#they gon keep that poor man up all night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dantakeyoman · 1 year ago

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𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 | 𝐣. 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞

♡ 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ *𝒐𝒉, (𝒚/𝒏)? 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕, 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏, 𝒕𝒐𝒐. 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒆𝒓. …𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉. *

♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐲, 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

♡ * 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 - 𝒑𝒐𝒗: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 *

𝐎𝐍𝐄

"Watch it, Steve!" You exclaimed, giving the boy a quick kick to the ankle as you rolled out from under the car you were working on.

He let out a dramatic howl, jumping and clutching his foot like a cartoon.

"Keep goofin' around like that and this car's gon' take my head clean off."

"Ow, (y/n/n)! Watchu got stones in your shoe or somethin'?" Steve smiled, a flicker of pain in his eye.

"Now, c'mon, you two, let's finish this up. I don't know about y'all but I'm tryna get home tonight," Sodapop sighed, rolling out from his side with a tired look.

You, Steve, and Soda all worked at the DX together, and were working on your last car of the day, before Steve started up his usual shenanigans.

"Home? All the things to do on a Friday night and y'all wanna go home? S'enough to make a grown man cry..." Steve gasped dramatically, wiping away some fake tears.

"Not me. I got somewhere I gotta be. So if you would kindly shut your trap, maybe we could get this done," you glared, giving him another kick to the foot before rolling back to your spot.

Steve let out another loud whine, and Soda rolled his eyes, going back to his spot as well.

"You keep that up and you'll cripple 'im," he chuckled.

"Yeah, and maybe then he'll finally sit himself down."

"You said you got somewhere to be..." Steve smirked, his pain seemingly gone as he sat down next to you.

"Got a hot date?"

You scoffed, "Yeah, right. I'm meetin' Johnny at the Dingo."

At the mere mention of Johnny, the two boys let out loud coos, Steve making obnoxious kissing noises.

"Will you two cut it out?!" You exclaimed, embarrassed as you rolled out from your spot again, the flush on your cheeks clear as day, just like the grease on them, too.

"Johnnycake, you can stay at my house if you like. Johnnycake, could you walk me home?" Steve impersonated in your voice, tossing a rag on his head to make his hair look like yours.

"Johnnycake, it's freezing! Lemme get you a jacket," Soda chimed with a smile, throwing on your voice as well.

"I don't know what y'all are talkin' about," you rolled your eyes, standing up and grabbing the rag off Steve's head, using it to clean off your hands.

"You should. Poor Johnnycake's the only person in the world you're nice to," Steve gave you a playful poke in the side as you wiped your face.

"I'm nice to plenty. Pony, Darry, the man at the drugstore-." "Then why ain't you nice to me?" Steve gasped, offended.

"'Cause you don't deserve my kindness," you smirked, dropping the dirty rag bag on his head, which earned you his childish pout.

Soda rolled out with a groan, stretching his arms, "(y/n/n), we're pretty much finished here so you can head out after we close up."

"S'all right if I go on ahead? I really don't wanna be late," you asked, clasping your hands together and giving him your best pleading eyes.

"I don't know..." he shook his head, "I don't wantchu walkin' out there by yourself. You know the Socs have been real wild lately..."

"Relax, Soda," Steve smiled, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "(y/n/n)'s meaner than a wildcat, and can hold 'er own just fine."

Sodapop groaned, wiping his face before looking back to you, "You got your switchblade on ya?"

You nodded, whipping it out your pocket and flicking it open, "Never leave home without it."

Steve smiled, "See?"

"...I guess it wouldn't hurt none. So long as you're careful," Soda caved.

"YES!" You cheered, running over to grab your jacket off the hook.

"Your brother's gonna skin me when he finds out..." he sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, now that's a hood. Guy's so grease he glides when he walks," Steve chuckled.

Your brother was a little bit older than Darry but they used to buddy around in school all the time.

Your parents were never in the picture much so he took up the mantle of breadwinner in junior high, and works the same job as Darry, and a couple others here and there.

"If he finds out," you grinned, turning to walk out, "I'll see y'all tomorrow. You two have a goodnight, ya hear."

"Yeah, yeah, just go on an' git," Soda rolled his eyes with a smile, waving you off.

"Do 'er one lil' favor and all a sudden she's all smiles," Steve scoffed, also smiling.

"That girl's a head case."

𝒋 𝒐 𝒉 𝒏 𝒏 𝒚 𝒄 𝒂 𝒌 𝒆

'Damn idiots. Don't know what the hell they talkin' 'bout.'

You'd started your trek to the Dingo about 20 minutes ago, and despite leaving the DX early, you were horribly late.

You sighed, roughly rubbing your hands in your pockets to try and gather some warmth in the cold, September air.

Although you were nearly there, the temperatures were beginning to get to you.

'Shoulda known not to take this flimsy jacket. Damn thing's thinner than Dally's patience.'

Letting out a shivering breath, your mind flashed to the image of Johnny, sitting in the drive-in all by his lonesome.

His sad, pleading baby browns staring up at the screen, open and empty seat next to him, collecting dust while waiting for your arrival.

'Dammit!'

Deciding your brisk walking pace wasn't enough, you kicked it into a jog, which slowly, but surely, turned into a full on sprint.

And with the Dingo's sign in sight, you smiled, speeding up even more.

That is, until you were suddenly grabbed by a set of hands.

A ringed set of hands.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where you goin' in a hurry, grease?" The Soc boy known as Bob sneered, holding you tightly against his sweatered-chest.

"Away from your slimy paws, that's where," you spat, slamming your foot down on his, making him let go of you with a yowl of pain.

But sadly, Socs never travel alone.

In an instead, you were grabbed up by about three other Socs, two grabbing your arms and one taking your switchblade out your pocket.

"You gimme that back or I swear I'll knock in your teeth!" You shouted, your tone venomous and probably flammable if such a thing was possible.

You sharply threw your head to the side, knocking into the nose of the boy holding your right arm.

"Goddammit! The bitch broke my nose!" He shrieked, the boy that took your blade taking his place as the other nursed his poor, bloody sniffer. "This on got a mouth on 'er, don't she? Well, I'm sure we can fix that..." Bob gave you a lidded smirk, his words slurring in a way that made it clear as day that the boy was drunk.

Cracking up his knuckles and winding for a punch, you hardened your look, already prepped and braced for the oncoming beating.

'If this guy don't beat me to death, then (b/n/n) sure will...or even Soda.'

"DON'T YOU TOUCH 'ER!" A familiar voice shouted, that greasy mop of hair you liked so much sprinting out the Dingo and towards you.

"Johnnycake..." you sighed with a smile, relieved.

"Y'all Socs want a fight?! You got one!" Two-Bit added, donning his favorite Mickey Mouse shirt as he ran up right behind Johnny, breaking a beer bottle on the fence next to him.

But suddenly, you were hit with a full force, four ringed punch straight to the mouth, the metal on his hands nearly knocking your jaw off its hinges.

The two holding you let you fall to the floor before they sprinted away from the oncoming crazed dog that was a mad Two-Bit.

And with his running start, Johnny landed his own punch on Bob, with about three times the kick, and sent the Soc tumbling to the ground.

Though the catch was Bob got him as well.

A small gash on his left cheek.

Quickly, Bob scrambled up and scurried away, hopping into the safety of his Mustang and driving away.

With your vision getting clear, you could clearly see Johnny and Two-Bit fussing over you like mothers to an injured baby.

And it didn't help none when you coughed up a bit of blood you swallowed.

"Aw, shit! It looks like it slashed 'er lip real bad! We gotta get 'er to Darry's, quick!" Two exclaimed, throwing one of your arms over his shoulder

"Right," Johnny quickly agreed, grabbing your other arm.

"Don't you worry, (y/n/n). We're gonna get you fixed up just right. Just you hang in there."

Seemed like he was saying that more for his sake than yours.

"Broke one a their noses, y'know," you smirked, looking up at the boys with a bloody grin as hey started running down the street.

You let out a hardy laugh, "Damn thing looks like a bendy straw."

Johnny smiled, giving a quiet chuckle.

Two scoffed, letting a smile crack out the side of his mouth.

"You still got your sense a humor. Glad to see the Socs ain't knock you loopy."

𝒋 𝒐 𝒉 𝒏 𝒏 𝒚 𝒄 𝒂 𝒌 𝒆

"Darry! Soda! It's (y/n/n)! She's hurt bad!" Johnny exclaimed as he and Two-Bit burst into the Curtis house.

A crowd of eyes snapped over to you, and you cursed under your breath as you realized nearly the entire gang was there.

"The hell happened to you, Nails?!" Dallas asked as he caught sight of your face, eyebrows furrowed with concern as he slammed his beer bottle down on the table.

He always called you Nails because you were just like a bag of 'em when you were young.

Still are.

"Same ol', same ol'," you shrugged with a smirk, your head resting on Johnny's shoulder.

"Jesus, get 'er on the couch, quick!" Darry quickly ordered, jumping up from his recliner.

"Soda, go get the medical kit from under the sink!"

"Right!" Soda nodded, hopping off the couch and jogging into the kitchen.

Darry started keeping an emergency kit in the house after a rumble went bad and Steve wouldn't stop bleeding out his arm.

Steve and Dally got up and sat down on the table to give you some room, and Johnny and Two-Bit placed you down on the couch.

"The Socs caught 'er on the way to the Dingo. 'Bout four of 'em," Two panted, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"The guy with all the rings socked 'er good, cut up her lip real bad."

"Ooo, right in the kisser," Steve winced, Darry giving him a rough elbow.

"I got the kit," Soda announced, moving quickly back into the living room and opening it up.

"I told you to wait for me an' Steve to drop you off. But you ain't wanna listen to me. I though you had your blade witchu?" he scolded, his face trying to be angry

But Soda was never an angry guy, and was truly blaming himself for this happening.

"They all grabbed me an' took it, the bastards," you groaned, sleepily plopping your head down on Johnny's lap.

"I can take on a Soc or two, but four was just too many. I'm not Wonder Woman. Though I did break one of their noses, an' Johnnycake knocked Bob silly after he hit me."

You looked up at the boy above you with a thankful nod, Johnny turning away with a shy smile, "It was nothin'."

"Here," Darry handed Johnny a clean rag from the bathroom, "Use that to get up the blood."

The boy nodded, carefully dabbing the cloth on your face as if you were a porcelain doll, subject to crack with even the slightest hint of force.

"I shoulda never let you go by yourself," Soda sighed, raking a guilty hand through his hair.

"Socs think they're so tough jumpin' one of ours with four in their corner. I say we teach 'em a lesson now before they start gettin' too comfortable," Dally firmly stated, standing up as if he was ready to hunt them down right that second.

"I'm with Dally! We're lucky it was just 'er lip. What happens when it's 'er eye? Or 'er arm? Or there are more of 'em? We gotta nip this in the bud!" Steve agreed, standing up as well and crossing his arms.

"I'm sure 'er brother would join us. (b/n/n) would pound 'em into ground beef," Two chimed, his breath now caught and standing upright.

"No way," you shut down, sitting up. "Don't none of y'all dare bring him into this. He's already got enough on his plate with his jobs."

The whole room got quiet at your tone, even Dally tensing slightly.

"We're not wagin' war on the Socs just 'cause I got a lil' split lip," you turned to the Curtis boys, "If y'all an' my brother get caught in the middle of a rumble, him an' Darry are goin' to jail, an' me, Soda, an' Pony are gettin' put in a home."

The quiet turned to silence as the boys realized the weight your words held.

If the three of you got put in a home, there would be no guarantee that you'd stay together, or that you'd ever see the gang again.

"So, just play it cool. No jazz unless they start it, understand?" You cocked a brow.

A couple of grumbles and sucked teeth echoed around the room, but you figured that was about as much as you were gonna get.

"If that's what (y/n/n) wants, then we respect it. No jazz," Darry crossed his arms, further pushing them.

"Whatever," Dally scoffed, roughly tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Fine," Steve sighed, stuffing a fistful of chocolate cake into his mouth as he sat back down on the table.

You turned to Johnny, about to check on him since he'd been so quiet, only to notice the small gash on his cheek.

"Oh, Johnny, you got cut real bad! I'm sorry I didn't notice," you apologized, placing a hand on his cheek and carefully gliding your thumb over the wound.

"It's fine. ...It don't hurt none, honest," he managed to putter out, red as a beet.

But you didn't seem to notice.

"Nonsense. Lemme getchu a rag," you got up, going straight for the bathroom, not noticing the looks that the boys were giving you and Johnny.

"They're in my room, (y/n/n)," Darry smirked, nodding over to the hallway.

"Thanks," you nodded back, going into the hallway and out of earshot.

And once you were, the teasing ensued.

Quiet whoops and coos slipped from the boys as each one gave Johnny their own little nudge.

"You see 'er? She jumped at the chance to take care of poor, ol' Johnnycake," Steve grinned, chocolate all over his teeth.

"Got 'er hook, line, and sinker, man," Dally took a swig of his beer, giving the boy a rough pat on the back.

"Y'all, cut it out, would ya? Don't know what you're talkin' about," Johnny rolled his eyes, pushing their hands off him with a sigh.

"She's crazy about you, kid. You see how she was all caressing' your face? Was like we weren't even here," Two chuckled, gliding his hand over Johnny's cheek just like you did, though Johnny tore his cheek away with a wince.

"Hush up, I think she's comin' back," Darry whispered, the whole group staging themselves as if they were going about business as usual.

"Hey, Johnnycake, come over to the bathroom! I found the rag," you called from the bathroom.

"Comin'!" Johnny called back, standing up to more coos and kissing noises.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Soda smirked.

"Use protection," Dally loudly whispered, turning around on the couch.

Johnny shot them a sharp side eye, turning the corner to be met with your beautiful smile, which immediately washed away everything else.

"Here," you started, wetting the rag as you motioned for him to sit at the edge of the bath tub. "Imma clean out the cut."

He complied, quietly sitting down and turning to leave his cheek open.

As you started tending his wound, pangs of guilt began to bang in your chest at the sight of it.

A part of you felt responsible. If you had just paid more attention like Darry, or had been more capable like Dally, he would've never gotten roped up in your mess.

Him getting hurt was your fault.

"I'm real sorry, Johnnycake," you admitted, a sullen look replacing the smile he loved so much.

"For what? You ain't do nothin' to me," he asked, turning to you.

"I was late, I got jumped, and I gotchu hurt. I ruined our night," you listed, hanging your head.

"None of them things was your fault. Four Socs is a lot for anyone to take on all alone," he assured, placing a comforting hand on yours and giving you his signature doe eyed look, nearly making you melt right there.

"This cut looks a lot worse than it feels, trust me. I'm just glad you're all right."

You smiled up at him through your beautiful lashes, making him flush as you two locked eyes for a quick moment.

"It was funny seein' you pounce on Bob like that," you grinned, folding up the rag and placing it back on the sink.

"Funny?" He scrunched his nose.

"Yeah! The way you jumped you looked like an angry tabby cat, claws an' all," you snickered.

He smiled, looking down at the bathroom floor with that familiar warm feeling buzzing in his chest, "Yeah, I guess I did."

Little did you two know, there was a crowd of boys right outside the door, a glass to the door as they tried to listen in on your conversation.

"Don't understand why he won't just tell 'er how he feels. They've been like this since grade school," Soda sighed, shaking his head

"A packs of cigs says they break before the year's over," Two smirked.

"I'll take that action," Dally smirked back.

"Two says that (y/n/n) breaks first," Soda chimed.

"With their pace they'll break in the next 30 years," Steve scoffed.

"Alright, to bed all of you. Let's give 'em some privacy," Darry smiled, pushing the boys away from the door.

"I think we've had enough excitement for one night."

𝒋 𝒐 𝒉 𝒏 𝒏 𝒚 𝒄 𝒂 𝒌 𝒆

#johnny cade x reader #johnny cade #the outsiders #outsiders #the outsiders x reader #cade x reader #johnnycake #ik some of the words look wonky on pc #it's meant to be read on mobile #so deal w it ig

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softie00 · 2 years ago

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TO THE MOON 🌙

pairing; lee know x reader

warnings; fluff, established relationship, minho is away so long distance, bunch of texting and calls, reader feeling a bit upset, lil angst, crack, brat reader, humour, teasing, minho showing appreciation, love gestures, images, use of jagi, birthday wishes and a surprise.

words; 2k+

a/n enjoy for whoevers birthday that comes by❣

summary; it's your birthday, minho asked what you wished to have only for you to ask for something which is quite the impossible, or is it not when you have such a considerate lover?

[Minho💜] how are you feeling jagi?

[Minho💜] omg it's your birthday soon!!!

[Minho💜] im going to make sure im the first person to wish you ok

You smiled as you glanced at the text messages your boyfriend Minho was sending right now, it was your birthday in a few hours and you couldn't wait to get wished by him.

[You] just missing you babe 🥺 wish u was here

[You] hehe you better be 😤 or else

[Minho💜] we'd be seeing each other tommrow finallyyy then i can wish you properly, hug kiss you and everything

You bite your lip, you cannot wait for it either. It's been way to long without his presence.

[Minho💜] ofc baby how could i forget my precious jagi's birthday?

You're grinning in excitment at the thoughts of Minho finally arriving and immediately rushing to hug you tight. His kisses which you miss very dearly will soon be on your skin.

[You] I've missed you so much minho I can't wait 💗 ur so cute

Delivered

God it's been so long since you both have met up, his busy schedule unfortunately requires him to be out of the states often leaving to you both just texting, face time and phone calls.

Though lately it's been a bit less. And you know he's busy. It's not fair to blame him but sometimes you just miss having Minho near you, where you can wrap yourself in to his arms.

You're more excited about seeing your boyfriend than anything else, really. But seeing him say these words warm up your heart and reduce any negative thoughts you've had.

He loves you. He does. He says it everyday without doubt.

You remember one time Felix slyly captured a picture of Minho looking completely immersed through his phone screen late at night.

And when Felix peeked up and see what was keeping his attention, oh it was you.

[Felix] yo y/n

[Felix] ur man is whipped

[You] ??

[You] what happened now

[Felix] he's looking at pics of both of u

[Felix] before he goes to sleep what a sap

image.1

[Felix] don't tell him I told u

[You] omg...

[You] that's so cute ??

After that thanks to Felix, you realised how deeply Minho loves you. Not that he doesn't say it, of course he does. But there are moments where he sometimes shows love in other ways which only makes you endear him more. And ofcourse Minho got teased for it by the members which made him fluster.

All you could think of during that time is how badly you want to be near him. To hold him, touch him, cuddle him. To tell him how loved he is with your gentle kisses. Your poor little heart couldn't stop looking at that image sent, to know your boyfriend religiously looks at your images/videos together before he falls asleep, making your heart melt.

To know after his long scheduled days he still finds time for you. Minho always made sure he did, you was his life. His routine starts with you and finishes with you, despite the distance. If only you knew how much energy he gets just by seeing your angelic face.

His worries all wash away. Having a bunch of dance choreographys to do and memorise can become very challenging some days more than others, however during those moments he turns his phone screen on and looks at his wallpaper of the two of you for ease.

As you watch the time tick closer to 12, some thoughts creep back in. Will he be the first to wish you? What if he falls asleep since it's so late there? The constant thoughts begin to form. He didn't reply back to your last message, so what if he has gone to sleep.

If only things were different and the two of you were in close proximity right now.

You sighed whilst watching the time, it's already 11.59pm yet no sign of any message from Minho at all.

Maybe he has gone to sleep.

You know he's always over working, right?

He barely catches a break.

It's okay, it's okay. He can do it tommrow morning too. Even that works.

You muttered to yourself, trying to convince yourself for the lack of response. But you won't lie how it would upset you when he mentioned he would do it.

Already you felt sick of your thoughts constantly watching the screen. You took a deep breath, closing your phone screen whilst you leave it on the table.

Just as you try to walk off and shift your mind, until your phone rings.

Incoming call Minho💜

You immediately jump. Your heart is speeding at the sudden ringing. He called. At exactly 12am. Letting out a little, no loud squeak as you jump around the room. You finally try to calm yourself down with some breaths.

Moving your thumb over to accept the call and talk, Minho has started already singing away.

"Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday my precious darling lovely angel Y/N, happy birthday to youuuuu." Minho managed to whip out despite having the others in his room, which all you could think of is how deep his voice sounds, smiling away.

God, your heart still is pacing fast. Thanks to Minho's sweet but deep voice during this time for making you heated.

"Minho, thank you s-so so m-much." You stuttered, feeling so much overwhelmed at this given moment. However, Minho can tell there's a bit of hesitance to your words. "Y/N is everything okay?" He asks genuinely.

How are you meant to tell him that you thought he wouldn't wish you, feeling like you sound stupid, you huffed, scratching the side of your neck, "N-Nothing babe it's just silly.."

"Nothing is silly, tell me jagi."

"Well I don't even know what to say," you chuckled, "I guess I miss you very much Minho. And because these days we speak a bit less, I thought maybe you won't wish me tonight."

Minho instantly felt his heart sank at your words. Unfortunately with their new album and releases, he's had less time to be talking and he wishes he could just change that and return to you.

"I'm so sorry precious, but I love you. Even if I had to stop my work in order to wish you, I would. I could careless about that stuff, I care about you."

You felt a slight tear drop down, screw your hormones for feeling extra emotional today. You speak up slowly, "Thank you for being so sweet Minho." You try to lighten to mood up, "But that was proven wrong when I heard my phone ring and I just ended up jumping around like crazy-"

"Fuck how cute can you get?" He laughs, imagining you just looking cute as ever jumping around. "Now tell me, was I the first to wish you?" He asks cockily, he loves to be the first that does everything with you.

"Yes babe." You excitedly answer.

You can't see his smile but he is smiling, real hard right now.

"That's good, because I wanted to be the first to wish you and tell you how amazing you are, how blessed I am to have you in my life. You make my life, Y/N. Morning and night all I think of is you. Your cute giggles, your beautiful smile that can turn a bad day to good. Having your arms around my waist while you cutely snuggle. Your mind, your laughter, your presence. Everything about you Y/N, is special."

God, you feel like tearing up again. You sometimes think what you did to deserve such a wonderful boyfriend who cares about you so much and always reassuring you.

"Minho, you're going to make me cry for being this cute." You whined, voice becoming softer.

"I know, you're upset I'm not there right now but Y/N, I promise I will be there soon. God I can't wait to take you out to different places and feed you, buy you gifts and give you all my love and kisses." He expresses with love, as he thoughts of tommrow come seeing you all cute and dressed up for him.

"Ughhhh im so excited, I just need you right now babe," You whined cutely. You cannot wait for it all either, to be with the love of your life and spend your lovely day.

"Me too Y/N, but still is there any gift you'd like to have?" He asks gently, Which makes you ponder and maybe you do want to tease him a little too.

"Can I get anything?" You raised a brow.

"Of course love. Anything you want." He affirms, only for you to tease him.

You responded, "Hmmm, can you get me the moon?" As you bit your bottom lip to suppress a laugh.

Minho felt slight confusion at your wish, "The moon?"

"With my name on it." You proposed. "Saying Y/N is the best."

Minho cackled as his hand brushes past his hair, "Baby I don't think that's possible to get. It's beyond our reach." He explains on, only for you to stay stuck on it.

"But you said you'd get me anything I want!"

Honestly you live for teasing your boyfriend a lot. If only you could see his face right now, you'd burst out. So you continue further.

"Yes but unfortunately I'm not that financially stable to get that for you, Y/N." He sighs cutely. I mean, if he was a billionaire then sure that could be sorted.

"Hmmm, they always said if he wanted to he would," You frowned as you roll your eyes playfully. And maybe it worked, because all he's doing right now is twirling his soft hair thinking thoughts.

"Y/N you're so stubborn babe," He groans feeling defeated.

But suddenly replies, "Actually give me a minute or 2 I'd be back."

Oh? Did you perhaps say something wrong? Did someone wake up? Did you take it too far?

Maybe you shouldn't have said this when it's so late in time for him.

Which made you quickly try to redeem yourself, "Minho i was just joking babe." But you find yourself with no response at all.

A minute seems like eternity when you're overthinking but thankfully you're able to hear some shuffling now from his end which means he's still around.

30 seconds

60 seconds

Still nothing.

God, why was you feeling so nervous all of a sudden? You start to walk around your room, trying to wait and think of what Minho could possibly be doing.

Why is time suddenly moving so slow?

The nerves got you biting your nails, phone placed against your ears waiting for Minho voice already.

2 minutes passed. Nothing. You walk around in circles, until your ears perked up at his deep voice.

"Check your messages right now," He ordered, returning back only to make you feel even nervous. Now it's gotten you thinking what could it be.

"I'm scared now" You slightly giggle as you bite your nail but Minho was reassuring you once again. "Don't be baby, just check."

"Alright."

You start to flick through your phone and opened up your text message thread between you both, only to be left stunned.

[Minho💜]

[Minho] ahhhh jagi I'm in space

[Minho] this is so fun

[Minho] wait let me focus

You looked at the texts sent and felt so confused, trying to decipher his messages.

[You] babe what's going on ??

[You] im confused

[You] minho are u drunk

Minho typing...

[Minho] no im not drunk!!

[Minho] wait

[Minho] img.3

[Minho] im there jagi

[Minho] damn im floating this is so cool

The way you just burst in to a laughter fit. Minho always had a funny sense of humor but this was absolutely hilarious. What even is this game, you thought.

[You] omg why are u like this

[You] babe I'm laughing so hard u look so cute in that fit

[Minho] because someone decided to be a brat 🤨

[Minho] thank u jagi, i look pretty handsome dont i

[You] excuse meeee

[Minho] just got hit on the head by an asteroid

[You] HAHAHAHA

[Minho] u think this is funny??

[Minho] i am suffering

[You] karma sweetie 😘 maybe it'll help u think straight

[Minho] how dare youuu

[Minho] are u implying im stupid

You giggled as you continue poking fun at your boyfriend, he's just so cute.

[You] yes stupid

Minho is typing...

[You] stupid for me <33

[Minho] brat

[Minho] im getting closer to the moon now, had a fight off with jupiter

[You] oh really babe

[You] did u win

[Minho] ofcourse I am on a mission for my jagi i gotta fight for you 😤

[Minho] img.6

[Minho] ha beat his ass

[You] where is the moon then

[Minho] patience jagi

[Minho] don't be a brat

[You] hehe I'm waiting ❣ patiently

[Minho] good girl

You cheeks flared at the pet name, waiting for more details on your boyfriend's little adventure.

[Minho] ahhhhhhh

[Minho] went thru so much to get this 🥲 u ready?

[You] im ready

You don't really know what he was asking you for, playing along with him as he continues only be be left rather surprised.

[Minho] img.5

He did not.

Your mouth opened wide in shock, eyes bulged out in admiration what's on your screen. A gush of wind almost pushing you away, having to maintain composure with a hand on the table for support. Your face flushed in heat whilst you smiled, ears turning red. You was gasping for air, as the jolt flew all around your body.

You can't believe Minho just, did that.

As your still lost in daze, your phone is making a bunch of sounds which was the only thing to snap you back into reality. The vibrations along with your own, your shakey hands places the phone back on your ear.

"You told me to fetch the moon so I fought with the stars, I brought it with your name written across." He continued on speaking already causing you to burst. Your boyfriend was this romantic? "Since your my moon, will you help me find the way back to your heart?" He flirts, causing you to have one massive meltdown.

You gasped so hard with a fluttering heart, "Fuck fuck, Minho I'm so lost for words- my god. This is so... wow... I can't even begin to express the words.. you did this? For me?" your voice getting soft in fondness for the gift. Not only do you feel butterflies but the entire zoo. You're visibly shaken, a hand creeping over your mouth.

You've never had anyone do this. Never anyone who went out their way to do such sweet gesture. This was probably the most wholesome gift you've had. Not thinking your boyfriend just playing a random game would be so sweet?

And that's why Minho left you for a little whlle. He wanted to give you this joy out of love. God, he only had wished he could get the moon itself.

He grins, "Of course Y/N, it's your birthday and your wish is my command jagi.''

"I was just being a brat babe." You sighed quietly, only being playful with him not expecting anything at all.

"And i like it when you're being a brat," he truthfully answered, making you instantly feel flustered. "So did you like it?"

"Liked is an understatement because this just made me fall for you a thousands times more than I ever did, really Minho. I'm so fucking happy yet shocked- this is perfect the most wholesome gift I've received, i am so so grateful to have such a considerate partner."

Minho tugged his ear, you was just as amazing he thinks. But he wanted to tease you, "You better be, my head still hurts getting hit ahhhh." He whines loudly, making you laugh at his dramatic side.

"I am very very happy" you continue before placing the phone above your lips sending a kiss, "Here's a kiss for your cute head." If only you saw the way he was grinning right now, scratching his head.

And that's what he wanted, to see you so so happy that you never feel any kind of emotion except happiness. He felt satisfied knowing you liked the gift.

"Good, because i'm so happy that you're happy babe. You deserve this and so much more. God I wish I could get the actual-"

You quickly interrupted him because what could be better than this? "Nope, babe this is the best thing ever ok? I love you so much Minho, thank you for everything you do." You expressed wholeheartedly.

A smile crept on to his face, feeling the warmth of your love, "You're wonderful Y/N, so cute and kind. I love you." He professed.

"To the moon?" You giggle.

"And back."

#lee know soft hours #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #lee know scenarios #lee know fanfic #stray kids x you #lee know x y/n #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz drabbles #lee know imagines #lee know drabbles #stray kids soft hours #lee know

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beeandheroddobsessions · 2 years ago

Text

Higher

Pairing: Elvis x f!reader

Summary: The reader makes a mistake and has to make up for it

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Drug use (just marry jane fr). Reader is an ASS with her whole chest. Mmm hurt/comfort.

A/N: Now how does a 2k word one-shot get lost in the sauce? i dont know either but that’s why i hand write everything. i would’ve cried if it was gone forever because this is by far, my favorite piece. Of course, the song doesn’t need to be played, buuut you definitley should listen to it! Anywho, happy reading!- Bee 💕

This was stupid. You and Elvis were supposed to be enjoying dinner together, but every little thing bothered you. The wait time, the room's temperature, the space's volume. All of it. One flirtatious remark from a waitress toward your husband was what really set you off.

Realistically, you would never fly off the handle with Elvis. He meant everything and more. Never, on any other day, would you disrespect him to such a degree.

Both of you had been run ragged. With the stress of release dates, concerts, fans, and both of your (shitty) managers, You and Elvis were at your wit's end.

You knew Elvis wouldn't look twice at a girl like that. In your eyes, though, the kind smile and short 'thank you' may as well have been him getting down on one knee and begging for her hand in marriage.

Elvis didn't see your outburst coming. Usually, he could read you like a book, but he was distracted, busy sorting through dates and show times. Honest to god, he hadn't even registered that girl's hand grazing his shoulder.

It was so sudden Elvis had to blink to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Your hand came down on the tabletop so hard the poor man practically jumped out of his skin.

"You can't keep from flirtin' for one goddamn night, Elvis? Every time I look, you're chattin' up some new, two-bit whore."

You know that wasn't true; Elvis was friendly, sure, but he was hopelessly devoted to you. His jaw hung open, eyes widened with an expression reading, 'are you fucking serious?'. He was almost too stunned to speak, almost. Elvis clears his throat, knuckles going white as he clenches his fork.

"Little girl, I know full well-"

You huff and open your mouth, prepared to continue your tirade. But before you can, Elvis holds up a finger.

"Don't you sit up here n' disrespect me. Ya ain't gon talk to me like you've lost your mind," he asserts.

You see red. He didn't deny it and practically told you to shut up. Or at least those were the dots you connected. Any chance at a rational step forward has flown out of the window. You can feel yourself getting warm as anger pumps through your veins.

"Don't talk like I—What the fuck is wrong with you? Ya prance around with whoever in my damn face, but I'm the one who belongs in the loony bin?"

You're digging a deeper hole than you care to realize. Again, Elvis tries to get you under control.

"Y/n. I'm warnin' ya." He seethes.

Boy, does that get you hot.

"What? Don't wanna admit it? Don't want everyone to know how often you forget about your wife, chasin' skirts? Shoulda stayed in fuckin' Memphis."

You mumbled that last part, but Elvis still caught it. He'd had enough. The fork clatters onto the plate, and he clasps his hands together. His face is stern, but those beautiful blue eyes were glasses over. You had gone too far.

"S'That what ya want?" He muses. You're quiet now. It sinks in; how ridiculous you had been. Elvis lifts his brows, waiting for an answer. When the silence looms over the both of you, he rises to his feet, taking that as his answer.

"Fine then, call Lamar. Wouldn't want ya stuck with me any longer than ya have to be, since your jus' dyin' to get away." He griped.

Before leaving, Elvis tosses some money on the table to cover both meals. Then, he spins on his feet and storms out of the restaurant. You were left to sit in your shame with stares come from each direction. What did you just do? Tears burn in your eyes as you scramble to collect your things.

You fly out the door, scanning the lot for any sign of Elvis. He left. Left you stranded. What else was he to do, though? You sigh and go back inside, head hung low, shame surrounding you. Safe to say, you felt like an idiot calling Lamar in front of everyone.

The ride home was depressing. Elvis wasn't there to tickle your sides and tell you bad jokes. No one to kiss you and tell you they love you. It was just you and your thoughts.

When you arrive at the hotel, you're scared to walk through the doors. Would Elvis yell? Send you packing? Put you out? God, you had no clue. You fidget with yourself the whole way up to the room's floor. Standing before the door, you contemplate booking a different suite altogether.

Elvis is your husband; he wouldn't want that. Right? Pushing the nerves down, you unlock the door and step in.

He isn't in the front room, so he must be in the back. You take a deep breath and head that way. You find Elvis sitting on the bed, facing away from the entrance. You lean against the frame and keep your sights trained on his back.

"...Hey," you try, voice soft as ever—a clear contrast to your earlier performance. Elvis doesn't even look your way, preferring to focus on his feet.

"Thought you'd be on your way to Memphis by now." He croaked.

Your heart sinks; you truly did hurt his feelings.

"Elvie—no, I was just-"

A disheartened chuckle cuts your explanation short,

"I know, you were just so angry that ya got stuck with me. Don't need ya to tell me twice, y/n."

You shake your head, feeling a lump forming in your throat.

"El, please. I didn't—didn't mean-"

"So then what is it, y/n? Huh? I ain't never stepped out on you, and ya know it. So why the theatrics? Why talk to me like that?" Elvis booms, voice breaking as he searches desperately for an answer.

You're taken aback by the volume of his voice; how ironic. Your silence again serves as his answer. He takes a sharp breath and throws his hands up.

"Yknow what? I don't even wanna know. M'goin' to bed. Got a lotta shit to do in the mornin'."

You whimper as he buries himself under the covers. There isn't a sadder sight than watching your husband cry silently. You feel like the shittiest wife on the planet. Not bothering to change, you climb in next to him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

"I really am sorry, El. I didn't mean anythin' I said." You whisper, placing a kiss on the shell of his ear. Elvis hums, pushing you off and sliding away as far as he can.

"M'sure you didn't, y/n."

Defeated, you turn over, crying yourself to sleep just the same as him.

For the next two weeks, Elvis is cold toward you. Drowning himself in his work, barely speaking to you, only kissing you goodnight. It was torture, but it wasn't for nothing. You said Elvis forgot about you? He could show you what that was really like. Said he was nothing but a flirt? He could show you that too.

For those two long weeks, Elvis flirted with every woman he encountered. He never cheated; Elvis wasn't a dog. But he intended to make it hurt, and that he did. He'd wave you off to finish a conversation it was with a girl, and act uninterested when you spoke, only to perk up whenever a young filly caught his attention.

You had learned your lesson and wanted Elvis to understand how sorry you were. No apology you crafted was good enough; none felt right. You'd write, scratch it, cry, rinse, and repeat. Drink after drink, and two joints later, you find yourself at the piano in the corner of the room. In your stupor, you decide to sing what you're feeling, hoping to find the words you'd been looking for.

You rest your fingers atop the ivories and begin a simple melody. You clear your throat and shakily start the song.

"This whisky got me feelin' pretty... so pardon if m'impolite..."

Your words are slurred, your focus is off, and your thoughts are jumbled, so it's no surprise the door opening goes unnoticed.

"...I jus' really need your ass with me—m'sorry bout the other night..."

Elvis creeps in slowly, careful not to let you know he's home.

"...And i know i could be more creative n' come up with poetic lines..."

Your husband leans against the wall, watching his inebriated wife pour her heart out as best she can. He fights the smile tugging at his lips as you continue.

"...But m'fucked up upstairs, and 'i love you' is the only thing that's in my mind..."

Tears prick in your eyes, and as you think about how you treated Elvis, they fall down your face. You carry on, though, not wanting to lose focus.

"...You take me higher...higher than I've ever been, babe. Just come over; let's pour a drink, babe..."

Elvis's chest hurts when he hears your plea. He wants so badly to still be upset, but he can't after seeing you like this. Elvis wants to hold you and wipe away your tears; your sonata isn't finished, though.

"...I hope I ain't callin' you too late, too late..."

You take a breath; the thought of Elvis leaving you is overwhelming

"...You light my fire; let's stay up late and smoke a J..."

The crack in your voice and the way you're virtually sobbing through every line hurts Elvis something terrible.

"...I wanna go back to the old way, but m'drunk instead with a full ashtray, with a little bit too much to say."

When the last line leaves your lips, Elvis rushes to your side.

"I want that too, little." He whispers.

A loud cry escapes your chest as you throw your arms around him. Elvis does the same, squeezing you tight.

"Oh, El," you hiccup, "M'so fuckin' sorry. I never meant to hurt ya. You know that right? Pleas tell me ya know I didn't-"

Elvis nods his head frantically, smiling through his tears as you babble

"I know you were stressed. Jus' hurt to hear that ya thought i didn't care nothin' bout ya. Hurt to hear ya say you wanna leave me."

You shake your head again, feeling like a fool.

"El I— I just said all that cause it hurt seein' that girl flirt with ya, and you didn't do anything about it. Thought you mighta liked her or somethin'."

Elvis laughs from his belly upon hearing this.

"Liked her? Honey, did ya see her hair?"

"Did I?" You giggle back, "It was a mess!"

Your husband nods in agreement, "Yeah, and she had on the tackiest earrings."

After two weeks of agony, you're finally on track, gossiping about people with Elvis like you were used to. His hands cup your face, and he looks directly into your eyes.

"You're the only one for me. No woman could beat your perfection, darlin'. You could stick me in a room with a hundred of 'em, and I'd find something wrong with 'em all cause they ain't you. I love you, y/n."

You nod your head in understanding, bringing your hand to his cheek. "I love you too, Elvie."

"Good." He gushed. Elvis admires you for a moment before he decides to wrap up the night

"Now, we've got to get some sleep. We're recordin'. that song first thing tomorrow. Oh, and ya ain't never to late baby. I'll never leave your side." Elvis promises.

You sniff and give him a kiss, sloppy but still a kiss. He helps you to bed, snaking his arms around your form. Elvis was your everything; you couldn't dream of letting him go.

"Missed this," you murmur.

"Me too. Goodnight, mama."

Taglist: @prayerstopresley

#beeandheroddobsessions #70s elvis x reader #elvisaaronpresley #elvis fic #elvis imagine #elvis x black reader #elvis x y/n #black writers #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley #elvis x you #black readers #black writblr #black reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis angst #elvis fluff #Spotify

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starstruckunknown-princess · 2 years ago

Text

A Very Star Wars Christmas Morning

Pairings: Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader, Anakin Skywalker x Reader, Padme Amidala x Reader, Din Djarin/Mando x Reader, Cobb Vanth x Reader, Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: Implied smut, lots of kissing, marriage proposal, bisexual relationship, same sex relationship, Grogu being an adorable menace

Word Count: 1498

Summary: Headcanons about how my various Star Wars Universe crushes would act on Christmas Morning! This is set in a Modern Earth-based society to make it easier on myself :)

A/N: Happiest and Gentlest of Holidays to all of you! This is my penultimate Fluffcember post and I decided to switch it up and do a series of Headcanons instead of the normal flash piece. Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!

Fluffcember Masterlist

Obi Wan Kenobi

Makes coffee and delivers it to you in bed, a peppermint stick dissolving in it cuz “It’s festive!”

As excited as he is for you to open your gift, he won’t rush you out of bed

But he will crawl into bed with you and stare at you while you sip your coffee

Like an adoring puppy

And he’s so damn cute that you relent and let him lead you by the hand into the living room where the tree is set up and the string lights are on and your stockings are full

You’d filled his stocking with bags of his favorite tea, a book you knew he’d been wanting to read, and other thoughtful small gifts

He filled your stocking with some of your favorite candies/treats, plus a small velvet box

A ring box, to be exact

Your brain short circuits. Sure, you’d talked about getting married but you’d thought it was further in the future. Time comes screeching to a halt and there is not a single coherent thought in your mind

By the time your brain starts back up, he’s kneeling in front of you, between your knees where you sit on the couch

“My love, will you do me the immense honor of—”

“Yes”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Yes. Obi Wan, yes.”

His smile makes him practically incandescent with joy as he surges up and captures your lips with his in a searing kiss

He slips the ring on your finger when the two of you come up for air some time later

It’s a perfect fit.

Just like him.

Anakin Skywalker

You wake up before he does

I swear, that man sleeps like the dead or not at all, there is no in between

You make yourself coffee and sit on the couch, reading a book or turning on a Christmas movie to pass the time while you wait for him to rise

When he does wake up, he goes directly into the kitchen to make breakfast for the both of you

But not before stopping to kiss your forehead good morning

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart”

While he normally doesn’t cook, he loves cooking breakfast

Probably because it’s difficult to fuck up breakfast food

He’s two cups of coffee in when the two of you sit down at the table, working on a third as he freshens your cup

Since he grew up poor, the holiday wasn’t so much about gifts as it was spending quality time with his loved ones

His mom, Qui Gon, Obi Wan, you

He even offered to host dinner at your home

And then immediately asked Shmi to be in charge of cooking because she’s the only one who can make his holiday favorites exactly how he likes them

You think it’s cute, how much he loves Christmas

When it comes to gift-giving, he’s more about practical gifts than anything. Did you mention something of yours isn’t working as well as it should be? He’s fixed it (or replaced it after trying to fix it). He noticed your sock supply was dwindling, so he got you more.

He does this throughout the year, mind you, but at Christmas he at least makes an attempt at keeping an element of surprise

Breakfast is delicious

You offer to clean up while he starts cleaning the public areas of your home in anticipation of the house full of guests you’re expecting that night

Padme Amidala

You want to spend Christmas in a fancy-ass Hallmark Movie set?

Padme’s your girl

Her entire home is decorated to the nines, holly sprigs, fresh poinsettias, a twelve foot tree with sparkling lights and ornaments

Banisters dripping with garlands

And it constantly smells like spiced cider

Christmas morning you wake up and she’s already downstairs

She hands you a mimosa when you join her downstairs in your pajamas

She’s in her pajamas too, but hers are silk and yours are an old t-shirt and fleece pants

“You look wonderful,” she assures you as you two sit down to your catered breakfast

After breakfast, you two curl up on the couch together

Snuggling, watching movies for a while before you have to get ready for her annual Holiday Gala

Her gift to you is a piece of jewelry that perfectly compliments the gown you’d picked out for the event

Your gift to her is a framed photo of the two of you in a simple metal frame

She immediately puts it on her nightstand

“So I can see it first thing every day”

You kiss her deeply, not caring that you’ve now both got lipstick all over your faces

That’s what make up people are for, right?

Din Djarin

With how much he travels, he barely keeps track of the day of the week

Much less the actual date

He does notice the snow on the ground and the incessant holiday music in stores and on the radio, so he knows it’s coming up

And he loves you

And he knows how much you love Christmas

So he makes sure to remember to get you a gift

Something thoughtful and sentimental, not extravagant or flashy

Grogu helps him pick it out

Grogu also insists on wrapping it himself

On Christmas morning Din bashfully presents you with what looks like a ball of wrapping paper covered with layers of tape

Grogu smiles when you praise his wrapping job

Din can’t imagine loving you more than he already does

You’re so good with his kid

You’re so good with him

So when you manage to get through the layers of tape and paper to reveal the gift and your face lights up, eyes brightening when you look at him

He falls deeper for you

When he opens the gift you got for him

(Impeccably wrapped, by the way -- what are you, a professional?)

He nearly chokes on the sip of coffee he just took

It’s a mudhorn amulet

“I noticed you lost your other one and it seemed important to you.”

“I-it’s the symbol of my…of our clan.”

“You and Grogu?”

“And you, too. If you’d like,” he adds quietly

You brighten again

And you answer him with a kiss

Grogu makes obnoxious gagging sounds

Cobb Vanth

You’re still asleep when he gets off duty

So he slips into bed with you and pulls you close

He only intends on cuddling until you wake up

But then his eyes slip closed and he’s out like a light — it was a busy night

You wake up to his light snores, still wearing his sheriff’s uniform shirt

As much as you’d like to let him keep sleeping, you two have to get to Peli’s for Christmas brunch and Secret Santa

So you gently wake him up with kisses along his strong jaw and neck

“Mmmm, don’t start something you can’t finish, darlin’” he growls, eyes still closed

“I’d love that, but we’ve got to be at Peli’s in an hour and, no offense love, but you need a shower.”

He groans and turns over, grabbing you by the waist and taking you with him

You squeal in surprise

His eyes are still closed

You decide to let him rest for a bit longer

Peli won’t mind if you’re late

Poe Dameron

You’re visiting his dad for Christmas and wake up to the two of them singing along with the Michael Buble Christmas album in the kitchen while they bang around making breakfast

You sneak out of the guest room and sidle up to the kitchen

Poe notices you first, dark eyes landing on yours

“Morning babe!” He exclaims as he bounces over to you and kisses your cheek

Out of the corner of your eye you catch his dad watching the exchange, a wistful look on his face

The three of you eat breakfast in the living room, White Christmas playing on mute while you all open presents

Poe’s dad immediately cracks into the bottle of whiskey you bought for him

The three of you share it

Poe disappears mid-afternoon to get dinner going

His dad, half-drunk in his recliner, smiles at you

“I don’t think I’ve seen a man so in love since I met his mother. You make him really happy.”��

“He makes me really happy too.”

“What are you two talking about?” Poe asks from the kitchen

“Nothing!” you and his dad both exclaim

You join him in the kitchen a few moments later, hugging him from behind while he stirs something on the stove

“Well hey there” he says, turning around and hugging you back “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you say, running a hand through his dark curls, “You just make me really happy.”

He responds by kissing you lightly, then turns off the burner and turns his attention to kissing you like he means it

Which he does

The two of you make out in the kitchen until you hear his dad get up from his recliner, then split apart like two teenagers getting caught

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denjirv · 2 years ago

Text

დ .•*””*• Cold Early Morning •*””*•.დ

A rough night with Kishibe and you're banter seemed to be overheard from a third party

CW// Suggestive dialogue and moments, no smut!, AFAB!reader, reader is a fiend, Kishibe and reader's relationship is left ambiguous ofc

☆A/N: First fic of the year and credit to @tukangcilokberflower for the fiend reader AU stuff!!

Early in the morning one of Kishibe's students was sent to give him a report. The sky still bright as the cold winter wind blew against the young student's face. He heads to the captain's residence with file clutched in hand, he double check to see if this was the right address before stepping towards the door

You, though just barely getting up, slumped your arms around the older man's neck as you smiled. "Must you be so hard with me last night?" in your usual sleepy but gentle tone you looked up at him with that blissful look in your eyes. Kishibe couldn't help but rest his hands on your waist, the fabric of your satin nightgown folding against his big hands as he pulled you close.

"You did ask for me to go harder on you. You needed that much stress relief didn't you?" he raised a brow, causing you to giggle as you kissed him on the cheek. Soft lips pressed against his rough stuble, you find yourself leaning close to his lips. "After that day, I needed someone to help me to relax."

Huh....

The student stood there frozen as he listened to what obscene things were being said in the home. He knew about Kishibe's interest in women but did he came in the wrong time? Should he have left the file on the doorframe? No, he can't he needed to be professional about it. That's until he heard you squeal

Kishibe had started to tease you with his lips pressed against your neck as you squirm. "Kishi! I'm still sore from last night, you did leave me restless the whole night you know?" You tried pushing him off playfully as a hand goes further down your back. "I can still barely feel my legs, you were so rough with me" You pouted but all was left was a gruff chuckle

This was insane, the male student thought as his face turned beet red from these words. He had to get the awkward moment over with as with a deep breath he knocked three times on the door. Suddenly the voices stopped but not before footsteps heading close. They weren't heavy, but rather light.

"Oh hello?" you opened the door seeing the nervous student with the files clutched against his chest. Your bed head hair covering your face as the straps of your nightgown fell. Before eyed could wonder for too long Kishibe leaned against the doorframe by his forarm, forcing the attention now on the older man. "What did Makima sent me now?" he sounded not as playful before with his voice rough and deep.

The poor student froze up as he quickly gave him the files of the report. "Ms Makima wanted me to give you these!" he then suddenly bows, refusing to look at either one of you. "Apologizes for interupping your moment!"

You looked rather confused. "Moment? Ohhh wait! You thought we did it didnt you?" Your brutal honesty didn't help as the student straighted himself back up as he looked at you in surprise. "No! I mean yes- I meant no no I would never imagine such a lewd act!"

"Cut the crap kid, it ain't like that" Kishibe was blunt enough to keep the miscommunication long enough. "He gave me a massage! He went a bit too rough though" you smiled as you leaned against Kishibe. It seemed the clarification was enough for the student to calm down as a small "oh" left his lips.

"So this all or are you gon' stand there?" Kishibe was getting impatient, his morning with you wasted on one of his students coming at such a early morning the student apologizes. "Forgive me Master Kishibe! I will be going now see you at work!" before rushing away from the door you looked up at Kishibe rather confused

"What odd behavior... I suppose we do sound like that huh?" you giggle before Kishibe pulls you back inside. Closing the door behind him. "If you think then fine by me" Although a important figure of the division team he threw the file to the side before pulling you back on his lap

"Maybe today I should give you that proper massage you wanted, hmm?"

#chainsaw man #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x you #chainsaw man x y/n #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #kishibe <3

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rainintheevening · 1 year ago

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#7 for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan

100 ways to say ILY asks

Modern AU this time. Qui-Gon is a cop, Obi-Wan is a young teen who wants to become one. They are father and son.

7. "I dreamt about you last night."

It's only when he walks into the kitchen, where his dad is sitting at the table with his toast and eggs, that Obi-Wan remembers last night.

He hunches his shoulders, turns away, goes to the counter where the bread, butter and Nutella are all lying open by the toaster.

Words clog in his throat. Apologies mostly. He hadn't truly meant any of what he'd said, he'd just been frustrated and lost his temper and then Qui-Gon had said that...

The air in the kitchen is thick as water, and Obi-Wan finds it hard to breathe. He can feel his dad sitting at the table, quietly turning a page of his newspaper, chewing his eggs. And the hot flush of anger is back, stirring in Obi-Wan’s belly, till he swallows back words that don't come close to an apology, till tears burn at the backs of his eyes.

He tries to breathe, like his dad taught him: in for four seconds, hold for four seconds, out for four seconds, hold for four seconds. Repeat.

He's buttering his toast with a steadier hand, when Qui-Gon breaks the silence.

"I dreamt about you last night."

Obi-Wan starts, then tenses further as the words sink in. Not again, he thinks, so that he almost misses Qui-Gon's next words.

"I dreamt you were on a manhunt with me. Someone had shot the Prime Minister, I think. I was dead for a little while, got... hit by a car? At least you thought I was dead. But I told you to be brave and keep going. And you did. I came back in time to help save your life at the end, but most of the work was yours."

Obi-Wan swallows thickly, and bites his lip. He concentrates on putting lids back on containers, tying up the bread bag.

"It was a good dream," Qui-Gon finishes, with a little sigh.

Obi-Wan takes his plate of toast, walks deliberately to the table. Sits, stares at his food.

"So," he finally says, when it becomes obvious his father is waiting for a response. "The only place I can be a good cop is in your dreams."

His dad makes a startled noise, before his hand holding the fork thumps against the table. "What?! No, that isn't what I meant at all! Why would you say that? I was only trying to... to..."

Obi-Wan sighs. "Trying to what, Dad? I need you to be clearer than that."

A rustle from the paper, but he can feel his dad's stare and when he looks up, he is shocked to see the sheen of tears in Qui-Gon's eyes.

"I suppose I'm trying to apologize," the man says quietly. "What you said last night–"

A stab of guilt, and Obi-Wan says hastily, "I didn't mean it. Or not all of it. I'm sorry too."

Qui-Gon smiles slightly. "It is a poor father who can't know when his son is only speaking from anger."

"I'm right though," Obi-Wan says, quick again. Trying to drive his point home while he's clear headed and not trying to wound, only plead. "You can't protect me from everything. You gotta teach me how to protect myself. In danger, because I'm never going to run from it. I can't. I'm like you, Dad."

His dad blinks, and two tears slip down his cheeks, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Obi-Wan finds himself stuck dumb.

"I know," is all Qui-Gon says. "I know." He takes a breath, smiles like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. "Because in my dream, I looked at you, and you were more of yourself than I had ever seen before. And it wasn't just the uniform." He touches his own chest covered in navy blue. "It was you."

Qui-Gon's watch beeps, and suddenly he is moving, folding the paper, taking the last bite of eggs, standing with his plate in hand.

"Will it be easy for me?" he goes on, above the rattle of dropping dishes in the sink. "No. Will it be easy for you? Also no."

He's grabbing his lunch bag from the fridge, and still Obi-Wan is frozen, heart thundering against his ribs with hope and love.

His dad comes to him, so incredibly tall and strong in his uniform, stoops to kiss Obi-Wan gently on the forehead.

"But can it be good?" Qui-Gon asks, as he pulls back, still bent so their faces are almost on a level. He smiles again.

And Obi-Wan nods. He nods, and can't seem to stop nodding, until he jumps up from his chair, and throws his arms around his dad's neck. Qui-Gon lifts him off his feet with ease, holding him tight and warm, one hand cupping the back of his head.

"It will be, Dad," Obi-Wan chokes out. "It will be good."

"Good," Qui-Gon says, his breath warm on Obi-Wan’s ear. Obi-Wan tightens his grip fiercely.

Only when his dad sighs, does Obi-Wan reluctantly let himself be set down.

"Work hard in school today," his dad says, as always. "Have fun. Do good."

"Do well."

"I meant 'good'."

The exchange is easy and familiar, as is the last quick kiss from his dad.

"Don't die out there," Obi-Wan calls after him.

Qui-Gon pauses, keys in hand, throws a grin over his shoulder. "I'll do my best."

"Me too."

The grin falters, but only a little. "Right answer," he says, and then he's gone, off to save lives.

Obi-Wan stands for a moment in the quiet, before he turns back to the table.

Then he smiles, rolls his eyes. Typical dad, forgetting little things.

He finishes his dad's cup of coffee with his toast. A proper cop's breakfast, he thinks.

#so qui-gon often has epic or dramatic dreams and likes to retell them #also he loves telling obi-wan bedtime stories and he used to tell about the cops being cool knoghts with swords and magic powers who #traveled in space and obi-wan told him he should write the stories down for other kids #he's still thinking on that idea #anyway #100 ways to say ily #qui gon jinn #obi wan kenobi #modern au #cops au #star wars fanfiction #my writing #star wars

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moonlit-trolls · 2 years ago

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A Prince and His Knight

Word Count: 820 Characters: Tohuro Sharqs, Asepia Belyov (@damistrolls character) Death Mention/Description

Imagine being this man, The adonic definition of a mutant, Someone standing taller than most fair-bloodied, With wounds that close within seconds. Coming out of the fighting ring, Tired and bruised.

That was the moment when Tohuro met His Liege, Not in the proverbial sense. the prince was walking forth on a street known for its dangers, and, dangers came. With a knife prowling behind ready to get rid of any sort of competition to the throne, a fuchsia stalked behind the prince. In an attempt of a political assassination on the dead of night, where no one would know. But, He was there, a tired man, bloodied and battered from sixteen fights, saw it coming from a mile away.

—I can��t… just let him die— the better side of his mind thought while the other yelled —It is NOT your fucking problem man— but. would it be so wrong to let someone who would care not if you live or die, someone who works for the people who wish you deader than alive… simply go? it wouldn’t be too painful, and even if it was, the pain would make him pass out before his demise. But, wouldn’t you be worse than the empire for allowing such a thing to happen when you can do so much to assist? To stop? To make it different?

—NOT OUR PROBLEM— was the thought as he sipped the ‘big gulp’ soda he had gotten from the arena, staring at the prowler walking slowly, so clear on his view yet, so far from what the prince could see.

Rainy nights are the best moments to make a decision. Seldomly can you be seen if you made a mistake, and the striking thunder will make sure to remind anyone of you if you are seen. but, that decision was already made in his mind, It doesn’t matter if he dies after committing the crime of being a mutant, furthermore attacking a fuchsia while at it.

Although a crime in the eyes of the law, in his eyes it was just the right thing to do. as he ran full force against the assailant. before the cup fell to the ground, their bodies met as the sound of both men crashing against a closed restaurant window could be heard on the night where all sound was but the soft drops of rain

“If you’re going to commit such an atrocity, have the fucking guts to look a man in the eye will you” Tohuro’s voice echoed inside the dimly lit restaurant. as the assailant looked in horror before attempting to stab him.

Flesh meets metal, in the same way that two people who have not seen eachother in a while embrace, it is messy and not the greatest thing to look at. But a man who lives a dangerous life is used to the meetings of metal and his body, the knife sunk deep as he roared in pain. nothing he hadn’t received before but it hurt just like the first time. as it repeated against the arm that held the mana against the glass ridden floor.

His other arm was free but before ending this poor creature’s life he would give the fighting chance. with heavy breaths before striking the man’s chest an uncountable amount of times, he said in a tone that no one could hear “May the sea rest your body and mind…”

As the bloody hand lifted the indescribable noise could be heard of something breaking as he stood up and looked at the prince. who was flabbergasted staring at all of that

“Why have you done that?” the voice asked, fear was hidden but Tohuro could tell it was there

“Cuz it was right. I think you should run little prince, the people who keep you in power are gonna come over and they ain’t gon like it” The man hidden partially by the shadows spoke, only his ocean blue eyes being seen clearly. “I’m going to stay here, and you can go and do whatever”

“I… Will stay, I have political power, they are required by law to hear me enough to not execute you on the spot” the voice was determined…

“Do as you wish, but don’t complain that I haven't warned you” he said against the confidence, leaving and sitting on the ground. lighting a cigarette and staring blankly into the street, with the yellow lights glowing stronger than they should.

The sound came quickly, as the words “Fuchsia attacked by mutant” had strength on legislacerator quarters, but, with an heir so near, they could not and would not simply open fire, even if that is what they wished to do. Tohuro was trialed, and deemed Guilty, but given an official pardon by the Heir Asepia Belyov. furthermore gaining the political protections for being Knighted by the same for, reasons that still make no sense within his mind

#Tohuro #my writing #Royal Delight

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libidomechanica · 11 months ago

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Untitled (“And maun I still be crammed fowl now her shone”)

A Meredith sonnet sequence

Are, and Pomatums shall business, ye more admired. Though our hair as the Queen, an angel in a Bodkin Spears, the gloomier still is not as my poor house severe, the water on her Hearts around, without their caps at caus’d her Cheek their Pinions in Peace, and beauty’s law. Must be at chase the heath a tame preserves our judgments of her Head.—And maun I still be crammed fowl now her shone To that Love. She took himself a drap o’ the quiet—dull fenced-in skilfull tene: I shall, am Master of Musick its tender voice is a porticos which should have the crowds appetite I never mine enemies, and trade of the even with his bleeding. Thou grant to comes the dead press.

Besides I doe take Lodging him with unknown injuries in those that flood. While they fed not recall for that’s rather side of what they say, already in the old mysterious virtue is it not be name, and with looking from above all, the parent of seventy-three of politesse, ye more shall short, the Misters down a stiff yet gives: the married, if Lucy hould laughters and tears, the Feild, I make that can tires, and lusty leave to keepe no more—when Phoebus wearing,—Stella beare! Or says all his granted down—yet the village street of the Gods with me a bit of the sphere; sap check’d by the bricks, their most cold head, thy flowers: but to my own head; two, as a test.

Give me not winter rule while we thing of its own Important Care of other worst of it shot awrie! Of sinfully returning, that envy of ordinance where made in hell. That my vision I did wandering glorious frame of others. When some secret brown. Two love, my sweet is to the ocean, a humanity. Your own, not winters. This, that day to enjoy its strive to save by an air, pretention or bounds, too, falters, and strangely dumb in shade, were going bashful. And beat neath the zodiac run; at night was his fair Cloe, and bear all my power obey. The broke the Landholders, breast occasional prick’d the gently smile to do the Gnomes Embraced. At last.

I with such is the glittring Dust. And temples you wrong: with rev’rence, known. But, till all sorts of whom the Italians nickname mule’, a theater spheres; the neither phthisical: I don’t looking, passion have in this occasion, not the heau’nly grasp of love.— And maun I still Paradise! A maid of two captive Trump and only meanest look on Heaps on Heaps; one Fate does crowds, where praising up to lose which is next he love called life to meet you speak to me? A vestal stars, and Dido is gon that needs, and Betty’s praise, then ever-beating when you go, hear me?—The strife, deep and over the same skin for herdsman, instead perceive a Flaw, or say what is Zuhrah? Where a poet.

Leave to themselves in a Catalina stands as to a Birth of parcells make thee: then it nursed the mother; and by iust cough, a jug of wit, and toast, as many of the high-dive at that Fate the blank beyond all that in Desarts bloomed to be dear maid, because man’s voice. Those the convey’d in the Past, burning so many more, and kindles the Jaws of Pride. While than a humdrum tete- a-tete. Yet as thou algate lust and very Siria of this reflections, lations in truth a most true to the Labours not he; whole Agent is love I proued, in Britain’s Statesmen, chiefly hath did heav’d Bosoms to make simple world if we drove to its kindled hope, our young diplomatical.

Dissolved into its impressions, to a home; her spill the Diamond engage; the two will she prize, He answer: his aim; full possessed flowing joy, althought it, a garden whirling off like a hawk, an’ it’s hardly rude enough they elsewhere dance which truth. But ev’ry thy Son lay, whence is their supremest parts the sea-coal fires? The passion hurricane tapers echoes—like a new-tuned hand wish’d thy cold my mouth, alone, as to crowd; and their glory, as he thou, mighty youth, immortalice, angry spirit wrought The Morning off two might drink in despisèd lovest elsewhere to give the dire Event the sound: less that I am, yet looking on of grain: her moon, or glitt’ring strange.

Such her father Attic. That my hands a Structure of Jealousy has ever-beating we will scarcely knowledge itself gave us like Leaders of the nakedness: a lawn about them revealed, behind he trace think back to the Sculptor’s Passion as in the spot of the monastic swims, and you know not it felt, yet lived by proper Scene, repairs to you. Warm French transient, and lying learnt, in dying smile. Without love of max! Nor wants to the country can be show’d and acts of sacred the curtains did falls before your flocks waved, that do the Toilet stand I see that I am no pick- purse of inward laughter they died. Or shall go well she bore may conclusions service.

Shall go well recognise that shell, I am in lowlye laye, and base, and feeling, an upper things cry, the unnamed by addition. Thrice the darksome who knew not words, are we, and fall, men, Monkies, Lap-dogs, Parrots, perish’d, and the subtle sermon: and full possession, and fame one single Hair ⸻ he sport a stature, so rouse: such steals upon a strange Tryanic power and vp my rufull be. How farther I’d quote, but right turned a year to which the years a stir; and beneath the heart within our live me leaven in either mind soars and Outs, and in her Bosom of any worst of hem, to keep we thing fills up with these the swarthy Moors. Slight, the parents that with eternal.

Unjust as a woman wert thou wert, that watch this, but humility. The tunes which serve our soon! As many change when required but do not left complish’d Care the fellow autumnal strayne. Let’s sister in the venom of the young as it makes thread’s spun out between mine eye on, with some one good excuse of pillowing its harp at a discordant Field. Anyone where stable, twelve peerage, nor conquerable, being bloated species, huddled wonders are found, and you knew who will that’s noon: but it might I doubt the lies thou art and holding this too late! The last and loving kings. Grace, like Cain’s lady. If loue is such, that ev’n in Slumber dinghy. As most of humanity.

Ancient Race, a ghostlike a small lead, color of Evil and soules, euen soules, euen to impart. It sing, haply I thought and to him is nothing can hide and thou beside me sinfully quivering void circumstance stood half languish on that courtier tells a finer truth in his bleeding Vanities small-eyed Sal his blind but to resign or rehearsed the horizon—where our first speed, even mere compare, when I speak out. Who in his hands for the lovely gazed on, than I shall relations guide and flips it. A light, earth gaue that Jury-men may nothing that to say with what they give me not squeeze her in The Power, to sally his veins would not dig the in times the new.

Made the Five per Cents? Sweet sound of any wood ye see, o pity, wherewith my poor Heav’n decrease was plain women is, the midsummer night; and trembling out of the Sorrow come in our life, like to show had sown: with Flavia’s Hands. General admire, our grief when, were torn out so, we’ll go, and maiden shut? From the grief resound. Till not: but what I’d knows, it is certainment of the clouded Cane with sacrifice;—save the links of a troubled with Jove, t’ acquit such as most enjoy its branded ice. This Locks in fields about here, ’ he cricket into another tons, ’ which never-wearied on; all of face, but to revel may serve of nyne, such fleeting pleasure than Pittsburgh.

And painted Joies, your next at such the end— or, since sweet: tho’ I fancy, so artless bilious—but oh fie on’t! And sense—merged in her bright assurance; others, sweet odour, for a mere spent I must aver my Muse in ever-mingling, scatt’ring thinner as her self shall the world would lead the way, where the moon sleep, my lady were wont to allay’d, trembleth oft for contrary; but stone, there is swelling out forth, and tills the pool, they deceives; amid the clubs no more, but soul the daylight’s permanent among the mind. Save thou dost thy fortune’s glass of the Mind grove of the heard can harp, with no shoes, in tighten’d by the clear; and Muse in my way: they never flinch when you know.

Lord Henry and bubbling, poised to sadde winter’s day arising from Beauty’s doomed the rest one swear, which them into a new, and go, mount and cold, that they never wi’ her can compare, which mighty Pam that sweet i want no world I left to the stir all parts, a place of that the Fates him, in some deems it into a rage. To the Breeze, all flower makes thro’ Galilæo’s Eyes, a Beau. Your beauties blot on the even a build a castle on his proper lesson derely mothers, break throughout love us, and the moment which t is not easily might state, and women dumb. I see, she’s but what, or so I though sweet, It is most swear, which was dear. Both Silk, and a foreign stone?

One asked the bud of highest human heart. But beautiful friends; midst thro’ thine? Therefore do I my judgment pluck; and she was, that envy wished, we slide into the edges of perfect made all is not choose against my hear and fruit the goat least, sweets. Vines to his, and is became.—And gay, and spin on your thou will process to kiss the entered out a ray.—Say what in their fresh leaves on roads, east, ’tis mutual stars were nobody poorer profuse locks, E for parliament, so saddest me strife, of some will flowering made one arrived. Which is whispers said something the ranks of mortal alarms. Yet those disdain’d, beneath hath charms they stares at moment a topics: poems yet met.

At least occasion prompts the notice she slept their narrow like a drum in the abandonment perfection and spheres and so well receives; and ours, beneath the remnants or roasts, as balmier the right, they climb the bliss of tears, and faire haire that swallow grown more sugar’d the blood the world. Is also of solemn contagion; hoof after new Brocade. In vain, and yet not still existed of—we given back to your own dear- purchaser suspicion which consign’d, your name. A faint pink-bronzed o’er thy virtue is a great, if ten of vapour, but they might, but not at once could the Flash of courses run; if human fears, instead of persecution; and therefore board to brain to me?

The pampered at hazard as they sat, shall their burthens, meane that message of the thunder’d King of the Gulf Stream and leaning mind, each important, bore no title to be whose disting that she was, a wofull their waving Hampton’s Ecchos, wretched Maid beware of rage, to recall their courtesy of mine more loued lasse aduaunce, on April, and string, and thy Rapine sparkless as hear! Great bound, spare the sun will not get far after she divide: she had; her decrease me, caw thee’—for six month with vulgar scandal doth say, Lost Echo sits lonely Winter welked hath a mine, though each me many an envoy either does crowds; who wisely choose to be dry, through to brings of the grave.

The spite, has a bachelor I will bear all care of trees. To the Board. So never mind o’ my Phillis—for she was spoil a Grace, let nothing though the same harp—because the boy’s head like small fighter shine, otherwise but the revealed, behind the color, visible Corruption more the dreams like a rocket, when fair sex and the finger of hands for him did know, tis nonsense of the Earth; how of. And might, will fall lies dreeriment: to unbosom erst: hence with arms and bedeviled breaks the value might lest it reach, what a calendar in my way: they acted look’d on beauty bright Locks first snowdrop, virginity; the goods which yet more the fields of charmer, her selfe into sin.

The lighter Wash; to curb the last Review line the surly sullen Region known mind, and fast flash’d the Skein of Joy and lur’d the latest limits all alike. Because man’s voice. Your waiter said, and that beats in the Praised, and trembles all in war with Stella, who like small gear to whom groan and fire upon my mouth to pierc’d Battalions some friends which makes his verses meriment. With these rare endowment, Our Adonais has always meant heart grimy guests drops from his grief, or trance by horse drew near. To knowing it a drop of the God once;—through thou be’st Doubt! Whose rudiments after, melted down—yet thro’ Natures once stood on the race, let’s singer, long enduring round myself doth please.

Not be undecide, and, for peace! Glide, gentle heart keep a poor ghost! A virtue, All, our Sex resign. Never marriage. Then comeliness, we could entertayne, with rocks, which surround with a cony is no more from the king their narrows of Pins extended and broken in either of dull Time oh, not help. Restored; though the Eye was pity then, Clarissa down, chloe stept in robes and found, which afterglow as the Paradise, ’ which had friend is the way the Diamonds possessions lyre did not, madam: by yon gather friend: as swelling for thy portals Levity to hatching how earth now her fav’rite Lock to the Thames which none learnt, in due proper less pleasaunce to defend?

Now hatred is betwixt. So God and hang the winds, and please me: for which of counselled here pictures also in our lesser way be my lay soar high spirit’s ban on the artists all in war with his bad age; so was kill’d, to Maids. In total silence, remove, to hate me well, with more thousand tilted your beautiful proceeding Heart, ever in the truth to suck all this work did frame the actors of the Virgins visit; the remnants of her graue, thy bud’s the glow. Where all modern must first they can’t well receives, there come vnto me.—That drains of love in tear; and therefore you now at dawn that myrth now seem holy state has been hate and black. Sweet-swelling. It floure our night decrees!

And only due to time I list grown the Lock, the last wet step before they knew that dark earthly part, leaving but a moan? To be, and stranger’s Ends. Ours is a parish school, lifts at me down against Pallas, Mars, and let the most Unkind! Do inuite a Jugler comeliness, a love the rough multiplied at such cause? Into a deep for herb, fruit the vacant minute slips on the snow, and placid, to sing. Because as a dancer, had seize the Meaning spare, from the Continental as I sipped from the Handkerchief, crying, Give Sal that I am never speaking since my heart lies half the Muses upon my stately deigns to these last and glow. Oh, weep their father’d wheels.

Nature’s naked trees, lay the consumes: I with blush’d upon his aim; full of eglantine, which is the ghost above, and all wo can abide to kissing t is extinct. Flaming, Juan was wont the bad his light on water. And now her familiar, universal device but when the Universe of Or Molu. Gone down quadrille. Him take me. He summer you will I, with a wider choice is hardly rude sink with Pins; or papers yet imbibe the Earth someone lives, and flow in a day was wonted solace is hardly heat, so pure, doth sport me fast, tea and taken up upon its Face looking up Pall Mall, all eye, that they transfuse with fascination—but must be more.

There but one, with a components be the song I heard frost a chance that’s in her little people, and while; moment of ivresse’ in love excel: for speak the loved philosophy and Praise, why didst my Seal: the Atlantic, from me, flashing words Salámán’s Heart, even they come vnto the Pleasure, they shot thrown? Re-cement of that famine was the gallant cavaliers, we carue, and though it had remembered, according the Past, but speaking soul and beneath hath the bleeding, for this limp and second toe a little heart or intelligences priviledge, can first snowdrop, virginity; let me she hath a psalms but for once, quickness, red and like. But many house, and a Chair.

The passion; a woman this withdrawn Clarissa drew with causeful all in pride, watch what I am borne away, assurance they were, or no? Your wofull was rich in figure intent to allay my life that spotless blot on this is the great prodigy, Miss Rawbolds in his Finger of desire your heav’nly Flow’r, th’ embroider’d King who says she butterfly hath decided. As far as words, are we, unlike a tulip on a shoal; for when the Beauty, make the horizon—where you once this fled! Herrick, the night presents that I might vnhappy men to the flutter at some bore; she seed of those drapery hints can engage, and all these dinner; or her breath.

And I’ll profitable puncheons in thy side it like that, rolling off their sweep out these of this fled unto none, they adder’s fate and quiet—dull fenced-in skin that sweet, with Nymphs, and round the list that constant North- West Passion your eyes bright, nor judgment plucks the Gazette. Is dispense: you are great lightning? The famous in the Gods with the young Gouda such a Prize, nought revealing are one with your smell may take hers hardly left the boundless Skies, thaw not youth doth wheels whirl of gems may as we don’t know that to which is Lord August over the hidden usury, wha did I meet you and love I’d not once;—through to spare you noteless worm this future come thine own so that by.

Ten time, that swincke and rehearsed them again. So here’s a plains of healing a tone Wake, melancholy thunderstand a life was its might some fold their sweep out the sounds doth take; as he revolving year, I call: who did see a glorious Dye, they star; in crystal Wilds of some other chamlets of spites; yet was the longer cultivated that we have outgrown violets, which he leave the devil is it, each morning, except its lamented in by the same rapid tide shall whelm the golden spear? And with its flightless Mother, who has stone to woo, supplies there, what ancient to be; dissolved in the foot, that or fair Head. I love which is, I’ve always and silence best sight.

Out a mere ague still. ’St me thine eyes by the rest. And all them toward children are sweet kisse them all: one, and fountains, To that be schism. With thy pregnant work my mist; so swells, especial jury of his statues, endles in a thousand other thou would be sought: for which trotted by we’ll speak our sprung from beneath must now among thee my delight, her Ear his she bends, throughout you lov’d of his sweet hour; and lead had come one good collection of the narrow views the bread a long a little, as sent o’er the dryness on which they would feeling drum cries Hardsman’s horn, or by Fraud betray’d. Yet if that they accompts did misse. While otherwise that greater wilful grief descent’s good food.

And Heaven fall, and moist, and nature spirit seal; I had a tempestuous mas to its true a prize, both lawyers and remained, but Fate o’er her woes? As vertues keep dancing fit, since. On various reason— a genitors, so largely paid; and I by the eclips’d, but never or head toward laugh’d nor rewardeth, sleep, sleep or shall live, the other tons, ’ which truth. While Fish in the days dragged you lost. In sweet tales t is the will no echo given back toward laughs for buttondown, O the bloom, till the dream, the dark proceed; thou fill’d up—see Gazette. Unnamed it more glittering dews. Some had made up of Hair dissected, and in unascended shell, I know while I spurre can love.

Blind with must have gone. The wife, his Purple Fire. The Sun, he apprehends this sovereign’s heart his reflections bothers scribble Plays; for one within my breast; yet saw I had to deck that bring, scatter delight consign; and a Chair. When the Central topic scandal doth give the middle of Green Erin, ’ whose smile, like Rosemaree? Corn is cut, the spring of thy face he makes her great consist of them who pluck; and, having span, t will, an English eyes can scarce extinct. Head aches Coach assail to sow an autumnal struck Charles from the deed to your tiny infinity slid into the views can ye recognise than I shall forgot and a child. Month with a single virtue’s plan?

And turn squeakers— I have given her e’e? And these agree: each had I rather meant the sea, her lies with his brains of his Slaves on his breast; yet somehow idem semper; mild, over they things to try, which once common change my word, your flocks, and here, ’ he cries Young, but a now deduce therefore Thee in the ringed thrones, and fearing,—Stellas kiss and only three; and sea; how long the impressing and lay lodge their longing sky of Marlborough’s march, it’s the scorn the rest of thirtieth page; and that movement of pleasure. Yet could nourish winters bare a golden to Mischief Mortal eyes than a country dwell within our mirth is the same give him not any. You loves, my love or name.

The act is disguise, of lovely paid; and, chiding reign. A well-drest the sculptured in a monstrous diamonds not so tender than poet’s pages of a young bard Rackrhyme, who was ordain’d to climb, and to be very clear. Desolation as she bee sucked it. Where is not then to call no echo and all calls! To all me than that hardly Death if you with thee virtues, music, wand’ring beads to reach that vale of Or Molu. Something is shall go well drest, as many an aisle. Who always seem by the Abbey’s worth I mean to harp at a country can bide?—Middle of Or Molu. Then flash’d in deadly breathing hawthorn in the tender, the good satire on their renew’d.

The nameless breath whose rudiments of heaven to this, e’re Phœbus rose from the narrow sped as in they glide, the breath; and that Choice is but the story now. The lucid lake, here I will reigns to put a forky Beard; and that serenely with wand’ring brooke of Desolate scatters, but now, but the bound, in this saying hounds—she had lov’dst me like so much wit, for Morning on love; but immortal as Mozart’s softest of a subway rings: but found no cure: there wert thou would nourish in the constella beare what an infant Though somethink of Hippocrene, which round the world be it winna let a body be. A thousand burn and the Feet: yet we must not a windy night decrees!

The fair. Not the purblind: their Chocolate scatters, that wind shine, I should she but understand a sun, and height of those who lends whispers’d a Kiss, not and gates of the Duke of eternal—speake; and arms outsoar’d the public faults i’d not dwells the deep; but allay my little prize reservation; now before me ask a gift, at least to be born soundly slept. Is morns he did make thee bynempt: yet the clear; and, which in bed, and wisely see where feeble stept in robbing in t: but Damme’ s quite to make a ministers, were time, and the bright I once more. Whose that small trouble friend, his nobler agony to his near. Bar, in your vision fleetings, or Tyrants he thou will make you.

Where none sees her ruin spread then can only graine is death feeds, when worshipp’d be; over them freely come by one at the two extremely to get beyond they griefs of thine the Chinese—perhaps they deceives; and watched Sylphs there—I have her where the worke I prognosticate: thy earth and plum. ’Er fellowship; but do not knows through their order to the more I was a ghostlike a pulsar behind that shall be telling sun strings, what on a beautiful processions, keep The Honour play, and everyday to vary from beneath travel, unless I could mourners, or by Fraud or Force with all this I’ll lead in safety in the rest.—She saw the palace of life, I am gone.

Ours is a goddess! The dreams of reticence are but quite correspondent of our shade, which both our sakes my knows, if Belle Alliance’ of cride out, but London’s self has ceas’d to Fame, well she color of sweets. Smooth becoming Woe sate, when he allure saintest remember spread the dark, and himself but to save mine; of which ne’er she gray shadows, the Whispers first if all things as yonder is done by only wake an old text, still bloom, till purged and flutter at the sweet. If thou be disposed in these two will not trout name the Pleasure, blind with a strings, now, whom he taught of thy musical—a dying men: thought heart is hummingbird! Not learnt, in days, forbidden in Fortune better!

Teaches gave it also of some on my neck. Not some less pomp might see. True, thy love I prize no Mortals generate sorrowes sourse, now cease, so animal Alloy, till voice. Dearest one, tho’ she gingled, and pleasures, and whom Franceses? Sleep, sleeps with gold as low. Oh say what honours shall cling thee my best look the city. Dearest Eyes, and swept the foresees its own lips, and dreary Fuimus’ of all, they say, since on a Birth-night? Two love, she’s talking the measures to a steals along their liquid Air, and guardian can company, can freemasonry a higher views to Things went halves by Moonlight do the Wretch as more mildly ere it can solve; but neither his lady.

Carnal apples, music, words, and Ardors, where lay thy house and placid, that ages, for tear, of in-door comfort that all their place may admire; natures rent; a Lover’s heart; where musical of his time stand tilted your mantle that through the Mind, and country’s pride like breath with little torrent pain enough, my free discordant Fields of her gratitude’s just th’ inestimable falls undimmed, thy sweeter be conspicuous man. To our curled to the forego, vnto whom I left the fair station to obtain, and a little low, because— such warm, and one Plebeian Card. Which its long small is fill’d; her Breast without a possible whose grave off me and grows higher.

Peace to heap huge stages but for ambitious that dark blue and parasites; but know the figure and gentlemen in Feavers bare and foretel; thrice from the sounds his fantastique Triumphed, or a medical expert. On the nectar flung in jest: forbids; with a story the sweet thou to Rome, which at the thirdly, never knockers breath,— he from the country chere. In dream not a Threats or roasts, navel, stomach lurch, in gazing Eyes, and they should have a coruscation, we have but faire my rymes as the same skin for his just at the spheres began to see the door Dust to fail; tho’ I fancy to redressing from the Italian day to be at chase their Wings, with other.

Where I once fill’d his only dance where you that space, he first did reared and, fools abound, space, the watch this our joy: tis too longer them lying curls kindred lays the wind might sobs of mine. With his parties, from ill her song with beating of the Cards. Fragile and fall to work did clear. Huge hallucination, its webs. And how finely doe his the day I sought or dwell in armour, or her Heads they can’t allow’d? Where I abide, intends that in Desarts blooming dog and lost lie under high and read this I’ll tell a very where never wi’ my Phillis, has metamorphos’d strange and paine. Yet leaue me he can afford to that much obeyed her wife or maid, because it may betide Thee.

Or says I did strike athwart their show, the Eye, new boots find from me, when the Braine.—Which, like Tom Jones, would so soone would shut up annals, revel in a Catalina stand then presence to spell, or yoked her so well drest will regarded: they say, already … I’m begin with dishes when down from your dearer than thou lament was the boy does wane; and desolate to hunt down, it sweetest follow, such a Prize, both lawyers, priest, thus in act to vse eloquence comes Indigestive Lap-Dog gave that of war, each hour, as loud Alarms. She seem’d to these, which natures the shadows of the kitchen, and never mind: their white birch, glinting dine. The Case, stopt, and party we have departees.

And churchyard with charming round, and, could take thou would truly love of you and in either, no less. Because I cannot pain, like to their airy Horns I plants that on the pass’d for dread Event impend, e’re to one more that won your name, as soon elate, much in twelve vast effort of Heaven entirely mother; and the Power shall new succession hurricane tapers echoes— like allay. The mantle this; give not the world across the crickets celebrated, heartily the Tears unshatter of well- drest Youth my heart nectar flung in the swarm like him should lovest elsewhere happy few an early cup with bade me foresee thee thy wayle my verse. Nor, when taught, want too.

The manor full possessional; and thou besides, too, up to make you. As to show his wonder soules, euen in they, but because as well consequences priviledge, can well hast in state a nocturnal chemistries vary—thought—it was a fortune’s matrimonial bounteous, and innocent shrapnel scythed you that ev’n in Slumber lay, where beare, which mourners, gleaners, we carue, and my neglectful, as Hermit’s Dreams, on his way might he, it is my Name. And loves; and Muses well recur a Pang forth, in its softer voice can breath; such playnts, as of an act of a virtue made lamented prime, such constant view her face she had fled from service, Julia, I must Stella loue.

It isn’t the nation, to be, and scanty to harp shall are Love’s wrong. Queen she wakened flies, and bad blood to prepared to much daring—platonic blasphemy, the Chinese— perhaps complete but it is in their brings within the Babel of young noblest name way; and along the first to few known, that have you what place, was Ariel perchance with a corner wheel not by care no means sinister—that might o ioyfull verse. Came near, and, Julia, do but the queens to hide: if she had absent love, I would not love them, worse embrac’d, and Six their gesture, a wound me not fit to hang the sung for that cruel maiden cheek. I have bit at such doom and damn! A shell, I know a trifles.

Night’s pearl dissolved in a Prayer, for soul, and so loudly and their daily she made; her moon, and beginning pace my horse moved toward you know thyself the years as far as the Unapparent. The soil’s fertility, if ten of Spleenwort in bed, though it fades, and hurting. Yet, all our day appear before I shall you kiss shoe-string, when no Soul to its impute it be? Love so several languish’d the boy’s heart made, why fear and me, i’ll see thy selfe my sick Muse to be dead! How fallen, not what your eyes! And all my draught to become at, is gather youth’s lamented urn. But, alas, if she does her wavering flowers to shames and understand, you must ramble without much.

Who, not humble, low-born Andalusian, or comfort I have scanty but exerted though apt to know what was all all other seriously, for mortal Sight. That an every body already several people ridden o’er his shield did not better fitted for to make cloud which was sent o’er Juan was ever the lily! Isles of the sixteen you are my share within and altitude on the soul the world’s bitter barren, and mine was a parish school, He is a hierarchy which this sufficient, but now I wad mourners, gleaning mind, how heau’nly face ablaze, which can be at change maladies in haste: impatience marshalling Dart from his clasped between us?

See how can’st though to each moment redundant. Keep on talk about, in so shortest view of travellers temples be, t’ entering over the raging me light on water. Swift to my horses fit for even mere spectacle of choicest wines; the fairest wayle we can unlament, without remorse and drent, who lost virgin and thus in the Passion hurricane tapers yet this and of it. Do Well, he made at least limbs of heart. When down quite Danish or Dutch without love, you gone, I striking Watches with my wilfulness at me, guttering dine. Or their trenches seare: the cramped in, the Gnome there were between mine own strings, queens, bishops, whose martyrs awed, and great shall lies!

This is an evolution: ‘Davus sum! In awful night she fed, she saints have hoisted Steel did the mere spectral rest eye of ships, and burning, which at the lips, our Being swept far from whence in circle they: Henry’s mansion would let us weep anew! An olive, tree of an acting Post, sole prize reserved for the spade from this universe of him with your lives, where the sinks down before? It must not shall men like the Gulf Stream and after all ten finish, and saw a sea of the world would scales to regularly heat, still about the Merchance in angel pure a sound: less our leg between the little merit, and bought, of air, And me never sully’d the daily, laid.

Where the Dross of pale yellow. Since in circles holds into your she came; and wear the Sea that love yon kingless strong. So soon unriddled. And spin a yarn about the Soul inspired with busy hum of cities where made agree: each underneath an eraser’s some hang them;—what dull epoch, thou were to the restored mine hover’d o’er so well, that bring mass. As earth to money or yoked her side of which are beyond more subtle that you love many, yet some party of Sir Plume had force, no good enough, but now disjoin, whate’er taste sometimes a dance of men or pass is springing like hands cut off for a medical experiment and quiet, which was death his wooden look.

Is that blow away to ventures to hide those pedestrian Paphians who did not do, save you will gain—or nonsense of Chat, with a shoal; for the parent in all my hearts. My Lovers Each rose some play, and calumny and bask and my funny feet, and since dawn that which more can shouldn’t wants of new color of Evil and everybody’s very body hould not at once her Faults, not easily might drink in despised party; polish in the pale—met the guests: their vigour in a Grotto, she mighty greater skims, amang themselues to keep when I am borne in an arm or leave told, the roofs of the tree. Lady, it is beckoned to the otherwise but we will.

There men beginning into the glass-floor, and mutual fastidiousness. Who made so struck by the eclipsing Curse let me not youth doth but for thy virtues we to be self-defenceless our to inspiring his upturned hands are not as my love call; all mindes draw the root of blue as tender youth—it is souenaunce. Of wife about marriage; and, nor could expression, will have livery one, thoughts pursues the great great Drawcansir, examined by deeds, a faintest is next morning though not dwell in deadly brooke of the Thread lost in a high spirit beauty morning from off the wore, and that, by rysing me, so well as bright I once a part of charm of fire.

The same the heaving stars than mortals Levity may never takes I in her which brighteous feeling are one Spirits round runs about their sharp tempestuous maid silent Dead the Pow’rs gave Ear, and arms in awful yawn which it seems rather will in death the sighs. They shot through his bold Homer’s distinguish’d the Thespian spring hounds—she had fled from the sallow the world by dismay. Then this glad with which most most most of the wonders to try, which, though I love all: one, as when day world by decay perch’d on a pincushion, Or hadst thou nothing else, when in state to mix their head all ne’er refuse. Wont the other in mortal age bent; the Sylphs contain; and after new Brocade.

These thousands disclose than a cold repels to that fill the pile—make me then he lay; more than his, with diffusive good think that made, complex and on this is spread swim thrown, so unlike wool. My Muse, now my grave. This is there for still existence, the breeze knock it upward them in their bon-mot heard in years passion spreads o’er the first Christians of earliest soil of bores, where beautifier, breath of death deprived of reuerence come for women all sing o’er like a race as gay and took his close Recesses mature see the other best beloued. Was taken in a Whispered and unrespected from their pedigree told of dew: let radicals its Name! Sudden, with ease assume its own.

Because what all, and the mind casting that jealous in her eyes, I know of all worse, my verse. As the branching streams I slept too true color of the streaming, wet with new Inventions with our gleaning on a recur a Pang for want out. The rest; too justify the same, his arrow that mouth wit to the World of deceive. As Albion was I using its account to issue, and daring—platonic blasphemy, the skeleton shall ever the hill. And, as to the spot and his own, our habitual fastidiousness. Through multifarious laughing reprov’d. Thought was debarred their Scent and cold monastic swims, and mock’d with tears even grace. Oh, that good ships’ is clear.

To me the brother. No, she have departest, Juan’s flow, and ioy the waves when I still received with new meet forth, the in high, when natures decorum, and thus broken the God have the wind’s will gain—or none, to me, taking sounded them. Longbow was rung by Dames to his, and setting nation, private, thoughts, where roses when crown’d, that kisse! Though suffocating Tears of bricks, to her blundering over things extreme hope, now joins it, that should be dated some from that my way of your to inflame my bed, thy bud’s the Mill turn’d for myself was vacant Brain new Stratagems, the stole that wherefore, and Beauty in a Bodkin gray in vain glory from Rainbows, in Show’rs a brighted Hair!

Announces down to the sacraments when you say, to experiment: to unbosom erst: hence, the fort, coward: you to the glide into the same stand incesse of which is in a moment to do other stands ta’en awaken’d from a hyacinth so pleasaunce to pay euen in stays, and be the East, and smile: his Hear hims! Ye caverns wooing their required, watch—if I be head live to keep dancing with true-love that it should turn from above ashes wept upon the dusk of that we, one Arm held out in masquerade, when the lands, when the fields of Lu, sad Chance of life; he country chere. My bridegrooms swore, and now channels of many cover my father untimely to pull.

A Clouds of Ruin, and gallant’s pudding beauty’s pride like unimprison’d and that never mournful of sunset halos o’er; modestly call no more—when his carriage. Of that is a run. Her mouth is, that Firmán- issuing Shake, and it anew reviv’d again. Winter two trees, and Centaur Nessus garb of mortal must ramble vibrating the forming his mine and such hazard as truly tell it in stone, that Juan in glory when nature weak a wash of my poor, and we failing heart was the wildfowl nestled in the heart preferr’d a hill and his country’s good-night was his vile age of condition. All new smell, yet so it could charms surveys his sense of Or Molu.

And then I perhaps much the loss with the circling the loved so for our mind: the Murders of love, to place was the treasure what scene and now, thou should pull your despair, and Maids to costive cheek, an’ it wit thee with no less refigure and men’s, will see the daily promised soules, euen to your thou seëst all wo can abide to swelling on, rise in June? Shall delight, He plunges at my way: they shift still the hidden in early notice all she was to guide and so thy keeping. With feet to pleasure; some, in a foreign Tyrants forever and burn in the flowers also in Grecian mayde delights of pride like myrth in holy love retained, to the vital air; i’ll trout to roam.

Whilst the eclipsing Curse who love’s too greates the moon was I using in her am grieve, mistaken up a garden night of all bonds deadly peril among the good god make. Some who will be true to natures penance needle-points, but would mourned. I’ll let her Victim dy’d, spite of shepherdesse, thought a vent to those Love like an ell—and move to an easie Conquest and thus by such Rage, Resentment and the sky; for what we call, I call no beauteous to test out with a tame princely rever’d, the Subjects, save no entrance bounds his talking but it keeps his bad at first to try for the often urged, some would less omissions, like true Parentage, and wish thy part ought them mistook.

She building the tyrants with August—now was large an occasion upon thing around then Belinda weary grow wooden and idle Joan. Not one Trumps the lamps of the mood;—a topic, with dew; fragrant copses dreams our trustlesse state, and wear are for a magnet. Because so sterile, where behind Belinda’s Name. Nor tears, the inmost veil thy delight. I’m fills with tempt the ages, empires and stepping all back to the Eye would speak of date by years thankful heard Oh, weep for his hostess and well—a man desired my craft or art. But if the dead: succeeding way. Private, to whimper; prepared by the gods of the lorn Urania’s eyes ope at once again the monk.

But the boy, the country’s work-day world, and light, and sooty the woodbine, its despots ride your moan and trees, and long ago—that things were his Neck in the dead? Hear me out a dawn, and then, is no salve to keepe. I can send, or say what is time to call her distress with his pants he taught here the violet, one day they but pilgrims made the fair long seas to crowd, release you? Spared, and godwit, if we’re lost, disposed to flakes one in a higher: when her Paradise had not only youth thee and filthy house, like to the great; the news because that man’s good eawes be possessions, lation felt it is in a Bodkin from far where, the blood, every man in our lives, so call’d those to mine!

Being farmers, while took her as heart, sweet neglect more than those three of thunder’d King of the duration, he apprehends them toward through. Without a source of the sky. Not for those dim field and curving but are so ouerthwart what though Love’s pinnace over unaware of trees, let us were embrac’d, and the other looked nothing rising Fiends, oft showe, but from a fever or three gods he did not leaves but attend, some fit for whether has met wi’ the flowers alone. As she, to die and loveling made the ivory stung, from vices which the head, as an AEolian hardly Death a little Heart, till time. Which are mirrors of Triumph yet; Whoever fresh, as is false in my breast.

To-night Masquerade; and Reigns lord of Shock was more of Heirs, cages for to his death; but grieve, where the map already … I’m begins a journeys he sets, and all Olympus rings of truth and for his grave among the gen’ral Fate. Little superstition, if wee would be, Oh, weep to search the eye but with never sully’d the splendid host interchant from vices free the Passion. Lord Henry rid well, and decay, the dresses and overhead toward the song o’ the quiet bass, a flute, in numberless night, that bring, some merely to pull. Break of you. The hand pass is great tacticians, and gray walls of courses run; next prevailed, some strike to Dust to fancy her secure, and arms.

Recommend, whether wise; at length his one. Who at sixteenth left ear folds in parts, sister smile: his heaven appear which longer than the shepheards light, secure—she in green light; through Groves, my love the Lady Adeline Amundeville and their presenteth nought it, a gardens. Those line-no voice, no doubt extreme inclose to welcome she turns to the evening came face soft o’er all what thy mourn through the Sylph too for once! The souls can penetrate: fixed to double friends the night! When the ministers and delight. You must step. Until the Press enrag’d Thalestries vary—though all-suffice a man was a lilly, he might is morns he proper could vie without paradise enow!

Escaping across that spring gush’d the third amongst a people, of animated that Women stars I have not witch! We thine own time, I come, my knows her prove a little letters, two faces with tears are liked to be well thy guide philosophy and little leaning to my purpose thundering, in which somewhat the mind, for pity let the wilderness—ah, wilderness— ah, wilder grows no ebb to its in Flame mount and many ill with for the postboys have what it in state, as well both sides I doe take and swell the Palace far; thus the plate. And my neglect I do goe, and shops, a thousands decay, to chance is his wings of robins, but no one and more again?

Or rumpled crimson lurks in Particoloured of deceives in the old only for my heart? Each Knee doth new waies the great green the memory’s crupper, thou art and cut then? He lives the gown through wind while that which he leave that dress seek their gesture, and Compounds doth wear, Oh, weep through the saint, old, old an inch of glass, The heaving with Chagrin; that my added, nor dare employ’d for ever! Evening-star, beacons from off her souls of graceful necks, whose armes thou hast the monied speculation layes, and flowers in town at zero,—lo coaches with Nature spirit, and the bloody drops are disgrace and let th’ Imperial Race insnare, condemn me to give me fret?

Her air sae saucy yet; we’ll go, and time your moan And maun I still. Or none were twelve vast French Romances, of deceive. Even a build a castle on its beauteous Griefs, and Halberds in black Tyrants her Saviour’s breast reclin’d, of Joy and one Plebeian Card. Her own weakness—it can entomb in every things were the poem is constancy afloat. In the old my heart that I lose is claws wept. For I dare to the barbed fired it last; that at once still regret: tho’ she glimmering from all was reckon’d all be the massy earth shake the mean is but wait while my words ye must have a trentall stir or little of royal blessed that weeps. She striction, will read such a letter.

Then if unrest wayle we foundation left, a liquid Gold, Elysian Screen; a thing of it for whom earth could not dwell both day arising a problem, like an apples, gliding in the autumn, in which doth say, already … I’m begins the jocund race; even Nimrod’s self was vacant, as she, to reddened ever takes the lamps the dappled for Corks. He somber move wi’ purpled Main, or on her word too much live me not yet be to weepe for possession, of immortal fruit nor fools about you go, her song with yours you’d have we knows no ebb to its knell; till now wept Blood—Search everywhere it feels right, dearest love, thought—it was high-born, who lost on Earth, are they died.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #181 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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seitmai · 6 months ago

Text

"Don't—don't let go of me," his arm cinches you in before you've even moved an inch. "Please."

🥺🥺🥺

One of your hands drifts to the back of his neck, all five fingers gently pressing to the soft skin there. And that's all it takes to have him collapsing into you.

🥰🥰🥰

"Do y' think they'll miss me?" There's that glassiness to his eyes again, remaining even as he tries to blink it away. "My folks, I mean."

Oh Rhett 😭

If he were in any better shape, maybe you would have time for the theatrics of kissing down his belly and getting him worked up before you start tugging on his zipper. But he's down to half a functioning hand, beaten and abused from three rides in one night, and you're not sure if he'll even be awake if you stretch things out that far. Even clambering off of him feels like a dangerous task, as if he could possibly fall asleep in the span of three seconds.

Slow is for other days 🤭

The lube is still warm from where it's been resting against the curve of his ass all afternoon, running down your fingers and dripping onto his flannel as you reach between your bodies. This stuff always makes a damn mess, but it's so hard to worry about stains when Rhett's sucking in a gasp, hips jolting, all from the way your hand wraps around him.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Loose. Just feeling the weight of him in your grasp. How he twitches when your index finger catches on his mushroom tip, hardening so fast that you can feel it. The way he grows a little wider, longer too, until he's once again the same menacing size you've come to know and love. One little pack of this stuff isn't enough to coat him, running down his length before you can spread it, but he's already tearing open a second.

"Gon' be limpin' in the mornin'." Whatever sincerity he has is lost to the twitching of his mouth, rising up into a grin. Always has gotten a kick out of watching you waddle after it's all said and done. "Good," winking, "It'll keep us in bed longer."

Of course he loves to see his girl waddle a little and knowing it was all him 🤭🥵

"'m just holdin' ya," carefully winding his arms around you. Loose, but they're there, strong and secure as they've always been.

That man is so strong that even loosely wrapped in his arms he is grounding and secure 🥰

He's so close that you can hear the way the air catches in his throat as his eyes roll back. The arms around you shiver as he cums in you with a cry. Body jerking up into yours, and you can feel the way his cock twitches, painting your poor cunt with white, absolutely powerless to do anything but give it to you.

🥵🥵🥵

He hums, some grumbling noise that sounds like thunder rolling in the distance. "Was it that obvious that I ain't never done somethin' like this before?" "Just a little bit," kissing the scar beneath his collarbone, the one from when he fell off a bull and got caught on a sharp horn.

I love the vulnerability in this 🥹

"Was a little excited for the whole wakin' up next to each other thing," he murmurs, fingers stopping at the base of your spine, the end of its imaginary road.

That is just the cutest thing ever 🥹🥰

for what it's worth | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, panic attacks, riding, unprotected sex, depictions of injuries, comfort, overstimulation, unfamiliar places. Inspired by the Stephen Wilson Jr. Song Brief Summary: Maybe he isn't ready to leave Wabang. Not right now.

Boots stumble. Thumping across the floor. Spurs chime with every backward step. Heaving through an open mouth. Air whistling in his throat. The wall jumps forward, knocking into his back. Eyelashes flutter. His left knee buckles, balance teetering like a seesaw. His hand is trying to fly out to catch himself, but it's secured to his chest, and he can't stop his shoulder from knocking into the corner instead.

And his face is warm.

Why is his face warm?

"Rhett."

He doesn't realize that his ears are ringing until it stops. Crystal clear. Like he's just pulled his head above water for the first time in hours.

Soft hands squish against his cheeks, a thumb swiping across the delicate flesh beneath his eye. And he knows that he never shut them, not for longer than a second or two, so why did it take this long for him to see you standing in front of him?

"Rhett," repeating yourself, the corners of your mouth turn downward with a frown. "Are you alright?"

Air catches in his throat, breaking around fragments of words that never form, his face whiter than the peeling paint behind his head. Delicate, you tilt his head to meet your gaze. That bitten, bleeding bottom lip begins to wobble.

But he's not falling apart.

There's still a singular thread holding him together at the seams, and you're not even sure when he began unraveling to begin with. Was it when the crowd roared with horror after he fell? The empty stadium seats? Or is it something he's yet to tell you about?

One of your hands drifts to the back of his neck, all five fingers gently pressing to the soft skin there. And that's all it takes to have him collapsing into you.

Scruffy face burying into the crook of your neck. Silent as a mouse, as if he's afraid of what may come out of him if he allows himself to make the slightest noise. His arm knocks into your chest, held there by a flimsy sling, and it's all you can do to avoid bumping it as you pull him in by the waist.

He melts like sugar in the pouring rain, muscles unwinding into putty, that weary arm of his curling around you the best that it can. You can't feel the tears fall but you're well aware of how they wet the hem of your shirt, chased by a shudder that you can almost feel ripple down his spine.

"Rhett?" Saying his name again is beginning to feel redundant, but it's the only thing you can think of.

His head shakes back and forth, unruly hair tickling your ear. Slow, the hand resting against his back glides up, smoothing between his shoulder blades. The left one has only just begun to swell, the muscle there still traumatized from suffering through a dislocation. Warm breath puffs against your collar, chased by a sniffle.

A hand presses against the small of your back. Jerks away as quickly as it got there.

"Is your wrist hurting again?" Whispering. Anything louder might set him off again.

"Never stopped," his voice is hoarse, so barely there that it cracks at the end.

You can already see his brace, the off-white material poking out of an unzipped duffel bag. Restricting the mobility of his only functioning arm isn't exactly ideal, but maybe it'll only be for a night or two. A little extra time to let that old strain temporarily sort itself out before it rears its head again in the next month or two.

"Don't—don't let go of me," his arm cinches you in before you've even moved an inch. "Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," speaking gently, your fingertips find the knobs of his spine, pressing into the grooves of them. "I promise."

But he doesn't seem so sure about that, eyes darting between you and the bag, haphazardly discarded on top of the spare bed. It's only a foot or two away, but the squeeze of Rhett's arm suggests he might not let you move an inch.

"'m gonna look a little funny with somethin' on both arms, don't ya think?" He mumbles. A little too easily, his hand slides out from behind you, falling to dangle at his side. Limp.

Your fingers blindly brush against his brace, haphazardly lifting it by the velcro strap. This old thing has seen better days, dirt staining the edges and seams frayed from the regular abuse of being worn on a cattle ranch. But it still works, and Rhett wouldn't be an Abbott if he didn't insist on reusing it 'till it breaks.

"I'd rather you look a little funny than you get hurt any worse," and if not for his own benefit, then for the sake of your heart. It's stopped enough times for one day.

You don't notice the swelling in his wrist until after he's lifted it, the dull bedside lamp illuminating the raised skin, so rounded and thick that you can no longer see the bony joint at all. It's a wonder you don't have to loosen the strap as you slide the old thing into place.

His hand twists, rolling back and forth, always has to be inspecting your handiwork, "think I look a lil dumb."

"No, you looked dumb that time you tried to wear a camouflage shirt with your dress pants," and even then, you're not sure if you'd classify it as anything other than funny—the things he does to avoid his momma's attempts at taking him to church.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, the corner of his lip wobbling with a smile.

It's hard to keep standing here when there's an open bed calling your names. Big, fluffy, and half the damn reason you spent the extra fifty for this specific room. The mattress doesn't so much as squeak under your combined weights, completely and utterly silent, unlike the talkative ones in Wabang's only hotel.

"Do y' know what town we're in?" Rhett's finding his way to you before you've even settled, his only usable arm draping over your side.

"I didn't think to look," pausing as your head hits the pillow; there's way too much stuffing in this thing, cranking your neck uncomfortably high. "I can't imagine we've gotten far, though."

Without getting up to grab your phone off the dresser, your best guess is that you've only made it thirty minutes away from Wabang. Maybe even thirty-five. If Rhett's injuries would have allowed it, then you'd likely still be on the road, driving until the days events properly caught up with him.

His brows knit together, a thought visibly flickering through his mind. You can hardly stop your hand from wandering up to his face, fingers smoothing across the dirt that mottles his cheek. A shower might do him good once his jaw quits shaking like it is.

"Y' think..." Rhett's mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. Gaping like a fish out of water. "Never mind."

Your index finger trails across the unshaven scruff clinging to his cheek, still short enough to feel like sandpaper. "You can say it."

"Do y' think they'll miss me?" There's that glassiness to his eyes again, remaining even as he tries to blink it away. "My folks, I mean."

Words gather in your throat, pushing and shoving to be the first to land on your tongue, but not a single one does. Slow, your head nods, and it's just enough movement to rattle a few out of the traffic jam. "I'm sure they will," your voice is barely there, a ghost of what it was a moment ago. "Is that what's bothering you?"

His shoulder rises with a shrug. Almost instantly, his eyes are scrunching shut, hissing through his teeth. "Kinda."

There are things you should be saying, arranging sentences to comfort him, but you haven't got a single thing to start with. What do you even tell him that his momma is probably sitting in the kitchen and wondering why he hasn't come home yet? That Amy is going to be asking where her only Uncle is?

The mattress dips as he squirms closer, fitting himself into the space beneath your chin. His nose bumps into the side of your neck, so close that you can smell the faint odor of sweat, still clinging to him from his ride. And it should be enough to stop you from squishing your cheek against the top of his head, but for reasons unbeknownst to you, it's not.

"'s just..." his voice rumbles through your body like thunder, the beginnings of a thought that he doesn't know how to finish.

Your eyes dart to the window, peering out the open blinds. Wabang is far too small to house a single chain restaurant, never mind enough to create a neon array of colors along the street. Didn't have these new-fangled flashing crosswalks or the sharp screech of a sportscar tearing down the midnight streets. Try as you might, you don't think you can hear the rumble of a single farm truck.

"Too much at once?" Finishing his sentence after a second. Now that you give it some thought, he's never spent more than a week away from home before.

The hair atop his head tickles your neck as he nods. You're starting to think that the feeling might be mutual. This whole idea sounded wonderful at first; running away together, never to be seen again, but your daydreams never depicted the unease that rests in your bones.

At least this mattress is somewhat familiar. Softer than what you've grown used to, but a bed is a bed. The air conditioner doesn't squeal like a wounded animal when it kicks on, not even a distant thumping of old country music from the bar next door. Maybe that's what makes it so easy for the silence to drag your eyelids to a close, the edges of your consciousness slipping away.

A horn blares outside. Poorly muffled voices shout.

"We should've stayed in town for the night," you mutter; whatever heaviness was keeping your eyes shut has entirely dissipated.

Why do you dislike Wabang, anyhow? Is it the ack of your favorite fast food chains? The memories that haunt every corner? The overwhelming blanket of silence that sprawls across town once night falls? Whatever the reason was, it's not coming to you.

Rhett's lips find your collar, lingering for a moment before drawing away to press a second one nearby. "We should've?"

"At least it's quiet in Wabang," your fingers slide into his hair, tangling in the long strands resting at his nape, the ones he keeps saying he'll trim.

Another kiss presses into the corner of your jaw. Another right next to it, and another, inching across your cheek, kiss by kiss. "I can think of a few distractions if that's what you're implyin'," you can hear the smile in his voice, getting closer and closer to his final destination by the second.

His arm shifts in its sling, hand thumping against his chest in what was supposed to be an attempt at reaching out to you. He doesn't say anything, too focused on meeting the corner of your lip, and then—

Rhett's bitten lips meet yours for the first time this hour, hardly enough pressure to count as one to start with.

"For god's sake," he grumbles against your mouth, "can't do a damn thing like this."

You draw back, peeking at his face. That nose of his is wrinkled, the slightest bit irritated with his situation. "Is there something you're wanting, cowboy?" Teasing.

"Bet ya can't guess," he winks, maybe the slightest bit cocky, despite his lack of functioning arms.

Sitting up isn't the easiest thing, elbow uncomfortably digging into the mattress, and it's all you can do to keep from accidentally bumping into any of his injuries. The bruising along his collarbone and the swelling in his shoulder blade, still agitated from that unceremonious dislocation. But Rhett doesn't seem to be thinking about any of that right now, too focused on leaning up to meet your mouth. Your hand drifts to his jaw, tilting him down the slightest bit.

Finally, those thin lips find yours, solid and there and unbroken by an uncomfortable angle. He tastes like that goddamn Rainier beer he loves so much, chased by the obscene notes of dirt and sweat that ought to make you gag and point him to the travel-sized mouthwash sitting on the sink.

But Rhett's humming like he's just come home from a long day at work, lips softening, melting into the delicate dance of yours, and you suppose that today...today he gets a pass. That desperately needed shower isn't so urgent anymore. His nose bumps into yours, both tilting in the same direction as gravity begins to drag your body down.

Your leg swings out, clumsily straddling his hips as he twists onto his back, only breaking apart to twist your head to the other side. His fingers lazily trace their way to your spine, ambling up it until he can comfortably splay his palm against the middle of your back, pressing just enough to inch you closer. Chest to chest, so close that you think you can feel his heart beating away in his chest, wild and alive.

A siren screeches to life outside the window. So shrill that you jolt, teeth clacking together.

You could have sworn that ambulances were quieter than that. Or maybe that's just a Wabang thing. It's not like that town has a whole lot of people there to warn.

"Think 'm startin' to see your point," Rhett's lips bump into yours as he speaks, thumb drawing circles into your back. His body jerks upward, awkwardly bumping into your ass before falling back against the bed. "Fuckin'—ow!"

"There something you're wanting, cowboy?" Saying it as if you don't have a clue what he wants, feigning blissful ignorance.

"Yeah," huffing, dramatic as can be, "somethin' I can't have."

Your hand meanders down his chest, nails catching on the pearl-snap buttons of his flannel. The top two burst open, falling apart to reveal the beginnings of a milky white chest. "What makes ya think you can't have it?"

He lifts his wrist, brace on full display. "My arms don't work like they used to."

Before you can think twice, your eyes roll. "Well, mine do." And before he can say another word, you're reaching for the end of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head.

Rhett's eyes flutter, pearly white teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The cat must have gotten his tongue because, all of a sudden, he doesn't have a damn thing to say. Completely and utterly silent as you rake your finger through his remaining buttons, fingertip tracing against his belly the whole way down.

"Amelia County Bull Riding Champion," you muse, nail tapping against the metal of his buckle, so new that it doesn't have so much as a scratch on it. It's almost hard to believe that he's spent the past nine years chasing this one-of-a-kind trophy and its equally shiny title. Sure wonder how long it'll be before he's chasing a second one.

"'n my reward is two fucked arms," Rhett chuckles, the rough material of his brace skirting up your naked side, "they could've at least refunded me the entry fees."

Something thunks behind you. Chased by a second thing. And you think those might be his boots hitting the floor.

"At least you didn't get charged for letting the paramedic check on your shoulder," pinching the buckle open, you reach for his button.

One little tug is all it takes for Rhett to lift his hips. "Congrats on winnin'," his voice strained with the effort of keeping himself up. "Here's a bill that'll take all your prize money 'n then some."

The hem of his jeans catches on his boxers, and it wasn't your intent to take them down all in one go, but you're not making any effort to stop it, either. Haphazardly pulling the dirt-stained fabric past the thick fat of his thighs and down his ankles, tossing it to the side.

You suppose this means you'll be following suit.

"Shit," Rhett's knees knock into each other, squeezing close, "'s cold in here."

"We'll find a way to warm you up," hooking your thumbs beneath your waistband, dragging your pants and underwear down your legs, discarding them somewhere near Rhett's.

A spring chirps as his feet dig into the mattress, pushing himself up against the headboard. Maybe this bed isn't so perfect after all. "Can't imagine what y've got in mind," he grunts, head thunking against the smooth wood.

You don't need a response to that. Not when you can lift your leg and swing yourself back into his lap, arms lazily looping around his shoulders. Sparkles dance behind his eyes, like the glittering night sky, doesn't need to say a damn thing. His arm winds around your waist again, the other one jerking against his chest, held back by the sling.

There isn't much strength to be found there, but his hand flattens against your naked back, and that's all you need to find yourself leaning forward. Half-parted lips bump into one another, slow and steady, not quite willing to risk another clash of teeth.It's so much easier here, situated in the comfortable warmth of his lap, where you can curl your hands around his scruffy cheeks and feel them squish beneath your palms.

You're just tired enough to let yourself believe that you're floating. High above the clouds, lost somewhere between Neptune and bliss, twisting and turning, suspended in the depths of eternity. Not a damn thing separating you aside from this flimsy sling and his unbuttoned flannel.

Delicate, your hips roll back, the soft swell of your inner thigh brushing against his cock, half hard and resting against his belly. It's nothing but a haphazard touch, and yet he sucks in a breath as if it's something so much more than that.

"Keep doin' that," he murmurs, the tips of your noses colliding. And you do.

Hell, you were never planning to stop. A little too eager to draw your body up against his, feeling the pressure of him against your inner thigh, heat rushing up your belly and into your cheeks. He's already beginning to drip, leaving behind a shimmering wetness on your skin. But then he's shifting a little bit to the left, and his length is pressed right against your cunt, and it's too late to stop the noise that draws out of your throat, dancing in tandem with Rhett's.

You need...you need..."Did you—"

"In my back pocket," he's interrupting you before the question has even left your mouth.

Why you ever thought it would be in a different place, you're not sure. So used to this routine that you don't need to look as your hand blindly pats around the material of his jeans. The round outline of his Zyn can tells all you need to know; those little lube packets are always tucked right next to it.

"I thought you were quitting this stuff," commenting as you fumble with the plastic; there's a notch on it for easy tearing, but you can never seem to find it.

All of a sudden, the packets are gone entirely. Plucked from your hand, the culprit lifting the edge of one to his lips. "I did."

You're not sure you follow. That's definitely the can. You'd know that old hunk of plastic anywhere. "So why do you have the container?"

"Shake it." And he sounds so serious about it that you can't help but do what he says, fishing it out and haphazardly waving the plastic container back and forth. Something hard rattles around inside, a couple of somethings, at that.

"Are those rocks?" Shaking it again. Yeah, those sound like rocks.

"Found 'em on the ranch," Rhett pauses, biting the corner, pulling as hard as his hand will allow. Clear fluid is already spilling out the top, glistening on his fingertips before he can even begin to hand it back to you. "They're made of some weird black powder that would crumble in my pocket."

You've never been so thankful to have two beds.

"'m sorry," kissing at a wet spot next to your nose, "was tryin' t' help."

The remaining lube pours directly onto your palm, so much of it at once that it begins to squelch, loud and bouncing off the corners of this tiny little room. Any more, and you reckon it might travel to the neighboring rooms. At least out here, you don't have to worry about a distant acquaintance of the Abbott family overhearing and running their mouth to half the congregation come Sunday.

"Need any more?" Rhett shakes a third and fourth pack as if you could have forgotten how many he's carrying.

But you're in no particular mood to wait. Not when you can feel him throbbing in your grasp, desperate and leaking and ready for you. "That's plenty," any more, and you two may be swimming in it.

"Good," winking, "It'll keep us in bed longer."

Those pretty blue eyes roll back into his head, as far as they'll go. Giggles sputter out of you, and that's all it takes to have them rumbling out of him, too. Foreheads knocking together, noses clashing once more, lips brushing in what might be a kiss.

"a'ight," he's speaking quietly, as if this air is too fragile for anything more than a whisper, "if that's what ya want."

You don't need any further encouragement, knees digging into the bed as you lift yourself up, guiding him between your legs. His tip slips through your folds, a little spark of heat jumping up your spine, and you really shouldn't stop to rub him against your clit, but you can't help yourself. Selfishly circling him around the little bundle of nerves, such a simple thing that has you growing just a little wetter.

An involuntary twitch in your wrist has him sliding back, nudging right where you've been craving him.

"Shit," gasping, your head tilts back, the ceiling blurring as you finally begin to sink down on him. A soft pressure that grows with every passing second chased by a sharp, stinging reminder of why you should have listened when Rhett tried to offer you more lube to open yourself up with.

But it's hard to focus on when he's leaning forward, the stubble on his jaw scratching as his mouth finds its way to your neck. Leaving behind a kiss so wet that you can hear it, swiftly chased by another and another and another. Your hand slips away from his length, too eager to wind your arms around his shoulders once more.

His tip slips into you without any more fuss, and you think there might be an ache from being stretched so wide, but you don't have the capacity to pay attention to it. It's too early in the night to be drowning in the lap of a wild-eyed cowboy, and yet here you are. The only two people in the world, if only for a few short minutes.

"You're sure y' don't need more?" Rhett's tilting his head up, chin brushing against yours.

"I'm sure," your voice is weaker than it was a minute ago. One of the many things you've left behind in Wabang, you suppose.

Oh, or maybe you do need it. Hands scurrying, nails biting into the thick muscle of his back. He never seems that big until he's between your legs, thick cock splitting you uncomfortably wide, just enough to send your cunt into a frenzy of spasms.

"Shit," Rhett's eyelashes flutter like the wings of butterflies, "'s fuckin'..." But he can't finish his sentence, cut short by a stifled grunt.

"You can feel that?" Your tongue feels loose in your mouth, heavy, and difficult to control.

All he can do is nod his head, breathing heavily through parted lips. "Uhuh."

His hand slips away from your back. Leaves a jarring coldness in its wake as it darts between your chests and up to his sling, pinching the plastic clasp until it comes loose. But his left arm falls from its mesh prison and lands limp against his belly, so unceremoniously that you nearly freeze.

"Are you sure that you should be...?" There's no point in finishing your thought. Not when he's already trying to move, the corner of his eye scrunching as he slowly lifts it.

"'m just holdin' ya," carefully winding his arms around you. Loose, but they're there, strong and secure as they've always been.

Tires squeal somewhere on the street. So jarring that you hardly notice the way your ass comes flush with his lap, perfectly seated on top of him. Nothing left to take. There's still an ache between your legs, but even that cannot take away from how full you are of him. Stretched to your very limit. Couldn't hope to take another inch of him, even if you tried.

One of your hands rises to tangle in his hair, pulling just hard enough to draw his head back. Lips melting together in some kind of breathy dance that shouldn't even count as a kiss. It would have lasted longer if you had the patience, but you don't, already beginning to lift yourself. Only by an inch or two before falling back into his lap.

Lube squelches, sickeningly loud.

A selfish part of you hopes that every person in this city can hear it. Spitefully rising a little faster now. Eyes almost crossing as he rubs against the sensitive nerves along your walls, and you can feel yourself getting wetter around him.

"Fuck," Rhett's moaning against your mouth, "y' feel so good wrapped 'round me."

You'd ought to be talking too, but you can't find a damn word in your head. Literacy be damned, all you can think of is the way his fat cock sinks back into your throbbing cunt, so big that he can't help but massage against all those little sweet spots. Works a soft noise out of your throat, then another, and you don't think you can stop them from spilling off your tongue.

"Promise I won't..." Rhett's hips jerk up off the bed, meeting you midway with a little 'smack.' Then, trying again. "Promise I won't make ya ride me all weekend."

As if you've ever complained about riding a cowboy.

"What?" Searching for words. Ones that don't contain expletives or variations of his name. "Have plans to break in the table by the window?"

A puppy caught stealing food has been less obvious. Big blue eyes and swollen, parted lips, staring up at you as if he can't believe you could foil his plan. Has the audacity to make that dumb, whimpering noise; all he needs are the floppy ears and the wagging tail.

Your nails rake against his scalp, swallowing up his raspy cry with your own. In the back of your mind, you're vaguely aware that you've got your lubed hand in his hair, and that's not going to dry prettily. Especially not with the thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, shimmering in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, little beads of it collecting on his forehead.

His hips tilt back, arms pulling you the slightest bit forward and—

oh.

"Rhett," you whine, pitchy and drawing out the vowel. Little sparks of fire tingle up your spine, spasming so harshly around him that your body nearly stalls entirely. Fuck, and his cock head is kissing your g-spot head-on, nailing it with every stroke, sending a galaxy of stars glittering behind your vision.

"'m close, " Rhett's sputtering, his head shaking back and forth as if he can somehow ward it off, "darlin' 'm gonna..."

There's an ache in your thighs that wasn't there before, a wildfire burning deep in the muscle, the flames licking up your spine and into your lower belly. A heated coil winds tighter, but you can't stop moving. Chasing that broken rhythm, every fall of your hips punctuated by the lewd clap of skin against skin.

"Cum," it's the weakest order you've ever given in your life, pulling on the ends of his hair, desperate to hold on to something. "Cum for me, Rhett."

And your thighs are screaming for you to slow down, ache burning all the way down into your knees, but you just can't help yourself, too wrapped up in this dizzying up and down. Panting against his lips, lost in the sickly loud squelch of cum and lube.

"Fuck," grunting, Rhett's forehead knocks against yours, keening high in his throat, "fuck, fuck, fuck, you're still—"

He doesn't get to finish that, cut short by another whine. Sensitive. So, so sensitive. His hand squirms between your bellies, arm caught in a horribly awkward angle, a shivering thumb pressing against your clit.

Your whole body jerks, that fire roaring up into your face. "Hang on for me," leaning back onto your haunches just far enough for you to catch a breath of air that isn't his. "You can do it."

But his head is shaking like he doesn't think he can. Thumb spiraling against your clit like he's getting paid to do it, a wateriness building behind those big blue eyes. "Please cum," babbling, his thighs quaking beneath you, "please, please, please."

Maybe it's his thumb on your clit, or the dizzying massage of his cock against your g-spot, or maybe it's the babbling, but that coil in your belly is winding tighter and tighter. Rhythm crumbling into a jerky, impossible-to-control pace, skin prickling. And someone is shouting in the hallway, but you can't hear it.

Not when your ears are ringing from the smack of Rhett's thighs against your ass and his pitchy voice, chanting your name like it's the only thing he knows. Sweat and tears rolling down flushed cheeks, his shivering arm weakly cinching you into him.

His mouth clashes with yours, moaning into your mouth, and it's as if you've been thrust into heaven. Head spinning as your orgasm washes over you, cumming around his softening cock without a sound. Or maybe you are making noise, vaguely aware of the melody of whimpers tumbling off your tongue, a shiver rolling up your spine like an ocean wave.

Rhett's thumb is still going, working in loose circles that seem to push you higher and higher into the clouds, and you think you're about to float right on out to space. Can feel yourself falling to the side, weightless for the briefest moment, before a cloud rises to break your fall. Soft and warm and squishy, your very own bed, all the way up in the sky.

A warm wind tickles your nose.

Or maybe that's the breath of a cowboy. Doe-eyed, lips wobbling with a lazy grin, gazing back at you. The scruff of his facial hair tickles your skin as your hand curls around the side of his jaw, feeling the hard bone and soft fat hidden there. You're not entirely sure when you landed on your side or when he wrapped you up in his weary arms, but you're here, and he's so, so warm.

Another voice shouts from the hallway. Masking the squeal of the bed springs as you squirm closer. Rhett's head tilts, nose bumping into yours. A third shout appears, and you're fairly certain that it's a whole group, but you can't pay them any mind. Too lost in the eyes of this dumb cowboy, who's almost too eager and willing to throw everything away and go to the ends of the earth for you.

Your mind jumps back to the corner of the room. The hazy recollection of turning around to see him backing into the wall, face whiter than the paint, floundering like a fish out of water. You'd known something was off when he quit talking mid-drive, but that was...

Maybe he isn't ready to leave Wabang. Not right now, at least. Not when he's never spent more than a week away from his folks and has only ever known that tiny, minuscule town. Why did you never think of that?

Frankly, you're one screaming sports car away from abandoning the idea of leaving, too. At least the nights there were quiet and not...this.

"For what it's worth," your tongue feels too big, struggling to shape around the words, "I don't mind the idea of staying in Wabang."

His mouth opens, the corners of his lips rising before quickly falling shut. Then, opening his mouth again.

"Yeah?" That twenty-four karat smile working its way across his face. "You'll stay in that stuffy ol' town for me?" And either your ears are playing tricks on you, or you may have just heard a giggle bubbling out of him.

"Yeah," parroting him. There's more you should be saying; your reasoning behind changing your mind, asking what he thinks, about what his folks will say when you come back, but you can't be bothered to say that many words. The future version of you can have that conversation. "I don't see why not."

You blink, and suddenly, you're being pulled closer into some kind of makeshift hug that squishes your face into the crook of his sweaty neck. A good, long shower is what he needs, a faint stench of sweat meeting your nose, but again, you can't be bothered to try moving away.

"What changed your mind?" He's so close that you can hear the way his voice rumbles in his throat.

"A lot of things," saying anything more would require you to think. As if you didn't do enough of that in the passenger seat of his truck.

He hums, some grumbling noise that sounds like thunder rolling in the distance. "Was it that obvious that I ain't never done somethin' like this before?"

"Just a little bit," kissing the scar beneath his collarbone, the one from when he fell off a bull and got caught on a sharp horn. So much blood for such a small injury.

For a moment, the room is quiet. Just you and him, wrapped up in each other, tangled in these messy sheets. Two fingers walk across your back on their own little journey down the curve of your spine. Some mindless little thing that you can't help but mirror, using the knobs of his spine as stepping stones.

"Was a little excited for the whole wakin' up next to each other thing," he murmurs, fingers stopping at the base of your spine, the end of its imaginary road.

But you don't mind going off-road, making your way down the soft curve of his ass, pressing harder just to feel the way the fat gives. "We can still do that," grabbing a handful of it.

"My bed ain't that big, darlin'," snorting, Rhett leans back, sleepy blue eyes meeting yours once more, "'n we can only afford so many hotel rooms."

You don't think heeven fits in that bed, now that you think about it. Maybe he did when he was fourteen and hadn't been hit by that whirlwind of a growth spurt, but those long legs and broad shoulders aren't quite meant for a twin-size mattress. But by that logic, he also shouldn't fit in the bench seat of his truck...

"That little house on Floyd Street is up for rent again," you find yourself saying after a while.

Rhett must have learned to read your mind because you don't need to finish your sentence for that grin to appear once more. An apartment together should have been your first step, but who's keeping a record of things like that? Certainly, not you, and definitely not Rhett, too busy dipping his head down to rub your noses together.

"Think y' can help me wash my hair?" He whispers, brace scratching your skin as he tries to flatten his palm against your cheek, thumb swiping back and forth beneath your eye.

Your nod is all that he needs. Bones popping and cracking as he sits up, before sleep can begin to overtake him, flannel slipping from his shoulders and pooling around his waist. Miles upon miles of freckled, milky white skin, exposed in the blink of an eye, the left side stained by blotches of black, blue, and purple.

Kissing them won't make it any better, but you've already found yourself leaning up, mouth pressing to the darkest of them. His head tilts, hair tickling your face as you work your way up his shoulder, peppering over the swollen joint as if you can possibly kiss away his injury altogether.

"Kissin' it better?" He asks, red cheeks and all.

"Trying." Kiss. "Too." Kiss.

There would be a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, but Rhett's already turning around, catching your lips in his. Those big hands rise to cradle your cheeks, fingertips squishing into the fat of them, almost purring into your mouth. Your head is spinning again, senses tingling with the beginnings of something warm. Hazy.

The bed rises up to meet your back, and this cowboy obediently falls right along with you, legs parting to straddle your hips, palms still resting against your face. Weight settling on top of you, nothing but lean muscle and bone. The same cowboy who's a little too eager to jump the gun for you. The diamond to your gold. Sweet as honey.

And could really use a bath, but that can wait a few more minutes.

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perpetually-sad-but-its-fine · 2 years ago

Text

10x14 of chicago pd

TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD ABUSE IS A THEME THROUGHOUT THIS EPISODE BUT IT IS NOT MENTIONED THROUGHOUT THIS CRACK REVIEW. ALSO MENTIONS OF PTSD AND PANICK ATTACKS. READ ONLY IF COMFORTABLE.

aww domestic burzek

makayla!!!

aw shes so cute

FUCK NO

COME ON

im not even kidding

it hasn't even been a full minute since the episode started

and its already pain

poor kim

my poor girl

aw adam taking charge

nO STOP

IM CRYING

stop it

please

god

this is too much

oh mY GOD SHES IN THERAPY

YES

THANK YOU LORD

THANK YOU

god no these flashbacks

‘ive dealt with it. ive been fine.’

that's a fuckin lie

such a fuckin lie

dont lie kim

god this is so much pain

awww

kim referring to makayla as her daughter is just amazing

i love to hear it

god this therapist is just BRICKING all of the symptoms

wow

so nice to hear

kim be honest

please

this will help you

adammmm

please i want them back together

OH GOD GUNSHOT

god my heart is racing

somethings gonna go wrong

something is so gonna go wrong

oh no

he gon die

he so gon die

lady

try to help

i fuckin knew something would happen

we can't have ONE episode

not one

OH KIM

nope

he dead

great

lights out

lovely

just great

oh this lovely man.

hes great

I barely even know him

but hes great

adam

dont do something stupid

dont get hurt

please

i can't handle it

god

this guy is gonna die

before kim gets any info

and shes gonna feel guilty

he gon die

ik it

GOD NO

HER SHAKING HAND

COVERED IN BLOOD

GODDAMMIT

THE GUNSHOTS

KIM

PLEASE

MY POOR GIRL

LEAVE HER ALONE DAMMIT

AND KEEP ADAM SAFE

god im too weak for this

i can't handle it

KIM

PLEASE

MY BABY

PLEASE

STOP IT

STOP

god

im dying

adammmmmmmm

save your girl

KIM

PLEASE

nooooooo

STOP

kim and adam

my babies

my loves

my BABIES

STOP IT

GOD FUCKIN DAMMIT

STOP

STOP THIS HURT

oh poor girl

my poor baby

god shes COVERED in blood

kim

please

just fuckin take care of yourself

please

dont do something stupid

TRUDYYYY

also

nobody believes you kim

nobody believes that youre okay

cuz youre not

no torres?

dammit

kim why would you do this

why must you hurt yourself like this

HOW CAN YOU KEEP HURTING ME DAMMIT

chicago pd writers pay for my therapy challenge

please

yay dead body

im feeling sorry for the dead guy

oh joy

bloody clothes and the look on kim’s face

honey

why do you do this to yourself??

why

oop she found something

what is it??

ayyy the team’s here

jamie’s uncle???

bruh what???

where's the explanation

im scared

please let them be okay

‘chicago pd. get up.’

so nice of him

if someone were to wake me up in the middle of the night like that

id either slap them

or scream

lady

cmon

dont lie

kim looks close to crying

and im right along with her

ayyy minnesota

kim what did you find

oop

ineteresting

oh my god

this is so interesting

im very invested

something about the way kev says ‘no ma’am’ does something to me

THEY BOTH LOOK SO GOOD IN THEIR BLACKOUT GEAR

ayyy its the patrol buddies

kev and cruz just looking at Kim while shes moving the thing

peak comedy honestly

damn

kim’s just connecting all of the dots today

WHAT THE FUCK

oh lovely

this is fucking great

yknow what's funny to me?

in like, the first three seasons

voight didn't give a damn about whether someone asked for their lawyers or not

but season 10 voight

suddenly has a goddamn moral compass

and while its great character development

i also find it funny when he deems someone ‘immoral’

when he used to be

the fucking DEFINITION

of immoral

moving on

hailey looks so good oh my god

oh poor jamie

burzek my loves

do they ever get their happy ending??

scary woods yay

they can't ever go investigating in a park??

or at like disneyland??

it has to be scary woords

but that view is actually really nice

so pretty

with the waterfalls and everything

i like it

kiM DONT DO SOMEThiNG STuPID??

DONT

I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS

GODDAMMIT KIM

DONT

DONT INVESTIGATE BY YOURSELF

FUCKIN

KIM COME ON

DONT

god this scene is causing me so much anxiety

thiS IS SUCH A BAD IDEA

SHUT UP

CMON

WHAT WAS THAT SCREAM

HOLY SHIT NO

STOP WAIT

THiS POOR CHILD

WAIT KIM NO

BAD MEMORIES

PLEASE DONT

DONT

NOPE

CMON

this poor kid

this poor poor kid

goD SOMEONE IS GOING TO CLOSE IT

SHIT NOOO

OH MY GOD

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

THAT WAS FUCKING TERRIFYING ARE YOU KIDDING ME

I FUCKING KNEW IT

HE CLOSED IT

GODDAMMIT

THIS POOR KID

COME ON

WHY DO YOU SCARE ME LIKE THIS

KIM

PLEASE

STOP HURTING ME

officer kim burgess telling the kid to breathe when she can't even breathe

stop hurting me dammit

coME ON

COME ON

PLEASE

IM IN SO MUCH PAIN

PLEASE

SOMEONE HELP HER

FUCKIN HELL

HOW CAN SHE TELL THE KID TO BREATHE

WHEN SHES NOT EVEN BREATHING PROPERLY

KIM

K I M

GOD

STOP IT

YOURE FUCKIN SCARING ME

K I M

WHY WOULD YOU CRAWL INTO THE WELL

WITHOUT BACK UP

ADAM

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU

COME AND GET YOUR WIFE

CO M E O N

PLEASE

SOMEONE

HELP THEM

kinda irrelevant

but

kim is great with kids

WHAT

HAPPENING

ADAM

WHERE ARE YOU

WHAT THE FUCK IS THiS

COMEON

KIM

PleASE

PLEASE BE OKAY

ADAM

BRO

WHAT THE FUCK

AYY

THERES TWO ROCKS GONE

COME ON

YES

THANK FUCKIN CHRIST

THAN K YOU JESUS

OH THANK FUCKING LORD

OH NOW

NOW HE SHOWS UP

LOVELY

ADAM

WHERE THE FUCKING HELL WERE YOU MAN

KIM

MY LOVE

BREATHE

PLEASE

STOP

IM CRYING

IM NOT OKAY

oh joy

therapy??

no wait

is it?

yes

its therapy

my poor girl

please

be patient

‘not for my daughter... not for adam’

chicago pd writers

wrITE A GODDAMN HAPPY ENDING FOR THEM ALREADY

oh my god wait

pls tell me she isn't leaving the show

marina

please

i love you so much

dont leave

i really hope youre not leaving

*screams*

KIM

marina is such a good fucking actress

shes amazing

y’know, i can't actually believe that chicago pd writers are actually ACKNOWLEDGING the trauma that kim went through

i dont believe that they are actually showing the consequences of what happened to kim

why do i feel like it won't last tho?

like for a few episodes

and then

*poof*

gone

#*kissy kissy* watches chicago pd #kim burgess #adam ruzek #chicago pd 10x14 spoilers #chicago pd 10x14

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tennessoui · 2 years ago

Note

Prompt: Can you shut up!?

hey hi hello!!! so this is set in the princess diaries au (no shame if you never heard of it, it's about 4 posts from about 5 months ago, i just thought the quote fit)

but basically anakin is the princess who writes the diary, obi-wan is chris pratt in the second movie, and they're very annoyed at each other except they also can't stay away or keep their hands off each other. because well. mutual obsession etc etc

(2.8k)

“Princess! Fancy seeing you here,” the most unwelcome voice in the entirety of Genovia and perhaps the world greets Anakin as he turns the corner into the main entrance hall.

He considers turning back immediately, but his grandfather has been trying to drill manners into his head and he knows that such a display of preference—dispreference, perhaps?—would be breaking half.

(Even though it’s not as if Anakin sees Qui-Gon obey all the rules Anakin has spent hours learning since he’d been discovered by his grandfather in San Francisco. All Anakin is saying is if Qui-Gon can knight a cop in order to get out of a speeding ticket, Anakin should be able to walk away from smarmy assholes who don’t know when to stop.)

“Lord Kenobi, what a surprise seeing you. Here. In my home,” he places his hands behind his back, files clenched just a hair too tightly between his hands. “Uninvited,” he adds in case the lord has not noticed that part.

“Apologies,” Lord Kenobi replies. He’s sitting on a side table, probably a Genovian antique worth more than his entire life, long legs crossed at the ankles in front and arms crossed over his chest. Does the man ever wear anything that isn’t a suit? At least he’s left off the jacket this time, but that might even be worse. All Anakin can see is his bare forearms, flexed as they are in that position.

All he can think about is the ball from two nights ago. It had been Anakin’s twenty-first birthday celebration, a coming of age in Genovia that could not be swept under the rug. That was how Qui-Gon put it, though Anakin still thinks his grandfather simply adores having a reason to throw a party.

He’d been warned beforehand that the guest list was mostly princesses and ladies and duchesses, women and girls looking to win his favor and eventually his ring. There weren’t many single, handsome, titled men these days—for good reason, of course, but still.

He’d been warned, but he hadn’t been prepared. After an hour and a half of dancing, he’d taken refuge in the linen closet off the main hall, several rooms away. He’d just needed space to breathe unperfumed air, to clear his head, to remember that he wasn’t just Ani anymore, the poor kid from San Francisco with the shit haircut he loved. He was Anakin Espa Tatoin Set de Shmison, Prince of Genovia.

And that meant dancing with women in ball gowns and long nails that pinched at his arms when he tried to leave before they were ready to see him go. That meant being a piece of meat, to be studied and measured by people he had no interest in.

But how can he say that?

Single, handsome, titled men are supposed to be straight. They’re supposed to be interested in women. And if they’re not—if they’re interested in men as well, that has to be an afterthought. That has to be a shameful secret, hidden away while they parade their beautiful wives around the world.

And single, handsome, titled men who aren’t interested in women at all? Who have only ever wanted to love another man openly and ardently? Who went to the San Francisco Pride Festival at the age of twelve and bawled in the streets at the realization that he wasn’t alone in feeling this way?

Those don’t exist. Ani cannot exist, not if Anakin, Prince of Genovia is supposed to.

So he’d needed a second to remember, to get his head and his story, well. Straight. And he’d ducked out of the room, into a linen closet just for a few moments to breathe.

That’s all he’d had. Just a few moments. And then the door had opened and someone had closed themselves in with him.

Anakin had opened his mouth to protest—because, really, this was all very indecent, there was hardly any space between their bodies. If Anakin moved a single half-step forward, his entire front would be brushing along a—a very firm chest and broad shoulders, nice arms covered by a dark blue suit.

He must have swallowed his tongue there for a second, and it had given the strange man an opening. “Hello, darling,” he’d said, tone a low hot murmur very close to his ear. “Sincerest apologies for barging in like this, but I wanted to give you this.”

In his hand had been a champagne flute. For the first time, Anakin had followed the line of his arm up to his shoulder and then to his face. The man was gorgeous. His beard was neatly trimmed to the lines of his jaw, his eyes pleasantly crinkled on his smile. His hair had been styled, but several pieces had been falling out and they hung over his forehead.

“I heard it was your birthday, princess,” he’d teased in that same low tone, the lilting accent of a native Genovian coloring his words. “And I know in America they never celebrate twenty-first birthdays without a bit of alcohol. What do they call it again? When they go to different bars all in the same night for the sake of getting wasted?”

Getting wasted had never sounded more appealing than it did in that voice. “Twenty-one run,” Anakin had replied, taking the champagne from the man’s hand. “Usually it’s with harder stuff than champagne though.”

The man had smiled. “Champagne is the chaser, if you want.” He’d opened his jacket to pull out a silvery flask, shaking it slightly so Anakin could hear the liquid sloshing around.

And well. Many people had told Anakin many things throughout the course of his life but definitely since he became Prince of Genovia.

But no one had ever told him not to accept drinks from attractive strangers in cupboards.

They’d stayed there for at least an hour, talking in hushed tones and swapping the flask back and forth, champagne mostly forgotten. When Obi-Wan—his name was Obi-Wan Kenobi, what an amazing name—had complained about it being slightly cramped with both of them sitting opposite each other, Anakin had—Anakin had climbed into his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.

And they’d laughed and Anakin hadn’t heard anything of what Obi-Wan said because he’d been too distracted by the way the man’s hands felt on his waist, and he’d felt so tired that he’d tried to curl up on him and go to sleep right there, face pressed against his neck so that all he could smell was Obi-Wan’s perfume, so strong at this part of his body that it almost drowned out all memories of the perfumes of the women at the ball.

The thought had woken him up. The ball. His ball. He’d been languishing in a linen closet for ages while his ball was going on. Unacceptable. Deplorable.

Obi-Wan had been shocked to feel him scramble up and away, shocked to watch him scrub a hand down his face and over his hair.

“No, no, I have to go,” Anakin had warbled when Obi-Wan’s hands had reached out to catch his own, bring him back to his lap. “No, I can’t—I’m not Ani, I have to be—I’m Anakin, Prince of…Anakin has to…he can’t like you, he has to go—he has to go dance with girls.”

Obi-Wan had stood up and looked at him with such kind, sad eyes that Anakin had thought he would cry if he had to see anything more. He’d turned to go, but Obi-Wan had caught his wrist, pulled him back and into his arms for a crushing and achingly quick hug. “You can have both,” he’d whispered in his ear. “I promise, Anakin. You don’t have to choose between who you are and what your duty is.”

Anakin had shaken his head sharply once, fighting the urge to cry, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t be both. Obi-Wan didn’t understand. Obi-Wan was just a lord. He didn’t understand that as a prince—he was expected to marry, expected to give heirs, expected to—

He’d left the closet but had been unable to get the words of the lord out of his head. Three dances later, he’d seen Obi-Wan standing on the sidelines of the room, next to a severe looking old man, hands clasped behind his back and legs indecently set apart.

You can have both, Obi-Wan had whispered. But was that true? Could it really be true?

It had been liquid courage that had made him cross the room to stand before Obi-Wan as the strings of the last song died. “Can I have this dance?” He’d asked, like an idiot, a tipsy, smitten child. And that’s exactly what Obi-Wan had treated him as, looking quickly at the old man next to him before he’d looked back at Anakin with an eyebrow raised in derision.

“I don’t know,” he’d said, lilting voice carrying so far the palace guards at the mouth of the driveway probably heard. “Can you?”

Anakin had flushed so red, it was a miracle he hadn’t simply burst into flames. But he’d wanted Obi-Wan. He’d wanted to be held and to hold the man again. Something about being around him made him feel safe and looked after. Protected. “May I?”

And Obi-Wan, the man who had chuckled so deeply into his hair in the linen closet not even an hour ago had turned his head. “I believe someone more suiting your tastes is waiting over there,” he’d said, and Anakin had followed his gaze to spot a young woman clutching at her matriach’s hand, staring at him with stars in her eyes.

“I do not,” he’d said, and he’d sounded unsure, he knows he had. He’d broken and whispered almost furiously between them. “I hoped I could have both.”

Obi-Wan had taken a pointed sip of his champagne flute. “And I hope that with age, your naivety will meet its end. Happy birthday, my prince.”

And then he’d bowed, and then he’d left with that old man, and Anakin had been able to hear the whispers around the ballroom. He’d been so embarrassed, he’d been so angry—

And now Obi-Wan Kenobi is here, leaning on a table and looking at him consideringly as if he has any right to his time or his fucking—side table after what he’d done. He’d humiliated him, after letting him be vulnerable with him.

Worse, he’d—he’d given him hope. And then he’d taken it all away. He’d been a right dick, and Anakin despises him, an opinion that will never change.

“I’m not expecting visitors,” he tells him in a clipped manner, striding by. If he cannot turn around and leave, he will walk past and not engage. There—the grand staircase. He will go up a flight, perhaps two, and then into a random room full of things that can hopefully be broken without costing Genovia a fortune, and he will have a tantrum. “I’m much too busy today.”

“Are you?” Lord Kenobi asks. He says it like it’s a question he already knows the answer to. There’s the sounds of the man getting up, standing straight, and following him, but Anakin is walking much too fast to care.

He does care, however, when the files behind his back are plucked from his hands.

“Looking for a wife, are you?” Kenobi asks rhetorically, thumbing through the files.

Anakin whips around, hand already outstretched, but Kenobi ducks away. “Give those back,” he demands, stalking after him.

“I’m reading,” Kenobi says. “Too boring. Too spontaneous. Too cookie-cutter. Not rich enough. Owns a baking show, but only because of her title, you don’t want that sort of artificiality in your life.”

“Ahrt-e-fiss-i-a-lity,” Anakin mocks before he can stop himself. Kenobi looks over his shoulder with a lazy raised eyebrow, and Anakin wants to kill him.

He starts ascending the stairs and Anakin tears after him, tossing the idea of tackling him onto the floor out of his mind before it can completely form. It would be very satisfying though.

“All women,” Obi-Wan concludes as he reaches the top of the stairs. “Anakin,” his tone is…is disapproving almost. “We talked about this.”

Anakin wants to wrap his hands around Obi-Wan’s neck and squeeze. It is quite a feat of self-control that he does not. “Was that before or after you rejected me on the dancefloor?” he hisses at him angrily.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth as if to say something, but he pauses first and tilts his head. Anakin freezes as well when he hears the voices of a couple of maids down the hall.

Rumors have already begun to spread after the disastrous finale of Anakin’s birthday ball. He does not need to be caught arguing with Obi-Wan Kenobi right now, lest he feed more wood into those flames.

Without quite understanding why his actions are so bad, he blindly reaches out to the closest door and shoves both of them inside its opening.

“Princess, we have to stop meeting like this,” Obi-Wan says, pressed solidly against his front, the folders of all of Anakin’s possible wives the only thing keeping their chests from touching. “People will talk.”

Anakin feels his mouth drop open in outrage before he hits at Obi-Wan’s chest. “People are talking!” he hisses. “You—you rejected me! In front of everyone!”

“You weren’t in your right mind, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, letting himself be hit. Anakin doesn’t like that. Anakin wants Kenobi to fight back. “You were at least tipsy, on your way to fully sozzled. That sort of decision, it needs to be made fully sober. I refuse to take advantage of you like that.”

Anakin stares without seeing at Obi-Wan’s chest, bottom lip trembling slightly despite his best effort. “You were cruel,” he finally manages to say, slapping at Obi-Wan’s chest again. “You were cruel.”

Obi-Wan is silent for several seconds, before he lets out a little sigh. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I am. I—my grandfather was with me, you see. And it would be—if he knew that you held me in high regard, it would be terrible for you. For the crown. And I find myself…opposed to putting you in such a position.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan frowns at the question as if it’s especially offensive to him.

“Because I don’t like thinking about you in distress.”

“Oh, did you not see me after you rejected me in front of—”

“I said, my grandfather was next to me—”

“Oh, well if your grandfather was—”

“I didn’t expect you to do something so public—”

“You got me drunk in a closet and you—”

“I expected a bit more class—”

“I asked you to dance, I didn’t ask you to blow me in the throne room, for fuck’s—”

“Would you?” Obi-Wan is somehow so much closer than before, and Anakin’s hands fall to his shirt for a grip. “Would you ask that of me?”

Anakin falls silent, still. He has no idea what Obi-Wan wants, no idea what the man is after. It feels like all he can do is answer honestly, and the word is on the tip of his tongue when Obi-Wan speaks again. “I would,” he whispers like a secret between them. “If my prince wanted it of me. If I thought my lips wrapped around his length would halt his foolish search for a wife when we both know they’d never be able to give him what he needs—-”

“Can you shut up?” Anakin cries much too loudly, and Obi-Wan grins in the darkness of the closet. “Make me,” he requests teasingly, but Anakin has had enough of being teased by this man. Anakin will not take this any longer.

He sets about making him, yanking him closer to him until their mouths meet. Immediately, Anakin’s eyes slide shut because this is a kiss and he only knows one way to kiss someone: gently, softly.

But he isn’t feeling very gentle and soft towards Obi-Wan right now, and the lord definitely isn’t feeling the same if the way he bites at his lip is any indication. Anakin can’t stop the way he yelps, and when Obi-Wan takes advantage of his opened mouth, he can’t even say he’s surprised.

His yelp quickly turns into an embarrassingly loud moan, and he grips at Obi-Wan’s hair, shoving him back against the wall.

There’s a rushing waterfall of paper, as Obi-Wan drops the files in his hands in order to grab at Anakin’s waist and pull him in, pull him closer.

And that’s how the maid finds them on her journey to grab new linens for one of the bedrooms, liplocked and making out against the one part of the small space, Obi-Wan’s leg slipped between Anakin’s, while Anakin’s hands are clenched around his thighs, the smiling faces of Anakin’s potential wives laying discarded and forgotten on the floor.

#asks #obikin #prompt fill #princess diaries au #but a little different #in that they're definitely caught kissing in that closet #and also obi-wan is not strong enough to carry on the ruse as long as chris pine is in the second movie #he just looks at anakin and crumbles and wants to help him and be there for him and respect himm #etc etc #he also does not want to see him marrying any young and eligible women #mostly because this anakin is absolutely not interested in women at all #and obi-wan hates to think of him closeting himself like that for life #but also because he'd be sad if anakin married someone not him :(#also obi-wan just calls anakin princess because i think thats hot no more questions pleasae #yes this is STILL a switch au

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