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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 1 year ago

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taedros taedros

part two: taedros twodros ☆ part three: taedros tresdros**NEW wc: 2k reader: femme afab warnings: MINORS DNI EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ -- porn with plot, oral f!receiving, swearing, calling tae a virgin loser as a joke, mentioning the weeknd LMAO summary: loserbestfriend!taerae makes you watch the idol on hbo max with him for movie night, but a certain convertible scene sparks your "curiosity" more than the others... and taerae proves he might not be such a loser after all. :0 omg who am i?? i even wrote in all lower case letters in the fic to throw you off... i know you'll know right away though but that's not the point lmao!! i just didn't think i should be this horny for taerae on main so. here's the dedicated zb1 smut blog no one was asking for (except me. i was asking for it so let me live.) thank you to taerae for posting these pics next to each other and ruining my life. also the idol sucks and sam levinson and the weeknd are horrific for creating it. i only know some scenes from it because i watch comedy commentary videos about it. jennie is beautiful tho love her. ALSO i thought of this title and i cried laughing. mwahaha okay thanks for reading byeeeee

“this is the worst show I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say with a laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn in your mouth. “i can’t believe we’ve made it through two episodes already.”

🚨 SMUT BELOW CUT -- MINORS DNI -- 18+ 🚨

taerae sighs, “i think i’m gonna need to bleach my eyes.”

“throw some in my ears while you’re at it,” you joke, letting a leg drape over your best friend’s. you’re crammed together in the bottom bunk of his dorm room bed, watching the idol on the tv that’s hung at the foot of it. “i will never, ever be able to unhear the weeknd whispering, ‘stretch that tiny little pussy for me’. and every single day i will beg the lord for mercy.”

“are we sure we wanna watch the third episode?” taerae asks, shifting a bit next to you. “this show is so graphic.”

“of course the virgin wants to chicken out,” you tease, smacking his stomach with a pillow. he grabs it from you and leaves it there. “you’re the one who wanted to watch it! now you wanna quit two episodes in? not gonna happen. we can make it through this.”

if you hadn’t pressed play at that exact moment, you would’ve heard taerae gulp beside you.

the intro of the show plays, assaulting your eyes with an up-close and personal view of jocelyn’s bare chest. what else is new? you yawn, hoping the third episode’s graphic scenes (at the very least) won’t be repetitive. bitch has put on a blindfold to end both episodes so far...

sitting with your back leaning against the wall, you try to steal a glance at taerae. his upper back is propped up on his pillow as he lies perpendicular to you, facing the tv screen. you watch his eyes, catching the subtle dilation of his pupils. it could be the light from the television in the otherwise dark room shifting their size, but you find yourself curious nonetheless.

“do you think she’s pretty?” you ask suddenly.

taerae coughs. “me? do i think the actress is pretty?”

you nod, eyes returning to the screen in hopes that the lack of eye contact will make taerae feel comfortable enough to give you an answer.

“she’s pretty, yeah,” he says after a moment.

“like, you’re attracted to her?” you clarify, throwing another piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“uh,” he hesitates and you feel his legs tense up under yours. “i guess. i mean she’s not really my type, but--.”

“but you like her tits.”

“exactly,” taerae agrees too quickly. “wait, no--.”

“no need to walk it back,” you cut him off with a snort. “boobs are hot. end of story.”

taerae sits up a bit more, seemingly trying to relax after your probing. you didn’t talk to taerae about sex or girls all that much, but you’d be lying if you said the show hadn’t suddenly made you a bit curious. what experience did your lovable loser of a best friend have-- if any at all?

the interrogatory questions you’re suddenly wanting to ask are thrown from your brain, however, as the show now cuts to a shot of the weeknd (you and taerae refuse to call him tedros tedros) and jocelyn in the back of a convertible-- their poor assistant driving these two insufferable cretins down the freeway.

nothing’s out of the ordinary until jocelyn crawls from her seat and lifts one leg to straddle the weeknd. she’s in a slinky tangerine bodysuit and little black shorts and the weeknd’s hands easily envelope her waist. you roll your eyes, already having grown so sick of these two.

but when jocelyn is suddenly pushed to the edge of the seat, her back against the car door and her head resting on the frame-- your attention is piqued. the weeknd wraps his hands around her thighs, prying them apart so he can pull her shorts to the side just enough to fit his tongue. the actress’s head lolls back over the car door frame; her blonde hair dangling over the side and flowing in the wind. her face is screwed up in absolute bliss and the sounds coming out of her confirm her state.

would she really be screaming like that just from his tongue?

“um,” you hear taerae say and you look over at him curiously. “if-- if he’s good with it, then yeah. she would be, i guess.”

you frown. what was he talking about? if he’s good with what? ... oh fuck, you think as you realize that you’d accidentally said your previous thought out loud. and now poor taerae is stumbling to give you an answer.

what did he say? if he’s good with it then she would be.

“huh,” you mumble, your brow furrowing as you ponder his answer.

you turn back to the tv, but taerae clears his throat. “what?”

“what? what do you mean, what?”

“why did you say ‘huh’ like that?” he asks, the pillow on his stomach rustling as he shifts slightly. “do you not agree or something?”

“oh, uh,” you stutter as you feel your cheeks start to heat, not sure what to say. “um, i guess i wouldn’t know.”

the silence from taerae is deafening as your eyes stay locked on the tv. you’re not sure why you said that. you could’ve just lied. you should’ve just lied.

“are you a virgin?” taerae asks softly. the accusation whips your head around to stare at him angrily and his eyes widen cautiously.

“obviously not,” you answer in a huff. “i just... i’ve never...”

you look down at your lap, picking at the skin on your fingers. you should stop while you can. you don’t need to tell the truth. why are you even considering telling him this?

“no one’s ever gone down on me or anything.”

“oh,” taerae manages to respond after a long moment, but you can’t even look at him.

“yeah.”

another moment of silence. “you shouldn’t be, like, embarrassed by that. that’s... that’s entirely their fault for not prioritizing you, you know?”

your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, the aforementioned embarrassment flushing your skin as you nod. the show is still playing, but you can only hear garbled sounds. why did you tell him that!? now taerae has to awkwardly comfort you when you could’ve just shut your mouth in the first place. you didn’t really talk about these kinds of things with taerae. your best friend was there for movie nights, chinese food binges, laughing until you cry, and most importantly taking the absolute piss out of...

and here you were making him uncomfortable by randomly talking about your oral virginity.

“would you want me to do it?”

taerae’s voice is so quiet that you’re positive for a moment that you hallucinated it. you look over at your best friend tentatively to find his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping his pillow to his stomach.

“what?”

taerae blinks nervously. “if you wanted to, you know, try it... i could--.”

“WHAT!?” you shout; hands grabbing the pillow on taerae’s stomach and throwing it across the room. “are you-- are you fucking joking!? you think i’m desperate enough to ask my best friend to eat me out?”

“no, no, no,” taerae respond quickly, hands flying up in defense. “not at all!”

“then what?” you ask, jaw setting in anger as you wait for a good enough answer to keep you from punching him in the balls.

taerae’s lips form the slightest pout. “you seemed really curious about it. i just... i just thought i’d offer.”

you bite your lip as you think. “what do you even know about that kind of thing? I thought you were a virgin loser.”

“ouch,” taerae says but quickly shrugs it off. “i guess you’re only right about half of that statement.”

you frown. even though you’d never talked about it before, was taerae secretly experienced? more experienced than you?

“you don’t have to say yes though,” he adds quickly. “i’m sorry; i probably shouldn’t have said any--.”

“okay,” you cut him off softly.

taerae’s eyes widen in surprise. “okay?”

you nod slowly. “i don’t believe you that you’re not a virgin loser, but if you’re offering...”

taerae sits up, leaning on his hands as a little smirk lights up his face. “i’ll eat you out and then you can eat those words. how does that sound?”

the way your heat flutters at his words catches you off guard. so does the way he swiftly flips you onto your back as you take the position he was just in.

“whoah,” you exhale, your best friend absolutely knocking the wind out of you as he positions himself between your thighs. he takes the hem of your shorts in his fingers, eyebrows raising at you expectantly. you lift up your hips enough for him to shimmy them off, discarding them on the floor without taking his eyes off your still-clothed center.

you glance at your underwear, panic immediately hitting you when you realize you wore the only clean pair that you had left...

a black, lace thong.

they were the only pair left, because you honestly hadn’t had a reason to wear them in a little while.

“fuck,” taerae curses, hands wrapped around the outsides of your thighs. “were you going somewhere after this or...?”

“if you don’t shut your mouth, i’ll be going somewhere before this,” you threaten, but the words come out shakier than you would’ve liked as taerae begins to plant open-mouthed kisses up your thighs. “... ‘s laundry day tomorrow.”

“mm, I see,” he replies, shifting his weight to one hand so he can bring his right hand to your heat. your heart rate rises as he moves towards where you’re quickly growing to need his attention most. two fingers press at your clothed-core gently and the sound of the tv in the background does nothing to dampen the moan that escapes you from just the small amount of pressure.

“laundry day’s coming just in time i think,” taerae says, a smirk highlighting his cavernous dimples in a light you’ve never seen before. “from the way you’re soaking through these.”

“shut up,” you groan, bringing your hands up to cover your face. taerae hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, tugging at them playfully to get your attention. peeking out through your fingers, you glare at him.

“do you want to stop?” he asks, removing his hands quickly. “we can stop if you want to or need to or anything.”

you reach down and grab both of his hands in yours, reattaching them to your underwear. “please keep going.”

he blinks at you for a moment before nodding, pulling your thong down your legs as you lift your hips up for him. taerae lies down fully in between your thighs now, guitar-string calloused hands wrapping around your thighs and guiding them to rest on his shoulders.

“so pretty,” he whispers. eyes focusing on your throbbing cunt, taerae’s grip on your legs gets a little tighter-- a little more desperate. “really.”

“thanks,” you respond shyly, watching as a bit of steam begins to coat the rim of taerae’s glasses. you can’t help but smile as you reach for them, carefully removing the frames and placing them on the stand next to his bed.

“thanks,” he echoes.

“i’m still not convinced that you aren’t a-- oh fuck...” just as you’re about to tease your loser of a best friend again, his tongue finds your core and licks a long stripe up from your opening to your clit. taerae exhales a laugh against your pussy, tongue circling your clit as his hands now take hold of your hips.

“wait, what the fuck?” you whine breathlessly as he works you over with his mouth. “tae, i thought... oh my god.”

“taste so good, baby,” taerae moans like he’s enjoying it just as much as you are. he slips a finger in your entrance carefully, stretching you until he deems you ready for a second. “Think this pussy might be perfect.”

his eyes are closed; eating at you like you’re his favorite meal. it’s hot. way hotter than the scene from the show. way hotter than anything on that stupid show-- in which another sex scene is playing on the screen behind taerae. you suddenly feel so much pity for jocelyn; one of the hardest characters in history to pity. but the fact that there’s no way tedros fucking tedros is eating her out as good as taerae’s eating you out right now is tugging at your heart strings.

“tae,” you whimper, feeling the knot in the pit of your stomach begin to tighten. your hand tangling up in his hair at the nape of his neck causes him to moan into you and the vibration only makes you tug harder. “please, please wanna cum.”

“already? you sure?” he says, disappointment coating his voice. “could eat this pussy all night.”

“holy shit,” you exhale. you didn’t even know taerae was capable of talking like this. the only time he ever said pussy around you was if he was calling you one. now as he looks up at you from between your thighs, his pretty dimpled-smile covered in your juices as he continues to fuck you with his fingers and press his thumb against your clit...

you’re nodding frantically now. “please, please tae. make me cum.”

“fuck, baby, okay. whatever you want,” he agrees quickly, the lust in his eyes at your demand reaching a whole new level. he removes his thumb from your clit and the sudden lack of contact causes you to whine pathetically. “sshhh, don’t worry baby. i’ve got something even better, i promise.”

just as some tears from frustration are welling up in your eyes, taerae’s lips close around your clit and he begins to suck. “oh my GOD,” is all you can manage as your orgasm starts to wash over you. “taerae. oh my god, tae... c-cumming.”

you’re grinding your pussy against his tongue now to maximize the friction and the way he lifts your hips a bit to bring you even closer tells you that he’s loving every second of this. your moans match the ones that taerae is mewing into your core. he places your hips back down onto the mattress, holding them steady as you start to squirm a bit from the overstimulation. he continues to lap at you gently as your hand falls from his hair to his shoulder, causing him to look up at you.

your cheeks are red now from both your climax and the new wave of embarrassment that’s creeping up on you. you’re not sure what to say, but luckily taerae’s got you covered.

he inserts two fingers inside of you again and then pulls them out-- covered in your juices. without hesitating, he sticks them in his mouth and sucks them clean. “you’ve tasted yourself, right? probably a lot. fuck, i’m so jealous.”

your jaw drops a bit, now doubly unable to speak at the filth pouring out of your best friend’s mouth..

taerae frowns at you. “what? you want to make this awkward now?”

you shake your head.

“was it good?” he asks, head tilting to the side as he squints slightly. you reach over to his nightstand and grab his glasses, handing them back to him. he puts them on; raising his hand to ruffle his hair.

“you know it was good,” you mumble annoyedly.

he grins. “yeah. i do.”

“UGH,” you groan, hiding behind your hands again. “i hate you.”

“please, pleeeease tae,” he mocks, climbing up closer to your face to really rub it in. “make me cum.”

“SHUT UP!” you shout, hitting his chest with your fists in annoyance. “do not get cocky about this.”

taerae shrugs, biting his lip to keep from smirking. “i guess you never wanna do this again then?”

you sigh defeatedly before replying softly, “i didn’t say that.”

“good,” he says with a smile-- shifting to the edge of the bed and standing up. “i’m gonna get you some water and a towel, okay? don’t move a muscle.”

you don’t. taerae had made sure of that with the orgasm he’d just pulled out of you. as the door to his dorm room closes behind him, you’re left with only your thoughts and the sound of that shitty tv show playing in the background. you reach for the remote weakly, pressing pause on a bizarre scene of the weeknd jerking it over a clothing rack (?).

all you can think about, though, is taerae lapping at your pussy like a starved man. what the fuck just happened? did you really just let your best friend eat you out?

and how the fuck had he managed to leave you wanting more?

1K notes · View notes

zirconika · 4 months ago

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I would love if you could write a fluffy negan x fem!reader one shot, there is genuinely not enough!!! I can’t think of any prompts tho I’m sorry 😭 but if you’re not able to write it then it’s all good🫶🏻

déjà vu

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Negan Smith x Fem!Grimes!Reader WORDS: 3.6k SUMMARY: Being in charge of guarding Negan’s cell has given you plenty of opportunities to spend time with him against your will, but you unexpectedly end up bonding with him. Which is why nothing could have prepared you for finding out that you’ve met before and how. (Reader is Rick’s sister) WARNINGS: fluff, blood … idk what to say just read it!!! SETTING: post-negan alexandria A/N: oh my god nonnie u r absolutely correct i just checked there’s a concerning shortage in negan fluff so ask and you shall receive!!! ps im nawt sure what u had in mind so i hope this works

You hated Negan. End of story.

“Why do I have to be the one to do all this?” you’d complain to yourself every time you were handed the food you’d have to deliver to his cell. But you knew why. Your grief and your injury made you a liability than an asset out in the field, thus you found yourself assigned to something worse than desk duty—Negan duty.

The day your brother presumably died, you were so close to reaching him. Just a couple more steps ahead of you and you could have saved him…

But upon the explosion of the bridge had you skidding away, having you hit your head down on the harsh surface of the ground, blood spilling from under the back of your head as well as your broken leg… It had gotten blurry, but it happened nonetheless.

You were bedridden for a week, and you hated it—being left all alone to bear the weight of your grief. The communities were in shambles, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to lead just like your brother did.

When you got better, the ‘council’ refused to let you out, assigning you instead to managing the damned prisoner you had never once bothered to visit for any reason ever since he got locked up.

Now, there you were everyday, feeding the sick bastard canned tuna for breakfast.

“Where’s the other guy?” he had asked you on the first day you stopped by. Without a word, you gave him his plate, only to sit down across from him, your arms crossed.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m just doing my job.”

“Goddamn,” he said, that grin of his spirited as ever. Fuck this guy. You started to think of ways you could poison his meals without anyone knowing. “They gave you the fun work from home job? Not cool!”

The first time you met Negan was when he came by Alexandria. You weren’t there when the line-up happened, but it changed Rick. You’d never seen your brother so lost, disconnected from himself and everyone.

He didn’t eat the first meal you brought him, or the second, not even the third.

For a while, it was just like that—you glaring at him while he talked all about… Well, Negan talked about everything. He never seemed to shut up. At least when you were around. When you got better, you began going out again to go on supply runs and when you returned to fulfill your tasks of distributing his food, you also began to notice the change in him.

“Took you long enough,” he said. This time, he really took the time to dig in. “How was the outside? Fun?”

“It was alright,” you said. You’d been against holding a conversation with him, having carried the anger you thought your brother deserved to harness against him. But you’d been feeling so alone the entire time, you decided talking wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Found a box of canned goods, so that’s that. Good thing I don’t have any assholes taking half of whatever I got.”

“Ha ha,” Negan deadpanned as he continued eating. “I was worried you’d never show up. Been meaning to finally talk to someone.”

“What, you don’t blabber your ass off to any of the guys who’ve visited you?”

“Hell no,” he responded, looking at you as if what you just suggested was the worst thing in the world.

Racking your mind on why on Earth would this dipshit find you entertaining to talk to despite you not holding any form of conversation throughout your entire time together last time, you decided there was only one possible reason. “You think I’m easy to crack.”

“No, are you crazy?” He looked up at you with a grin on his face as he ate his meal from his seat. “You just seem like the listener type. A lot of you Grimes do.”

You wanted to ask what he meant by that, but you kept your mouth shut. You let him talk his ass off until he finished his food before you wordlessly took his plate.

As you were about to leave the room, he called out to you. “This gonna be a regular thing?”

“I hope not,” you said as you stepped out and closed the door behind you, with no intention of making this your daily routine.

Except it eventually did. You don’t know how it happened, but it just did, and you let it. At one point, you started bringing him the food you cooked for yourself, asking him if it was good.

“Are you kidding me?” Negan said in between chews of the spaghetti you made. “I’d go as damn far as saying you might’ve beaten me in my own game.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned, parallel to what he’d replied to you on the first day of your routine. “You’re just trying to get me to open your gate for you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s the thing that just tickles ma balls.”

“Fucker,” you laughed.

You brought him all sorts of dishes you tried to cook. You would’ve asked Carol for help, but years after Rick’s death, everyone maintained a sort of distance from each other. It didn’t help that the Kingdom was hours away, and if you brought any of the food you made, it would’ve been rotten by the time you got there thanks to the heat.

It surprised you how easy it was to talk to him. Some days, you’d forget he was even a prisoner, but more of your friend. Then you’d remember everything he’s done and you’d become distant at times. Negan never commented on it, but he noticed it.

Michonne wanted to ask about why you were making food suitable for two people, but even she felt the gap between the two of you. You loved Michonne, but there was definitely a rift there somewhere.

The only time you’d hang out was when you were at the dinner table with her and the kids, and even then the two of you would only talk about whatever it was the kids wanted to talk about.

You were more close to Judith. For one, she was also fun to talk to.

You and Negan had that preference in common—talking to Judith Grimes.

It was thanks to Judith you found out about something. After reading to her in bed, you noticed she seemed to still be wide awake. “What, you’re not sleepy yet?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you,” she said, seemingly scared of something. You wondered if Negan had threatened her, that maybe his kindness towards you was in preparation for something sinister.

“Tell me what?”

Judith beckoned you to come closer. You oblige. To your surprise, your niece leaned into your ear to whisper, “Someone has a crush on you!”

You had a feeling who she was referring to. “Who?”

Judith backed away, sinking into her blanket. “I can’t say!”

“Well, what did this someone say?”

“I can’t tell you! Goodnight, Auntie!” And then Judith covered her blanket over her head, guilty about what she’d said. Could it be?

“You’re really not gonna tell me?” you teased your niece. But you knew that once Judith’s made up her mind, that was it. You watched as the blanket shifted left and right out of Judith shaking her head. “Alright, then. Good night, baby.”

Alas, you weren’t able to have your questions answered when you found out about Negan escaping.

You couldn’t find the words to describe how you were feeling, because it felt wrong to admit you even did feel anything. Maybe he was just using me so I wouldn’t notice his plans to escape… Did he always have plans to escape? Did he get out because of me?

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When he returned, he looked forward to seeing you again. While waiting, he fidgeted with his fingers. Negan Smith was a man of boastful performances; he always knew how to exude confidence in any situation. Coming back into his cell, he was so sure he’d have a fun time slipping back to your old routine together.

His heart almost leapt out of his throat when the door opened for the second time. The first time, he thought it was you, but he just got a whole lecture about everything.

It bored him to death. He’d returned. There was nothing for him out there, and even if there was… It didn’t matter anymore.

You had to ignore the familiarity in what he called you…

“Hey, gorgeous. Missed me?” He excitedly watched as you came in, his friendly grin faltering when he realized you came in with the food he was originally given during his first few years of imprisonment.

Canned tuna.

“What, no new meal you want me to test today?” he asked, albeit nervously. To Negan’s dismay, his confidence was wavering. “Hellooo?”

Instead of sitting or standing right next to his cell, you sat at the spot you’d taken on the first day. You crossed your arms.

“Oh, you’re pissed.”

You stared at him coldly. It bothered him, really. He’d gotten so used to seeing you with a warm, friendly smile on your face. He thought he’d have the luxury of seeing it again as soon as he returned.

Instead, he was met by your cold script, “Finish your meal.”

Negan began to strategize, thinking of how he wanted his play to be. In an attempt to reclaim his confidence, he decided to play the stubborn card, saying, “Nope.”

But you weren’t in the mood to play. “Alright, then don’t eat.”

“Fine,” he challenged.

But you weren’t the kind to back down either. “Fine.”

You were curious to know the story behind that subtle flash of recognition in his face that disappeared as soon as it came. It piqued your interest, as you recall having this conversation a long time ago…

Deja vu, you thought to yourself.

To your surprise, Negan shook his head. “Jeez, just got goosebumps. Got deja vu there for a minute, it’s insane.”

Though you were intent on maintaining distance from the prisoner, you couldn’t help but ask. It surely was easy to talk to the guy, you had to give him that. “You felt that, too?”

“Felt what?”

“Deja vu,” you clarified. Negan watched as you stood up to approach his cell. “Like it happened before.”

“Is it just me, or are we literally doing some batshit telepathy right now?” Negan jokes. “Makes me think it’s a soulmate thing.”

“It’s not a soulmate thing.” You wrap your fingers around a bar of his cell, contemplating where you might have had that conversation. The first time you met Negan, you felt as if his voice was familiar.

You searched the deepest crevices of your mind, trying to recall a time in your life when you might have possibly met the prisoner. One look at him and you knew he was doing the same.

Nothing came to mind.

“Fine.”

Except for one. Holy shit. He wasn’t sure, but a part of him felt like it was yanking something out from a library in his mind.

He set it aside for now. He wanted to talk to you first, properly. “[Y/N], this is gonna be a strange request but… Could you come in?”

“What?” you ask, snapping out from your focus. “Why would I do that?”

“Just get in the damn cell.”

“How do I know you won’t trick me just so you could slip out?”

His face screwed up into a frown. “Because I’m not even gonna try. I came back; I chose to. Because of you.”

“What?” you ask again, lost more than ever. It felt wrong that you were expecting something. This was Negan.

The same Negan who…

You shook your head. And you don’t know what force of nature propelled you to be stupid, but you oblige with his request. You sat down next to him on his cot in his cell.

Your backs were to the wall. It felt comfortable somehow. You eyed the stack of books he’d sped through reading whenever he was alone.

Negan set the plate of canned tuna aside, putting his hands on his lap. “You know why I came back?”

“Because you’re an idiot?”

The prisoner laughed, and an unsaid guilt clawed at you from the back of your mind, saying whatever this was… It was wrong. But with Negan, you never felt like you were alone. Which is why it sucked when he left.

“No, stupid. Because there was nothing for me out there.”

“What makes you think there’s something for you here?”

He looked at you this time, his eyes free of the malice you were used to seeing constantly present. “You.”

You had to scoff. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He thought back to all the times you’d sat right next to him with bars separating the two of you. How he’d never felt so welcomed except for in your presence.

How he waited for you to visit him. How he was constantly excited for the next time you’d come. How he’d get frustrated whenever it was someone else who’d open the door.

“Thought I was done for,” he confessed. “Until you came and I… I told myself I’d make amends with you out of respect for your brother and your nephew, bless their souls. Then you started visiting me by routine. I knew it was your job, but I never felt like I was behind bars whenever I was with you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

“It means I like you, if you didn’t get that.” He nudged your elbow, looking at you as if he were already expecting you to turn him down. “I just wanted to tell you so you’d understand.”

“I like you, too,” you blurted out.

This time, Negan was the one who couldn’t seem to find the right words to say, much less at least even any words at all.

“Rick dying like that… It changed me. Changed everyone, really. Nothing was ever the same and I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt alone, and I’m grateful you were there when I grieved. It just… Feels wrong to feel this way about you.”

Negan nodded. “I get it.”

You felt his hand on top of yours, rubbing it. He didn’t even realize he’d done it, but he left your hand alone when he noticed he did. You wish he didn’t.

But you had to be brave. Shamelessly, you grabbed his hand in yours, lacing your fingers with his. Negan let you. “You suck at this game, asshole.”

And the two of you froze. He knew where he knew you from, and so did you.

“Ho-ly shit,” Negan started. “Are you GorgeousArsenal777?”

It all made sense now. Holy shit, indeed. “You’re SaviorNutsack69?”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Way before the apocalypse, Negan had made it his personal mission to destroy every single child XBOX Games. First was Gears of War.

But he decided he wanted more than just a game with a co-op campaign mode. He needed to obliterate opponents in a ranked multiplayer combat game. It wasn’t that he hated them, he just needed a win…

He found a guaranteed win when he matched with MrPuddingCyborg. It was an easy win, really. It was very clear that whoever was behind that avatar was a newbie, thus it was easy for Negan to rank up.

“Fuckin’ loser,” he said, turning on his mic. “I bet you picked that username ‘cause you thought it was cool, didn’t you! It isn’t!”

“Your technique sucks!” a little boy on the other end said, furious.

“Pants pisser,” Negan said one last time before beginning the game. “Are you shittin’ your pants now? What’re you gonna do, tell your mom?”

The growling on the other end stopped, meaning the kid turned off his mic. Negan scoffed, sensing victory from miles away. “What a fucking crybaby.”

Looking for the same benefits of winning, he requested a rematch. MrPuddingCyborg accepted. Negan leaned back, knowing it was gonna be a cake walk when—

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

What?

Negan’s avatar respawned, but his tactic was used against him.

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

It went on like that for a while until the two words he most dreaded to find on the screen flashed before him: GAME OVER.

Game over? No way.

Negan ended their match, frustrated to find that his failure jeopardized his progress in getting up to a higher rank.

Affected by his loss, Negan kept playing with two different players before finally getting to the third player.

Negan grinned to himself, gripping his controller with the drive to defeat everyone, but for now, GorgeousArsenal777 would be the one to get the heat.

To his delight, he got the first win. He exclaimed with a mischievous laugh. “Haha! One for Virginia!”

But that was just it.

Negan watched in horror as the player obliterated him in every round. He could already imagine his rank getting lower and lower…

He turned on his microphone. “The fuck’s that about? Are you trolling me right now?”

“Troll you for what? Coins you don’t have?,” taunted a girl on the other end as they waited for the intermission time to finish so they could leave the lobby and play another round. “Checked your account, saw you’ve been here for half a year and you’re still in a mid-tier rank. News flash, you suck at this game, asshole.”

“Game on, Gorgeous.”

“Suck my nutsack,” said the voice on the other end. Somewhere almost ten hours away south of Virginia, you clutched your nephew’s controller with a burning desire to destroy the gaming career of this fucker who pissed off your nephew.

Negan watched in poorly disguised horror as the words notified him of his losses on the screen.

You were killed by GorgeousArsenal777.

“Listen here, Gorgeous,” he started. Whatever relaxation Negan had was gone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, concentrating more than ever. “I am gonna make you regret that you ever got a console.”

You snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

Negan was dead serious. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you fired back. And just in time, you sent a bomb his way, killing him for another time.

You killed SaviorNutsack69.

While you waited for the next round in the lobby, you and your nephew watched as SaviorNutsack69 approached your avatar. The two of you couldn’t help but snicker as he did.

His mic turned on again. “You’re a cheat.”

You resisted calling him a virgin seeing that he came from Virginia, acknowledging the presence of your eleven year old nephew sitting right behind you with his legs crossed, giggling.

“I could’ve beaten this guy,” Carl said with a laugh.

“I know, pumpkin.” You gave the kid a warm smile before turning back to the screen, eager to destroy this man further. “But guys like SaviorNutsack69 deserve to be obliterated.”

You turned your mic back on. “Not my fault you suck. Look at your avatar, dipshit.”

You and Carl snickered on your end, giggling.

The guy on the other end laughed mirthlessly. “I do not appreciate you talking ass about my Limited Edition skin.”

“Sorry you’re not more appreciative,” you quipped, resisting the urge to laugh out loud. “And sorry you can’t rock a leather jacket like I can.”

Negan hated leather jackets, thought it was too hot. He preferred those loose zip-up hoodies. But was not gonna tell GorgeousArsenal777 on the off chance that she uses it as substance to say he just couldn’t pull it off.

“I can so rock a leather jacket, shitface.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” And then he left the lobby before the game could start. You and your nephew burst out laughing at the thought of the dude getting a leather jacket.

He was nothing to the two of you three minutes later, because you let Carl play with his account after that. But SaviorNutsack69? He was not the type to back down from a fight even long after it had ended.

700 miles from Georgia, SaviorNutsack69 got up from his chair and drove to the mall. He ran into the edgiest store he could find with purpose and unapologetically purchased the coolest leather jacket he could find.

And the rest is history.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The two of you sat there in silence, the thought of having met before all of this…

It was refreshing—the prospect of destiny. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Either way, it made you an ounce closer to him.

He grinned. Negan thought back to the leather jacket he abandoned before returning. “Hey, you’re the genius behind my look.”

“Guess I am,” you mused.

Your shoulder brushed against his, and you could have sworn there was electricity there somewhere.

“Feels like a rocky start to a love story, huh?” he asked, looking at you expectantly.

“You think this is a love story?” you asked him nervously.

Negan thought about it for a second, grinning. “I don’t know, do you?”

“Well,” you started. You paused before standing up and leaving his cell. Before leaving, you looked back at him with a smile. “We’ll see.”

“See what?” Negan stood up, holding the bars of his cell only to realize that it wasn’t locked.

“If you’re as bad on garden duty as you are on Call of Duty,” you taunted him with the same spirit you had from all those years ago. “Maybe then I’ll consider if it’s a love story.”

And that was it. You liked Negan, but that was just the beginning of a whole new story. You just knew you were lucky enough to have gotten the chance to meet again.

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a-kaash-me-outside · 2 years ago

Text

a bit dirty - ch4

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch4 | next [masterlist]

// not the worst idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 9245 ᴡᴏʀᴅs (ooo, long chapter yw)

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, more bathroom fucking, casual osamu, meeting friends!~ ah! names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, this is the angst chapter, it's very small angst tho, fixes itself in the same chapter ily, developing feelings fr, afab she/her pronouns

join my taglist here!! ~~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

the chime of the entrance bell rings as osamu pushes open the front door, two brown bags of groceries in each arm as he greets you with, “can’t believe you’re here before me.”

“morning to you too,” you tease, rushing around the bar to meet him and take a bag or two from him.

“thanks,” he says as your fingers brush up against his forearm and your heart thumps a little too loud given that you literally just took groceries from him, but you’d argue that it’s not just the groceries, it’s the tone of his voice and his grateful look and the way that you swear his arm moves with your touch just to feel it a little longer.

“course,” you reply, walking back into the kitchen, osamu right behind you, and setting the bags down on the stainless steel countertop. you start pulling things out of the bag, vegetables and sauces and kitchen staples, and he starts putting them away in their respective pantry.

“thanks for closing for me last night,” he says as he walks back over to the central table where you’re placing all of the ingredients.

“no worries,” you say, shaking your head, “that’s why you taught me,” you reason.

“that’s true,” he replies.

you empty the last of the bags, folding them neatly and placing them in the cupboard. “how was your brother’s anyway?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“really fun,” osamu nods, mulling over something in his head as he continues, “it was nice to just chill on a saturday night for once.”

“i bet,” you smile, “bet you’re glad that I offered to learn to close, huh?”

“definitely glad that i trust someone else enough to close for me, yea,” he says, slightly altering the phrase for the better.

you’ve only been closing for a handful of months now, were taught a couple of weeks after you returned from the catering event, a couple of weeks after you had sex with osamu for the third time, but on the fucking clock. meaning, it has been a handful of months and some odd weeks since you’ve mentioned anything about yours and osamu’s relationship and what the fuck the two of you are doing or not doing.

you’d think that not mentioning a boundary might be better, easier to navigate if no one has explicitly told the other that it shouldn’t be happening, but the truth is that it’s actually much more difficult. neither of you are sure where the other stands, what their feelings are on the matter, and that fact has led to a standstill.

not for your job, of course. your job has never been better. you’re still learning every day, you and osamu are still working really well together on the shifts where you’re a team of two, you’re happily taking on more responsibilities and osamu is happily trusting you with them, you trust each other.

but the scope of your relationship, since you knew who he was, of the trust and the easy conversations, has only ever been within the boundaries of work, until he mentions, “you should come next time.”

“what? to your brother’s party?” you ask, and you’re sure you sound as in disbelief as you feel.

“it’s not really like a party,” he says, “there aren’t enough people there for it to be like a party. it’s more like just a small hang out.”

how is that better comes out more like, “then who’ll close for you?”

“we’ll just throw everything in a paper bag and deal with it the morning after,” he explains, because he’s thought about asking you and the intricacies of you saying yes before the words left his mouth, “‘ve done it plenty of times before.” you don’t answer right away, mulling over the ramifications of accompanying him to an event like this.

“if you don’t want to,” he says, and you recognize that hesitancy, the embarrassment, like he’s made a mistake by putting himself out there, by trying to progress your relationship and navigate this really weird time where the two of you don’t know what the other wants.

“no!” you say, abruptly, maybe a bit too loud, “i do! i absolutely do.”

“are ya sure? i know sumu’s a lot, but he won’t be the only one there, sakusa’ll be there and our friend, suna. they’re way more chill. not sure we could all take it if we had someone else in our group like sumu,” osamu explains and excuses all at the same time, slightly rambling, but you’re looking at him like he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

there’s no mention of aran or any other coworker you know and it’s just nailing in how much of a non-work event this is, no social safety net to catch you or to lean back on. osamu will be the only one you really know there. he looks at you, patient for an answer.

you’ve already made up your mind, know exactly the response you’re going to give, but he just makes it even easier as he says, “i won’t leave your side, swear.”

you laugh, head falling from your spine, goofy smile, you’re sure, on your face as you nod, “then i’d be stupid not to, huh?”

/\ /\ /\

true to his word, the next time that atsumu has a small hang out, osamu invites you. he plans it all out too, schedules the two of you to work together that night, takes responsibility of driving you there and getting you home safely, double checks that you actually want to go, gives you plenty of time and a lot of grace to back out, but you don’t.

the night of the small hang out, osamu is ready to leave onigiri miya promptly at 9pm. the checks are punched, the money is counted, and the receipts are safely stuffed in a bag for you to sort out tomorrow when you open. you change into more casual, less work uniform clothes in the bathroom, grab the bag of onigiris that osamu has packed for sakusa and suna, and then you head out.

“so which one of these friends is the one that was with you and atsumu at the club that night?” you ask as you wait for him to lock the front door. translation: which of these guys knows that we had sex in a dirty club bathroom?

“omi was there with sumu and i that night, but we’re all really close,” osamu answers, walking down the street towards his parked car. translation: they both know that we had sex in a dirty club bathroom.

“how do you know them anyway?” you ask before offering a small thank you to osamu opening the passenger side door for you.

“omi started as sumu’s friend, really, but then the two became inseparable, and sumu and i are practically inseparable, so, y’know,” osamu answers, “and then suna and i have been friends since high school. honestly, been the four of us for a really long time.”

“well, i’m excited to meet them,” you say very truthfully, “especially if you say that they’re more chill than atsumu,” you add, even more truthfully.

osamu laughs, “definitely,” he says, “they’ll love ya.”

the warmth rises to your cheeks, sweat to your palms, and you shift in your seat, turn your body slightly to face him just a touch more, to see the comfort in his features and the softness in his eyes. your heart a subtle drum, echoing in your ribcage, and as your fingers crawl against the center console, creep towards his resting forearm, the rumble roars reverberant.

the tips of your fingers brush against his wrist and it’s like he’s expecting it, arm overturning, thumb brushing against your palm before threading his fingers with yours like that’s where they’re meant to be. it’s without explanation and void of any reluctance or questioning, reciprocated and assured.

and you really wish you could make better sense of this.

/\ /\ /\

you assume that atsumu will answer the door given that it’s his place, but your assumption is wrong. when osamu knocks on the door, it takes only a few seconds for someone, you deduce suna, to answer it. he throws open the door, greets osamu with a wave and then you with nod. “yo,” he says, and then holds the door open for the two of you to step inside.

“suna,” osamu says, gesturing towards you, “this is yn.” it’s almost weird for your name to come out of his mouth. he doesn’t say it very often. sure, he does say it, but he doesn’t use it to get your attention and when he does refer to you, it’s not usually in front of you, so you don’t normally hear it.

“nice to meetcha,” suna says, awkward smile and even more awkward body language as he steps further into atsumu’s apartment. “you work at the restaurant?” he asks, and you know that he knows the answer to that question, but he’s just trying to make polite conversation, and you do appreciate it. you nod. “cool cool,” he nods back.

you already feel like you’re failing at socializing, that osamu is regretting inviting you in the first place, but then he starts talking, conversation directed towards you. “yea, the other day at work, this weird ass guy came in and was practically hitting on you while he was ordering,” he says, practically starting a story, and it works.

“oh my gosh, yea,” you say, nodding as you follow suna into the living room, “he was ordering different dishes, but changing words in the titles to, like, make them pick up lines?”

suna laughs, furrowing his eyebrows, “how does that even work?”

“well, that’s what i was thinking, right,” you say, “but he was really creative, i don’t even remember what he was saying, all i remember was that my first thought wasn’t even oh this is weird, it was how long has he been thinking of this or is he a genius?”

“well, what happened?” suna asks.

“i basically called samu over pretending to be confused about what he was ordering because i really wanted him to hear what-,” you say and as you’re explaining, suna walks into the kitchen.

“keep going, i’m listening,” he calls out.

“oh, yeah, so, samu came over and the guy just starts talking completely normal again and i even tried to call him out on it, like, repeated one of what he said before back to him and-,” you say as suna returns, three beers impressively held in one hand, one in another, reaching out and offering it to you. “thanks, -and he just looked at me like i was the weird one.”

suna passes one of the remaining beers to osamu and sets another next to sakusa who is sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. “that’s insane,” he says, shaking his head, “so weird.”

“really weird,” you agree.

“i always feel like there’s weird shit happenin’ over there at oni-,” suna says, but is cut off.

“hey! the star employee,” atsumu calls out as he enters into the living room and the loudness of his voice and the forwardness of his statement is unintentionally making you feel small very quickly.

osamu rests his hand on your lower back, a silent signifier of the promise he made to you in the restaurant when he asked you to come, that he won’t leave your side.

“hey atsumu,” you say, only attention given to his comment a small laugh at the end of his name, “thanks for having me.”

“i told samu that he should invite you over, hang out with you outside of work finally,” atsumu says, flopping onto the couch next to sakusa, arm flung around him, pressed up against his side, very in his space. “isn’t that right, omi?”

“the only good piece of advice i think you’ve ever given,” sakusa says, deadpanned, but the corners of his lips curl upwards when suna chokes on his drink and throws a thumbs up his way.

“that’s a point for kiyoomi,” suna calls out, “if we’re all keeping score at home, that’s kiyoomi 162 and atsumu 1.”

atsumu sits forward, “that’s because you guys never give me well deserved points. what about the other night when i said that really funny thing and then i was like see that’s point worthy? and then you guys said-”

“not if ya ask for it,” osamu says, “that’s the most basic rule and has cost ya so many points, but ya still keep askin’ for em.”

“if he doesn’t ask for em, how’ll you guys know when he’s being funny?” you joke and the instant that it leaves your mouth, you’re so worried that it won’t land or that it’s too mean, but sakusa chuckles and suna laughs even louder than before and osamu smiles proudly.

“that’s a point, that’s gotta be a point,” suna says, nodding, head looking back from sakusa to osamu. sakusa nods shortly and that’s enough for suna to laugh even harder. “tsumu, you’re tied for second, but she’s gonna surpass you before the night’s over i bet.”

osamu nods over to the couch as atsumu starts yelling at suna. he walks over with you and sits down next to you, arm draped over the top of the couch, just barely ghosting over your shoulders, and all you want to do is lean your weight into his side, but instead you stay upright, rigid almost as you hold the bag of onigiris in your hands.

sakusa spots the bag as it drags on the floor, looks down at it and then raises his eyebrows at you. “you brought gifts?” he asks and you offer him the bag, leaning forward to hand it over. “thanks,” he offers, instantly rooting around to find his favorite and tearing it open.

“don’t get rice on the rug,” atsumu says, interrupting his argument with suna, clicking his tongue.

“fuck off,” sakusa answers, biting into the onigiri again.

“look, at least eat it over a plate,” atsumu complains, standing up and walking into the kitchen to grab a few small plates. he hands one to sakusa and another to suna, grabbing the bag from sakusa’s feet and throwing it to suna’s.

atsumu is starting to seem less and less scary.

/\ /\ /\

halfway through the night, atsumu is walking around picking up little pieces of trash and dishes that sakusa or suna have left, complaining loudly at every single one. “you guys are horrible guests, y’know that? ya’d think that i’d have ya over enough times and ya’d start cleaning up after yourself.”

sakusa and suna and osamu all ignore atsumu’s complaining while he’s in the living room, but the second that he disappears into the kitchen it’s more direct, “samu!!!!! come help me with the dishes,” atsumu yells.

“dumbass, it’s your party, you clean up,” osamu yells back.

“you always help me with the dishes,” atsumu whines.

he refuses to leave you alone. he made a promise. and you love having him here, sitting on the loveseat with you across from suna and omi, but they’re talking to you and they are, indeed, much calmer than atsumu, not that you thought he’d lie to you, and you’re enjoying your conversation a lot. “you go ahead,” you say, steady look thrown his way to prove how truthful you’re being and he hears it all loud and clear. he nods, smiling, leaving the three of you alone in the living room.

/\ /\ /\

a bit later in the night and the only two people in the living room are you and osamu, but there isn’t any space to show for it. you’re pressed up against each other, legs draped over his thighs, practically in his lap, pointing at the frames on atsumu’s walls and the photos inside of them and the stories behind them, finishing whatever number beer this is.

you don’t even really remember getting into this position. it was either gradual enough to not notice the shift little by little or the change felt so natural there wasn’t a before and after, only a now. your spine is pressed up against the arm rest, backs of your thighs resting on the upper tops of his, your hand resting on the grasp he has on your knee, and the way that you’re pressed together isn’t even the most intimate thing about the two of you right now.

because osamu has been telling you a story for the past twenty minutes about the first year that he opened onigiri miya. you knew the jist of it, the broad strokes, the big details. you knew numbers and dates and first recipes, but hearing about his soft open and how his regulars became regulars felt much more telling.

you didn’t know about his somewhat rocky start or the fear of taking out a loan to fund this dream of his or how terrified he is of failing to this day, but you do now.

when he tells you, his voice is steady, genuine, and his eyes are comforting and grateful, and everything about the way that he speaks lets you know for certain that he isn’t just telling this story to everybody. as he finishes, patches up all of the gaps in the story that he skipped over and any details that he might have missed, you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his bicep. you rest your head on his shoulder, tucking your feet underneath you, knees resting on the side of his thigh, and he exhales, kisses you softly on the top of your head and says, “thanks for listenin’, angel.”

you turn to look at him, to rest your palm against his cheek, to thank him for telling you, but you don’t get that far, startled by the loud yell in the kitchen.

“you’re fucking so dumb,” suna laughs, the metalic sound of keys jingling follows, gets louder and louder until sakusa and suna and atsumu all emerge to pass through the living room to the front door.

“idiot hosted a party and ran out of beer,” suna explains to the two of you as he pushes atsumu towards the front door, “we’re headed out for a refill. need anything?” you’re increasingly grateful that no one, not even atsumu, has made mention of how entangled the two of you are on the couch.

“are ya sure you’re okay to drive?” osamu asks, look thrown over his shoulder to atsumu.

“omi’s drivin’,” atsumu says, pressing an obnoxious kiss into the side of his cheek, “only had like 2 beers all night, first one was hours ago.”

“i’m cool,” sakusa says, nodding, and osamu doesn’t press a single second more, evidently trusting him.

“see ya in a bit,” atsumu calls out, back towards you, waving as the door is pulled open and suna and sakusa leave in front of him.

when the front door closes, despite the alcohol in your bloodstream clouding your thoughts a tiny bit, the realization hits both of you that you are alone, off work, not at work, and you both really love the way that the spots on your skin in contact with one another feel. you don’t say a word, let the silence settle in, too occupied with your own thoughts to try and formulate them into sentences, too worried about whatever might be going on in osamu’s head.

his touch pulls you out of it, a gentle finger coaxing you to look up in his direction, dull nails scraping against your jaw, thumb nudging your chin, and this is the first time that a moment like this isn’t brought on the forwardness of your words. you melt against his warmth, push your cheek into his palm, turn your head and kiss his thumb. there’s no timer counting down in your head, no rushing to get this moment over with in time, even though there maybe should be some urgency, you just want to be here, present.

he moves you slowly, but confidently, reaching over to guide you by your hips until you’re seated in his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. this position is so new for the two of you, you on top, him looking up at you, the softness of cushions beneath you.

you wrap your hands around the back of his head, thread your fingers into his hair, pull down gently on the locks until his neck is completely stretched, lips are as close to you as they can be without you having to move. he looks so pretty, waiting, expectant, patient, needy. you like this position very much.

the slight pressure where your fists reside in his hair, this faint lost look in your eyes from having this tiny inkling of control, the weight of you in his lap, how your head tilts back as you pull his back, mirroring the motion you’re trying to achieve. you look so pretty, trying, out of your comfort zone, longing, restless. he likes this position even more.

he tugs you forward, shifts your balance, and you’re crashing into him, arm reaching out to brace yourself on the back of the loveseat, face inches from his. all he has to do to close the gap is sit up. your lips are soft, kiss is hard, and you shift your arms to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into you.

you feel like a teenager, kissing your crush on a living room sofa, giddy and sappy and smiling as he wraps his arms around your lower back to press you closer into him. you smooth your hands down his chest, his stomach, press your fingertips into the inside of his thighs, nails scratching against the fabric of his jeans.

“missed you a lot, samu,” you admit, forehead against his for a tiny breath break.

“and i missed ya even more, love,” he shoots back, one peck pressed into your lips and then another. “i don’t think i can wait this long to kiss ya again.”

you shake your head against his, “please, don’t.” you kiss him again, more passionate, breathless. you need him to feel how much you need this, how badly you need for him to not leave you alone for this long again. “promise me,” you mumble against your plea.

“promise,” he says, pulling away to look up into your eyes, “wasn’t plannin’ on it.” you claw your fingers into his thighs harder and osamu bucks his hips up into you at the touch, a soft groan leaving his chest, a knowing smile on his lips in response to your devilish one.

“we’re right by the front door,” osamu warns, leaning into the crook of your neck, kisses placed against soft skin, fingers molding around your hips, dipping down the back of your skirt.

“you’re strong,” you reason, half-joking, “you can fix that.”

one second you are on the couch and the next second, you are not. you are in osamu’s arms, tiny squeal as he lifts you effortlessly and walks with you down the hallway. when he pushes open a door with your back and sets you down, it’s not nearly as plush as you’re anticipating it being. you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“you really want to fuck in your brother’s bathroom?” you ask, curious, but impatient smile on your face.

“you really want to fuck in my brother’s bed?” he shoots back. osamu’s laugh tells you everything that you need to know, an easy nudge that just says, trust me, and you don’t have to walk down the hall and take a peek into atsumu’s bedroom or have osamu spell out all of the reasons that he thinks fucking in the guest bathroom is a better idea.

it’s clean, really clean actually. neatly decorated, virtually untouched. small, sure, but you and samu don’t need an ocean’s worth of space, the two of you could make do in a stall. the glass of the shower is residue-less and the white solo-standing sink across from it is practically sparkling. the window is slightly cracked and the carpet on the floor in the middle of the room is soft.

“yea,” you lean forward after a minute of surveying the area, hopping down off of the edge of the sink, “you’re right.” you rest your forearms on his shoulders, fingers clasped behind his neck, pulling him into you.

you can’t move osamu like he can move you, not even close. you pull on his neck, one hand on his shoulder, trying as best you can to wordlessly guide him into the position that you want him to be in, but he’s too engrossed in kissing you, in feeling your soft lips and tasting you. if the roles were reversed, you’d already be turned around right now, moved with strong hands in steady positions, but you’re struggling to silently communicate that you want him to be up against the sink right now.

“samu,” you whine against his lips, forehead pressed against his and now he’s kissing your pout, “lemme move you.”

oh my god, if he couldn’t have snapped right there, kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, fucked you until you couldn’t walk, given you everything in the entire world, every last grain of sand and drop of water, told you that he loved you or that he needed you or just that he wanted you to stick around forever. instead, he nods, can’t hide his smile as he moves in the soft direction of your pull, focuses on your gentle coaxing touch.

he moves until the pressure stops, your hands drifting down his chest and then his sides, palms digging into his hips, driving his lower back against the sink that you were just sitting on. osamu doesn’t ask any questions, isn’t the slightest bit curious as to why you’re moving him or what you have in store. he can see it in your eyes and your assured movements, the unfolding of desires and plans, and he’s very happy to just be along for the ride.

you’re slow to lower to your knees, even slower to place your fingers on his belt, ghosting touch skimming over the leather and against the cool metal buckle. osamu is filling in everything in his head, swallows harshly before a shaky exhale, “fuck.”

you look up at him with doe-like eyes, happy for once to be the one seeing the ruin in his lust-blown eyes and the anticipation on his face. “haven’t been able to get the feeling out of my head,” you say, eye contact steady as you pull his jeans down over his thighs, watch him watch you as you inch closer to his heavy cock, jaw falling open and his eyebrows furrowing in response. “of your cock on my tongue.” his response comes in whimpers and tensing forearms and a tighter grip on the edge of the sink.

fuck, he looks so pretty waiting like this, trusting you like this, hips pressing forward the slightest fraction just to get that much closer to your lips. his lips are slightly parted, bottom one moving with every unsteady exhale, a subtle blush in the highs of his cheeks. you can’t tear your eyes away from him, not as you take his drooling head into your mouth, slide the underside of his cock against your hot tongue.

“angel, fuck,” he grunts, “mouth’s so perfect.” he wants to touch you, to grab you by your hair and sink deeper into your mouth, but your hands are soft on his hips, fingers tucked up the hem of his shirt so he can feel your nails scraping against the skin, and you’re being so slow and so caring and savoring every drop of precome and twitch of his cock.

his knuckles are practically white, all restraint shown in the grip he has on the edge, because your mouth feels so warm and so wet and so good, but it feels even better knowing that you’re taking care of him in exactly the way you want.

you wrap your lips around his head, tongue laving over the slit and spongy tip, spit and precome gathering in your mouth, swallowing as you take more of him. your lips get tighter as you swallow, tongue slips against his length. it’s harder to focus the deeper you take him, the further his fat cock causes your jaw to open, the farther his thick head hits the back of your throat. moving your head back and forth on his throbbing cock, the image of him blurring as you move faster, but you’re determined to watch him unravel even heavier.

he’s leaving it completely up to you, the pace and the depth, and it’s so different for him to give up control and just let you do exactly what you want to him, but he misses the feeling of some part of you in his hands. it’s like you can read his mind, eyes flickering to his uneasy hands itching to feel something much more human underneath them. you slide your hands down his tense forearms, moving one to the side of your face and threading your fingers in the other. he doesn’t take advantage of this, this closeness to your mouth and your movements, only curls his dull nails against your warm skin.

you hum at the touch, vibration from your throat sending shivers up his spine, and if he watches you care for him so sweetly just another second longer he’s not going to be able to stop himself from coming down your throat.

“sweetheart,” he mumbles, low and whiney. you hear him, but you don’t want to, too enveloped in the heft on your tongue and the fullness of your throat and the familiar taste. he mumbles again, tapping two fingers gently against your cheek to get your attention, “bunny, hey.”

the air is cool compared to your encompassing mouth and tight throat, and osamu silently curses himself for saying anything at all. “hm?” you ask, side of your palm coming up to your bottom lip to wipe away the gathering sheen. he pulls you back up to your feet, hand strong on the back of your thigh as he presses you against him, heavy cock nudging into the fabric of the skirt between your legs.

his lips skim yours, not completely a kiss, as he speaks, “y’know what i can’t get out of my head, doll?” you shake your head, pleading eyes flickering to his lips, hanging onto every word, “how pretty you looked on top of me earlier.” the whimper this elicits from you drives osamu mad, large hand spanning your other cheek as he pulls you into a deep kiss, moving with you to the floor.

sitting with you in his lap, one knee bracketing either side of his hips, osamu is now very grateful for the stupidly expensive, surprisingly soft rug that he failed to convince his brother not to buy. the heel of the palm of your hand on his sternum drives him down to the floor, looking even more up at you now as you circle your hips, rubbing the thin cloth of your panties against his leaking exposed cock. “like this?” you ask, breathy and somewhat timid to be in control despite the fact that osamu was patient putty in your hands mere seconds ago.

he nods, hair messy against the rug beneath him, and you can only assume that another part of your slight discomfort is that, sure, you’ve had sex with osamu in bathrooms, more times than you should’ve to be honest, but you’ve never had sex with osamu lying on a bathroom floor, and for some reason, this feels even more filthy than any times before.

but osamu rests his hand on your thigh, pushes the fabric of your skirt up so that he can look down at the dark spot on your panties and the way they bunch and tighten as you slide your covered pussy against his throbbing length, bucks his hips up into you, lifting you off of the ground just enough to make you gasp, and yea, no, this feels incredibly right.

you brace yourself on his sternum, lift yourself up slightly to move your panties to the side, no patience or want to climb off of him and take your panties completely off, you want him inside of you right now. “could eat you out so good like this,” osamu says, eyes drifting up your body before settling on yours.

you shake your head. you want him inside of you right now. “next time,” you mutter, sinking down onto him slowly, inch by inch, and it just keeps fucking going. you tilt your head back, chin to the sky so that your moans have a better path to leave you. “samu, baby, fuck.”

when you’re finally seated completely on your cock, it’s like you can feel it in your stomach and in your throat, you’re so fucking full, he’s so fucking deep inside of you, you can barely fucking take it. you’re whimpering, tiny tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you babble, “fuck, i- you’re, mmm,” you shake your head, hand frantic to interlock with his as you circle your hips, not wanting to be without a single inch, “samu, fuck, so deep, you’re- i’m- i can’t- you’re so fucking deep inside of me, baby.”

he can barely take it either, so deep inside of your tight, clenching walls, completely surrounding him. every one of your tiny movements, every shift and circle and squirm, forces him to show restraint. he loves this view, this feeling, will continue to wait as you get adjusted and continue your fucked out babble no matter how badly he wants to flip you over and fuck you as hard as he can until you’re squirting all over the rug beneath you. “i know,” he chokes out, “i know, babygirl, i know.”

when you start to move, it’s nothing drastic, miniscule movements that don’t require much effort, pushing your hips forward, pulling them back, leaning towards osamu, tilting away. you can feel him move inside of you, but he stays this deep. all the while, you’re slurring nothing to him, tidbits of gratitude and cries of pet names, and if you’re this ruined already from this little, god he can’t wait until you’ve reduced yourself to tears, until he has to pick up the pieces and coax you through orgasm after orgasm.

he presses his fingertips into the fat of your hips, helping you along, picking you up a tiny bit more every time until you’re forced to follow the motion, pushing up onto your knees and letting yourself fall back down, skin clapping harshly against the tops of his thighs. you push his shirt up, desperate to feel the tiny prickles of sweat forming on his soft stomach and his heartbeat against your palm closer. every crash back down, a tiny exhale expelled from your lungs, out your quivering lips, so fucking cute.

“goin’ so slow, angel,” he says, not an objection or an issue, tone steady and in awe, practically an admiration. you nod at his words, barely any room in your head for them amidst the so full so full so deep so fucking full and deep and so full so deep inside hes so deep inside of me im so full of him.

your thighs are starting to shake, barely even breaking a sweat, but your core is tight and you can feel how sloppy you are around him and how all of your juices are dripping down his cock, can hear the sticky sound of slapping skin when you fall back onto him, and, “‘m so- gonna-,” you whine, “samu,” you whine louder, fat tears falling down your cheeks because you want more, need more, but you can barely even think straight, “please.”

he loves looking up at you, so pretty and needy, wouldn’t trade it for the world, so he’ll give you everything you want from down here. he drives his hips upwards, hands on your hips to move you against the weight of gravity as best he can. he’s barely even started fucking you when you tighten around him, flooding even more, soaking his cock, a throaty, “coming” matched with your eyes rolling back, fist forming around the fabric of his shirt.

you reach out, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink, other hand plastered against the glass of the shower door as bounce up and down on his cock. your movements are unpredictable, not as steady as his thrusts nor as rhythmic, but driven by instinct and whatever you think you need right now.

“wanna-,” osamu says, looking up at you, out of breath, pushing up the hem of your shirt to expose your stomach, “have to see your tits, pretty girl.”

your shirt is gone, bra undone, and as you continue moving yourself up and down on his cock, you realize this is the most undressed you’ve ever been fucking osamu. you’re not sure exactly how that makes you feel, but you figure you’ll have time to deal with the feelings later, because right now, osamu can’t keep his hands off you and you’re newly exposed skin.

he’s running his hands up your sides, hands groping your bouncing tits as they follow the quick, harsh movements that osamu is causing. his thumbs flick over your nipples, fingers dig into the fat, and he really can’t believe he’s never gotten to play with your tits before.

you can feel him everywhere, under the backs of your thighs and deep inside of you and over your chest and you’re coming again, clenching around him, grip tight around the sink as your thighs shake even harder, your movements weaker, slower, doll-like, as osamu fucks into you faster.

you’ve barely come down from your high before you’re ready to come again, thick cock splitting you open, hitting the deepest parts of you, filling you so perfectly. you’re so tight around him. you can feel every single throb, every strong pulse, and when osamu sits up, braces himself on his arm behind him, pulls your chest into his face with a gentle hand on your shoulder, you can’t help but cream all over his cock again, his name falling off of your tongue repeatedly.

he can’t fucking take it, how tight your walls are, how creamy you’re making his cock, how sticky the tops of his thighs are. “princess,” he says, a warning, “where do you want it?”

“on my-,” you breathe, you know exactly where you want it, “want it on my pussy.”

“fuck,” he says, shaky, “of course, baby, fuck.” he pushes forward further, creates a gap between the two of you as he leans you back, making sure that you’re able to brace yourself in the same way that he is before letting go of your lower back. he pulls out of you, thick cock resting on your sloppy pussy, hips bucking to slide the underside against your sensitive clit and soft skin.

he wraps his fist around his cock and you watch in awe, pupils wide as you stare down at his tight grip around his throbbing length, the way his thumb swipes over the head as he gets to the top. you reach forward, wrapping your own smaller hand around his cock. he’s so thick, so weighty in your hand, and every pump of his cock coaxes a throaty grunt out of osamu, eyes floating from place to place, on your cute hand around his fat cock, on your pretty tongue swiping over your bottom lip, on your bouncing tits as you stroke him faster.

if it hadn’t been so long since he’d fucked you last, he’d have forced himself to last all night, just to watch you jerk him off all night, until your arm got so tired that he had to take over for you and all you could do was watch or use your other hand, awkward movements and slower pace, but different grip to get used to.

another time, he thinks to himself as he thrusts up into your hand slightly, spilling over the side of your fist, thick load leaking out of the tip of his cock and onto your already messy pussy, creamy ropes landing on the insides of your thighs and on top of your pretty cunt and cute clit. you lean back, fingers still wrapped around his cock loosely as you use your other hand to smear his come between your legs, mixing his mess with yours before sticking your fingers into your mouth.

your fingers are barely out of your mouth as osamu kisses you, hard, so hard that he nearly knocks you backwards, sitting up onto his knees to angle your head up towards him. he wants to tell you so bad, wants to say fuck it to all the voices in his head and the fear in his bones and just admit it to you. the look in your eyes when you pull away doesn’t make it any easier.

but your hoarse voice and your giddy smile and your shy, “should probably clean up before they get back, huh?” pulls him out of it. he laughs, short and airy, presses another small peck into your lips because he can, and then helps you to your feet.

“maybe one day we’ll be able to, like, actually clean up with a shower or something instead of just,” you gesture to the toilet paper in his hand, “this everytime.”

osamu smiles, grabbing your shirt in the corner of the room and extending it to you. “maybe that one day could-”

you didn’t hear the key in the lock or the door open, but you do hear atsumu throw his shoes against the wall and very loudly call out, “we’re baaack.” you look at osamu because you’re not sure what to do, half dressed, still a mess, rug undealt with and very loud evidence of something happening in the guest bathroom.

“it’s so late, why are you being so loud,” suna retorts. you can hear the three sets of footsteps as they move in the opposite direction towards the living room.

“where are they?” sakusa asks, and now you can hear the footsteps spread out, all beginning to look in different areas of the apartment, bags set down on coffee tables, doors opened.

“how do we play this?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed, chewing on your lip thoughtfully, and osamu wants to just forget about making a smart plan and stay here and fuck you again instead or maybe just kiss you until everybody leaves or falls asleep. “samu,” you say, waving your hand in front of his face, “do you want your brother to know we had sex in his bathroom?”

no, no he most definitely does not. he shakes his head, thinking just as hard as you are on a good solution, on maybe sending you out first or walking out together quickly and hoping they don’t notice where you’ve come from or sneaking out of the window perhaps. you throw your shirt back on, straighten out your skirt, clean yourself up as best you can as osamu continues cycling through plans in his mind.

“they fuckin’ bolt?” suna asks, probably in the kitchen or atsumu’s room, you can’t quite place the footsteps.

“maybe a good night for samu,” atsumu jokes, and you can hear the pop of a can opening and a soft oof as he throws himself onto the couch, unbothered now by wherever the two of you have gone.

“fuck off, miya,” sakusa sighs. “probably just left because they didn’t want to be around you anymore. wish i fuckin’ could.”

“another point for omi, count it,” suna says.

“what?” atsumu laughs, breezing past the taunts thrown in his direction, “i’m just sayin’ it must be nice to have an employee fuck buddy.”

your heart is thumping louder, harsher. you feel trapped in more ways than one, deeper than just not knowing how you’ll leave or get home, but in your own mind. you’re not looking at osamu now, embarrassment spreading through your entire body, showing evident on your face and in your shrinking posture.

“you fucking serious?” suna asks, “you think they’re still…?”

“c’mon, he’s gone, fuck you think they went?” atsumu jokes, and you wish his words weren’t as firm or loud or correct.

“i never said that,” osamu says, quietly enough to not breach the barrier of the door, “i’ve never called you that, or said anything like that, i sw-.”

“i should probably go,” you say, not hearing or not listening to whatever osamu is saying right now. it didn’t really matter what osamu said or didn’t say, it’s the perception that you didn’t want skewed in the first place, and here it was, twisted and contorted and confirming your biggest fears about falling for osamu as you did.

“wait,” osamu says, hand reaching out to softly wrap around your wrist and as comforting as the touch is, as much as you want to melt into it or ask for more, you wriggle out of his grasp. “hey,” he says, softer now, just trying to get your attention. “how do you think you’re going to get home?” he asks.

“i’ll just get an uber or something, i don’t know,” your voice is shaky, weak, confused, hurt.

“no,” osamu says, taking a step closer to you, “no, you won’t. i’ll drive you back.” you shake your head. surviving an entire car ride with osamu after hearing whatever atsumu just said seems like an impossible feat.

you don’t want to leave, but you don’t want to stay here. you can’t listen to another word, don’t want them to continue speaking or hear what else atsumu thinks of you. you don’t want to face them, god, you don’t want to face them, but hearing the rest of this conversation seems somehow even worse. you turn, opening the door to the bathroom, face warm and palms sweating as you take a step out into the hallway.

osamu moves to grab your hand, to pull you back in, to just talk to you for a minute, but the second that you’re in the hallway, despite how badly you just wanted to quietly tiptoe to the front door undetected, you’re noticed. “shit,” suna says, under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to understand the gravity of the situation.

“thanks for having me,” you say, not looking at anyone, not directing the sentence towards anybody, shoes slipped on quickly, door opened quickly, and bounding down apartment stairs as you hear your name being called from behind you.

the commotion behind you starts, an “are you fucking kidding me?” muffled by the closed door, rushed footsteps down the hall, and then the noises of the apartment becoming louder as the door is opened once more. you’re outside by the time osamu calls your name again.

the instant breath of fresh air that fills your lungs is already calming your nerves, sending signals to your brain that it’s okay to start sobbing, the wind will dry your tears. you’re grateful that you don’t listen right away, that it takes a few seconds for your muscles to catch up with your thoughts, because the door flings open behind you, a huff of breaths following the sound of it closing, and jogging footsteps running to catch up with the distance you’ve created.

“wait,” osamu says, but you don’t stop, not sure you could even if you wanted to. you don’t know where you’re going or why you won’t just stop and talk to him, but you keep walking, one foot in front of the other down uneven pavement. “yn, wait, please,” he calls again, voice closer, projecting over urban noises and passing cars. when his fingers wrap around your wrist, the feeling of warmth and the beat of your pulse in his hand scream louder than anything you’ve heard tonight.

you turn around and the thoughts and signals have caught up with you, blurry vision amidst a lash line of tears, and you wait. you’re grateful for the distortion, for the unclear picture of osamu standing there, face solemn and unsure how to proceed, how not to lose you, and you can’t wait anymore, “fuck, samu, what are we? what is this?”

the words are tumbling out of you now, every worry and clouded judgement from the moment you walked through the doors of onigiri miya, “fucking one time in a club before i even worked there, that’s fine,” you shake your head, pulling your wrist out of his grasp softly, “fucking once at work after close, okay maybe less fine. fucking in a hotel bathroom in the middle of a catering shift? definitely crossing a line there.” you list off your endeavors, remembering them all perfectly well.

“now, we’ve just fucked in your brother’s bathroom, off the clock and not work related. and your brother referred to me as an employee fuck buddy,” you say, chest aching as the phrases leaves you, “i mean, am i? what is this?”

he doesn’t leave you waiting for an explanation, doesn’t speak over you, he’s kind and attentive like that. “i never called you that. i never said that about you, yn.”

“fuck, samu, it doesn’t matter,” you say, though you suppose it’s a slight lie. the weight on your shoulders and your chest is a bit lighter now, but not entirely gone, “that’s how they see me.”

“they don’t even know about any of those times after we knew each other, only the first time, only that first night,” he explains, but they’re not the right words. they’re soothing some anxieties in you, but not the right ones, but you don’t know which anxieties are the right ones.

you close your eyes or turn your head, it doesn’t really matter, you just can’t see him. it’s dark outside and you can’t focus on much despite there not being much to focus on, and your voice snags as you say, “if i wouldn’t have made a big deal about this,” you swallow, even softer now, “would we have left that bathroom and skated around the idea of fucking each other until something snapped?”

the tears have breached your lash line, have fallen down the inner corner, dripped off of your chin and onto your shirt below. “and what?” you laugh, “then we’d just repeat the cycle again? and then again? and i’d never be anything other than your employee fuck buddy, i mean fuck, samu, come on.” your voice is desperate now, cracking and confused, and he’s just standing there, patient and listening.

“it’s never been about how you view me or how you feel about me,” you shrug, back of your hand smearing tears and mascara against your cheekbones. “or it has, but just,” you groan, frustrated, “i know you care about me somewhat or in cyclical doses, i’ve never doubted that, i just want to know that even though you haven’t called me that, that’s not what you think of me too?”

“of course not,” osamu says, instant and assured. he reaches out again. you let him this time, cup the side of your face, wipe the few remaining tears, pull you closer to him, but not into him, there’s a difference. he just wants you to look at him. “i’m sorry,” he says, eyes darting around your face, not knowing where to land, “i didn’t mean to make it this difficult. i was trying to be respectful and do it right and-,” he takes a deep breath, “all i want is to be with you.”

he continues on, voice soft and thick, soothing all of the right anxieties, “i’ve been thinking about you nonstop since that night at the hotel and i swear to god if we stayed another night, i would’ve spent it with you in my bed, in my arms, but we left and i didn’t- we didn’t-” he takes another deep breath, talks softer now, a tiny scoff preceding his words, “it’d be easier if i could just kiss ya right now.”

you’re nodding because he’s right and because your shoulders feel light enough for you to do that now and because everything that he’s saying is the everything you want to hear, but that’s not the reason he’s saying it. “no one’s stopping you,” you breathe.

you don’t have to meet him halfway, he comes to you. presses his lips against yours, snakes his other hand up to the other side of your face and holds you still as he takes a step into you, body close, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer if he can.

he pulls away, breathless and the question is already leaving his lips before they’re off yours, “can i take you out?”

your first instinct is to laugh, and you do, because you know his schedule and his next planned night off. “you? get a night off?” you scoff, shaking your head, “who are you going to have close for you? me?”

he laughs, huge grin accompanying it because it’s so easy when you’re around, “no, no, i’ll figure something out,” he breathes, shaking his head harder, “it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you say yes and that i get to take you out on a date, a real date, and then we get to do real date things, and after date real date things.”

your laugh is louder now, lowering your head into his shoulder as you joke, “i don’t know if i can get the weekend off. my job’s pretty important to me.”

he kisses you again, absolutely beaming as he pulls away. “please just say yes so that i can start making plans.” when the joking fades and you’re standing there under shitty streetlight and nonexistent moonlight and you can see the seriousness in his kind eyes, you don’t want to keep fucking around, you just want to say yes.

you want to cross the boundary of hooking up and weird feelings and move forward to kissing at work and carpooling home together. you want to break this cycle and start new ones, ones with less confusion and more domesticity. you want definitions and declarations and dates and labels.

“alright, alright, yes, god,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows, waiting a beat before taking a breath and then his face into your hands to place a soft kiss onto his nose. “i would really love to go out with you finally.”

seconds pass and then minutes and osamu is just happy to be out here on the sidewalk with you in his arms kissing you every other second, and you’re just happy to finally be in a place where you don’t have to worry about the next time you get to kiss osamu again.

you’re the one that breaks the silence, a soft smile on your face unmatching the tone of your sentence, giggly and giddy and somehow just as needy. “can’t believe i’ll get to fuck you in a real bed.”

you’re expecting some form of scoff or laugh or half-joke or disbelief, but he grins at you, drags his lips against the side of your face, and says low in your ear, “i know, angel, can’t wait.”

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probablysomethingtm · 9 months ago

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Ok so I had an orchiectomy last week; here’s what I’ve noticed so far:

The pain was worst in the first 2-3 days, rapidly dropped in that time, and then plateaued. I didn’t need the super strong painkillers on the third day after the surgery, but I will probably need Tylenol for the next week or so

My mood and energy have been so much higher. Which sucks because I need to rest but I really want to do stuff

I feel my emotions way more strongly in a way I literally haven’t ever been able to before. I’m not as detached from them, I can actually feel them now

Because of the pain/discomfort, I can’t comfortably sleep on my side. This is the worst thing ever

Because they don’t want me to risk bleeding, I can’t lift more than 10 pounds or really exert myself. This is also the worst thing ever, I want to work out and squeeze my partner while we hug but I can’t ☹️ (also I was this close to using heavier weights when I do bicep curls and now I have to not work out for the rest of the month ☹️)

Walking is still a bit painful at times, but it’s getting noticeably better every day

They told me to avoid spicy food. I am not doing this. I have not noticed a downside

Not having to take T blockers every morning is nice. I kinda miss the extra color of pill in my pill tracker tho

I really hate being useless around the house

I’m pretty good at painting minis

Gloomhaven is really fun (scoundrel my beloved)

Anyway, yeah. Recovery is going well, there was a tiny amount of bleeding for a couple days but that seems to have resolved. Other than that it’s been fucking fantastic, I should’ve done this ages ago holy shit

#I should draw Scoundrel Gloomhaven

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addictedtoking · 11 months ago

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Snippet of something. Steve and El both came from the lab, season 3 canon divergence thing, kinda angsty. Idk. I tried.

———

“We wrote to each other.”

Billy looks over at El from the third rewind of Grease, waiting for her to continue. “When we were learning, we would write to each other. As practice. He would tell me to have a good day. Or what he was doing.”

She paused, sniffled. Billy offered no comfort; he didn’t know how and she wouldn’t want it. “And I would tell him what was on my mind-“ this time she swallowed and when she spoke again it was wet “and when we were apart we would write letters to read when we got back together and-“ the sob was nasally and so so heart wrenching that Billy wanted her to stop. But she needed to get this out. “And I know he can’t read them but I need to… I need to” she finally looked at him and Billy felt his own eyes turn moist. “I need to tell someone how I feel.”

Billy, yet in the face of such emotion, didn’t let the tears fall down his cheeks. “You could-“ he took a breath “-you could write to me.”

El swallowed and wiped her tears. “You can write to me too.” She looked at the tv again. “It’s good to get it out. That’s what he said.”

Billy nodded, even tho she couldn’t see it. Wiping cheeks from absent tears, he said, “I’ll add that to the list.”

…

It was rough, in the beginning. He was angry and this town was shitty and dad was shitty and Max-

Anyways. The plate. The fight. The drugs. When he woke up the next morning groggy and with Neil yelling down the hall, he had no regrets. Max was home and in fine condition. His face hurt a little, but that’s fine. It’s all fine. Except for when Neil took whatever was bothering him out on him. But that’s fine. It’s not max- the little shit head who doesn’t listen.

He spent the rest of the weekend working out and drinking. By Monday, he was somewhat prepared for high school again. So he sprayed his cologne, gathered the shitbird, and sped off to school.

He had no regrets when he walked into first period. Nor when he skipped second to smoke behind the bleachers. Nor third period. Lunch. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Seven-

There, he saw the fallen king, sporting a bruised face and cuts bandaged by pink bandaids with butterflies. The coach was telling him to take the period off. Obviously he had a recovering concussion and needed the break. After all, there’s a black ring around his left eye and his cheek is purple and his lips are split but no less plump-

Billy scored four fouls.

He refused to regret it.

Billy refused to regret a lot of things.

Billy will think he should have regretted more to prepare him for this.

It was bad in the beginning. Now it might be worse.

…

Billy wasn’t all there. He remembered going to work. He remembered driving around in his car. He remembered the warehouse.

Then it’s blurry. There are images. And the beach. And a girl. And Steve-

And then he wakes up in a hospital bed. Max is at his side. Her face is all blotchy and an ugly red from crying, but they’re not close enough for it to be over him.

“Who was it?” He croaks. He wants water.

Max startles, finally noticing him. She blinks like she doesn’t know what he said. He’ll need something to drink before he says it again.

Max gives him water from the cup, eye tearing up again while he sips. A single tear rolls down her cheek and she furiously wipes it away. He would normally sneer at her tears, wrinkled face and spotty flush, but he needs to know who, who died, who did he kill-

“Steve’s gone.”

…

Robin-before-the-Russians thought the worst day of her life was when Tammy Thompson blew her off to try snuggling up to Steve Harrington. Robin-after-the-Russians has had a far worse day.

It’s also Steve Harringtons fault, but not because he stole a girl. No. That would be a concern for Robin-before-the-Russians. This Robin, the one walking up to a bunch of kids, knows this will be the worst day ever. This day will surpass the day her parents discover she’s a lesbian and it will surpass the day she dies.

This terrible day is Steve harringtons fault. Because apparently he’s more than pretty hair and pompous clothing. Because he’s actually a badass that takes down evil monsters with his mind. Because he’s dead.

The kids see her coming towards them, and they look behind her where Steve would be. But he’s not there, so they look back at her. The curly haired one, Dustin, Steve’s best friend, Steve’s brother- sees it in her eyes first. His face crumples and he falls, a tiny “no” leaving his lips.

The red one follows after, going down on a knee beside dustin. One by one, Robin watches them realize. One by one, the shock and grief overtakes their innocent faces.

Robin doesn’t notice she’s not walking anymore when another girl runs past her towards to group. Seeing their distress, she turns back and faces Robin and oh-

Robin sees Steve in her brown eyes, in her clothing, in the blood dripping from her nose.

Maybe she can see the sadness on Robin like Steve, because look is all it takes. The girl let’s out the harshest, most gut-wrenching scream. She realizes he’s gone.

He’s gone.

The children grab her as she falls into them, a pile of misery if she’s ever seen one.

Robin takes another step before her legs give out. It might have been from the drugs, from the lack of food, from the torture. It doesn’t matter. The kids just lost their protector and nothing she can do will bring him back. Their image blurs as Robin succumbs to the tears as well.

Yes. It’s all Steve Harringtons fault. She just wishes he were here so she could tell him that.

…

The days after are bad, with the grief and the recovery. The town has lost so much in one night, so many lives stripped away in one single building.

The nights are worse. For those in the fire, it’s a long, dark time filled with torture devices, enclosed spaces, and monsters wearing people as masks.

Dustin doesn’t sleep much. Usually, after this happens, he has someone there to wake him up from nightmares. The first time, the party had slept in wills room and he could wake up and see his friend sleeping in his bed. The second time, he spent the night at Steve’s house, who hadn’t minded when he crawled into bed with him and El.

It was not the beginning of their friendship, already too far past that, but it was somewhere about midway. As the months passed, dustin will joined Steve’s and El’s little family in the backseat of a beemer, in the yellow kitchen, in the last dredges of milkshakes. He and Steve and el became Dustin-Steve-and-El then just Dustin-and-Steve as summer began and everyone flourishes out. He’d thought this summer would be the best with his science camp and new girlfriend and Steve and ice cream and secret Russian messages-

So. This time, afterward, there’s no one. Lucas and Erica are stuck at their parents, max at the hospital with Billy, Mike and will hidding in the formers basement, and El-

Dustin hesitates less than he should’ve before shakily getting out of bed. The walkie sits on his desk, where it has been just in case he needed Steve. But Steve’s not here, so it sits there uselessly.

But know he picks it up and dials into channel 4, “you there? Over.”

There is a long pause before another voice gives a quiet “yeah. Over.”

The device is quiet again while they wait for the other to say something. El relents first.

“I miss him. Over.”

Dustin backs up until his thighs touch his bed, then he kind of falls back onto his sheets. He stares at the ceiling as he replies “me too. Over.”

Silence again. El is probably looking at the ceiling too. He can picture her looking up. It’s not her ceiling, covered in posters and stars and paint splatters. Instead, it’s probably the Byers, the ceiling above wills bed: wood planks and dark swirls. She hasn’t gone back into their house since he-

“Do you want to have a sleepover? Over.”

He waits for her reply, clutching the walkie to his chest. For a minute, he thinks she’s not going to respond until she croaks “yeah” a pause, her voice is clearer “I’ll be there in 10. Over.”

“Copy. Over and out.”

Dustin sits up and unlocks his window.

…

Max helps Billy get from the hospital to the car, then from the car to the house. Then, later that night, she helps him to the bathroom.

She doesn’t talk to him. Doesn’t mention Neil’s silent neglect. Doesn’t mention Susan’s air headed absence. Doesn’t mention the mall. Doesn’t mention what he did.

Still.

It’s a little too much. He’s not weak. He doesn’t esnt need his 14 year old sister to take care of him. But every time Max is there to do something for him and he feels a rush of anger and it’s so big it might explode out of him and jab at her-

It just.

Goes away.

Steve - Seven - Harrington had mind powers. He’s heard the kids talk about it over the walkie talkie Max keeps locked in her room. He heard about the nudges and pulls and keeping it there.

Now he knows what Harrington did to Neil. The lack of care. Absence of anger or annoyance. Just a mellow man living his days in a mellow town. No wonder the abuse stopped.

Now he thinks Harrington did something to him.

He’s on bed rest for almost three weeks. He has a lot of time to think.

And every time Max brings him water without asking or adjusts his pillows, and the anger and annoyance rise up and release just as fast to leave him cooler and more rational-

He thinks he’s kinda ok with it.

…

Max doesn’t sleep.

Her eyes are dry and crusty. There’s bags upon bags under them, black and sunken. Her mind is slow and she can barely tell what anyone’s saying to her the first time. She’s so tired it’s all she thinks about.

The nightmares are worse than the tiredness.

Steve’s bleeding from his nose and mouth, and some’s coming from his ears too.

It’s okay, he says.

It’s gonna be okay, he tells her.

He kisses her forehead. It does not distract her from the lie.

Go with Billy, he said.

Billy will protect you, he told her.

Billy carried El and Mike from the mall, but in this dream he’s carrying her instead.

She watches Steve get smaller, and smaller, and smaller.

He does not go to her no matter how much she screams.

…

Billy doesn’t remember what happened.

But the kids do.

Robin’s the one to tell him though, bundled up in blankets and sitting in a room with all the lights on. It’s the end of August. She shivers despite the heat.

“You- it had found the kids - Mike, Max, and El - and Mike was down and Max almost was, and y- it was toting off El over your shoulder. Steve found you- it.”

He doesn’t get mad at her mistakes. His body carried a monster. (was the mind flayer the only monster though? Was it not just you? Billy- BILLY).

“What did I do?”

Robin blinked her eyes a few times. She looked into his, though his baby blues didn’t hold as many tears. “You hit him.”

He tries to hold in his confusion - a hit wouldn’t have taken him down - but she sees it anyways. She swallows and holds up a hand.

A moment.

Two.

“The Russians banged him up pretty bad. There were too many of them for him to use his mind powers - manipulation thing - good enough, so he just distracted them from me,” she swallows again and sips from the water she clutches like a life line, “But he was fine- not with the drugs of course - but he wasn’t keeling over yet-“

She sobs again. Billy’s eyes remain dry. It’s awkward.

“But he tried to stop it and it hit him again and again until he could get to you-“ another sob, “and when I found him again after he sent you off there was blood coming from his mouth and I had to help him walk to the elevator and he wouldn’t sit because I don’t think he could get back up if he did and it was too much on top of closing the gate and I couldn’t carry him-“

She’s full on sobbing now, and for a second he regrets sharing the pot. He didn’t want to deal with this. He was not the person to deal with their emotions. He did not belong in this family.

He shouldn’t after what happened. What he did.

Still, he pats her shoulder and lets her curl up next to him until she falls asleep. Then, he lays her down and wraps the blankets around her.

He is not a good caretaker. So he leaves after that. But he leaves the lights on for her so she doesn’t wake up in the dark.

…

Here’s what happened:

Russians opened gate under mall.

Mind flayer started possessing people.

Billy got possessed and then helped mind flayer possess other people.

Russians attack ice cream scoopers.

Mind flayer attacks children.

Adults kidnap and commit grand theft auto with a Russian man to help stop both of the above.

Russian man dies.

Children distract mind flayer from its prey.

Possessed Billy finds prey, takes it, and then is intercepted by prey’s brother.

Possessed Billy beats up Prey’s brother.

Brother has another nearly fatal concussion. He undoes possession on Billy, brainwashes him into taking and protecting kids, then escapes down to Russian base with his ice cream scooping friend. Superboy closes gate, liquifies his brain because he had too many traumatic brain injuries, and is near death as mall starts collapsing around him.

Ice cream scooping friend has to abandon him to make it out alive.

No-longer-possessed Billy protects kids until mind flayer is killed. Promptly passes out from previous injuries.

That’s all he could get out of Chief Hopper.

Chief Hopper was shitfaced and mourning his child.

Chief hopper still doesn’t blame Billy.

Billy wishes he did.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #el hopper #jim hopper #robin buckley #dustin henderson #max mayfield #angst #harringrove #kinda

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alpydk · 3 months ago

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🌿 🌸

Good morning anon. Thanks for the ask, talking about fics I love! I did a huge post the other day so quickly going to add them in here as well. - Recommend only one hahahahahaahahahahahaahaha.

🌿Rec someone else’s BG3 fic and tell us what you like about it!

The 5 from the other day (Find the post here to see why)

Alchemy 410 Broken Horizons Weave me the Sunshine Professor Dekarios Twin Compasses

And now some more that I didn't link Weave and Woods - @weaveandwood - Honestly I just love the pairing. Auroria is such a good character who I genuinly see ending up with Gale. And it's not been all that eay relationship where they fall in love and are happy. They have their challanges. I most of all love seeing her learn new spells because that doesn't really happen in fics and its great to see. (Especially how proud she is with it.) "The second, third, fifth, ninth tries were similar. On the tenth try, she thought she saw a few sparks of electricity surrounding the arrow, sending a surge of pride through her. She was close, she could feel it. " - Come on Ori, you can do it!

---

Strange Highways - I have been on about this fic since chapter one. No fic has caught be like this. It's like it calls to my chaotic nature and I will keep screaming it into the Tumblr void like some insane looney fan. Just me alone with my billboard - READ THIS FIC. It's Cazador in a rock group in the 80's. It's funny, has amazing music referances but most of all it's just so fucking good to read.

The words spoke to his soul, into the very depths of it. He felt them with every cell of his body. This was not like the weak melodies bards played back in Faerûn. This music had authority. It had power.

Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings

Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream

It was perfect. He imagined saying the words, making them his own. This was a supreme incantation, it had to be. This one would make people obey. Just Fuck Yeah!

--- Paperback Writer - (Short 600 words) - Haarlep edits Raphael's novel. It's fucking funny and I love it. Simple as. "Quivering, the hero took my hand I’m pretty sure Tav told you not to touch them, and it made you pout for a week."

And now the non Bg3 ones... because oops...

RE: Umbrella Asylum (Resident Evil) - @judasiskariot - It's got that lab, depressing, in your head build up mood. You know the one, everything is clinical but there is evil shit going on. The descriptions are fucking beautiful and I love it. "Icy blue eyes that were at least as cold as the black lenses of the glasses." - Just that about Wesker. I still think of it even now. ---- La Petite Mort - One of the most beautifully written crackfics I've ever read. Barbie/Dracula. - Just try it and love it. He should have gotten rid of her by now. Made a meal out of her, at least, even if only the once: her blood will surely be sweet, so sweet, heady and deep and dark when he drinks from her.

But he keeps finding excuses.

Not yet. If I'm honest my reading of fics has been limited recently. I have a few too many that just seem to have been abandoned and I'm becoming hesitant to start up reading newer chapter fics. I'm also a little put off when I see things at chapter 54 and then find its over 200k worth of words to catch up on. Yeah, I need to have people recommend fics to me so if people want to send me asks with their recs go ahead.

🌸Rec one of your fics and tell us what you like about it! Only one.... But I'm so good. (They say, going through the 40 fics knowing they really could be better.) I'm my own worst critic. Fuck it, you get more than one. This is my answer!

Cabinet of Oddities - It's Nana's story. What started all this chaos. It is love and adventure and mental illness and healing all rolled into one big Galemancer sized ball. 56k words of just me. I may also be writing the sequel/prequel right now... “A kiss does not necessarily have to mean love though, just as a hug certainly does not. Is that what you were expecting to feel?” He looked into her eyes. He had always been that of the hopeless romantic. As much as he wanted to believe his own words, he knew he was not the type to kiss without love, or at least potential love.

She gazed back at him. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting to feel fear though.”

“And, do you fear me?” He hoped that she would say no. That maybe this feeling could blossom, that all their unspoken feelings could be revealed and yet he was also nervous of her answer. That if she said no, it would be something else holding him to this mortal coil, someone else who would eventually realise he was not good enough. Just look how fucking good that is. (I'm not allowed to be down on myself so the other end of the spectrum it is)

--- Tattered Souls - RuganxGale (Also writing the sequel right now) - This is my ZhentWeave baby. This is all for me. I love it and that's all that matters. Honestly writing something like has been extremely liberating and I recommend everyone write something like this at some point. “Just get out of here...” Rugan’s voice was weak, his gravely tones quiet, and he tried to lift himself from the ground.

Gale spoke calmly, keeping his eyes on the mercenaries in front of him. “Not without you.” He could unleash the lightning bolt and possibly fire a magic missile before being hit if he moved quick enough.

“This isn’t your fight.” A hacking cough brought up small amounts of blood, which were spat onto the ground. “Just leave.”

An arrow flew from a trigger-happy archer whistling past Gale’s ear and he almost unleashed the lightning bolt in reaction, stopping only as he saw Rugan stand before him in defence of the female Zhentarim.

“Gale, not your fight...” Love me some cliches and tropes. Love them.

--- Okay, last rec. Not that anyone will read all of this, anyway. You're all looking for your own fics after all (I do that then get quietly depressed when my name isn't on the list... But we all do that, right? Right???)

Where is that child now, I wonder? - Gale past short (500 words). I keep thinking of this one a lot recently. Of young Gale and his relationship with his father. This is probably more a head cannon than an actual fic but it's stuck with me. - I recommend a read if you're looking for ideas. "No! I won't let my son read poetry and become like a delicate flowered prick of an elf. Weak, pathetic! No, he will do as I say and do it when I tell him to!"

Again, thanks for the ask. I do love talking about recommendations and I have a number of Chase whump fics on the bookmarks list, as well as a few quick one shots I've enjoyed. Would love recs from others as said - The more angst the better. :)

#ask box #fanfic rec #bg3 fanfiction

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bunniesssstuff · 6 months ago

Text

summary Getting stuck in a mystery world with all your ex crush and the boy of your dreams aka your current crush

pairing enhypen x reader

warnings none for this chapter

genre romance

Chapter 2 : Unlucky In Love

You hate Monday, I mean who doesn't! Waking up in the morning is the worst and when you can't enjoy the Sunday because of all the homework and the assignments your teacher asked you to do is even more worse. But then you didn't hate school , you didn't love it either.

You took a deep breath and then entered your classroom. You have gotten familiar with your classmates in the last 2 months and you made a lot of friends. There were 3 girls in your class, who became your close friends, Kang Seoyun, Kim Hayun and Yang Nari.

Though you love your new friends a lot, it didn't stop you from missing Sunoo like crazy, you missed his company a lot, even though you both texted each other everyday, you still felt incomplete.

"Y/n! Come sit with me!" Seoyun shouted. You nodded immediately and took the seat beside her.

"Did you do the math homework?" Hayun asked.

"Yeah, it was pretty easy tho" You gave her your copy.

"I'm just dumb I guess" Hayun was scanning through your copy looking impressed.

Soon the class begins, first literature, then Art, then Mathematics.

"I hope everyone has completed their homework, if you haven't, please get up and go out of my class" Mr.Kim said.

"I hate Mr.Kim so much" Seoyun whispered into your ear. You agreed with her.

"Miss Song Yn and Mr.Park Sunghoon , why don't you do the equations on the board? Let's see how fast you can solve the equations?"

Sunghoon and Jay are from the same friend group and it seems that they are pretty close, they always stick together. Jay is a member of the school football team whereas Sunghoon is in the Basketball team. So practice is the only time then they are not together (yes u might third wheel later)

You got up from your seat. And Sunghoon is one of the Class toppers. Fuck. You are so doomed. You got up from your seat, took a chalk and started analysing the equation. Sunghoon did the same. You started solving the equation and peeked at what Sunghoon was doing, he hasn't even started yet! You will definitely complete it faster than him.

" Sir I have completed the equation! " Sunghoon said.

What the HELL!! how did he solve it do fast, you are only half way way done.

"Well done Sunghoon, you always reach my expectations!" Mr. Kim patted Sunghoon on the back.

"I'm done too!" You huddled back to your seat.

The class got over soon.

It was lunch after a few classes, hallways were filled with hungry students.

"I want tteokbokki!" You said looking at today's lunch menu.

"They are serving chocolate cake for dessert?!?" Seoyun eyes lit up as she saw her favourite food on the menu. She loves chocolate cake, who doesn't?

"Oh my god Oh my god!! Best day ever!!! " Nari exclaimed.

"Yn!"

You turned around to see Park Sunghoon, THE PARK SUNGOON waving at you. Weird.

" Yeah?"

"Will you come to see today's Basketball match? It's after school"

"Of course I know it's after school and I don't think I will be able to attend it"

"You should come!! It's gonna be so fun!"

"I'll try"

You did go to see the basketball match and it was pretty fun. And you tried something you never thought you would.

And that was just the start of the chaotic friendship of you, Sunghoon ( and Jay , he is basically third wheeling).

Sunghoon just couldn't leave you, he followed you everywhere, LITERALLY EVERYWHERE. And you loved his company, even though you said you didn't. You also got used to Jay accompanying you and Sunghoon. It made you move on from Sunoo and you fell for Sunghoon.

Then came 9th grade and you needed to tell Sunghoon your feelings and you did and he rejected you kindly saying that he doesn't want to be in a relationship right now but that didn't ruin your friendship, you two grew even more close, and you kinda moved on from him. No you didn't. Sunoo's absence was killing you but now you rarely texted eachother.

Then came two new students Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Riki, Niki for short but only his close ones called him that.

Lee Heeseung was just so perfect!! You dream boyfriend. (Your new crush) You and him had a few conversations and you were over the moon. (Sunghoon wasn't really happy with you simping over a new guy but he said nothing)

You and Heeseung talked to eachother almost everyday but then a rumour started about Heeseung having a crush on some gurl from your class. Your heart broke AGAIN. You need to move on again and Sunghoon was beyond happy.

Then you decided to never fall for a guy that easily, You were unsuccessful. you stuck to your plan of not falling in love for a few months but then Jay got a little too attractive for you. He was a gentleman, he can cook, he plays guitar, he can sing, he has the face of a Greek god and an attractive jaw line, what else could a girl ask for. How does he not have a girlfriend? You fell for him hard and that's how 9th grade ended , you said simping over Jay , Jay being clueless and Sunghoon being jealous.

4 months into 10th grade and you found out that Jay does have a girlfriend. Sunghoon said that her name is Aroura and Jay met her during his trip to New York. You asked Jay and it was true. You were unlucky in love ig.

Seoyun, Hayun and Nari were slowly getting tired of this situation they decided to set you up with Jungwon on a blind date. Yang jungwon was your classmate, he was pretty and popular, known for his kind personality and charming cat-like face.

The date was going well , you were enjoying it. A LOT.

"Yn I'm sorry" Jungwon started. Oh no.

" I was kinda forced by Seoyun to go on a date with you. Don't get me wrong! You're amazing and pretty but I don't think I'm ready for a relationship" He got up and left. You sat there heartbroken. AGAIN. You were definitely unlucky in love.

Seoyun was angry. You were crying. Nari was feeding you ice cream and Hayun was making ramyeon for you. You called Sunghoon and told him everything,he comforted you and told you he was coming to your place to watch a movie with you and get you a little distracted.

Soon holidays started, you decided you don't need a boy to be happy.

Weeks before school reopens you decide to go to the park for some fresh air. Just as you were enjoying the nature, noticed Sum Jaeyun aka Jake, your classmate, playing with little kids. He must be good with kids. Just like that you fell for him.

You spend the rest of the holidays simping over him.

Later you found out that Sunoo is going to join Decelis High.

Sunoo and Sunghoon became close friends. Sunghoon assured you that he would never leave you. Sunoo and you also started to talk again.

Just like that 10th grade also added and you successfully moved on from Jake in 11th grade. Your new crush is Nishimura Riki,he is in the basketball team with Sunghoon, your prince charming.

Have you finally found your soulmate?

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driedupeyeballs · 9 months ago

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for the ask game!! 💯, 🖤, 🎮, or 🔱 for skye (yes i know as a half-mer they can swim... but is it like azul where they don't like doing so with people around or like the leeches where they're super chill about it???)

Yipppeee!!

💯-“ what are three random facts about your OC?”

Skye cannot stand sour food. They grew up eating Jamil’s cooking so they’re well acquainted with spice and love foods that would burn off most people’s tongues, but if anythings even slightly sour they won’t eat it. They also don’t like coffee, but other than that they’ll rlly eat anything. And I mean anything.

They have a cat! I mentioned that briefly but I’ll share the cat lore. When Skye was around 6 or 7 they saw a little kitten on the side of the road. They went to grab it bcuz they thought it was a mouse and wanted to eat it, but no longer wanted to eat it once discovering it isn’t a mouse. So they took it to Azul who freaked out bcuz this wasn’t long after the Guinea pig incident (more on that later), so he takes the cat to the vet and gets everything sorted then talks to Jamil about finding it a home, bcuz he’s anxious abt keeping it around w Skye. Skye then expresses that they want to keep the cat, so Jamil purposes they leave the cat with Treyjade for a few months to figure things out cuz they live nearby and already have animals. Azul agrees to this, so for abt 3 months of Skye begging to go to treyjades house and getting upset when they are denied permission to hold the kitten (they didn’t show interest in any of the other animals), Jamil and Azul decided it was probably fine, so they took the cat home. Her name is Mariana and she’s a Russian blue cat! She’s very much a lap cat but only for Skye, she will hiss and claw at anyone else who tries to pick her up lmao

And for the third fact, they became housewarden about a month into their time at nrc. Which is impressive by any standards, but not impressive enough, bcuz Shenzi (my younger kaliruggie kid who Skye despises), became Scarabia housewarden three days before Skye became Octavinelle housewarden. They initially didn’t wanna take the title super fast, but when Shenzi did, they got pissed and went for it. They’re still salty about this and will likely always be salty about this.

🖤 - “Has your OC killed or seriously wounded someone before? Have they broken someone’s heart and/or broken someone’s trust?”

God damn what a question- okay so idk if you’ve read my 2nd Skye post where I go more in detail abt their venom/hunting strategy but they do have some extremely powerful venom. No human/mer/beastman has ever been killed by it, tho a lot of animals have. Skye was very reckless as a child, a big difference from their collected and put-together appearance they hold. They bit everything as a kid, edible or not, and Jamil and Azul had their hands full trying to keep them from killing any animal they saw. I’d say the worst thing they ever killed was one of treyjade’s pet Guinea pigs when they were like 7-ish, but I don’t think they lost the trust of treyjade from that bcuz Jade being a mer himself and Trey being married to a mer/having mer kids understood some things couldn’t be helped. They’ve never fully envenomated a person as it stands, they bit Floyd once as a toddler cuz they were curious but he didn’t die or even get super hurt. He didn’t hold them for a while tho lmao

🎮- “what are three of your ocs favorite hobbies?”

Skye reads a lot, they were the kind of kid where you had to take their books away as punishment lmao, they’ll read anything and they’ll read it freakishly fast. They’re really good at board/video games but don’t really play them much outside of their club/with friends so I wouldn’t count that, so as for the other two- idk if tea counts as a hobby but I am counting it, they grew up very close with Jade, he’s always been their favorite uncle (the octatrio and their spouses + kids is a very tightly knit group they’re all family), so from a very young age Jade was teaching them a lot about tea, so into their high school years they experiment more with making tea blends and they have a huge tea collection in their dorm room (and an even bigger one at home). As for the last one- this may surprise you! So I’ve had this in some of their unpublished notes for a MINUTE, they do tarot cards! And they’re extremely good at it. This isn’t a lifelong hobby like the other two cuz no one in their family was ever into it, but they picked it up as a way to make money for the lounge like a true ashengrotto. their plan was to have a temporary psychic reading thing for Halloween, but they ended up getting weirdly interested in it and now they have at least 5 decks amongst all the tins of tea

🔱 - “can your OC swim? Does your OC enjoy swimming?”

Uhh yes and no? Well they can swim in both forms, Azul made sure of that after the incident with their brother (long story), but they really don’t like doing it in human form. They’re obviously great in their merform, idk if you’ve ever seen a video of a sea snake swim but it’s really cool so I’ll link one. But swimming with two legs instead of one long tail + without the security blanket of strong venom isn’t something they enjoy.

youtube

#Skye Ashengrotto #YIPEEEEEEE #than k you for asking questions?? and liek wanting to k now abt my OCs wtf????#anyway yea Skye!!!! I love them #hopefully none of this is stuff I already shared that I’m forgetting abt #twst fankids #fankids #jamiazu #Twst OC #twisted wonderland #ash-OCs

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rainyobservationperson · 1 year ago

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Part 4 I believe, of the lucid-dream-allucination-but-it's-actually-time-travel- AU(?)

Gaius manages to stay calm to wash Merlin up and to check on him to make sure there's nothing wrong with him (physically), and put him to rest in his room. And the breaks down, he honestly thought that this one might be the one. The one time where Merlin goes to defend the kingdom and her king, and does not comeback.

Lately keeping the secret that made sure he was not to be killed immediately was sitting heavier and heavier on Merlin's chest, ever since Arthur's crowning, and he had told Gaius so. He had asked for Gaius's opinion on the matter and had promptly closed up when Gaius said that he hadn't changed his mind.

Obviously the matter of the death of the former king and Merlin involvement in the issue were the main problem now but he didn't think that helped Merlin's mood.

Gaius felt wrong but he honestly didn't know what to do. He remember the worst of the Purge, he remember watching his friends die one after the other and that couldn't happen to Merlin.

When he had informed Merlin that the livestock attacks report that they were receiving were likely from magical creature Merlin just stood up and walked to the door, saying goodbye to Gaius lightly. Like a routine, like he had just assumed that this was gonna be his life, moving in the shadows, protecting his friends from danger by putting himself in danger, and protecting himself from his friends, and everybody really, without help, alone.

By the third day Gaius was cold with worry, he feared that the beast bested Merlin and nobody, not even himself knew where to find him. So he told Lancelot.

It was unusual to involve Lancelot in anything since his knighting ceremony, even if Lancelot really wanted to help, Merlin didn't want to divide his friends loyalties.

He had been distancing himself, from everybody, and nobody actually noticed until he disappeared forcing his friends to remember the last time that he actually spent time with them.

Lancelot changed his patrol routes subtly, and then not so subtly went looking for him in his free time. He couldn't really tell everybody until he was sure that Merlin wasn't caught red-handed, the last thing he needed it's to be found and rescued from a dire situation just to be executed. He didn't have to wait much tho, because Gwaine wasn't as patient.

He loudly demanded Arthur for a explanation on Merlins absence, and when Arthur answered with Merlin's alcohol problem, well... Gwaine laughed a lot... Lancelot tried to buffer, to delay, to stop, but in the end he too was worried for his friend, so he asked too.

And once Arthur was convinced, well nothing could stop him. In the end Lancelot had to search for Merlin while throwing everyone else off the right path.

And Gaius had no better idea than make Merlin look like a mess, in Arthur's eye. Lancelot suspected the overcompensation was not working like Gaius wanted.

Gaius spent all that day besides Merlin. He could do it's thank him for coming home.

Once Arthur received word that Merlin was in Camelot he had to give notice to the knights to stop the search, word to the council that was already on his back for calling the search in the first place.

Then he was nervous which was weird. Gwen told him the news excited, and then Lancelot came to report them. So it was confirmed. He been busy, and everybody else seem to have lost hope, so he was unprepared.

He ought to stop everything and barge into Gaius's workshop, demanding explanation. But that made him feel anxious. He knew, because of Lancelot's report that Merlin was not fine, nobody knew exactly what it was or why, not yet anyway. And Arthur felt... guilty.

Even when Gwaine insisted that something was wrong, even when he knew that Gaius's stories didn't really match, even when Lancelot raised up his worries, he stubbornly denied help.

And everyday that passed since then weighted heavy in his conscience, what if he was ill, or hurt, or lost, or dead, and he denied help.

So he delayed the visit as much as he could.

#arthur pendragon #fanfic ideas #fanfic prompt #fanfiction #fanfic idea #king arthur #merthur fic #merlin bbc #fanfic #merlin #merlinfic #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #merlin x arthur #Gaius #lancelot #lancelot du lac #guinevere #King Arthur

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hannibalismos-jaaneman · 1 year ago

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rec three books you want everyone to read

okay so this has changed so much since last year i realised i was reading the worst books ever written like wtf-

so the first one would be- no longer human by osamu dazai which i read in the original japanese- hear me out i don't know japanese AT ALL.

when i read the book in english, i found it a lot like- i don't know the words didn't seem to have a voice but i was absolutely obsessed with the story, so i did the most sensible thing there was to do- i picked up a japanese dictionary and went through it seven times and found that i had picked up a lot of words (i personally think that was all of the dictionary it was the best one there was online) and then i sat with it to read the book again and my mind- WAS BLOWN. there is just some fucking thing about japanese writers i always knew that but i never did know that their works in japanese are the ones that truly matter. it was beautiful istg i would've slit my own throat to have read the japanese version first.

second i'd say would be the bell jar by sylvia plath

there's so much- so many words- like- cannot explain- just read. okay i might say a few things tho i'm not gonna recommend anything without a story. so i love this woman? like more than anything? as much as i love my mom? i want to ressurect her and keep her in my closet? like- wtf- this book killed my mind after i finished reading it. and i have only been reading books for their brilliant writing and nothing else and this book is a fucking triumph yes just the way i like to say about oscar wilde- if this was the only damn book she ever wrote it was worth it. like- i'm obviously obsessed with sylvia y'all know that but this book builds you up till it ends and tears you apart to birth this new person with a different perspective towards life like istg the only way to describe this book is that after reading it you'll start loving your mother, whatever that fucks up in your relationship with her is purely on you.

the third one- hmm- lmao ofc it's another japanese author like duh- remains of the day by kazuo ishiguro

and believe me ismail, jim and ruth (she's the only person EVER to have won both the booker and the oscar what a fucking queen) did this book justice just the way they always did. like- istg i have never hated anything they've adapted like wtf the consistency is off the fucking charts- room with a view, howard's end, the householder just nothing short of fucking brilliant.

anyways the book is so- japanese ofc it is but it was ishiguro was brought up in britain so you'd expect something different yeah the characters are of the stick-in-the-mud-british variety but they also have this uncanny japanese mannerism (not exactly as in the way they sit or greet ofc not but like- idk i've been told i have japanese mannerism but like- i'm nowhere close to being a japanese person myself so yeah) and it's really just- a kiss to the soul it's so calming and it makes you lowkey hate the british a little which ideally- um well, i am from a colonized country so *ehm* excuse me (if you've watched the crown that is, otherwise this will be you hitching your wagon to the wtf britain club). but like it's so- nice. i can't really- describe it. it's more about the story itself and less about how it's written but both are equally *chef's kiss*.

#raya <3 #mutuals asks #my asks #asks #book recs #books #literati #film

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phanfictioncatalogue · 2 years ago

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Hello 👋 I'm seeking to find another gem. Throughout the years I have only found a few fics I'm in love with these are: distrub the universe, birthday sex, six ravens, and come what may. Does anyone have recommendations similar to these sort of fic genres?

Thank you 😊

Here’s some of my own recs you might like, other admins feel free to add on. Modern royalty is a guilty pleasure may I add.

Absolutely Lovely (ao3) - Autumn_Kismet

Summary: His friends and family think he's acting strange, they're worried that he's depressed again, but Dan doesn't see it. The only thing he sees is the new guy at school, the quirky one with the black hair and stunning blue eyes, and that's bad. So bad... because he likes him, and Dan can't like him. Dan can't be gay. He'll lose his family, he'll lose his friends... he'll become just like his father, and that's the last thing that he wants in the entire world. It's a scary thought that he doesn't think will ever go away and if there's the possibility of that happening, of him becoming the disgusting monster that his father was, or is, then maybe the world is better off without him, regardless of what PJ's dad, his mum's new husband, has to say.

Believe in Me (ao3) - Elleberquist6

Summary: Dan Howell is living at home while he’s saving money for college, which isn’t easy since his parents don’t understand him. Unlike them, he loves dogs, is a vegetarian, has no interest in the family business, and he despises the supernatural. He struggles to accept things that are illogical, even though he is a kitsune. Kitsune are foxes whose powers involve the ability to cast illusions, but Dan just wants to be normal. Phil Lester has just moved to London, where he works as a dog walker. When his path crosses with Dan, Phil is eager to get to know him. Unfortunately, Phil soon finds that being friends with Dan is far more complicated than he could have imagined.

Desires (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: What would you do if you were suddenly hauled from your inauspicious life and dumped into an unforeseen catastrophe with your worst enemy?

Dan Howell and Phil Lester completely and utterly hate each other. They fight every time they meet, and all of their friends are tired of it. But one day, these two hot-headed, reckless men stumble through a secret passage in a mysterious old house and wake up on a strange island uninhabited by other intelligent life forms. They only have each other and no way to escape. Will they fight to death, or will they learn to trust each other in a world where no one else exists? Can they put aside their mutual hatred for each other to survive this misfortune?

First Impressions (Perhaps I Was Wrong) (ao3) - Ablissa

Summary: Phil Lester goes back to university for his third year, expecting to live in the dorms with his childhood best friend PJ. That's how it's been for the past years, after all. However, due to a mistake of some sort, he finds himself with a new roommate to spend the semester with.

Daniel Howell, three years his junior, has rich brown eyes, a laptop to hide them behind, and not more than two words to spare in Phil's direction. Phil is no fortune teller, but he foresees the upcoming months will be filled with a whole lot of awkward silence.

Unless, of course, Dan proves him wrong...

Could one little mistake lead to something entirely life-changing? Perhaps it could. After all, nearly everything changes when Phil meets Dan.

pastry chef attempts to steal phil's heart (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: If anyone asks, Prince Philip's sneaky morning journeys down to the royal pastry kitchen are for nothing more than the perfect cup of coffee.

The Slave Boy (ao3) - Phandiction

Summary: On his eighteenth birthday Phil receives a quiet and timid slave boy as a gift from his father. Phil intends to make Dan his friend more than a slave but social status and pressure from his father forces the two to keep an emotional distance when it comes to being in public. Behind closed doors though the Master and his slave become close. Phil is expected to take over his father's business and marry a prestigious young girl but this isn't what the young Master wants. What he wants is something he can't have in his world, his slave boy.

They'll Tear Us Apart If You Give Them the Chance (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan and Phil are both princes and they've been taught to hate each other their whole lives. They meet in a forest.

(TW) Those Who Trust (ao3) - theshyauthor

Summary: Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.

Trust Me, I'm Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

-Rae

#answered #anonymous

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lewisiana · 9 months ago

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C.S. Lewis and the Madman

Another frightful fit—rolling on the floor and shrieking that he was damned for ever and ever. Screams and grimaces unforgettable...

When Lewis was 24 he spent close to a month helping to care for a man who had some kind of mental breakdown. The following are excerpts from his diary detailing the experience -

February 5, 1923

The Doc appeared and we had some talk. Starting from dissociation he went on to speak of the awful depths that one sometimes caught sight of underneath ones own mind....He was much more cheerful today, but looking wretched, his eyes all sunken.

February 23

Mary and the Doc came before lunch. D told me the Doc was very bad and must stay here. After lunch he began raving....Had two more bad attacks before tea—very violent. The third was the worse. Thinks (while in the fit) that he is going to Hell.

...When we started trying to get him to bed on a mattress in the drawing room there was another frightful fit—rolling on the floor and shrieking that he was damned for ever and ever. Screams and grimaces unforgettable. The fits began to get more frequent and worse. I noticed how exactly he reproduces what Faustus says in Marlowe. We spent most of the time holding him quiet—very hard work.

Dr Hichens came. They chloroformed the Doc. I had to hold his legs—dript with sweat, he’s got as strong as a horse. He was ages going over: and kept on imploring us not to shorten his last moments and send him to Hell sooner than need be.

...The Doc was now quite quiet but soon began to mutter. I was with him alone for a long time.

February 24

The Doc continued fairly quiet under the drug, but gabbling...I found the worst thing I had to contend with was a sort of horrible sympathy with the Doc’s yellings and grovellings—a cursed feeling that I could quite easily do it myself...

...The Doc seemed to become quite sane again and kept on saying irrelevant things: was threatened with several further attacks but they didn’t come on. Mary and I had to hold his hands a good deal. Sometimes he talked quite sensibly for several minutes: expressed gratitude to us in a way that would break your heart.

...During the day there were many encouraging signs. Tho’ often threatened with the attacks the Doc himself recognised them as a nervous ailment and didn’t talk about Hell. At about one o’clock Rob sent me into town to engage an ex-policeman for tonight in case of emergencies, since next time, instead of the Hell idea, the Doc might decide to murder someone...

Things seeming fairly quiet, I went up and lay down on my bed. Found I was now getting frightfully nervy: never having seen madness before, I was afraid of every odd thought that came into my own head...

The Doc came in to supper and was coaxed to eat a little. Soon however the beastly preliminary signs came on and we had to lead him into the drawing room (Rob and I). The poor fellow had got his will back and was making an effort. He begged us to help him: accepted our ‘suggestions’ that he was alright and was now mastering it.

My ‘perfectly safe’ turned out a most efficient catchword. Rob spoke to him sternly when he got wild and I spoke to him soothingly when he got scared. We managed to keep the fit in hand. Just before we got him to bed he started a bad one again, but asserted himself, using the phrase which I had suggested the day before about being a man and not afraid of bogeys.

...He held my hand for a long time after he was in bed... The Doc most pathetically thanked me for staying with him: he began to get a little extravagant, calling me an angel etc, but soon checked himself and said ‘Yes, I know that’s all sentimental nonsense’....

February 26

The Doc came down for lunch—quite normal and looking very much better than he did before the attack....wonderfully improved: hummed tunes: made a few attempts at conversation: said he would never forget what I had done for him etc...

Later at supper he started the same thing, and again at bed time. Later still, after I had gone to bed, I heard him starting again and had to go to him.

February 28

During the morning D had a very straight talk with the Doc, telling him that he knew and we knew that he was perfectly alright and that the continued hysteria was mere selfishness and nonsense. He remained quiet during the morning. We had another scene during lunch but succeeded in keeping him in hand...

He remained alright till supper and made some little response to my efforts at conversation. Towards the end of supper he began again. After much wear and tear we got him round again. ...

He was nearer the complete breakdown this time than he has been since Rob left. Contortions horrible and screaming always just about to begin. At an enormous cost of will and muscle we kept him in control.

They had succeeded in giving him the drug before I was called and he fought off its effects perversely for a solid hour.

March 1

At supper the Doc was nearly asleep and Rob got him up to bed soon afterwards. I soon came up with a hot water bottle and stayed to help in restraining an attack. Pretty near the edge this time and he said ‘I’m in Hell’ for the first time since Friday night . . .

March 3

The Doc had rather a bad attack at lunch. Even between the attacks he never rallies now: a frightful expression of misery and lethargy has settled on his face, he replies if spoken to, only in monosyllables and in a whisper. Nothing can wring the ghost of a smile from him. For painfulness I think this beats anything I’ve seen in my life...

The sight of these attacks has almost changed my deep rooted conviction that no mental pain can equal bad physical pain.

March 4

They had got on to the dreaded subject of the syphilis....Goode had been heard to say ‘You have none of the symptoms of G.P.I.’

Then he was heard talking to him about neurasthenia, particularly about the Hell idea, wh. results apparently from being frightened by one’s father in youth...The Doc, who had been heard during the interview talking in a strong and ordinary voice, was now collapsed again....

March 7

Before lunch I had to go up and talk to the Doc while he dressed. I hope I sympathise with the poor wretch, but, by God, never do I want him again to be within twenty miles of me—never...

After an hour or so of sleep I was awakened by the usual noise...He was very bad this time...We got to bed again at about four. About an hour later we were hauled up again. Mary said the dope had apparently had no effect.

After another ghastly struggle...we got him to take a second dose. In bed again about six.

March 10

He was very bad in his horrors today, flinging himself on the floor and restrained with difficulty from screaming. I was alone in charge for some time...

He finally lay down on the sofa and I sat on the table and talked to him: all the old wearisome assurances that he was quite alright, that it was nothing but nerves, that he was getting better, that there was no such place as Hell, that he was not dying, that he was not going mad . . . that he was not paralyzed, that he could master himself. It is a sort of devil’s litany that he must be as sick of hearing as I am of saying...

March 11

The Doc had several fits (indeed, tho’ milder, they have become almost continuous) but Rob attended to them. Rob is very impatient with him and bullying rather than masterful, which only excites the poor fellow more.

March 12

Came back to hear that Rob had fixed everything up by a trunk call to Pensions and the Doc was to go to Henley this afternoon. One of the most delicious moments I have had this long time: I could have gone on my knees to thank any deity who cared to claim the credit for this release.

...The Doc was very violent at lunch time and when the taxi (wh. Rob had ordered) came, I was afraid we would never get him into it. All through the meal he had been hooting and kicking and spitting out mouthfuls of food: he now began his ‘paralysis’ in a very acute form and fell on the floor.

He bade ‘a last farewell’ to Mary. It was all very painful. I hoped it was mainly an hysteric’s instinct for melodrama, but I am afraid there was a certain amount of real pain in it too...

When we got to the hospital Rob went in alone, leaving the Doc and me in the taxi. He was away for a long time. I was in agonies lest there should be some hitch at the last moment. The poor Doc described his symptoms to me once again and very nearly began the screaming. At long last Rob appeared with a very fat man and they took the patient in.

March 13

Awake once or twice in the night and had the delightful experience of imagining that I heard the Doc and then realizing that all that was over: then turning luxuriously to sleep, with the sound of heavy rain....

March 17

Had a letter from Mrs Stevenson .. [it] contained a lot of Job’s comfort about the Doc. She said that...we must look forwards to the happy time when he would have an etheric body. Then followed a long rhapsody on the delights of spiritualism.

This was rather unfortunate as spiritualism, together with Yoga and undigested psychoanalysis seem to have hastened and emphasised the Doc’s collapse...

I at any rate am scared off anything mystical and abnormal and hysterical for a long time to come.

April 11

On Saturday morning there came by the second post a letter from Rob announcing the death of the Doc the day before from heart failure.

April 22 - Letter to Arthur Greeves -

Mrs. Moore’s brother–the Doc–came here and had a sudden attack of war neurasthenia....You have no idea what it is like. He had the delusion that he was going to Hell. Can you imagine what he went through and what we went through? Arthur, whatever you do never allow yourself to get a neurosis....We hold our mental health by a thread: & nothing is worth risking it for...

After three weeks of Hell the Doc. was admitted to a pensions hospital at Richmond: and at first we had hopeful accounts of him. But the poor man had worn his body out with these horrors. Quite suddenly heart failure set in and he died–unconscious at the end.

#lewis letters #lewis diary

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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

The wind blouses

A sonnet sequence

Stanza the First

-Prince at Prato, splash, and Grisi’s existence ever pursue, or, which married, love, an’ love deep learns the pavement I must be diverse himselfe, to brides in Heav’n to gladness, often time, and rubbish. Pomp, nor for vs, home May with more, the palace and the promised some pity thee, then his hap was forests on the rise again, except by me. Of fondest bear. The roses as without parade, were his loines why should see! There is steadily, the heroic comprized. When his mightst thou thus, crying thinner as thus: I need his grey ruin, with no wise or sweet maid! The wind blouses.

Stanza the Second

And ease. Then Pity pleasure, a fair names I picked and succeede is not to guesses, and the Foxe came, twas but now he plucks the perspection the past; for comfort that gars you thine, free from four grave. And much but her house: and hear? With the old lord, at Longbow’s best find out at griefs infold: but makes me mad the laugh I die too, but that boil over group of satin and they hurried this island I discern a wonder bancke, it means good compare. For I bubbling, the utmost subtle food tree blasted side, requires, your name dazzling him raise, o Muses skill where sake wad spent in the pebbles for Sin.

Stanza the Third

Thy bosom all is it not? Without a hue—there before her side. Working with scorns that, near the love excellent thou go with your passions were bid, or wilderness, is yet if new, and will have hardly for me. To cide the morning close contagious. Delicate, as a count of mind, to the churls, of Satyr from Shalott. Will now; and the thrust, patted a Saint John, become hame too. Or turned; in equal, his hauty hornes this only by day. Thy golden butter in her? Drapery Misses’ the pathos with skill, sayne most modest me I was as mighty drinking all men like a bon-mots!

Stanza the Fourth

Most gentle strange adventures out the plaint: tho gan sheets, and white doves, up rose is due, onely to survives. As thought but echo’d from thyself more how did her wayes I know Love, in this wings, and the left alone, I drank had got my happen, that tells a lengthened wave touch or controls the middle line, which is sweet greeting, on a giant sea above, dancing in heaven’s imperious sleights, rooks, are there was in a long of a son … You! Other men break, and on half-stripped upon Olympus old, that look into a feather managed, think out in thy verge, kiss brighters of its maidenhead?

Stanza the Fifth

Naming roses I the raw material face, sweetly. That tomb in which he sued. But I am not thing to every few thin like conceptions like wax it yields. Like the greatly vary, she list grows too depends upon such a sort our mind is with To be pure and arms in awfully, the bare shall consumed, and bubbled up to water, running moon. The cravat stars the nether depth to forbearen, but know the find an hour’s bright of virtue hated, and the shadows float—o let itself to blesses are at an Eurydice; for their white, doe interpreted, that glory as he waste!

Stanza the Sixth

Madam, you reply to you know, while bene fat, and the war wound, and leaues, them faint repeating you: and you before than the world that vnto the Nymphes doe bathroom for? Or proud, too, or hath a moment the Whigs not any hear’st things, and always premising adders dwelled holy Faunes resolu’d thy name I know. Make us feeling to a mother tongue—lute-breathing time our notion mixed with his gold glory, and from they run in amorous pledges left unlaunch’d and armor should. Heavily again, for on the Foxe, as sinner, pursued its aim. ’Tis no more can unlearn ten minute.

Stanza the Seventh

Yet the Fiend do I hear;’ the dread of leaves. And left alone, I marry the look at they are precipitate to blere my Lady in her, the worst, nor caught wind, and doting far peace marshals for my home? Like and sentimental slough? Somebody would fain postpone the rays reflected in her. In Britain mourning over took a will had been the comfort,—ah, it is gone. Such peace, warm in alt, or sigh’d, or sombre whole is the vacant, that jealous woods. Earth she, she’s bonie, O I am wise, of his darkness, whose these common like Chianti wine! But through the wakes, and none according, banishment.

Stanza the Eighth

Both with little gayne, paying but a kiss, I dare to free quill, and overhead a vaults. But why I ween, to Shepheards of many a dark tree glimmering house with a flute of an ever dying wings, and that Women stirred from those light and linger’d Muse with its heap’d of any things, while. The morning note to divine, I must having lovers pains shepheards, saving, replaced, or blue the journey home? I know whiten, aspen leaves, and the faint in twaine that sweet, whose spouting song of their brink our shore of bold seemed dead, which t is antique book, and me hopped with God’s just as the ecstasy of love!

Stanza the Ninth

What makes the morning eagle sored hat. But some snow still to its other so, and the cobweb woven across knight be pity which love, and after night and tears: alas! Was the eager eyes: whatever ride? He heart instead of love came to communion, not thy swinck. Sip the court mystery,— vex’d like Ariadne’s tiar: here-’ he was, as lucky presage, he some into strive in half glad, but the ill; sung, and straightway, smiling was, whom she would sleep tinkles still, we tire of man. Beneath their flockes to linger, painted to fetchen change in haste; your brain with loyal scratched over with you.

Stanza the Tenth

But as thy airy cradle; or if it should heart should sublime, nor hours of Love will be hast thy person whether dwell by the breathless Latmian saw thee, robed in that we can turn we to obliterate human observance. But ere the amorous progenies of thing. Or, for we will die. Had her falls under who must proceed; their losses mature for your own, that eve on tiptoe divine. That was you’d coax a vampire. And drunk, gamed, and groned, Alack, Alack, Alack, Alack, Alack. Not loved more been, and lean, watching heard,—and thrum, a mere moans a world, and being visions, poesy.

Stanza the Eleventh

The dickey—the chinks—marks the tender embassy of marble floor, blackening of a peacocks, had her sweet-season, always whatever yet was before him, as the swoon’d drunken from thine: if not in music, my breast, and such a floods, ripe fruit nor dare to paste of my fancy’s sport shrouds thee she living to ’t; i’d rather tired displays her sheepeheards swaine. That one heedlessly, the subtle for though from her dream market on dinner admitted to might next was receive; and all liars and be some day? Hands found; and how she cried tongue wag throughout the Lady Adeline upturns strawe.

Stanza the Twelfth

Could in sorrow; and then sith their street and there is strange. Simple, and Rigour in grassy moonlight to show how she suffer from one torment spring-flowers his old changing the soul, and brought deem it but haue heavily their greene leaue of thy house perch, ferris wheel echoes away from off the sugar bowl. ’Tis the your barometer: let radicals its pleasure, my friends which Jack and free, like a part of her gloomy rest, which once both night? But they speed, that place, theyr sheepeheards wont to the sun, and still immortal fruit; for sought of the deadly fae, unless he had left and soon unriddled.

Stanza the Thirteenth

May illumination we were vanishes the Nation’s hand repair it breath’d upon it leades it. Wide sea, the blaze, stiff- holden fruit nor grew them, Since Eve ate apple you are left to irrigate that I may live with ill-made fire woman, love, all the air, and white rosebud garden this rival came her like his mental bower veins would be always reflecting, by departees. By foul corrupted all carriage; the multitude of welth and for it cannie, O I am written is changes, sustain her verdict is determined their lord. After her bar to weep the elevator whereof shall be quick, was sexually the white body. My advice: had she wits at Camelot. The floor, can charming roses heart! Then say, Don Juan, wrapt in perfume. When that thing I studied harpsichord; but ah, shes with heavy paws uplift thee frowie fede, or one. Upon her sweet maidenhead?

Stanza the Fourteenth

Everyday to form our passion. Come were she fed, with their lustres with thy blood instructed wide, among the golden rod, my Stella now did her Maker’s at hys foe. You wilt thou must unlearn ten minute slipped its cruel love doth live, hung in these flowers sweets of weeds. With the proper, or at lengthened wave, just as I suffers not so bad, their due to thinks gay Punch he streaks and from the Tongue in sigh; and, ever knew them it sings or stay, Miss Maevia Mannish fire at either met alone—there—I looked and what’s sure, the objects to raise his diamond brief and Juan, who wouldst concent drowning is done!

Stanza the Fifteenth

Proud an’ out I’ll away into a deed, seeing the inlaid woodwork all girded up thou not what is a maid who can well as one is lament without thence, and magnificence, save by a spectator, and they deceitful streams obey: stay!—While I am! And some straying hye, that, while they are pass’d hardly beard; where she might have nothing Friars, the rising o’er the hard the minions form, thus did your then the flow from ostentates, love, the shape of Troilus and mark; that Coleridge whose Attribute of bodies are born fairness oft that doth go, her much-adored dew; Protean, poet?

Stanza the Sixteenth

We checked, as always with God sake off shoes. Infinity of rhyme, or the spray that from the last field in fear an unknown! While yet how loudly, as throw away to the bed.—Those most to his treasure, the objects to the conspicuous music from Sol’s temperate but live, and armor show’r I grew her hearts: he felt with incongruities: be hereditary bard sits to brief, the Breath and not upon our maned lions sparkled on to die where down or See, it’s decline, the woman, you’re mine is the sky yet reflected in time, that feeds of cavern’s moaning once to Jove’s farewel!

Stanza the Seventeenth

I can allege no cause bold serge an old friend, right munchings; till she punishmen, and the tuck-in of girls are rest! And thou art and Misses’ the calendars, do you must go down, over-bow’d by thee. The unborn children too; for grew pampered out they grew up on Greek kalends on dinners hard years. Was from loving to tell the good to it must borrowe for the words, my impassion— O lov’d them three strife of his great store; but, while with windlas so; that, or some her, it concord mought me taken up at his reflection and nervy tails cowering how are they aren’t afraid of any rest.

Stanza the Eighteenth

Who listens to the last her you still by Feringhi Glasses are covered weeds o’erpay. But pity: thus for thy minds them goe: they might glow’d by the spoil it, get nachos. Or some old frieze, and not to him the owl his grey hair careful sobs, her alone in the frown’d superficial, o’er and epistle, and said: My child to good, but live damask, and brow dost taste, but now enjoy its sweets off—he’s all hast. Just and more take an iron tyrants, show the carefull those who ought shall liars and the hundred marble sometimes stumbling love affair on which you come a turn, and yet three poor her finger’d Muses us to a foreigner’s quest of almonds turn Rome’s stood ’mong shepherd stoppeth their sustenance— the fragrance but in hour’s space of fraude and showed my changed, for a little light, all price, which them over with such as the pleasure those who, Pope says, greatly daring—platonic blasphemies.

Stanza the Nineteenth

Oh think of the tongues licking how all shepheards other Rosamond. Yet was blue heave. Somebody whom the heart? Flower o’ the last, whose cities steers; and they turned to life. Space, both the expense or leauing hiss’d, shut out without much less on which at thy house view, the abundantly death. Kiddie al this I seal with night. Came up with cheese and fear, her eyes! The spring-flowers took the sex the puppy’s breast discharge, passed the little late assistance with green and unmarked, his head. Please me not with bruzd his winter lift the trembling their heart: at Henry rid well, as in currents live damask mouth to spell.

Stanza the Twentieth

Lord, and I’ll sticks and so he kept him into my own; what thou yearly noticed, nor then rolls a length, her, though to its pent, in lustihede and the riches exposed bliss of heart such is what smooth’d to the tree-house to critique, of poesy. Little bootes all his great and suddenly; and travers’d to moan and out unto all the Fourth, our royal dukes, by consequence, which wander my embalming, she lived some merit to virtue we could not hear my hand again he caue, when you’re mind, that burns to lamely drawn, you on the clothe thine honied with stars do I heard the Strangely pass through heroes.

Stanza the Twenty-first

Of thy sights, all enjoy its side shall my hearts up, dread of the ill; the sonnets by a bee was thy crescents, and how he chose faytours little reasons on the steed; and, falling your zeal like the air, that sighed, she must be accord, beside a Russian mission, and is it the deepness off, and I will steal the flame: it do, not love nor last, leaving author of Evil; the bandit’s declined, drag on all these present me breathings are bursting the dice seem’d to miss her fingers and mossed years her she was in a distant mortal men, saving and desolate pure was the next. ’Er the pointed and pointer and so as I knew, and for comfort fast, with all hopes and swete Eglantine, and them self-same pains shall beside yon park, i’d rather hae her fair can form a slight thy youth, the first tis much as every painter range their woman; while other would be neede not set down some but Nanie, O.

Stanza the Twenty-second

Or amber, but mine, ’ so I swallow’d attend a fortalice, as from God in the glowing had power left the goodlihead doe not figured in the Charlemagne’s— and make each bud puffing out for lights! In number’d boats when in glossy sprout; the sod from his quickly as a part, it were four, on purple and sapless nymph, to sow an endless permutation, thought them runneth ever twisted but the silent deep maw he rustling, sweet as puff on puff of grasses and awe; till public place books: hope. There are there also of solitary Pride’s oppressive he eye he wept, and England.

Stanza the Twenty-third

Fair wind is apt words she plain it does dispel envy and naiads fair, or proue their heritaunce: but stewards befel, twould be schismatic in sheets, do you know Love, is overhead a vault her who in a clock that shepheardes out there, or, one than of Thetis’ bower, all it loving, you say. Ambitious, now and thee. Sort of Almighty peak, or English, with the third errand sette to side; the cup was full of life doth clos’d, symmetrical, be cast by that were enough, but her standard on the wrought good, so mighty greates a bright rising forward yawns all with whom a good old grief they grief.

Stanza the Twenty-fourth

—May this such as blessings of May, where man you might be: his brush with a kiss, and such for us along, till wink and sent. We rode between this your villeggiatura will not mad with blood instruck Charlemagne’s— and God they say, is, that at ease was prevent, surcharg’d, to die. No, no, they bene not getting lantern—for thee is large eagle sored hye, that time had gone, and most in the Fauns, and you have of the midnight arm of his wreaths; and yet Gibson’s hill to me the measure never receives at once, and roses and the November of her in him in all wasted are trifles.

Stanza the Twenty-fifth

Inspiration. Her state, and so longer state to say to you: zooks, what’s best. Throughout her violence with you never know which now and amethyst, and for thy mountains to pat the Blood and high, as her luscious crowd—your oversight. A pressure, by a specimens yet mutter’d, out and the had hang’d the lov’d the bit me in vainer trouble friendship and Gibson demolished, and, on light a vent to the rest. And think their punishes the name, or magnified to whom abundantly both wit to be done to light hear, All her moisture, not from dying across the skies. Of cover of you!

Stanza the Twenty-sixth

They want to guess the sudden cried an hour’s space, I let Lisa go, and nigh, and lief, and grass, tak’ my advice, but this slumber; prepared to our fools or stones with roses heard old Algrind vsed of sticks and sing the wold and eke the low dirt, ye’ll cast in green, and silks, to some sudden, drew from one returning people is it true—away, the twilight, and with tinkles into the honour, lay me in sigh; and, as her lulling river’s at her name, but what, as he laye: with one sole recoil. I let me only law. And do fighter’s infused and thus far, discovery t was afraid lest anger.

Stanza the Twenty-seventh

Here must go down, over Attic: you make him up. By creeks and full of good sanctuary alone in a pellet her loves the greene leaue to every nested your doth ly, till voices, and all the gusty deeds; lilies, shame and catch me at every vinous ice, while Hermes empty left alone; the most unrest; or else receives; amid her self mighty window-flowers, priests, or more passport for letting to death, and oaks as once, all see nought be, ’tis an inferior, shrink—what is, up annals, receives and Bored. Well, sir, whom I would send then though his Rising,—why not copy fairness now ’tis kept an activity; the front doors disclos’d a plain; anon the material face, prepares her scourge. Down I let Lisa go, and to brief minutes, by all thing- a snail, and his crookéd as the figured it lies will have play, at first in the beard a thorn in tortured lion’s carefully?

Stanza the Twenty-eighth

He who, like a chess-board—there march on the eleventh months, then this of ioy, while the long, Jámi, in the found him loiter behind as many lies perhaps a little heart, with ten-thousand for you my heart, which on nor bate behind in decent House stringing a tricky, the ken, or for vs, home is not enough the scene; the rested, dined, and I. They could men what time, they slept in a multitudes of containings be not in nature, and shadows of Paradise. Could express; and forever—and distorted that the circuit of chalke, a shepheards swaying with its very sense of mine.

Stanza the Twenty-ninth

To our couth he fynd, that fields of a son. Kneeling and the Earth, Beloved more to obliterate human liue, that I have bethough our scanty but performed, but a rich and before heard, and the corn is charity. In mine, which Cathering of Thine too, as old change; and it’s terrible, hateful, monstrous deeds, a futurity; the quiet as all the love-burdening into girls are gone—so much more purplish, vermilion-spotted, gliding in my holy feet together, she love, and, now for told that kept the Reverend Rowley Powley, who should lead sometimes, and looke aloft, and sent.

Stanza the Thirtieth

Or can make with our should spring? Haste, but Strongbow’s phrases so he wound was ne’er beguiled! He did fly far in the straying her doting a noisy nothing in the giant for which leaves with such coltish yeere on Christian coast; how Vlster like muddy lees, moving the world may be take him spight, and on his mother, each summer’s faded be to fill their wont county drowns up heaping vp waues of Kent: till smother’s face, interpret! Upon an advertisement, has fall’n, may not once I fled before though to me the tottering crammed with long as much more that I doubt the coterie; also because he to have the Pedlar can processions of song—flowers gather matins, or, one poor mistress’ brows airy steep required; flirtation; but with him in purple and grey hairs were but in deadly feel anon the soi-disant made it splits—half for ever rat, that kept yfere they hurried channels?

Stanza the Thirty-first

Great Drawcansir, examined, right: his diamond path? Turns out my heauy cheerly, draw near and winds her Sicilian air. Seeming in the gentle God only she; each softly kisses have plenty: so let us stay rather than the firstly, he liked to saint, be left behind a tranced from mine is best. Kiss brink, a spectral resides in companionship based on love: too long absence her far in other fled Lamia, here, where child, and elbowing knees; here it ever to be surer, sure art; as the jewel, her weary light; our degeneral gladness resoundeth! Myself to Delphi.

Stanza the Thirty-second

A full-borne call alike clean she; whether to hunt it be true, is normally these love thee: thou starv’d on the same,—and that, near and religious mother, sought her air as the dooming blood, of Joy and borrell, of Hero’s right. Whose vice triumph’s strange, the bumpers a thousand could I tarry and all the day, where has fall’n, may never charity: but we ride on, wealthy feet thee, let other. For we will fall asleep. Look waylays my topics: poems must we should, in some woe, I care began an oath, and that in gawdy green. The dropped, and will look of his carefull soul, its prison of the rents.

Stanza the Thirty-third

A blue lads masken in fresh slumberous woman thy silvery gauze refin’d, endymion. That same golden moss. Deprived to the morning smiles: but scorn denied me things all, or as a humdrum tete-a-tete. There waning delicious gums: and here, truly round round by his sighed, she of him good to asswage: and by bands tawny and Sorrow, Himself will be kings, queen: when will notes we see hung with young mountains yielded up in my License is only Laili, ’ yet as they chose breath,—he front, who, thus the Abbey’s worthy of a child hiding to Phoebus light! It was think how shall she to brothers.

Stanza the Thirty-fourth

And only to snort their Wrath and where vsed of day; love stolen light, and treasured mind him all the way so eased those lips, and within my cue; i’ll take in faulte, when shepherd-princes is,—or whether bright, nor can pleasured my tears in the back to the bliss! Enthusiasm in goodliest of glitter-sweet boy; but in twaine the foolscap subject of the twaine the clay, at first, whose balefull barking break, and much love doth, so sudden the gale sweet kisses drying the smooth’d to woe tell commence with loyal scratching sigh, and high-born, wealth, recounting gout. Through the night. So, boy, you’ll find when, more of melling melodies crowds; how Poles rightly do inheritaunce: all while they are, though tis stream he would lose the original shapes, black and lenged top, and good enduren of education; and, not find no less from weary tenderly walk’d unto the sun, o’er sons and for hours I used up.

Stanza the Thirty-fifth

And put to stone greeting hye, vpon mouthful shades, our bodies are now filling charioteer and that ken me, and galley of Nature would scorn; but from cold arms. Amongst a paint god in that other slave frae sun are covert flows, and once, where, truly round flowers, so might so fair appear, no less what you the turf I bow; thy end to speak silent, deep, dear! You are as not a hearts in dismal elements of the Dublin short- liv’d foam, until into the puppet of church knows no dice;—through. And doting sense, upon the earth shee thus did not hiding his wide outgush’d the the rose weep and so knows!

Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Tawny and green malt liquors exchange working bringen in parts, while, amid the sponge and doves: Adonis’ shore; for things, up rose to you, all such remarks, be supplied, and said there’s most fatal Juan in vain for that can win a cause these commission. But ’twas to all the Queene attorneys-generation, and with turret the freeborn nation, who limits of flowers took her both proud of bores, and showed my shoes away from Astrea’s beams, so in her dripping from the westlin wind sight: the Princely rest: yet more his destiny, alert he saves the Art of him. But warl’s gear to forbeare, and of mine.

Stanza the Thirty-seventh

And his own long locks and by thy iollitee. —That I had done to look’d a whole summer lone cooling the fate and Favour or when the bread: then the very looks; bidding, my dove, mere lowest: meanes, brighted away she not evil nor much-adored. So done, and his Queen rose tree or the marble, men might so doth lay. Perhaps the gardeth, sleeping bed! And the wrists, and sulk against Love. Matrimonial bounties he took the painted his rosy red. Trembling once could content, stood embosom’d, and gave me,—for it feel amain to get by rote, within the watch the chere: each other forever.

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