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

Of course, you’re crying before you can even start telling your story. He grabs you a box of tissues and you have to take a minute to admire their plush, soothing touch before you begin again.

“My dad owed a debt to a very bad, powerful man. And he had to pay it with… with me. So-“ you’re sobbing, now, doing that little fish mouth gulp between whimpers and gasps, tissue pressed tight to your face. You feel like such a baby, and even more with him seeing you bawl like this. 

“Hey. Hey.” A heavy warmth settles on your calf, and you instinctually jump back, startled by the touch. That just makes you cry more. What’s wrong with you? Do you have to be so damn scared of everything? So hesitant? So weary? It’s exhausting. 

“Let me-“ he reaches out to you, although this time you don’t flinch away, just curl into your own shaking shoulders and try unsuccessfully to stop the ugly flow of water down your face. 

John sits on his hands, maybe to avoid grabbing you up and trying to soothe you, and watches helplessly. You almost feel bad for him having to see this—endure it—even though it is your sole burden to shoulder.

You try to continue through the choke of despair in your throat. “R-ran-I ran away. A-and now I’ll never-“ the most embarrassing sound wheezes up from your chest, and you see him visibly cringe, which makes you feel like…like…pathetic. “I’ll never see my family again.” 

“Fuck this,” he says, and pulls you into his lap, cradles you like a baby while you cry into his warm shirt, shields you from the outside world—now, if only he could protect you from yourself.

Johnwickb1tsch

It feels like an eternity passes before you are all cried out, laying like a ragdoll on John's broad, warm, chest. Your face hurts, and you're pretty sure you soaked his shirt with tears and drool and snot and he still holds you like you are something precious and breakable, stroking your hair with his long, clever fingers.

Those hands kill people.

Those hands killed people, for you, not even 24 hours ago.

That should scare the fuck out of you, but mostly at the moment you just feel numb.

"It's going to be ok," he keeps saying in that low baritone that crosses the wires in your brain, makes you think stupid thoughts like this man is friend shaped and not oh wow I'm in danger. "I've got you."

This is physically true at the moment--but you dare to think he means in a broader sense, and that almost scares you more than the hired toughs who attacked you in the alley. You have relied on yourself and only yourself for so long now, cut off from your family, your friends, just trying to live a quiet life and survive under the radar... Someone else reaching out a hand to you is as alien as it is unlikely.

You also can't help but think, as capable as John seems to be, the man whose grasp you fled might prove more than a match for the assassin who is holding you. He is powerful. Rich. Ruthless. He always gets what he wants, and he'd wanted you. He'd had no problem ruining your family in his quest to possess you, playing your father like a chess piece on his board. He's a master manipulator with a penchant for corrupting innocence. The reason, no doubt, he'd caught such an obsession with you.

"What's his name?" John asks quietly, once he thinks you can handle it. "The man who you're running from?"

You try to say it, but the words desiccate on your tongue. Saying it aloud almost feels like invoking the boogeyman. You take a deep breath to clear your throat, and even then you are barely able to speak above a whisper, a fine trembling running through your frame.

"Donaka Mark."

Sweetwolfcupcake

Donaka Mark

Being in the business has its benefits. Texting one name to the right people can bring you almost all the information you need. Almost.

This is no ordinary name, that much John understands with the amount of information he has received in a few hours. It's not enough, too little for him to even plan something. He glances at the shut door of your room. His room, technically, but he will take the guestroom for the night, you seem too shaken up to even move to another room.

Besides...

John sighs, shaking his head, admitting it has been more than kindness towards you. He likes your presence. He likes being near you, he likes you being within his sight and reach. It's somewhat frightening how much he likes that you are here, under his roof. His hold on the armrest tightens and he forces his gaze away.

He has only been, keeping an eye. Right? he admits that it might have escalated to more and that at least one of those men could have been left alive for more information, but everything happened so fast...

Sighing, he pours himself some bourbon. For the night, when you are so close yet so far away when he has so many unanswered questions, he needs something to keep him at ease. He does not consider himself intuitive, but John knows that he is about to sink his teeth for a big bite, but no bite is too large for him to chew down.

-------

When you wake up once more, you are greeted with a bedroom devoid of any traces of John and dimly lit. it's the bedside lamp, you notice. Waking up to complete darkness would have unsettled you. He is a thoughtful man. Regardless of what you have witnessed him do to your attackers, his background, and his morals, this man has been good to you, and you will eternally remain grateful for that. But you have seen what Donaka is capable of, and you do not want to put John in danger.

It's bothering enough that you already wish he were here with you, his arms have provided you more comfort in a few minutes than any blanket or bed in all these months of hiding. Living in constant fear, being haunted by the image of the man you have dared to run away from. 

No, John is kind, but you cannot take advantage of his kindness. As soon as dawn hits the sky, you will leave your home, pack your bags and fly away to a different country. if Donaka's men have already found you, it will not take long for him to strike again.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

Your bladder wakes you up as the cool morning light is just creeping in through the curtains. The house is more illuminated, now, modern and open-floored. You wish he would have given you a tour, because the bathroom doesn’t seem to be in any apparent place. Trying to get there lands you in the oddly clean kitchen, and John is there making coffee.

He’s not surprised by you in the slightest—of course with how clumsy you can be you’re not exactly shocked. You probably woke him up with all the noise you were making, roaming around and running into stuff. 

“Morning,” he says, setting a cup of coffee down for you. “Cream, sugar?” 

“Um, bathroom?” You say, standing awkwardly with your fists clenched in front of you. 

“Oh,” he says, “c’mon.” 

After you’re done, you join him back in the kitchen, climbing up on one of the bar stools and sipping your coffee, thinking about how you’re going to tell him in plain terms that your fleeing the country today and so need to excuse yourself. 

Sorry, been a lovely time, but I have to escape my evil fiance now.

“What’s wrong?” He asks you, noticing your face with the twisted up, frustrated look on it.

“Just thinking,” you say.

“I’m here if you’d like to talk.”

“Great. Thank you.” You know the brown of his eyes would be a lot more pleasant to stare at than the brown of this coffee, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him right now. 

“We’ll go get your things later,” he says, “I have something to do this morning, but I have a robe you can where while you shower and use the washer and dryer, if you’d like.”

That gets you to look up. “What?” 

“I would like you to stay while I take care of this issue for you.”

“No,” you tell him.

“Let me rephrase: you are staying while I take care of this issue for you.” He says it casually. It infuriates you.

“No,” you say again, unsure of how else to phrase it. 

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Please don’t run or try to fight me. Neither one of those things will result in your favor.” 

You blink at him for a few tense moments, then bolt. Jumping down off the bar stool, running for the door. 

John huffs. “Alright then.”

Johnwickb1tsch

He tries not to enjoy it.

He really does. But you're so cute, the way you scramble off the stool and around the furniture on your little feet towards what you think is the door (it's not).

You make it as far as the living room. One leap over the couch, and he has you in his arms, breathing heavily, your hair messy and your eyes wide like a woodland creature he could devour in one bite. It's all he can do, not to press you into the wall and slant his mouth over yours.

He just knows you would taste so sweet...

"Let me go!"

You struggle, and he holds your wrists, making you feel downright delicate with those paws for hands wrapped around you.

"Honey..."

"No!"

You kick him in the shin, and through gritted teeth he turns you in his arms, holding you in a modified bear hug. You're honestly not sure at this point if the giddy adrenaline racing through your veins has to do with fear--or the fact that you're in his grasp, the lean line of his body pressed against your back.

"Calm down," he tells you quietly, his voice low and smooth in your ear, the wiry scruff of his beard scratching your soft cheek. "I'm only trying to help."

"You don't understand. Donaka Mark is a very, very bad man."

You feel him nod against you, not arguing, letting you go still in his arms like he's your weighted blanket. Your heartbeat slows from a furious staccato to a slightly steadier dum bum dum bum.

"I believe you," he finally answers, speaking quietly like he might spook you. "That's ok. I am too."

Sweetwolfcupcake

You want to scream at him-

"No, you're not, idiot, and if you challenge a man like Donaka, you'll end up dead."

But all you can do is try not to sigh in his arms. He is so warm, his hold so gentle, yet so firm, it makes you want to lean back. You wish you wish you could, you would have if only you could.

The longer you stay, the closer Donaka gets to you, and this poor(but awfully stubborn, unfairly fast and devastatingly handsome) man will have to pay the price. Donaka is mad right now. As much as you know the man, you know this---he is going to make you pay for escaping him and hiding from him. He might even make an example out of this man.

"You don't understand---"

"I do, honey, I do. You need to understand that as long as you're with me, he cannot touch a hair of yours."

Is it just you or did he just lean closer? You can feel his breath. it makes you gulp. it's strange---how a man you barely know, can make you feel so scared and so safe simultaneously.

You do not even want to find out. All you want, is to live peacefully with your father. You haven't been able to call him in the fear of being traced.

"Please...It's for your own good..." You take a different approach, though your efforts to slip past his hold never cease.

It's infuriating, especially when you hear his quiet, breathy laugh.

"Uh-huh? You're so...cute."

Something tells you that he had something else in mind, but he simply watered it down. Wait, he thinks you're dumb? Or even worse, nut case?

Okay, maybe not a nutcase, because he saw those men.

"It's not funny..." What was his name again?

"John. John Wick."

"John..." You begin through gritted teeth "Can you let me go?"

"Only if you promise to not do anything stupid. You won't be worrying about a man miles away then, trust me."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Merely telling you about the consequences of defying me."

Donaka's face flashes before your eyes as you stiffen. Is he so different from the older man, after all?

You feel John sigh before his hold loosens, allowing you more room for movement yet no none for an escape. You turn your head to meet his eyes. They look quite similar, you realise. Even their eyes are of the same shade. Perhaps Donaka has darker eyes---you never took time to notice, he sacred you anyway. But you can dare to look into John's eyes, there's a kindness to it, there's melancholic depth and so much life. But they're not bright, they are soulful.

"I'm sorry, I just want to protect you."

You look away, memories of your narrow escape only harden your resolve. What does he think he is? Why even take the trouble?

"You can't protect me." You turn to look at him again and for a moment, you can only look, not think.

There's a shift---you see it closely, the soulful chocolate darkening into the hard resolve, a fire with a promise. This man's darkened stare makes you gulp. His stare matches the darkness in your so-called fiance's eyes but this is different. It's like there's a wild beast ready to tear out.

"I know that you're scared. And I appreciate your concern, but you don't need to worry about me. I am going to take care of this issue, and all I ask you is to cooperate."

You frown, ready with a retort but his landline rings. You are disappointed to find it close enough, had it been a little farther, you could take a chance. but at the moment, feeling the shift in the air, your instincts tell you to stay put for the sake of self-preservation.

"Yes? What did you find? Right now? Hmm." Even though he speaks into the phone, his sharp eyes remain on you.

"I need to leave for a few hours." He declares after putting the phone back.

So, this is your chance.

"Can I trust you to not try anything stupid?"

Yeah, of course, I will simply slip away and hopefully be on the flight to another country by the time you're back.

"Okay." You squeak out, trying not to seem relieved.

"No, I can't." He tilts his head, seeing right through you.

You do not even have the time to defend yourself before he has you in his arms. You realise what's happening only after he begins to walk.

"H-hey, hey, hey, what do you think you're doing? Put me down! Put me de dow..n"

And you are back in his bedroom again. He sets you on the bed as you finish your sentence.

"Here, happy?"

Your glare is met with a tinge of mirth in his eyes that still seems darker. But when he gets on his knees abruptly, you find yourself flinching. He simply opens the bed storage. Something glints in his hold, catching your attention. Oh, how terribly stupid you have been, looking into his eyes instead of his hold. By the time you realise what it is, your ankles are already in his grasp.

"No! What the fuck-- what the hell are you doing? I said I'll not leave--unlock that!" Your voice raises and cracks with increasing panic.

John remains undeterred, though, locking your ankles together with the cuffs. They won't cut into your skin, but they are tight.

"All done."

He dares to look fucking amused.

"Unlock that!"

"I will, once I'm back. It won't take long, I promise." He speaks softly and nods before placing a remote on your hand."There's TV. Feel free to entertain yourself while I'm gone."

"You can't do this!" This is madness. Utter madness.

"I wouldn't have to take such a measure had you not been so stubborn."

He studies you for a moment, contemplative before adding-

"Don't try anything silly while I'm gone."

John brings his knuckles to brush against your cheek. They're not smooth, but that isn't the reason you pull your face away, only to feel a faint pinch in your chest watching the slight disappointment in his eyes---they're soft again(thank God).

He says nothing more, walking out of the room, while you seethe, wanting to pull him back by his hair. He shuts the door on his way out before you hear the unmistakable sound of the lock. of course, he is not taking any chances.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

You end up watching cheesy game shows for a little bit, examining the fancy leather and metal cuffs binding your feet together. They’re not so much uncomfortable as annoying, because at one point you have to crawl to the bathroom once you try—and fail—to pogo jump there. This results in a little goose egg on your temple, a stubbed toe, and chafed knees. As you wriggle yourself back into his bed, grumbling like an angry caterpillar, you can’t help but wonder if those little shiny black dots on the corner of his high ceiling are cameras and he’s watching you embarrass yourself.

You imagine him laughing at your struggle, and before you know it, give a big middle finger to the air, the scowl on your face permanent even after the TV game shows become comedic. 

Upon flipping through the other channels, you find that John has all that good fancy stuff that you can’t really afford on your own TV. The just released movies, the music network, the live Olympics happening in Paris, a naked woman in the throes of passion…you flip back to that one…with a man between her legs. 

How long has it been? Since you felt anything remotely similar to what this porn star is feeling? The genuine pleasure on her face as the dark haired man shields her intimate places with his mouth. Have you ever felt what she is feeling, come to think of it? 

Most porn isn’t appealing, but this is different…maybe because you’re just that pent up or maybe because it’s focused on female pleasure entirely…you’re not sure…doubly not sure of how you end up hiding under the blanket with your hand shoved between your bowed thighs, working quietly at your cunt. 

And perhaps the handcuffs are helping just a little bit with your suddenly spiked arousal. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the fact that the aroma of enigmatic stranger is pressed into every fabric within smelling distance, and you feel so horribly and pleasantly trapped and helpless, forced to inhale his fresh detergent and balmy sweat. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re just fucking stupid. Yeah, probably that one. 

You’re all erratic breath, face pressed against the soft cotton pillows, ankles straining against tight leather, sweat beading on your skin, whole body yearning towards that all consuming release that will solve every single problem even if for only a millisecond. And in walks John, carrying some fresh healthy takeout and a bottle of sweet wine. 

You can’t really shut off the TV and unstick your hand from yourself at the same time, so you end up doing neither, sending the remote clattering across the floor, smearing slick all over his nice Egyptian sheets, burning from head to foot, wishing that Freddy Krueger would hurry up and drag you inside the mattress with his sharp claws and rip your apart. 

He cocks a slick eyebrow and grins, before placing food and drink on the entryway table.

Johnwickb1tsch

"You look like you could use some help."

You can tell he's amused, but he's not laughing at you. He's looking at you with the sharp eyes of a wolf, stepping slowly on those long legs towards the bed.

Jesus fucking cRist, the porn is still playing on the TV.

He follows your longing gaze to the remote flung on the floor, glances at the lucky woman on the screen, before his eyes settle on you hiding under the blanket, your eyes the size of saucers. You are so mortified you can't breathe, can't think. Your face is on fire, and there is a fine tremor running through your bones. He takes another step towards you, and you kind of want to throw up.

"It's ok, sweetheart, you don't have to be embarrassed." 

Easy for him to say.

You babble, "I'm sorry. Please, take these things off me, and I'll..."

Jump out the window, if you please and thank you.

He sits down on the bed next to you, looking at you with that gentle smile that short circuits your brain, sparks flying out of your ears like one of those little robot toys with the flint inside it from when you were a kid. Oh, to be made of plastic and not feel anything.

"Relax," he soothes you. "I think you're beautiful. Do you not understand that?"

You shake your head, still so humiliated you could die. You try to hide under the covers again, because there is literally no where else for you to go, but he doesn't let you, pulling down the sheet. He doesn't stop touching you, with those strong, sure, hands, running his palms up your arms, cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing you so sweetly it breaks your heart.

You've just been so alone for so long, and you know you shouldn't be going along with any of this, but his lips are so soft, and he touches you like he cares about you, and you are all out of fight. Good sense flies out the window, as one of his hands tangles in your hair, and his other slides down your body, over your soft curves--and between your thighs.

His blunt fingers are so much nicer than yours, curling against you in just the right way to make you forget everything else but this man in front of you. "Let me take care of you, baby," he whispers in your ear, the scruff of his beard a soft tickle on your painfully sensitive flesh, nuzzling into your neck, breathing you in like he can't get enough of you, and--

That's when you wake up.

Sweetwolfcupcake

Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck!Fuck!

You wake up, breathless, the stupid video still playing, the golden sunset slipping its last rays into the room through some gaps. You scramble out of bed, falling straight on your knees.

Of course!

It's painful but it makes your blood boil hotter. You can't find the remote for a while, but when you do, you drag yourself to it, feeling utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He has left you with cuffed feet---you cannot even stand and yet you've ended up fantasizing about this man!

Has one betrayal not been enough?

You waited for the man you loved in the rain that night, risking everything, and defying everyone important to you and you were left with nothing. He never turned up like the fucking coward he always was. he's dead to you anyway.

And if this wasn't enough, a demon named Donakla Mark had to latch onto you. And now this...this man, John Wick, making you feel things you have become afraid of. A stubborn, bossy, fool who refuses to see that he is heading towards a forest fire, and it will burn him.

Switching off the TV, you clean the remote and hope nothing is damaged. You cannot repay if anything is damaged. You crawl back on the bed, seething, and waiting for him to return.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

John showers downstairs so you don’t smell the blood on him. Of course, he doesn’t need to worry about that, because you’re knocked cold when he enters his room in the wee hours of the morning.

He looks at you for a long, long, long time, unsticks sweaty hair from your face, wonders why the scent of sweet arousal lingers in the room, and grins to himself. It’s cute, that you think he can’t see right through you, fucking smell you. 

He’s never been an untidy man. Socks always folded, sheets always fresh, but he won’t be laundering this bedding for a minute. 

He moves the blanket from your feet, slipping the cuffs off and rubbing the places where the soft leather indented. You stir, curling your toes back away from him, stretching on the big bed. “John,” you say, quiet and sleepy, as he gently pulls your feet back and inspects your pretty skin for any lasting damage. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and your half unconscious soupy brain absolutely believes that soothing, honey voice, but it doesn’t change the fact that your ankles are sensitive and he has the softest touch ever, and you giggle at him, pulling away again.

“Stopit.” 

He does, tucks your feet back in and fixes the covers and leaves a cold glass of water for you on the nightstand.

It’s all he can do not to fold you into his arms and keep you there for as long as he likes, which would be a lot longer than the time either of you have. Donaka Mark is an impatient man. 

Anyway, he needs to clear his head, tend to more physical indulgences before he can start properly thinking about how he’s going to single-handedly bring down the vile underground overlord. 

Here is the woman he’s been feral for, spread on his bed like fresh charcuterie, sticky and sweet and he absolutely just fucking knows soaked between her thighs, and he walks away to relieve himself quietly in the bathroom with every ounce of self control he can muster. 

If he were a more impatient man, he’d be buried inside you instead of his own fist. If he were a more impatient man, you’d be his and Donaka Mark would be a bloodstain on his lapel.

TBC…

[fatesmono]

valentines day with yoongi

✮⋆˙ warning : some language + i haven’t written in half a year so.

✮⋆˙ this is an “x reader” so yk insert gender <3

✮⋆˙a.n : so todays valentine’s day (its the 13th at 11:59 posting this, great job me :3). so happy valentines i guess. i’m spending it celebrating jaehyun's birthday and writing abt my husband who’s in the war. i haven’t written in like, six years (six months) so pls go easy on me 

✮⋆˙enjoy loves <3333 happy valentines day !!

i never liked valentine’s day. it was always a stupid ass holiday if i do say so myself. am i saying that bc i never had a good valentine ? …maybe so, why are you so nosy ?? anyways, that was before i met him, min yoongi. i never met a man who says he hates a holiday so much but also goes all out for it. our first valentines last year i expected him to not really get me anything or like a bouquet of flowers since it wasn’t that much…i got a bouquet alright, like seven of them (he had said he didn’t know which one i would like so he just got me all of the ones he thought i would want), plus a shit ton of chocolate and just little things like one of his hoodies and this ring i had been eyeing for like months beforehand. so much for “valentines day isn’t really my thing” right ? all men do is lie, even min yoongi.

okay but anyways, here we are now, a year later. i wanna prove myself this year, i refuse to be out-valentines’d by him, no matter what that takes. now just one problem, he’s rich, i work at a coffee shop. shit, i know right ? but we will make it work i don’t care. 

so have i had this planned out for the last two months like a gta heist ? yes. but i NEED this day to go perfect. did it ? NO. NO IT DIDNT. first the necklace i got him with his name won’t be ready until the 17th, and then the kiss hoodie i was working on for him GETS BLEACHED SPILLED ON HIM, curtesy of our cat, johnny, and then; if it wasn’t going awful anyway, the cupcakes i made for him burned. and i’m going to his studio as we speak…this is my thirteenth reason. so right now all we have is his favorite flowers, a bleached hoodie with my kisses and a book of poems i wrote for him, sigh. SIGH. and if it didn’t help, he already gave me half of my gift before he left and it’s ten times better. A ROSE GOLD NECKLACE, he got me a rose gold encrusted with the sun because “i’m the sun to his moon”, he makes me wanna bash my head sometimes from how sweet he is. 

so getting to his studio, the definition of “shaking in my little boots”. i can hear him practicing his music from outside his studio, it’s like walking into beethoven working on smth if beethoven was your 30 year old idol boyfriend for a kpop group, if that makes sense, which is doesn’t so. anyways, i put in the code for his studio (it’s our anniversary, excuse me while i cry.) and quietly walk in to not disturb him, which isn’t that hard since he has tunnel vision as he invented it, and quietly tap his shoulder gently to get his attention. he turns around, taking off his headphones and noticing me with a small smile on his face, which might as well have been a kiss from him then and then. 

“hey love, happy valentine’s day, what are you doing here ?”, god why does he have to have such a perfect voice; it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. i go on to give him to give him his gift and try to explain that i had much more to give him and i knew it wasn’t enough to give and- and he cuts me off. good job if i do say so myself because the yapping i do, i could win a medal. 

“honey honey, this is perfect…you didn’t even have to get me anything, and you wrote me poems…that’s like writing me a song, this means the world to me. you remembered my favorite flowers, and this hoodie..i don’t think i’ve ever gotten a gift like this from anyone before, not even the guys. thank you so much…”, and my heart just turns into a puddle then and there. all my worries gone in a second, how does he do it ? he really should’ve become a therapist in another life, but i guess he does that with his music. but anyways, did i expect him to like the gift ? absolutely not. i did try to pay for dinner that night and he still didn’t let me do it, saying it was “an extra gift” as if i needed anymore gifts. remind me next to try and not outgift a rich idol who’s secret love language is definitely gift giving. 

i’m still getting next years gifts ready anyways. i’m so winning next year, i don't care.

[mikefrawley]

It's all About Forgiveness Mike (04-06-24)

I'm not quite sure why just yet, but today for me was my first ever be good to Mike Day. It was a beautiful Spring Day here in South Florida and I just knew it was time to spoil myself, which is an action I haven't taken in a very long time. Before I get into this story too deep, I want to pause a moment and thank my many friends for your love and support as I've started taking baby steps on a path I've been afraid to walk and addressing some inner child issues which have troubled me for most of my life, Okay, back to spoiling myself, but first I really want let all of you know just how much I love and appreciate you. Thank you! So, where was I? It was early Saturday Morning and I took a nice leisurely drive to the nicest Publix in town for my weekly shopping, and I realized that it was time to stop living like an active addict who can barely pay the rent and enjoy life a little bit. So, aside from the usual groceries I also bought some gourmet k-cups of coffee to share with my friends at work and took a different way home so I could tryout a new Starbucks which is my weekly splurge. Then armed with my Vanilla Latte I returned home and relaxed for a bit. At home I wrote a new poem which as is the case with many of us here is my true love. After finishing I just felt like getting out of the house and enjoying my day. I haven't bought a new book for myself in well over twenty years, so I decided to take a mini road trip to Barnes and Noble. After leisurely browsing a bit, I grabbed an excellent book by my favorite teacher, author, and poet, Thich Nhat Hanh, or Thay (teacher in Vietnamese) as he is known. The title is ZEN AND THE ART OF SAVING THE PLANET. After that I must confess I did go over the top a bit and stopped by a second Starbucks which was right next door and treated myself to another fancy coffee. Hey, as I said, it was be good to Mike Day. Sunday I leisurely sat outside reading my new book, meditating and just enjoying the moments as they passed. Please forgive me if this is a bit boring but my wish is that someone else suffering with self-destructive thoughts and feelings, may realize that they too are good enough and very much worthy of love. Well I guess that's enough (too much), but please do remember that you are indeed much loved!