#yes he's slowly dying but his design is pretty :>

[mettywiththenotes]

Gabimaru flower hair appreciation

Bonus little guys:

[mythicalmisery]

Bull Rider AU: GhostxSoap

Bull rider Ghost and clueless Soap who doesn’t know the hat rule. 

Soap had a stupid smile on his face as he picked up a discarded, black cowboy hat and put it on his head while turning to Gaz. They had been heading back to their seats after a quick snack break when Soap had spotted it, unable to help himself. 

 “Ye think I can pull it off?” he asked grinning, completely unaware of the hulking figure that had appeared at his back only moments later. 

Soap froze at the deep, yet still whispered, “Don’t think that belongs to ya, mate,” spoken right beside his ear. He could feel the other’s hot breath on his skin.

His eyes went wide, pleading, as he looked at Gaz for a lifeline. His friend had the same expression reflecting back at him, unsure what to do either. Without any help from Gaz  Soap turned around.

His eyes met a broad chest clasped in a black leather vest, decorated with various patches of brands and sponsors he had never heard of. He slowly lifted his gaze to the man’s face, or at least what was showing of it. The lower half was covered in a black bandana with a skull design painted onto it.

It was real dusty and the man was clearly one of the riders competing, so Soap didn’t think twice about it. Hell, he wished he had one right now to hide his own embarrassment that was surely written all over his face.

The only thing he could make out underneath the stadium lights were amber eyes and blond lashes that matched his mop of sweat-clumped hair that stuck to his forehead. Those eyes that pinned Soap to where he stood and felt like burning flames licking at his skin.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice coming out dry and crackly despite his efforts. “Sorry mate, didn’t mean to offend anyone,” he tossed out in an attempt of easement.

He grabbed the hat off his head, stretching out his hand and offering it back to its rightful owner. The man didn’t remove his gaze from Soap once as he took his hat back. 

Soap was all too aware he had been holding his breath during the whole interaction. He was hoping the man wasn’t offended by Soap touching his property. A fight was the last thing he needed right now, especially three beers into his night. His internal panicking was interrupted by the stranger’s gruff voice.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell ya not to go ‘round touching things that don’t belong to ya?” Soap took a reflexive step back when the man took a step forward. 

He could still see Gaz out of the corner of his eye, which helped a little knowing he wasn’t alone if things went to shite. Although, he would feel really bad if he made Gaz get into an altercation and ruin their night out due to him being an idiot. 

Soap laughed nervously. “Always seemed to have a problem with authority and rules.”

That had the other raising a brow. “That right?”

There were alarm bells ringing in Soap’s head. The adrenaline pumping through his veins should have been warning enough but he never claimed to be smart. The man glanced over Soap top to bottom, as if he was assessing him. The undivided attention had goosebumps breaking out over Soap’s skin. 

He leaned in closer, invading the already non existent space between them. 

“Do ya know what the hat rule is, mate?” he asked with a smirk, like he already knew Soap didn’t.

“Uh, n-no.” Soap felt like a bumbling idiot. 

The man simply nodded at the answer he was already expecting. He lowered himself until he was looking over Soap’s left shoulder, speaking directly into his ear.

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” 

Soap could feel the heat flood his face like a dam opening. 

Oh fuck.

It was as if Soap’s mind, mouth, and pretty much whole body went offline. He couldn’t seem to get anything to work after the other man’s words had registered. Well, except maybe one body part, that seemed to be working just fine.

After standing frozen like an idiot once again for too long, he somehow managed to stoke the last dying embers of a functioning brain cell and took control over his body once again.

With a nervous laugh he took a staggered step back, his arms outstretched in a placating way. The man wasn’t angry, but fucking hell was he intimidating and Soap needed some space to breath especially after that comment. 

“Oh, well that’s.. uh.. ye know, we really should be getting back to our seats,” he spewed out while grabbing Gaz by the shoulder. Soap didn’t wait for the man to say anything else, leaving him to stand and watch as he scurried away like a coward. 

He made a beeline for their section in the stands, subtly adjusting his now uncomfortably tight pants. He glared at Gaz when he made a comment at his flustered appearance, doing his best to block out his incessant teasing. He felt like he was fifteen years old again, popping boners when the wind blew just a little too strongly.

The announcer came back on over the intercom speakers, introducing the next round of riders as they finally reached their seats. Soap did his best to try and focus on the riders in the dirt down below, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of that man’s breath on his neck, the way his voice was that deep even at a whisper, the way his eyes made his skin feel like it was lit aflame.

And as if God was playing a cruel trick on him, his gaze was drawn to the rider getting ready to mount the bull in queue. It was him. 

He couldn’t make out too many details from this far up, but he was able to spot that familiar mask on the jumbo screen hanging in the center of the arena. The man had his hat on this time. The same hat that Soap had just been wearing. He couldn’t deny it, the man looked good in it. 

The announcer chimed in, getting the crowd going. Gaz leaned over, hitting Soap’s shoulder as he whispered, “There’s your man.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth at his friend’s words. Soap glanced back up to the screen, eyes scanning until he found what he was looking for in big, bold letters. 

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Simon. Fuck. Even his name was hot. 

He looked back down to the roping box, the bull that - Simon? Ghost? - was about to ride. It was fucking massive. He could see it already bucking and ramming the sides of the fence from up in the stands and on the screen, clearly pissed off. 

The anticipation in the arena was electric, the crowd buzzing with excitement as Ghost settled himself on the bull. While the men around him steadied him with their hands,  Soap’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t even know the man but his stomach was twisting into knots. 

He watched as Ghost adjusted his grip on the bull rope and flexed his hand, his muscles tensing under the strain displayed on the big screen.

Soap’s breath stuttered as the gate flew open, the bull exploding out into the arena twisting and bucking with raw power. Ghost moved with fluid precision; the man’s arm raised into the air, his waist snapping back and forth in perfect sync with the bull’s wild movements. Soap couldn’t tear his eyes away, completely captivated by the sight.

The crowd roared around him, cheering and shouting their encouragement as Ghost held on. Soap found himself leaning forward in his seat, his breath caught in his lungs. He silently willed Simon to stay on just a few seconds longer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the ride. Ghost leaped off the bull, landing as gracefully as one could while running from a crazed animal with horns. Soap’s heart was still pounding as he watched Ghost run back toward the gate, somehow still maintaining his casual demeanor as he climbed over. 

He watched as the rider disappeared behind the gate and out of sight. Gaz elbowed him playfully, a knowing grin on his face. “Go congratulate your cowboy, he just one first place,” he said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Soap whipped his head to the scoreboard, eyes scanning before he saw Ghost’s name jump to the top as his points were entered. He couldn’t help the stupid smile spreading across his face. 

“Ye sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, already standing up. Gaz scoffed, “Get the fuck outta here Soap.”

Soap put his hands together in a mock prayer. “Thank you, Garrick.”

He turned around and nearly sprinted down the stairs, cursing the crowds blocking his way. He had to make it down there before the rider left.

Soap finally managed to make it down to the ground floor, booking it to the area cornered off for the riders and their crew. He got farther than he thought he would before security stopped him, asking for his pass that he clearly didn’t have. 

He tried a handful of excuses but there wasn’t any reasoning with the man. He was about to ask if he could at least pass on a message for him before he felt someone brush up against his back. 

“He’s with me.” 

Soap swallowed. That low, gravelly voice back in his ear. Right where he wanted it.

The security guard stood there a moment before he nodded at Ghost and walked away, as if Soap wasn’t even there. 

It took a herculean effort for Soap to turn around. He was very close to losing his nerve and chickening out of this whole ordeal. Hell, he didn’t know this man. What was he doing? 

“Now, what are ya doing all the way over here. Breaking more of those rules, I see,” he said forcing Soap to take a step backwards. 

Soap cleared his throat, voice coming out surprisingly steady. “Well, I figured I would congratulate the winner.”

“That so?” he asked with a tilt to his head.

Soap took a step forward in a random burst of boldness. Now or never. 

“Aye, I also think I owe ye a debt,” he punctuated by grabbing the hat off the man’s head and placing it upon his own.

Soap wasn’t sure if it was the passing headlights from the sea of cars and trailers behind them, but he swore Ghost’s eyes flashed at his words. He leaned down in a mirror image of their earlier interaction, a strained “Follow me,” was spoken in his ear.

Soap let out a deep breath as he watched the man walk away. Not ashamed to admit he enjoyed watching him as he did so. Fuck. This was happening. 

They walked through a dirt and gravel lot off to the side of the arena. Soap observed the ranchers loading the livestock back into trailers under the parking lot lights as they passed through.

They ended up on the outer edge of the lot, the closest light post was a few cars down so it wasn’t overly bright where they were. Soap nearly missed it when Ghost turned a corner around a large parked trailer. 

He followed suit, unable to stop the embarrassing yelp that left his mouth as he was thrown against the side of said trailer. All thoughts of cursing the man out disappeared when Ghost’s lips were crashing against his. The initial impact had him grunting, the sounds immediately swallowed by Ghost’s domineering mouth. 

Soap couldn’t breathe, and normally he wouldn’t have any complaints about the matter given the situation, but he was starting to get lightheaded. He reached his hands up, gripping onto that leather vest and regretfully pushed the man off of him. He gasped at the separation, greedily filling his lungs at the first opportunity.

“Air, air is good,” he wheezed out.

The bastard huffed a laughed right in Soap’s face. Between the night sky and Soap’s racing mind, he hadn’t quite registered that Ghost had taken off the bandana from earlier. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, just barely making out the details of the face currently six inches from his own. 

He was fucking beautiful. 

Soap didn’t need sunlight to come to that conclusion. He had strong features; a Roman nose that had clearly been broken one too many times and never healed quite right, full lips that had a small scar running across the bottom as if it had been split in a fist fight and never got the proper stitches. He had another scar going from his chin to his neck, the moonlight illuminating the silvery healed skin that was no doubt part of an impressive collection. 

Soap couldn’t help the heat rushing to his face when he realized how blatantly he’d been checking out the other man. To his credit, Ghost just stood there; not saying a word while letting him have his fill. 

His attention drifted back to reality when a wave of lights and shadows danced across their faces as a car drove by. Soap unconsciously grabbed onto Ghost’s vest, pulling him onto himself while trying to melt into the trailer out of fear of getting caught. 

“Relax,” Ghost whispered. 

His mouth moved down to Soap’s jaw, kissing his way across his flushed skin until he reached his ear. Soap couldn’t help the full body shutter that racked through him as the man licked up the shell of his ear before biting down on the tender cartilage.

He turned his face slightly to the right in a poor attempt at stifling his moan in Ghost’s shoulder as the other slotted his knee right between his legs. 

Fuck. He hadn’t realized just how hard he was before Ghost started grinding against him.

The friction was almost unbearable, just the right amount of pain to still be pleasurable but still not enough. “More,” he groaned out. All reservations about sounding too desperate were out the door, he needed this man. Now.

Ghost turned his head to stare directly at Soap with a smirk plastered on that stupidly handsome face. 

“Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” he teased. 

He didn’t even give Soap time to defend himself before he was reaching down to undo his belt buckle and slide his hand down Soap’s boxers. 

“Fuuuck,” Soap hissed out as Ghost gripped his cock with those rough and calloused hands. Every twist of the man’s wrist had a jolt of pleasure shooting up Soap’s spine. His hand had felt like a branding iron, scorching to the touch and Soap had no complaints over the claim.

He was full on panting now. The only air he could manage to get was what Ghost allowed him when his lips granted reprieve. 

Soap was gradually nearing his breaking point. He normally would have been embarrassed for not lasting longer, but he decided to give himself a break when he’d been sporting a semi nearly the entire second half of the event. No thanks to the bastard who currently had his tongue shoved down his throat. 

Soap hadn’t even realized the involuntary bucking of his hips, his body’s feeble attempt to get off. The shallow thrusts got quicker, insinuating his building release. Just as Soap was about to reach that blissful moment he had been craving all night, Ghost snatched his hand away and removed them from Soap’s pants entirely.

“Oh, you fuckin’ bastard,” Soap spat out at the other man. 

Ghost stood straight before clicking his tongue. “We have a debt that needs paid now don’t we, darling?” he cooed at Soap who did his best to not let the pet name affect him too much.

Soap groaned in frustration. “Then hurry the fuck up cause I’m not gonna last much longer, ya fucker,” he growled out.

Ghost shook his head at him. “Ya sure do have a mouth on ya,” he stated.

“Aye, ye can do something about it next time.” Soap didn’t really care that he just left an opening for this to occur again, mind too preoccupied on the fact his balls felt like they were about to explode. 

Ghost had that smug look back on face as he reached into his pocket for something. He pulled out a set of black keys and pressed a button, the black truck behind him flashing its lights twice before he put them back. 

“Are ye kidding me? Your car was here the whole time?,” Soap whined. 

“Sounds an awful lot like complaining, mate. Not a fan of being watched, are ya?” Ghost taunted. The way he talked to Soap like he was a child was some fucked up mix of extremely hot and infuriating. 

Soap glared at the man. “Get the fuck in the back seat. Now.” 

Despite Ghost narrowing his eyes, Soap didn’t leave any room for argument and the other man complied with no further complaints. 

Ghost climbed into the back of the truck, spreading out across the seats with his hands resting behind his head as he looked at Soap. Well, didn’t he just look like the cat who got the cream. 

God, he was fucking hot.

Soap climbed in after him without another word. With the door closed, the lights in the truck went out and the space was filled with darkness once again. Soap was straddling the man’s massive thighs, nearly hanging off the edge. It was cramped, barely any room to move but he would make it work. Had to make it work. 

“Just gonna sit there and look pretty, darling?,” Ghost snarked, breaking the silence. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Soap replied with no real heat. He reached out to undo Ghost’s belt, hoping the way his throat bobbed at the clear outline in the man’s pants wasn’t visible in the moonlight. Good lord he was massive. That earlier apprehension started to slowly creep back in and wash away his false confidence. 

Ghost made another one of those clicking sounds with his tongue that had Soap freezing his movements. When he looked up into the man’s eyes, he couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped. Ghost had a way of looking at him that sent every warning bell and nerve in his body off like a crack of lightning. Like a predator finally catching his prey after having it in its sights for too long.

“Get undressed,” Ghost demanded.

Normally, Soap would put up a fight just to be an ass, but he didn’t have much fight left in him at this point. He was so on edge, so close to finally getting off he was honestly scared what he would do just to make it happen. With nothing more than a roll of his eyes in complaint, he started undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was only a matter of minutes before Soap was spread across the man’s lap in the back seat, completely naked. 

He felt like his brain was melting. There shouldn’t have been something so hot about the fact he was completely naked and bare while Ghost hadn’t even removed so much as his hat during all this. He could feel the rough denim on the sensitive skin of his thighs, the cold buckle from the man’s belt when he leaned forward just an inch. Soap wasn’t even ashamed when he realized he had been slowly grinding himself against the man, anything to ease his burning desire.  

Ghost finally spoke up, but Soap didn’t even stop his movements. “What’s your name?” he asked with that low and rough voice. Soap’s own ego was slightly stroked, he could hear the strain in the man’s voice despite the calm demeanor he was trying to convey. 

“John, but most people call me Soap,” he breathed out. He was two seconds away from ripping the clothes off this man himself.

“Soap? What kind of nickname is that?”

“Says the man called Ghost?” he quipped back.

“Alright, I’ll give ya that one. Why don’t you go on and get yourself ready for me, darling?,” he asked, but they both knew it was another command.

Soap couldn’t help the pointed stare he threw at the man. “Ye gonna make me do all the work, is that it?”

Ghost’s lopsided smile was answer enough. “I’m not the one who picked up the hat, Johnny.”

Johnny.

Fuck, why was that so hot to hear coming from his mouth? He really needed to get this thing moving.

Soap held his fingers out in front of the man’s mouth. When all he got was a questioning look in response, he rolled his eyes and pushed them against his lips. “Suck,” was all he said, patience wearing thin now.

Ghost opened his mouth slowly, letting Soap glide his fingers over his tongue. They were probably dirty as hell, covered in germs and popcorn butter but he didn’t really care at this point. The bastard would live. 

He was mesmerized as he watched Ghost work his tongue across his fingers. His mouth was hot, but nothing compared to the flames dancing across his skin as Ghost never lost eye contact during the whole ordeal. He could probably cum from this alone.

Before that thought became reality, Soap pulled his hand back. Watching the string of spit connecting his fingers to Ghost’s mouth glisten in the moonlight. 

He cursed lowly as he gripped himself in one hand, rising slightly before reaching around. He entered himself without a fuss, moaning at the friction as he slid his fingers in further. It burned a little, Ghost’s spit only helping ease the way so much. He preened like a peacock when he felt, more like heard, the other man’s sharp inhale below him. 

He started moving with a little more urgency at that, opening himself up while rocking his body back and forth. He wasn’t overly moaning like a whore, but he wasn’t exactly trying to hold back anything either. Quite enjoying the sharp little intakes of air and jerky movements of the man beneath him. He managed to get up to three fingers before he found that particular spot inside him. This time, his moans might have been a little porn starry. Ghost finally lifted his hands at that, gripping onto Soap’s hips like he was his lifeline. 

Soap wasn’t having any of that. He swatted the man’s hands away, pushing down on his chest with the hand not currently inside him when Ghost tried to protest. “No touching,” he scolded, taking great pleasure in the frustrated look on his face. 

Ghost grunted in response, like a damn toddler who didn’t get his way. “Awww,” Soap cooed at him, “Needy little thing, aren’t ye?” he said, throwing the other man’s words against him.

Ghost narrowed his eyes at that, but didn’t complain any further. “Funny.”

“I’d like to think so,” Soap replied. 

This time, when he went to undo Ghost’s belt, he wasn’t met with any resistance. With quick movements, he had Ghost pulled out in no time. Fucking hell. Massive was an understatement. It took everything in Soap to school his emotions. He wasn’t letting this bastard know how intimidated and equally impressed he was. He must have done a shit job cause Ghost had that satisfied, smug look back on his face. He could probably read minds for all he knew.

Soap gave a few quick pumps to Ghost’s cock before he lined himself up. He froze just as the other man was about to enter him. 

“The hat,” he said. It took a while before Ghost could tear his eyes away from where Soap hovered over his cock, the words finally registering before he reached up and placed his hat on Soap’s sweat-slicked mohawk. 

They were both burning up, feeling like a damn sauna in the backseat of the truck. The windows had fogged up a while ago as they swapped air in the small space, thankfully providing a thin form of privacy. 

Soap smiled as he adjusted the hat with one hand, the other still lining Ghost up as he slowly lowered himself down. 

Fuck.

They both moaned in chorus as Soap’s still too-tight heat enveloped Ghost’s cock. He sunk lower and lower at a glacial pace, letting gravity do the work and take some of the strain off his shaky legs.

He bottomed out eventually, resting on Ghost’s hips as he caught his breath. Ghost was panting below him, chest heaving as his body was strung tight with tension. Soap knew the man was dying to take control. Too fucking bad.

When Soap’s world wasn’t spinning anymore, he lifted himself back up before repeating the process all over again while setting a steady pace. He wasn’t going very fast, but he didn’t really need to. Ghost was so big that he reached all the spots he needed him too, the stretch and burn sending bolts shooting up his spine was enough for him.

He gripped tightly onto Ghost’s leather vest with his right hand, his own make shift bull rope as his left held onto the black hat resting on his head. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Ghost, but he still had to lean and bend at a weird angle to fit in the cramped space. He started to pick up a little speed, his movements mimicking Ghost’s from when he rode the bull earlier. Soap snapped his own hips back and forth, occasionally grinding down in a circular motion that had Ghost groaning unabashedly. 

He wasn’t normally one to be overly cocky, but he basked in the satisfaction of ruining this man. That calm and collected demeanor washed away by the panting, barely held back animal beneath him. Hell, he was equally just as ruined. He couldn’t contain the little punched out moans that escaped every time Ghost hit his prostate on each rock backward. He wouldn’t last a minute longer and judging by the shaking man before him, he wasn’t the only one. 

“S-Simon, pleaaase,” Soap groaned out between moans. He tried to convey everything he was thinking and wanted in that one word. Ghost being the mind reader he was picked up on it without dropping a beat. Like he was waiting for it.

He immediately grabbed onto Soap’s hips with enough force to bruise. Fuck, Soap wished they would. With one last glance at the man below him, Soap closed his eyes as Ghost started jackhammering into him. The car was a symphony of curses, moans, and grunts. Neither man holding back now. Soap removed his hand from the hat and pushed it against the ceiling, trying desperately to find purchase and not fall over. The rough movements had the sweat from his forehead running down his face, beads dropping onto Ghost’s chest off his nose and chin. He couldn’t find a single fiber of his being that cared.

His end was nearing and he wasn’t going to deny it this time. “Fuuuck, don’t s-stop,” he moaned as Ghost abused his prostate at the angle they were in. If Ghost decided now was a good time to tease the man, Soap would probably end up committing murder.

He could tell Ghost was almost at his breaking point as well. The man’s thrusts started to become wild, losing all sense of coordination as he chased his release. Soap screamed out when Ghost lifted his hand off his hip and grabbed his cock, pumping it in an off beat against his thrusts, never allowing Soap a second of reprieve from overwhelming sensation. 

“Go on, cum for me, Johnny,” he rasped out. Who was Soap to deny him?

Soap’s whole body seized as Ghost slammed into that bundle of nerves harder than he’d done all night. It felt like lightning was shooting through his body as his vision whited out. He didn’t even feel bad that he made a mess all over Ghost’s vest, too blissed out to even care. Ghost lasted around three and a half thrusts more before he was following Soap over the edge as well, cursing his name as he did. It was the best thing Soap had ever heard in his life. He responded with a groan as he felt Ghost empty out inside him. The feeling making his own spent cock twitch in response. Round two was not an option currently on the table. Soap felt like rolling over on the floor right there and taking a twenty hour nap after this. He didn’t think Ghost would mind very much.

They sat there for a few minutes, chests heaving and skin sweaty where they were still connected. Soap started looking around, his eyes scanning the man’s truck before he found what he was looking for in the center console. He popped the lid off and held it between his teeth as he unzipped Ghost’s soiled vest and unbuttoned his shirt. He ignored the curious eyes watching his movements. With the man’s chest now bear, Soap moved the marker to scribble out his number in his chicken scratch. He pulled back, looking down at his work with a satisfied expression as he capped the marker and tossed it over his shoulder. 

“Give me a call next time you’re in town, cowboy,” he said as he slowly raised himself off of Ghost’s softening cock. 

He wasn’t sure if the man had even heard him. His attention drawn to where he pulled out of Soap, his cum slowly starting to drip down his thighs. It was gonna be an uncomfortable ride home. He glanced around and grabbed his discarded clothes, doing his best to put them back on in the limited space. Ghost just sat there watching him, lounging across his backseat without a care in the world. 

Soap finally managed to put his shoes back on, pulling out his phone and ordering an Uber ride. He turned down Ghost’s offer to drive him home, he needed to get away from the man so his brain wasn’t mush anymore. With one last glance around, he leaned over Ghost on his knees. 

“Ye know, I like this hat. I think it’s mine now,” he stated.

“That so?” Ghost asked as he looked up at Soap.

“Yeah, it’s mine. Ye know what that means?” 

“What?” Ghost responded, genuinely curious. 

Soap lifted up the hat before lowering down, placing it back onto Ghost’s head as he whispered low in his ear. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

Soap didn’t say anything else as he exited the vehicle. The smile was uncontrollable as he walked across the gravel lot back to the car pick up zone.

 A man with a short circuiting brain laid in the backseat of his car behind him.

[whore4abby]

heyyyy vannyyyyyy i love u sm i promise i'm not being a lurker

what abt model reader and abby at like a designers party (yk the devil wears prada 👀)

i'm too obsessed with everything u write is there like a support group or something for whore4abby addicts

ferny fern ur brain !! this idea is so yummy 😵‍💫 i love u MORE !! thank u for this hope u don’t mind me switching it up a lil mwah mwah !! NO ONE would join that damn support group bffr wrote this at 3am let’s not talk abt it

high fashion;

kinda a part two of this !!

warnings; smut - sex in a public bathroom, strap-on usage (r!receiving), choking (with abby’s tie), mdni

wc; 1.7k

“abs…c’mon, baby…we gotta leave in a few minutes.” you call out to your wife who’s spent the last 30 minutes making sure she looks absolutely perfect, not one hair out of place in her braid, making sure her new tux was absolutely spotless.

“i’m coming, doll…gimme a minute.” she calls out softly and you laugh and roll your eyes playfully at her antics. the ongoing joke that she spends way more time getting ready than you do slowly but surely starting to become a reality.

you smooth out the fabric of your almost sheer, black satin dress and slip on your jimmy choo heels, grabbing your purse from the dresser before looking up just as abby walks out from the bathroom. you swear you feel your eyes turn into little heart shapes as you see her.

she looks nothing short of absolutely perfect in her sleek, tailored black tux paired with her shiny black dress shoes, her muscular forearms filling out the sleeves of her suit jacket and her long hair slicked back from her face. you're absolutely smitten as you rush over to press your lips against hers repeatedly, “god, you’re so pretty…” you sigh, words coming out as a breathless whisper as you press your face against her chest, closing your eyes and breathing in her familiar scent.

before you know it you’re gathered in a spacious studio for a small, intimate gathering of some couture designers to showcase their new up-coming works. you’re surrounded by mannequins displaying gorgeous designer clothes, along with an assortment of clothes scattered around the room, from elegant ballgowns to sophisticated suit jackets.

the windows are covered in velvet drapes, allowing a small amount of natural moonlight to flood the room. everyone whispering discreetly amongst themselves, scanning the surroundings and taking in all the lavish clothing and glittering accessories.

you wander off away from abby for a little while, you’re quietly minding your own business checking out some artist sketches that are carefully hung up on the wall when you feel a presence beside you. “beautiful aren’t they?” a heavily accented voice causes you to look away from the framed pictures and you turn your head to see a familiar italian designer.

“yeah…they’re gorgeous! are they for the new spring-summer collection?” you query, you head tilting curiously in his direction. “yes, that’s correct…these pieces should be out within the next couple of months.” he smirks and leans in closer to you.

“i was actually just thinking about you.” he places a hand on your shoulder and you resist the urge to shudder in disgust. “oh, please…i’m not that special.” you force a stiff laugh and shake your head, after all this time you still find it hard to believe that you have become a well-known, household named model.

“im serious! i saw you at that runway show a couple weeks ago…and let me say, it’s been driving me crazy ever since. ive been dying to get in contact with you-“ he chuckles, his gaze drifting down towards you body. he takes your hand in his, a cunning smile spreading wide as he leans in to kiss your cheek. you shake his hand curtly before pulling your hand back and jerking your face away from him.

he continues to flirt with you, his eyes finding yours and locking onto them. “perhaps you’d be interesting in catching a drink tonight?” he looks down at your shoulder and casually caresses it with his hand. “my hotel is just a couple blocks away, and i know you’re staying in the city the whole weekend. so whatdya say?”

you start purposely clinking your perfectly polished wedding ring against your half empty champagne glass, hoping he gets the hint. “i’ll actually be busy with my wife….in our own hotel room, thank you very much.”

you catch a glimpse of abby across the room, she instantly feels a pang of jealousy as she watches him openly flirt with her girl practically right in front of her face.

her brow begins to furrow and she discreetly ends the conversation she’s having and makes her way over to you, she obviously saw the guy kiss you, and she’s clearly not happy about it.

you watch his smile falter a little at the mention of your wife, and he directs his gaze towards abby as she approaches, obviously intimidated by her height and stature. “everything okay, my love?” she asks, her eyes still watching the designer. you lean in to kiss her briefly before pulling away and nodding, wrapping your arm around her bicep.

he finally gets the hint and laughs, taking a step or two back. “hmm, well isn’t that a shame?” he says with a grin. he turns to walk away, before stopping and turning back to face you. “well if you ever want to get in touch, here’s my card.” he holds out a small business card with his details on it and smiles at you, abby quickly pushes his hand away and speaks in a passive-aggressive manner, “my wife and i won’t be needing that, thank you.”

he laughs cockily, obviously slightly amused before turning on his heel and walking off to probably shamelessly flirt with another married woman.

abby leans into you, resting her head against yours, taking the champagne flute out of your hand and placing it on a nearby silver side-table. her eyes still watching the designer as he saunters away. “i don’t like how he was looking at you, darling.”

you roll your eyes at her comment, giggling slightly. “babe, calm down,” you say, squeezing her hand. you look over at her and smirk at her. “but you’re really the only one who i’ve got my eyes on, okay?”

“you’re mine…all fuckin mine~” her voice is rough, and she still can’t shake her jealousy from that designer looking at you. abby leans in and kisses you on the neck, her lips gently sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin.

abby smiles wickedly at you, before grabbing you by the hand and quickly dragging you to the back of the boutique. you find yourself in a fancy, private bathroom and abby quickly locks the door behind you. she pulls you in for a heated kiss and you can feel her firm body pressing against yours.

abby’s tongue gently plays against yours, her hands caressing your face and your body, slowly pulling you closer to her. she bites down on your bottom lip slightly, but not hard enough to hurt you.

she pulls away for a second before diving back in, kissing you passionately and with more force than before. “all mine~” she whispers in your ear, her breath hot on your neck, her fingers finding their way down to hike your dress up over you ass, bending you over in the sink counter.

you hear the zipper of her pants being yanked down and the rusting of her shirt being untucked before she pulls your panties off your body and discards them onto the floor before nudging your legs apart with her knee.

you whine as she swipes the tip of the strap-on through your sticky folds, gathering up your slick before pressing the head of the dildo against your slit. “say it…tell me who's the only one who gets you this wet~” she pushes in slowly, groaning at the sight of your pussy greedily taking her cock. “you, abs…fuucck- only you!”

she thrusts herself fully inside without warning, all seven inches of black silicone right up to the hilt making you cry out, feeling every vein and ridge flush against the walls of your cunt. the stinging stretch causing your face to contort in a mixture of pleasure and pain as she pulls out until just the tip remains inside, then slams back in. she roughly manhandles you, slamming you back on her cock. “nnhhggg…a-abby~”

you hear her fumbling with something before you suddenly feel pressure around your throat, the silky material of her tie digs into your neck as she wraps it around your throat and yanks you back to make eye contact with her in the mirror. “look at me while im fucking you, yeah?” she growls through gritted teeth, her eyes dark and filled with jealousy fueled lust.

you’re gripping onto the marble counter so hard that your knuckles are starting to lose their colour, strangled moans leaving your lips, the perfectly applied lipstick now smudged around your mouth in messy splotches.

she drops the tie onto the counter and you gasp for some much needed air. she snakes her free hand down to rub at your clit lazily as she snaps her hips into yours at an eye-rolling pace. “a-abby! oohhh…my god…fuck…” the fingers of her unoccupied hand dig into your hip, holding you in place as she starts to pound into you relentlessly, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing in the small bathroom.

she groans, picking up the pace, the friction from the harness against her clit making her moans grow louder and more desperate, hips grinding into you in-between thrusts as she chases her own release.

you thighs start to clench and shake as her pace picks up even more, leaving you gasping and grabbing at any surface you can find to ground yourself. “you feel that? only i can make you cum like this, yeah?” you’re babbling incoherently as the the head of her cock keeps bumping into that sweet spot until it has you letting out a loud pleading cry as you cum on her cock.

she keeps thrusting, prolonging your release as she helps you ride out your own orgasm, her thick fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“fuuccckk~” she pants heavily, leaning forward to rest her head against your back, the harness still grinding against her clit and making her cum hard whilst still buried inside you.

she lets out a loud groan as she pulls out with a pop, looking down at the mess between your legs and the cum dripping from your clenching cunt. you turn back to face her and she brings your mouths together in a brief, heated kiss before pulling away and carefully helping you clean yourself up.

she tucks her strap-on back into her pants and neatens her tux up before picking up your discarded panties and shoving them into her pocket before holding her arm out for you to take. “c’mon, baby~” her chivalrous action a stark contrast to the way she just fucked you into oblivion not even five minutes ago.

you smile coyly, adjusting your dress and grabbing onto her forearm as she leads you out of the bathroom and back out into the main studio space, not even caring about the skeptical looks and the un-approving stares of the people around you.

an; model!reader has me in an absolute chokehold right now😵‍💫if u have any ideas for more PLSSS leave me a request !!!!

[fanofstuff01]

HERE I AM! Here I am with a little writing of mine!

Before we get started, this AU belongs to @woah-why-i-am-here and they have pretty cool drawings about it. GO CHECK IT OUT!

Considering the show itself is 16+, this is aswell, know it then read this, also it has Valentino.

DEAR TUMBLR! PLEASE DONT TAKE THIS DOWN!

A little summary: Adam fell to hell, needed money, and Valentino was the only one hired him. He owned his soul, and it was too late when Adam realized what he agreed to work on. He is one of Valentino’s top whores now. And of course, Adam and Angel met, in fact, more than ‘met’. Their films sure sell a lot. They slowly become friends and Angel convinces Adam to come to the hotel. This is after these happened. Also not shipping Angel x Adam.

ENJOY! (Also since you love holydust @rius-cave , tagging you!)

“And cut!” Valentino said proudly, ending the scene. “One hour break and we’re here till 8!”

Adam panted as he tried to collect his mind. He slowly backed away from the fish demon gal, wore his robes back and got up to go to his dressing room. This was the third demon he was on top of that day, and sure enough she was not gonna be the last. Today was gonna suck. Val was planning to work on eight fucking movies, not to mention six of them were gay and two of them were with Angel. He was glad the one-hour break came.

“Addie~” He heard someone behind him and felt that certain ‘someone’ gripping his shoulders.

Valentino. Awesome. Just who he needed.

He attempted to not show the fear and hatred he felt to his face and mask. Too bad the fucking thing was programmed to show every emotion on his face, and sometimes they didn’t even needed to be on his face, him feeling them was enough. Angel had a -probably true- theory about it, he thought that it was ‘connected’ to his brain when he wore it. Adam was already regretting that he put the “I will only work with a mask” in his contract. He didn’t like the idea of showing his face on films, but this was much worse. He couldn’t fucking took it off till his shift ended!

“Yes, Val?” He asked, trying to avoid the movements he was doing to his chest. Yes, prick? he corrected himself in his brain.

“You were so, so good in the last one, babe” he chuckled.

“Thank you, Valentino.”

“Go ahead. Rest, baby.” He thought he was gonna leave him, but instead, he leaned in and kissed his cheek, completely disgusting the sinner. He didn’t flinch or resist though, he knew what’d happen if he did. “Oh, I can’t wait to see you and Angie on stage together.” he let out another one of his creepy chuckles and finally let the first man go. Adam almost runned to his dressing room, closed the door behind him and threw himself on the couch.

“Fuuck.” He groaned and tried to grab his wine bottle without getting up.

“Adam?” A familiar voice came from outside.

“Door isn’t locked!” He yelled.

“Hey, dickmaster.” A pink spider demon came inside and sat down beside him, tilted his head back and watched as the demon managed to grab the bottle and drank it without standing up, like his life depended on it.

“Y’know you can choke yourself doin’ that, right?”

“Meh, who the fuck cares.” He get up dazedly and looked inside the bottle with one of his eyes.

“I don’t recommend dying on work hours, Val punishes the ones who do.”

“Unholy shit, that actually happened?!” Adam asked, his pupil-les eyes went wide.

“I saw three accidents.” Angel shrugged. “Any left for me?”

“Sorry, I guess that bitch camera guy sneaked up here again and stole my stash.”

“It’s fine. Wanna eat your food? We’re gonna need energy.” Angel asked and took out two containers out of his bag. “I made lasagna yesterday.”

“Oh, you bet I do then.” He smirked and took his own. Angel knew the best ways to make it.

They chatted together until their break ended.

“Adam! Get your ass here or there will be consequences!” A little window appeared in Adam’s mask, almost like a pop-up ad. It was their costume designer. “And bring Angel with you!”

“Fine, fine! Ugh.” He groaned, swiped the page to make it dissapear and get up. “Who’s idea was putting this shit on this again?” He mumbled to himself. “Let’s go cocksucker, we have another job to do.”

HOW IS IT!?

By the way, Adam’s mask in this is practically based on his original mask, a Voxtech product just for Adam. Like Vox’s screen, it’s like a screen-face.

I’ll continue this

[unorchido]

Another Narrator design who appeared in here

This is Benjamin, Timothy's Narrator and although he is turned into a damn statue he is still conscious, and while he can't move, speak or see, he can feel everything around him, so yea funsies

For context vvv

He was locked into the Parable because he was different from the others, and by different I mean he was infected with a type of program, also known as The Solver I may or may not have shown before, and if you're not familiar with Murder drones you pretty much don't know what that is all about. So, he has that Solver, and with that he can create things and destroy them, and that's when he made the Parable, Stanley and Timekeeper, also known as Timothy I've shown in a few of my arts (1, 2, 3, 4), and with making those two he "passed" the Solver to both of them, giving Timothy the ability to go into the void, teleport and gain ability to the settings. Similar thing goes to Stanley, but he only gained the ability to gain access to the player settings.

So then how did he turn into a statue? The skip button ending happened, he 'died' and then the Parable itself started dying with him. And because of that, the resets slowly died too, therefore there were no resets and well Stanley slowly went insane. He got back into the Parable and after realising there wouldn't be any resets he decided to do the zending one last time

Boom, drama! Although Stanley did die there, Benjamin is still alive, just in a state of coma where he can't move his body. His Curator is trying to find a way to bring him back, knowing it is possible, while Timothy gave up on him completly, unaware he didn't actually die. Tim started going through different dimensions, where he met Sebastian, who Timothy wanted to take advantage of at the start, but decided to keep his head because well he can't survive for long in other dimensions. He used Sebastian's body to keep himself alive, and by that yes I mean he got into Seb's body like Venom from Venom and with that, Timothy subconsciously spread the program to Sebastian and now he can do fun shit like lift things up with a hand movement, rotate them, destroy them, fun stuff.

Yeah, just watch Murder Drones if you want context for the Solver

Bonus

[heehoonieluvs]

Please like me

Sunghoon x reader

Angst, slight fluff

The way that the members are depicted in this story has nothing to do with how they really are or how I feel they are. It is all solely for the storyline so please bear that in mind 🫶

I would also like to add that I know literally nothing about rugby 😁

Summary: Sunghoon was notorious for being cold-hearted to everyone and he’s aware of how many girls at school are dying to melt his frozen heart. Surely nothing would change once Sunoo introduces his friend to the boys

Heeseung is in his final year, 02z are in their 3rd year, Sunoo & Y/N are in their 2nd, and Jungwon & Niki are in their 1st

F/N = female name

Warnings: cursing, slight violence, name calling, gaslighting (please let me know if I need to add any more 🤍)

Series masterlist

Masterlist

It was just like any other day at Hybe Academy and the 7 boys known as Enhypen were making their way to their lectures. The high-pitched squeals of girls asking how their day was or if they were free to “hang out” was nothing new to them.

Don’t get it wrong though. They never asked for all of this attention but being the top players of the school’s rugby team, they were bound to attract the eyes of the girls, as well as the odd few envious eyes from the guys.

The 7 boys were a tight knit group ever since they were little. Their parents were great friends and wanted their children to all get along just like they did. Heeseung being the oldest, was extremely protective of all of them and provided them with an older brother figure to guide them through everything. And once the youngest of the group Niki was born, they finally felt that they were complete.

They have been inseparable since day one and nothing was going to change that. Yes the odd few girlfriends would come and go but they never lasted more than a few weeks. But it didn’t matter to them when it came to relationships because at the end of the day, they would always have each other.

Out of all of them, Sunghoon was by far the coldest one. Of course he wasn’t like that around his friends but once the popularity started to build up, so did his walls. You see, Sunghoon was naturally introverted and any hated attention on him. It made him feel so crowded as if he was some kind of show animal.

His mysterious personality paired with his god-like visuals only pushed for girls to want to win his heart over. And trust me, they were persistent. Especially the captain of the cheerleading team F/N who just so happened to be in the same year as the 02s.

Every rugby practice would end with F/N clinging onto his arm and asking if he wanted to join her for whatever party was going on that week. Of course Sunghoon would decline every time with a scowl on his face as he could see through her act.

F/N was a pretty girl but she had been trying to weave her way into the group for ages. Was it for popularity? Was it just to brag? Who knows? And who cares? Certainly not them.

F/N had already tried to suck up to Jay and Jake but there was no going through them. So she went to her final target because why not kill two birds with one stone? She could be apart of their group AND say she was the girlfriend of the ice prince. Nothing was going to stop her and no one would dare to.

Time skip

It was finally time for lunch and everyone slowly started to filter into the cafeteria. At the moment the boys, apart from Sunoo, were sat at their designated table having a catch up on their day and planning on who’s house they were going to hang out at after school.

“Has anyone seen Sunoo hyung?” Jungwon asked.

“He’s probably busy in the library or something. He did mention that there was a partner project coming up so he’s probably sorting that out.” Jay responded

“Hey Sunoo hyung!!!”

The whole cafeteria quickly turned to their table after Niki shouted across to his friend.

Heeseung chuckled “Talk about a grand entrance or what”

Sunoo walked over with his head down after feeling embarrassed by the youngest member. “Could’ve been more obvious you know Niki”

“Sorry hyung. I was just so scared that you weren’t in our presence and just felt so relieved that you’re alive!” Niki exclaimed with a hand on his heart

With a roll of his eyes at Niki’s dramatic answer, Sunoo explained “I was just having a conversation with Y/N. We’ve been partnered up together for this project and had to sort out when we could meet up.”

Niki’s eyes widened “Y/N?! She was the one that helped me and Jungwon hyung find a lecture hall in our first week. You should bring her here when you meet up Sunoo hyung. She was so nice and I never got to properly thank her”

At this Sunghoon, who had peacefully been savouring his tiramisu, couldn’t help but scoff at what Niki said.

“Really Niki? She’s probably just like every other girl just trying to get our attention. She probably knew that you two were close to us and put up a cute act to make it seem like she’s doing it out of the kindness of her heart.”

His comment caused a sudden feeling of overprotectiveness to come up in Sunoo.

“Yah don’t talk about her like that! Y/N is the most genuine person ever and we’re great friends actually. She’s been helping me a lot since we started here but I never brought her up because I knew you’d react like this”

The members were startled at Sunoo’s outburst as it was the first time he had raised his voice in a serious matter.

Before anything could escalate, Jake stepped in to mediate the conversation and turned to Sunoo “Look, I’m sure Sunghoon didn’t mean to insult your friend like that. You know that he can just say things that sound harsher than he intended”

“But that doesn’t excuse anything. None of you have even properly met her and you jump to conclusions about anyone who shows an act of kindness”

Sunghoon spoke up again “I’m sorry Sunoo. I know we can be harsh when it comes to letting new people in but we’ve been fucked over way too many times and I don’t want you to end up getting hurt again”

Sunoo understood where he was coming from. Throughout his life, people had taken advantage of his kindness and used him as a stepping stone to gain the attention of his older friends. But he knew you were different. You never once diverted the topic of the conversation to his friends or remotely showed any sort of interest in getting to know them.

“I get that but I’m telling you that Y/N is not like everyone else. I know it’s what everyone says but I’m being serious about this”

Heeseung spoke up and said “You know what, maybe we shouldn’t be so stuck up and let Y/N sit with us next time. She seems to be someone that you trust a lot Sunoo so there’s no harm in her sticking with you”

Both Sunoo and Niki cheered at their hyung and happily carried on eating their lunch. But Sunghoon still couldn’t help but feel slightly wary about you.

The next day

Y/N’s POV:

“Hey Y/N!”

I turned around with a smile on my face and was met with Sunoo making his way towards me. Sunoo and I became very close since first term where he turned up late to a lecture and took the empty space next to me. His bright smile and bubbly personality always made my day better and it turned out that we had similar interests.

One of our favourite things to do together was to rant about the unbearable cheerleading captain from the year above. Her fake, high pitched voice pierced through our ears every time she found an attractive guy come within her vicinity.

“Omg Sunooo! Where is Hoonie?!? I’ve been looking all over for him and he’s no where to be found! I’m planning for my birthday party in a month and I need him so we can match our outfits” F/N shrieked as she grabbed onto him whilst completely ignoring my presence.

“For fuck sake F/N. First of all, don’t call Sunghoon hyung Hoonie, it’s disgusting and he hates it. Second of all, when will you take the hint that he wants nothing to do with you?” Sunoo snapped back

“Well for your information, Hoonie is just playing hard to get. I know likes the thrill of having the most gorgeous girl of this school chasing after him but he knows at the end of the day, we’re perfect for each other.”

I don’t think I’ve ever had a stronger urge to throw up after hearing her cringy words. I could tell that Sunoo was having none of it from his side eye directed towards F/N. Seeing the obvious look of disgust, I couldn’t help but slightly chuckle at him. Only then did F/N finally acknowledge me with a glare.

“What are you laughing at? You’re just one of those sad losers that try so desperately for any guy to even look in your direction. That’s probably why you stick around with Sunoo isn’t it? You just want to be one of us so bad don’t you” F/N got in my face and started taunting me.

Sunoo was ready to go and roast her like a turkey on Thanksgiving but I quickly responded “One of you? From what it seems F/N, you seem to paint the perfect description of yourself. You know, the desperate puppy chasing her precious Hoonie who wants nothing more than to send you off to a shelter. But I can see that you’re not the brightest and can’t comprehend logic very well so let me spell it out for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you or Sunoo’s friends. I stick with Sunoo because I care about him and we get along well. Obviously you wouldn’t understand that concept since the people that leech onto you are just your minions that use you to their advantage with the cheer team.”

I could sense Sunoo silently hyping me up from behind, but what can I say? He taught me well.

F/N’s face turned red and she screamed back “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT YOU BITCH! You’re just jealous of me aren’t you? You’re salty that you thought you could be the cheerleading captain but you’re just shit and excused it as you having an injury! You can’t handle the fact that I have everything you dream of”

“You really think that I’m jealous of you being captain of the cheerleading team? Well I hate to break it to you F/N but I have a life outside of cheer and have moved on. I have people around me that actually care about me but what do you have? Just an obsession with someone who won’t spare you a glance I guess.”

The built up rage in F/N made her raise her hand to slap me but I grabbed her wrist

“Look F/N I don’t want to deal with you ok. You always find a way to get in my face about the most ridiculous shit but I’m sick of it now. I’m not dealing with your bullshit any more”

*School bell rings*

“I’m not finished with you Y/N. You better watch yourself before you regret it” F/N spat as she snatched her wrist away and stormed off.

Other students in the hallway started mumbling about what just happened but I couldn’t care less about what they had to say.

I turned to Sunoo and said sarcastically “Oh so scary! Shiver me timbers 😱”

We both laughed with each other and got ready for our lecture

Time skip

“Hey Y/N, we should probably get started on our project. Why don’t you sit with me and the boys for lunch since I have practice after school?”

“I’m not sure Sunoo. I don’t want to interfere with you guys and after everything that happened this morning with F/N, I’m not exactly interested in having her coming over and causing another scene.”

“No Y/Nie! I swear it will be ok for you to sit with us! They said they don’t mind you eating lunch with us. That’s if you’re comfortable with it though”

“Wait you told them about me?”

“Yeah! They know we’ve been partnered for the project so they won’t bombard you with questions. Also Niki and Jungwon really want to talk to you since you helped them during their first week here.”

Oh I remember those cuties. They were walking around in circles and bickering about which direction to go to in the maths department.

“Ah Niki and Jungwon? I’d love to catch up with them! They’re so cute!”

“But I’m cuter though”

“Of course you are Sunoo”

At the cafeteria

The students looked at me and Sunoo in shock as we both made our way to the boys’ table. I didn’t look at anyone since I knew that I would just be met with envious eyes

What is Y/N doing with them?

I bet she’s just trying to get with one of them

Didn’t she just accuse F/N of doing exactly what she’s doing right now

Well isn’t this fun? I’ve stayed out of drama for my entire time I’ve been here and all of a sudden I’m the centre of the gossip.

“Don’t listen to them Y/Nie. If you want I can roast the shit out of them?” Sunoo whispered

I laughed at his overprotectiveness and responded “It’s ok they’re just finding any way to get some gossip”

We got to the table and Sunoo introduced me to everyone. I was met with charming smiles from everyone. Well, except one.

“Hi Y/N! It’s nice to finally meet you. Sunoo has told us a lot about you” Jay said politely

“Ah hope there was nothing bad” I responded nervously

Jake laughed “No of course not. He’s been going on about how amazing you are and we also heard that you’ve already met Jungwon and Niki”

“Hi noona!” The two younger boys greeted

We all fell into a comfortable conversation as we got to know each other but I could see Sunghoon sitting quietly, sending me the odd glare every now and then.

Heeseung saw as well and spoke up “Sunghoon are you ok? Why don’t you get to know Y/N as well?”

All Sunghoon did was scoff and mumble “Nah I’m good” before getting up abruptly and leaving the cafeteria.

There was a lingering awkward silence before Sunoo reassured me “Don’t mind him Y/Nie. Sunghoon hyung just has a hard time warming up to new people, that’s all.”

I gave him a small smile and thankfully we all carried on our conversation and steered off the awkward moment that just happened.

Time skip

As it turns out, the boys are the sweetest people ever minus Sunghoon and we’ve been hanging out almost every day since. They called me their little sister (ofc older sister for the younger ones but still little in terms of height 😤) and it really did feel like I had a bunch of protective brothers with me.

I’ve been trying to get to know Sunghoon as well, especially since I feel guilty of just turning up in the group out of no where. But I still wanted to respect his boundaries so I never pushed. When I did have the chance to speak to him, they all felt very one-sided on my part as he only responded with short answers before leaving.

For the past few weeks, everyone has been stressing as we all had exams coming up which contributed to 50% of our grade for the year. The older ones were practically living in the library with barely any time to sleep or eat. I knew they felt the most pressure since they were in their final years and the grades that they got now had an impact on if they could graduate or not.

Even though I have exams coming up too, I’ve been a bit more chill since they weren’t as intense. So during my free time at home, I’ve been making lunch for the boys since there’s no way of getting them away from studying if it’s not rugby practice. It’s not much but at least they’re not starving.

I woke up extra early today to make them all some lunch and packed it ready so I could go to the convenient store on the way to school and buy extra snacks.

At the convenient store

I picked out a load of snacks and ramen so the boys could have a bit of energy during their study time. It was mostly just some generic snacks but I still made sure to pick out everything mint choco flavour for Sunoo (aka my favourite person). In the dessert aisle I saw tiramisu and remembered that Sunghoon would eat it for almost every lunch. Hopefully he won’t think I’m some creep 😬 He had still been distant but it was better than him storming away from me every time he sees me.

Time skip to school

Just as the school bell rang, Sunoo and I packed up my things and I quickly brought out his snacks so he could eat some on the way to the library.

“Ah thank you Y/Nie! I actually got you some of your favourite snacks since you’ve been feeding us all so well the past few days”

“Sunoo you didn’t have to thank you so much! This is why you’re my favourite” I smiled at him as we traded snacks

“Of course I am” Sunoo said smugly and flipped his hair before we laughed and went to meet with the others

At the library

The boys greeted the two of us as we arrived and I started handing out the food that I made and snacks. Their faces lit up at the sight of food and they were quick to thank me for it.

As I got around to Sunghoon, I handed him the tiramisu and the boys started to tease him with Niki asking why he got special treatment.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but I could see a small smile as he thanked me and started to eat.

We spent a few hours studying and every so often we’d have a small break. I felt thirsty so I decided to refill my drink

“Hey Sunoo I’m just going to quickly go to the water fountain, make sure Niki doesn’t try to break my laptop pleaseee”

“Haha of course I can”

The corridors were basically empty at this point so I didn’t have to worry about there being a queue for the water fountain. There were the odd few students who sent me a smile but other than that, it was a quick trip.

Just as I finished filling my bottle, I could hear faint footsteps but I didn’t think anything of it.

“Hey Y/N. Can I quickly talk to you?”

I turned around and there was Sunghoon standing awkwardly and avoiding eye contact with me.

“Sure, is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to get food for us”

I was shocked at what he said. Not because he was thanking me, but because he came to talk to me first.

“No worries Sunghoon! I know you guys are stressed and you need to look after yourselves so this was the least I could do” I responded with a bright smile

And if I wasn’t shocked enough, he sent back a shy smile to me. Maybe he doesn’t hate me that much then…

We both made our way back and the rest of the guys were having a small conversation

“Hey Y/N you should come and watch us practice tomorrow” Jake suggested

“Really? I mean I guess it would be nice to see”

“Yeah! I’m gonna show noona that I’m the best player” Niki bragged and the rest of the boys started to playfully argue with each other that they were the best.

At rugby practice

The boys were warming up as I went to find a seat with the best view of them. Unfortunately for me though, I also had a view of the cheer team practicing by the field. The sight of F/N and her minions alone was enough to ruin my mood

Just then, the boys started their practice game and my attention was quickly turned to them. Seeing how well they worked together was truly amazing and it was no wonder why they were the top players in the school.

As I carried on watching them, my eyes couldn’t help but land on Sunghoon every so often. And to my surprise he started to look back at me as well and we’d hold eye contact till I’d try to divert my attention.

Their coach told them to take a break and the boys made their way over to me, where their water was. I told them how well they did and they all smiled and thanked me before jogging back onto the field. But Sunghoon stayed back a bit longer and I could see the gears turning in his head

“Do you think I did well?” He asked

I could feel the blush creeping up my cheeks as I answered him “You did amazing Sunghoon!”

He flashed the brightest smile and I thought at that moment my heart had stopped.

I was so distracted by the beautiful sight in front of me that I couldn’t feel the burning glare aimed towards me from across the field.

The next day

I could barely sleep last night. I still felt giddy about the small interaction with Sunghoon during practice yesterday. But I felt energised at the thought of seeing him again.

Wait what am I thinking?!?

No there’s no way

Do I have a crush on Sunghoon?

I mean if I do, is there anything wrong with that?

All these thoughts clouded my mind at the thought of me liking Sunghoon. But if I say anything or act on it, he might take it the wrong way. Especially since it’s taken time for me to try and build a friendship with him. Maybe I’ll just carry on as usual and not rush things. Then I can make sure that these feelings are genuine and not spontaneous.

At school

The rugby team had a meeting before lunch about their next big game that will take place a few weeks after exams are over. So I was by myself, waiting for Sunoo in the corridor when all of a sudden, I hear this agitating, grating voice (iykyk 😂)

“Oi Y/N”

I really didn’t want to bother engaging with the owner of the voice so I tried blocking her out and walking away

“Hey don’t ignore me you bitch. I need to have a word with you.”

I rolled my eyes and turned towards her

“What do you want F/N?”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are but you better stay away from my Hoonie. He belongs to me and he doesn’t need to be constantly cornered by a desperate rat.”

“What makes you think he’s yours? Sunghoon and I are clearly just friends and we can actually have conversations together because unlike you, I treat him like a person, not some trophy to be won and shown off for my own pleasure.”

F/N laughed with pity as she snapped back “Really? You guys are friends? Come on Y/N. I know you don’t have any friends of your own which is why you stay with Sunoo all of the time. But I can see through your act. You like Sunghoon don’t you? I could tell from the way you looked like a lovesick puppy yesterday but guess what? He will never like you back because he’s way out of your league and he knows it. Think about it. Why do you think he warmed up to you so quick when you guys barely talked? He doesn’t care about you. He’s playing with you so he can have a bit of entertainment and you were just gullible enough to play into his game. So give up. He’s had his fun messing with you now and it’s time that him and I make our relationship official.”

Her words pierced through me like a knife but I wasn’t going to let her think that she could hurt me.

“Oh give me a break F/N I already said that Sunghoon and I were friends so why does it bother you so much? Is it because he at least looks at me? If you’ve been waiting so long to make your relationship ‘official’ then why hasn’t it happened yet? Just because Sunghoon hasn’t as much as spared you a glance, doesn’t mean you should take your insecurities out onto me.”

Before she could respond, I stormed off and I felt the stinging tears starting to fall. I knew that she said all of those things to purposely hurt me a try to make me back off from the boys. But she doesn’t mean shit to me and there is no way I would take that bitch’s word over theirs.

Time skip

I had finally calmed down before I got ready to meet the boys in the library. Sunoo had called me during lunch to tell me that their coach had bought the team food so I wasn’t able to see them then. The thought of seeing them made me feel slightly better and almost made me forget what F/N had said before.

When I entered the library, I saw everyone but Sunghoon with their work out and their heads down in concentration. I put on the brightest smile I could muster greeted them all, which they returned and started to hand out all of their food.

I looked up from my bag and saw Sunghoon standing stoically as it looked like he paused on his way over. I flashed him a smile, ready to show him the food I had made him but he rolled his eyes and walked away.

Sunoo was the only person that witnessed the encounter and he angrily spat “What the fuck crawled between his ass cheeks?”

I was absolutely stunned by what just happened but I still said “I don’t know but I’ll go talk to him.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Sunoo asked

“No don’t worry. You guys carry on with what you’re doing” I gave them a quick smile before running out.

“Hey! Sunghoon is everything alright? I’ve bought you some f-”

“Stop Y/N! Why won’t you just leave me alone?” Sunghoon turned to me with a cold look on his face

“I-I’m sorry Sunghoon. I thought you’d be hungry after studying and just wanted to make sure you’re ok” I was at a loss for words with the way he was acting. Tears began to form in my eyes as he stared at me with burning hatred. Did he figure out that I might have feelings for him?

“You know I really thought you were going to be different from the rest of them. And seeing how much Sunoo adored you, I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because maybe, just maybe, you were someone we could trust. But I can see it now and I was too blind before. You’re no different to them. You’re just as desperate to try and get in between my brothers and I. And for what? For some dick? I should’ve trusted my instincts from the start but now I see how pathetic you are, thinking you could buy our friendship and try to get in our pants. It’s actually quite funny how ridiculous you are”

I could not believe the words that I was hearing. Did he really see me like this? F/N was really telling me the truth and now I look like a complete fool.

Without thinking, I slapped him across the face. The rage built up inside me after hearing his vile words and my tears started pouring down

“How fucking dare you Park Sunghoon. I did nothing to try and interfere with you and your friends. I decided to be nice to you all and make an effort because Sunoo wanted me to sit at your table. Not once before that did I ever give a flying fuck about you and your friends but seeing how nice the others were, I thought it would be worth the effort for Sunoo’s sake. I truly and deeply care about each and every one about you. Do you really think I’d put in all of this effort trying to get to know you all and wake up early to make sure you guys are fed if my goal was to just sleep with you? That is absolutely disgusting and I refuse to let anyone, especially you talk down to me like that. Before this all happened, we didn’t know shit about each other and now you think I would all of a sudden try to gain your attention now? Well I’m sorry your majesty but you need to pull that stick out of your ass and come back to Earth because surprise surprise, not everyone in this school just wants to fuck you.”

At this point I didn’t care if people were staring at me having a go at him with tears streaming down my face.

“You know, I really thought there was someone sweet under the hard facade you put up but it turns out that you really are just a cold, stuck up bastard. I can’t believe that I thought that I was starting to fall for you. But thank you for waking me from that ridiculous fantasy. Goodbye Sunghoon”

Third person’s POV

Sunghoon was left absolutely speechless the whole time as you walked away. He so desperately wanted to grab you and ask what you meant but he remained still. He really fucked this up didn’t he? He thought he was doing the right thing to protect him and his brothers but seeing how genuinely hurt you were, it was clear that he got the wrong end of the stick. How will he explain to his friends what happened, especially Sunoo.

Wait you liked him? Ah shit. All Sunghoon could think about these days was your adorable smile. The way you remembered the small details about everyone and their favourite things. How you looked at him with the softest eyes during rugby practice. He wanted to let you know how he didn’t mean what he said and that in reality, he fell for you too. But it’s too late and now you hate him.

Well done Sunghoon. You just pushed away another person who really cared for you…

Author’s note: So how are we feeling? 😅 maybe we need a part 2? 🤔😏

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work I really appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed it

I would also like to reiterate that the way the members (especially Sunghoon) are shown in this fic has no correlation to how they really are or the way they come across to me. I love them all so much 🩵

[buttered-milky]

Maedhros goes crazy hard to me because yes he has a villain arc but he also has a suicidal ideation arc. You watch him have fewer and fewer living clues as the book goes on. You watch him have passive SI that gets more and more dangerous until it’s not passive anymore. You watch him slowly implode.

[Silly little essay ahead and we’re talking about suicide so be mindful. Feel free to add your own thoughts!]

Like he starts out pretty okay. The decision to go parlay with Morgoth on his own could actually be argued to just be stupid heroism and nothing else. He’s got things to live for. There are a considerable amount of people who hate him, yes, but there are also a considerable amount who admire and/or rely on him. Also, most of his family is alive and (debatably) well at this point.

And even on Thangorodrim, he doesn’t give up his spirit like we know elves can do. He begs Fingon to kill him, but he never just…lets himself die. There’s a difference between wishing you were dead and planning out suicide—a huge difference. He’s still got ambivalence, and he’s still resilient as hell (literally).

But things are getting worse. He decides to hold Himring. Which is the closest to Angband. The most dangerous. Because he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt, or because he doesn’t care if he himself does—yet there are still reasons to be alive.

Most of his family is alive, too, and Fingon is anyways, and he’s done something good abdicating. He’s building himself for war, sure, but at least he is still capable of good?

And then the Nirnaeth.

He loses Fingon. He still has his closest family alive, at least, but they are all capable enough of committing atrocities with him. They don’t need to rely on him so much anymore—and none of the other Noldor are.

Maedhros is resilient, but there is less and less to be resilient for.

There’s the Second Kinslaying. He loses many of the few people who could at least understand him. He loses two elf twins who were his one chance at redemption. He’s so tired. There is almost nothing left, anymore, besides the Oath. There’s the Third Kinslaying. He’s lost all but one of his brothers. He gets two more twins he doesn’t even want because they are living reminders of his prior failure. He is still alive, though. Even though probably everyone in the world but Maglor wants him dead, he’s still alive.

And then the Valar take the Silmarils.

Maedhros has this beautiful argument with Maglor. I’ve seen people talk about how flawed Maedhros’ points are during that argument and I raise you this: they’re not designed to be logical. They’re designed to be hopeless. And they’re perfect at that.

Let me tell you something. I don’t know how many of you have argued with a very high risk suicidal person about reasons to live, but I have. You can go on for hours and someone who is truly hopeless will fight you tooth and nail to convince you everything that could be wrong is and that the world is nothing but hell. Doesn’t happen all the time—but there are people who do this. The arguments aren’t designed to be logical. They’re designed to be hopeless. They’re designed to convince you by any means possible that death is the only answer, even if that means is despair.

And honestly, the arguments aren’t even for you. This is just what this person has been thinking. It is justification. No one wants to make a decision they know they’ll regret. So despair as a forgone conclusion must be justified. There is no ambivalence anymore. There are no living clues. There’s only dying.

Maedhros is putting all his resilience and all his stubbornness to work convincing himself and others that killing himself is the only way out.

.

Hope couldn’t kill you on Thangorodrim, Maedhros, and nothing but yourself can kill you now because you’ve made yourself into something desperately strong. Nothing but despair can kill you now. You were holding up hope like a crucifix against despair and now you can only see the cross to die on.

Maedhros, you beautiful fucking tragedy.

.

We talk about his heroism slowly turning to villainy. The heroism is thinly veiled SI. You have to remember he is the narrative incarnation of despair. Suicide is the perfect end for him because despair and hopelessness is the one thread running through all SI. Despair is the one thing you can count on to always beg you to die, and it’s what ends up killing a guy who was otherwise unkillable.

[izunias-meme-hole]

THE BATMAN/BRUCE WAYNE

"I am vengeance."

After witnessing the demise of his parents as a young boy, Bruce Wayne was forever scarred by this event and dedicated a great majority of his life to finding out how he can entirely remove crime from Gotham City. He spent his teenage years studying psychology, traveled the the world as a young adult to learn martial arts, spent a great amount of time perfecting what he learned when he returned to Gotham, and had put some of his own resources into making a special suit and some weaponry. By the time he was ready, Bruce Wayne had actively disappeared from public life, and had embraced his new identity as "The Batman." As Batman, Bruce would travel the streets of Gotham, leaving criminals of many types beaten, battered, and exposed for all of the city to see, becoming an urban legend in the process. Not even some of the corrupt cops were safe. However as time would begin to pass, Bruce would begin to see the rise of a new breed of criminal in his first few months as the ever-so terrifying Batman, and would begin to see how much deeper the corruption in Gotham ran. He would never give up on his mission, but he's slowly beginning to realize that this one man crusade he's on might be tougher than he realized.

Yep. This is my re-interpretation of Batman, and from what I have written in my own mind so far, he's going to go through an arc where he starts out as "vengeance," punishing criminals, installing fear in them before leaving them for the police, and fighting this one-man war on crime. Then after realizing that he cannot truly do this alone, he allows his butler and surrogate father, Alfred, and Captain Jim Gordon to assist him in his endeavors, and as more time would begin to pass he would develop into less of a symbol of fear for all of Gotham, and more a of symbol of hope for the innocents in Gotham. As this evolution would take place, Bruce himself would begin getting somewhat better in the head overtime.

In-case you cannot tell, this is my more idealized take on the "Batman Timeline" which is based entirely on the arcs of Battinson and the Lego Batman, and some parts of the DCAU's Batman lifeline. Starting out as a young and angry man trying to literally eradicate crime as a whole by himself that fears losing people that he cares for all over again, and ending as an old man who's managed to finally get some of his own problems resolved and is a better person because of it, even if he can never truly "fix" himself.

As for the character of good 'ol Batsy, it's pretty much what you'd expect. Cold, calculating, distant, persistent, skeptical, manipulative if he wants to be, dedicated to his goal, and overall a jackass on the outside. Yet despite having a lot of negatives, Bruce still has some level of compassion and empathy, and overtime he begins to show that to those who need it. He's also not that much of a socialite, but after go back into the public occasionally AS Bruce Wayne, he tries his best to fake being a slick billionaire with not much to worry about, but he has occasional cracks of his true self slip.

And before you point it out, yes his design is inspired by the Keaton suit, however the cowl has red lenses and it covers his entire face. Also it's armored in a similar way to the Battinson suit underneath that cape. As for Bruce's design, the suit is an inverse of his nemesis's colors (We'll get to him later), and I wanted him to look active and colorful, while also looking sleep deprived and dying on the inside.

I hope I expressed my vision clear enough for MY Batman. I thought this up for funnies, and not like actual writing purposes (I already have a project), but if I were to take an attempt at writing the Bat, it would be similar to what I spoke about here.

[s0methingmoonlit]

So what if O!Sky was soft?

Ah, the brainrot just won’t go away. I think FNF Soft is wonderful! Mostly because the concept and aesthetic, and Grace! She’s my favorite of the bunch. Oh, I could ramble on and on about her, but we’re focusing on the Skyverse, especially O!Sky! This is my design for her! I tried my best to imitate Alex’s style, I think it’s pretty good. A little wonky on the limbs though.

Madison has a unique sense of fashion, I mean she wants to look stylish so makes sense. She’s a part time hair stylist, but dreams of becoming a fashion designer. She dyed parts of her hair blue because that was her second favorite color. She loves purple the most, and it’s pretty much 99% of her closet. Madison is not too short, only 5”2. But there are many more people taller than her, which is why she wears platform shoes. I was originally going to make her similar to her sister, but I think it’s better not to do that since that wouldn’t make much sense, mostly because of her backstory. If you wanna read it, just click or tap the magic button (aka keep reading LOL)

The two photos above are two other outfits. Madison’s outfit on her reference sheet is very similar to the second image, only that in the traditional drawing, the skirt is flowing, while in the one above, is a tight skirt, like the one in the third image.

Now let’s get into the backstory…

Madison wasn’t abused in her past like Benjamin was, but instead she heavily bullied someone. Specifically her younger sister. Yes, I do mean the Soft Sky we all know and love.

The Sky Siblings used to live in “The city of Stars” together with their parents. The father worked very busy as a Tailor, so they didn’t suffer too much financially. When they were young, Madison was always the one doing better at… pretty much anything. Sports, art, singing…whatever you name. At least their mom’s eyes. Mom would always give her older daughter attention and neglects her younger daughter. Because of that, Madison liked to treat her sister like crap, always bragging about herself and how she was better while Sky couldn’t “do anything” or was just “stupid and talentless.” She said lots mean things every single time she had a chance to. Their mother always just brushed it off as playful teasing because they were just kids! Kids don’t know morals. Same thing happened with the dad, but unlike mom, he actually started to slowly catch on to Madison’s hateful behavior. He then constantly reminds her to be more nicer to her younger sister, but that didn’t seem to work. He also began noticing that his wife was actually neglecting Sky. Before the siblings started middle school, the parents had a discussion with each other, which then turned into an argument, which lead to them getting a divorce. Sky and their father stayed at home, while Madison and their mother moved to another city. And that’s when Madison slowly starts to realize her behavior that past years. The less she was with her sister, the more days that went on, the more she felt guilty for her past actions. Her superiority complex slowly turned into an inferiority complex.

Nowadays, she’s much more mature, but isn’t very open to others. In other words, she’s very mysterious. She has a nice facade in order to please customers at her job, but in college she’s very avoidant of others. Like I said before, she strives to become a fashion designer, but also mustn’t reveal too much of herself. So yeah the reason Mother Mairest reminds Madison so much of herself is because she acted too much like her younger self. Also she only sees herself in Marilyn and not Frank is because 1) He’s ugly (at least Marilyn has a decent fashion sense) and 2) Madison never physically hurt Sky, at all. Even as a child she would never go far to physical harm. So no, Madison couldnt have caused that to Sky’s left eye.

Unfortunately, Mama Sky is a not a good mom in this AU. Actually, we know absolutely nothing about O!Sky’s mom OG universe, but I’ve always assumed she’s a good mother! But despite this, Madison still maintains a good relationship with mom. I mean, Mama Sky isn’t manipulative or abusive towards her, just was playing the favorite game in the worst way possible. I know many parents play favorites but this mother just takes it too far

“Ok, but what about Benjamin Fairest? What does Madison think of him?” Good question! You see… I actually didn’t think that far. Well, this is literally called the soft AU so the characters should seem less rambunctious and more calm. I guess Madison would just be neutral towards him. Like she wouldn’t care about his existence, she only wants his parents to get a good well deserved punishment. So yeah, he’s just okay in her eyes.

“What about Grace/Pico?” She has no idea who either of them are. Actually she knows the latter, but that’s only because a bunch of people made jokes about him in her high school.

“Wait, Sky Sky Curls?” I headcanon Soft Sky’s real name would be “Libby” but again, it’s only canon in my head, so I tend to stay away from using that.

I went on several different baby name websites for names that meant “heart.” Yes that is a reference to Old O!Sky’s sister being named Hearts. I kinda sorta gave up because I was doing this late at night. I chose Libby, or Libi, because it meant “my heart” or “girl” which isn’t exactly what I wanted, but I guess it was good enough.

Basically Libby was what I personally thought was most fitting for Soft Sky. If you read the small crossed out text, ok then.

Hmm… I guess that’s about all I could say! If you have any more questions, then the ask box is open! I think even people who don’t have a Tumblr and only came from my insta can use the ask box. You can ask anonymously or not.

[d15gu571ng]

do you actually like family guy or is it just 4 the meme? im dying 2 know

Thanks for the question anon!

This is hard to put into words because while I do genuinely like the show, I like it for more than what it is on the surface. Its not that I relate to the characters on a deep emotional level but more or so of how it slowly grew on me and changed the way I thought of how I interact with media and the people who consume it.

When I first saw the show I was an 11 year old kid who "liked" almost anything, as long as it was 'entertaining' for me. Mind you I didn't actually understand what was going on, nor did I even react to alot of the scenes in any way I just... watched it to watch it. I mean, it beats the shitty infomercials and corny live action sitcoms that were on at the time.

When I formed an actual opinion on the show it was a deep, deep hatred. I saw the show as objectively lazy, cheap, mean-spirited and just downright obnoxious at times with its themes and writing. And I'll admit it, it's true.

Family guy is not an amazing show. A lot of it's characters, which used to be charming and fun to watch became flanderized distorted versions of themselves due to the passage of time. It's writing has moments where it can be downright cringe inducing, especially with some of the jokes. The themes of certain episodes are so ridiculously problematic that it made even ME feel uncomfortable on occasion. The animation is quite often cheap and stiff and don't even get me started on the modernized design of the show itself...

I can completely understand why somebody would say it was downright garbage.

But my dad LOVED that show

He would continuously talk about how funny he found Peter and his family, recount episodes by memory and even show me his favorite clips of the show and would laugh and laugh at the occasionally shitty punchlines. He loved this stupid bad show so much that for almost every birthday he'd ask me to draw Peter Griffin for him..

I hated that shit.

I would rant to him about how shitty the show was and that it was incredibly problematic that he liked it. And most of the time he'd simply reply, "Well I think it's funny!"

And I'd give a snarky retort on how it was stupid that he did.

Needless to say we didn't talk much about what we liked to one another.

And as more and more life stuff happened we became more distant and hostile until finally I was out of the house for college.

I didn't really reach out to him often and I rarely ever called.

And that was that at the time.

Until I watched dog bites bear.

Now to preface this, it was by complete accident. All my favorite video essayists has no more videos to watch, and I would rather tear my own eyes out than listen to another reddit "Am I the asshole for killing my entire family" type post. So without anything better to do, I let it play out. And to say I was shocked at how good stewie and brian's plotline was had me shocked. For a good while, I was obsessed with this episode, and I became even MORE shocked when I realized that there were MULTIPLE episodes with this amount genuine-ness to it.

As I began to binge through more and more episodes of this... fucking stupid show I hated at the time, I started to see aspects of it that I missed out on.

The original music and dance sequences ranged from alright to downright impressive! And it doesn't help that I'm a sucker for musicals and showtunes. Some of the fight scenes being actually, pretty well choregraphed. Yes, the camera angles are flat and uninspired at times, I do like how creative they can be. Some of the plotlines in many episodes have actually REALLY GOOD STORY BEATS AND SCENES TO IT. Like for example, when Peter and Lois reunite in Meet the Quagmires, or every moment of Peter and Brian's relationship in New Kidney in Town and Forget Me Not, Brain and Stewie's EVERYTHING (And the episode too). AND THESE WEREN'T EVEN THE FIRST 3 SEASONS.

I could honestly go on and on about the things I enjoyed in this show and it kinda made me realize alot about how I treated this show and the people who liked it. I genuinely thought I was better than them JUST BECAUSE THEY LIKED THIS "OBJECTIVELY BAD" PEICE OF MEDIA and I would constantly put people down just for liking the things that I considered to be bad. So, when I binged this show and CONSIOUSLY HAD A GOOD TIME WATCHING ALOT OF THE EPISODES? It made me realize that...

I was such a pretentious fucking dick as a kid lol

When I finished binging through around... what... a good 2-3 hours of family guy, my dad called me

And rather than ignoring it like I usually did I actually picked up... It was a little awkward at first, at least from my end... but I don't think my dad even noticed my stiffness. He was just happy to hear my voice after so long, asking how I was doing and how was school and all that... and I'd answer my usual "It was fine." But, what really started a conversation between us was me asking him what his personal favorite episode of Family Guy was, just out of pure curiosity. And the way I could hear his voice light up as he gushed about all his favorite moments...? Christ man...

As stupid as "Family Guy helped me rebuild my connection with my father" SOUNDS, it's really what happened. We ended up spending alot more time together, talking about things we liked and disliked and realized that... we were alot similar than either of us expected. And not only that it really helped me see both the good and the bad in media and that it was ok to enjoy things that everyone else enjoyed, even if the bad outweighs the good.

I understand that the great aspects of family don't represent the show as a whole... but there's a reason other than capitalistic corporatism of why this show just doesn't ever fucking end. Because there's people there that care about this show and these stupid shitty goofy ass characters, both the fans and the people who work on it.

Idk... this was an unnecessarily personal and sentimental stupid rant about something that I grew to love. Really I could've just answered with a simple "yes" and chad Peter png I stole off of google.

But I really do love this show because it helped me appreciate the one person in my life who stuck with me the best he could despite the tragedy after tragedy that happened to him, how shittily and harsh;y I treated him fur to my own fears and traumas, and how far he sunk down into dark... dark places...

Even after all that he's still giving it his all to the people he loves.

And I love him for that.

Sorry for how insane and incomprehensible this ENTIRE diatribe is. I just wanted to gush about how this show made me grow and change as a person and love my family

have a shitty Peter, thanks for the question ^^

[tehuti88-art]

5/31/24: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's characters from my anthro WWII storyline are more of the Jäger children: twins Lars and Lara (about six years old), and Lothar (about four); Lars and Lothar are the only boys in the bunch. You can see their older sisters Lisbeth and Liesl HERE, and their eldest half-sister Leopoldine HERE. Their personalities aren't very developed yet. There'll be more about them later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding their design, again, the younger they get, the bigger I draw the ears and eyes, and the shorter and chunkier the snout and neck. The male rats in my story don't have hair but females do (I dunno why). I have the three youngest Jäger children left to draw now.

TUMBLR EDIT: I have even less to say about these three younger Jäger siblings, the first pair of twins and younger son Lothar, than about Lisbeth and Liesl. They seem cheery enough, and not as insecure as the art of the two older full sisters hints; I suspect their younger age has to do with it.

The rest of this entry, which has mostly to do with Jäger anyway, will be truncated in following entries to save repetition.

Something I've learned recently, bits of Jäger's family history are emerging, albeit slowly and haltingly; he isn't giving up his past too willingly. I've learned for sure that he himself comes from a big family, father, mother, grandmother, and Jäger is the youngest of seven siblings: He has six older sisters. So this helps explain why he knows how to deal with groups of women and why he even seems to prefer their company; he explains to Otto Himmel, the only male secretary he hires, that women have much better heads for office work and communication, they're calmer and more rational and deal better with facts and details, whereas men are physically stronger yet, given their predilection toward brute violence, are more suited as "cannon fodder." Himmel has never heard men referred to as the more emotional and less rational sex, so Jäger's theories dumbfound him a bit. (It doesn't get past him, either, that Jäger seems to be hinting that he considers Himmel more feminine in temperament than masculine, but he has nothing to say about that, he just accepts his desk job with furrowed brow.) Jäger's office is full of young, beautiful Helferinnen (helpers); additionally, he has his beloved wife Magda, and his large (and growing) litter of children, all but two of whom are girls, plus before he met Magda he was a participant in the Lebensborn program (a weird, semi-anonymous sort of "stud service" to help boost the birth rate)...so yes, Jäger is pretty used to being around lots of women.

Another detail which emerged lately. Jäger informally considers his large band of secretaries his "Walküren," or Valkyries. They obey his every command without question, are fiercely loyal to him, and are unafraid of the same bureaucracy that intimidates most of his fellows because he takes good care of them and, despite his rather middling rank and his self-professed unglamorous status as "just another cog in the great war machine," he's actually quite powerful and, at times, downright terrifying. You don't mess with Jäger. Especially considering that he's a batsh*t fanatic.

Jäger's early history is coming in bits and pieces that sometimes contradict each other, so I'm unsure of the truth of some of it. Twins, however, seem to run in his family; he and Magda have two sets of them, Lars and Lara, and Lilli and Lotti, and I believe Jäger himself is a younger twin. Hold on though, didn't I mention he was the only son, and youngest child, in a family of six daughters...? Yes, I did. Jäger's mother gives birth to Ludolf and Luitpold, yet both sons are a difficult birth and are weak and sickly, especially the younger. Frau Jäger is desperate to save her only sons from dying, so turns to her mother-in-law, Herr Jäger's mother. Why? Because the older Frau Jäger is rumored to have powers; she, and when he was younger, her son, practice the old ways, honoring the Germanic gods rather than the Christian one. Herr Jäger gave up these beliefs and converted to Catholicism but his mother is still a believer, and despite being Catholic herself, the younger Frau Jäger appeals to her for help, because she'll do anything. The older woman mulls over the request before stipulating that the boys themselves be raised in the old ways; Frau Jäger haggles that she raise them in her own faith, BUT, if they decide to go seeking such knowledge on their own--without her mother-in-law prompting them--she won't try to stop them. MIL agrees, goes to the sick boys, and spends some time murmuring incantations and pleas and making offerings of wine and burnt items. She places a hand on each boy as she prays.

Then...something neither woman expected happens. Ludolf starts to grow weaker...while Luitpold grows stronger. MIL tries what she can, yet in the end, Ludolf succumbs, and only one of the twins, Luitpold, is left alive. Frau Jäger is distraught--this isn't what MIL promised her, she promised to save BOTH her sons. MIL retorts that she made no such promise, she simply said she would do what she could. She saved one boy; the other was obviously destined to die. It's Schicksal, fate. That doesn't mean he's gone, however...doesn't she see? The way Luitpold grew in strength as his brother Ludolf grew weaker. Ludolf's soul still lingers with them. With his twin brother. Frau Jäger isn't sure what to think--surely a body can house only one soul?--yet when the baby opens his eyes and blinks at her...she can swear she's looking at Ludolf, not Luitpold. It's unsettling, but the more she thinks about it, the more the idea worms its way into her. By the time Herr Jäger returns and demands to know what's going on, why is MIL here burning things, what happened to Ludolf, Frau Jäger has convinced herself that Ludolf died so Luitpold could live, Luitpold's body houses both the twins' souls, and oh, she's decided to give the surviving, younger son the elder son's name, because it only seems fitting. She declares that the boy she's cradling in her arms is both Luitpold and Ludolf, but from now on, he'll be known as Ludolf.

Of course Herr Jäger, who renounced all this business ages ago, is incensed at his mother's meddling, and tells her off. His wife buying into it all mystifies him, but she's insistent, so, the surviving infant receives a name change. And when he's older, and spies his grandmother praying at her little altar which is nothing like the grand altar at the church the family attends, Oma Jäger is all too willing to fill him in on what she believes. Young Ludolf is full of awe and curiosity. Oma's talk of patron gods has him wondering, which god is his god? She replies that he needs to keep his eyes open for a sign. His god will let him know when he's been chosen.

Ludolf is born roughly around 1910, so he's just a child when the Great War breaks out. At the time, his family lives near the border, and one day late in the war, Ludolf witnesses a German plane crash in a field. He runs to inspect it, taking note of a painting the pilot must have made on the tail--a lightning bolt--then realizes that the pilot is still alive. He spots Ludolf peering down at him--he's bloody and badly injured, one of his eyes missing--and holds up his hand; Ludolf grasps it and holds on for but a moment, before the airman's eye glazes over and his breath rattles and then falls still. He doesn't want to leave him, but flames start licking at the plane and he's forced to retreat, watching from afar as it's gradually consumed by fire. Men arrive to put it out and retrieve the charred body while Ludolf is taken home. He doesn't talk much to his parents, but privately, Oma asks him what he saw--she knows it was significant. He describes the incident in detail; by the time he's done, his grandmother is nodding, her eyes alight. Ludolf is twice blessed, she tells him--for not just one, but two gods have reached out to him: Donar the lord of thunder, and Wotan the Allfather. Ludolf now knows his patrons, and it's up to him whether he conducts himself accordingly.

Ludolf grows up following his grandmother's teachings, ignoring how much it displeases his mother and father. They eventually learn to put up with it, hoping he'll grow out of it someday. Instead, he just grows even more devoted. When war rears its head a second time, and he learns of the formation of the Waffen-SS, he decides to apply to join. Nobody in his family is happy about this; his sisters cry, and his parents try to dissuade him, but he won't be deterred. His grandmother is the only one to urge him to follow his souls--she's told him by now of the sacrifice his older twin made for him--and although he doesn't care much for the racial business, he fully buys into the occult/mystical angle pushed by the Nazis. His father is just as adamant about the path the rest of the family will take: They're leaving the country, and will return only when the hostilities are over. Jäger's favorite sister makes a tearful appeal to him to come along; yet even this doesn't convince him. He feels like he has a destiny, and he rather hopes that, like the airman whose crash he witnessed so long ago, his souls might be borne away by the Walküren someday. He does decide not to part on bad terms, and wishes his family well, also hoping that they might reunite after the war, when things are better. Herr and Frau Jäger, Oma, and the six sisters depart Germany, while Jäger departs for the front.

Despite their hopes, they never meet again. Jäger is wounded, and while lying half-conscious on the battlefield, he believes he sees a Walküre telling him it isn't his time yet (this is actually a nurse); he wakes in an SS hospital. Seeks a transfer to the Allgemeine-SS, participates in Lebensborn, meets young Magda in a maternity home...marries her, adopts her daughter Leopoldine, starts his own family, and starts the indoctrination all over again. The difference being that this time, there's a distinct Nazi slant, and everyone goes along with him, for better or worse. (Spoiler alert: It's worse.)

That includes little Lars, Lara, and Lothar, and the rest of the Jäger children I haven't drawn yet...there are three more to go.

[Lars Jäger 2024 [‎Friday, ‎May ‎31, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:11 AM]]

[chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter]

PREVIOUS TAGS DESERVE TO BE SEEN! 🔥🔥

Seriously, Chifuyu is a very well-writen character (Wakui-sensei, thanks for all of them 🙏🏻). He is a teen who lost another friend, he is grieving and he had the right to get angry. I wonder how much of the people who judges him would have calm down so quickly and go "okay partner, now we go kamikaze together (again)". His only condition was silly t-shirts, c'mon! He is the most wholesome best boy ever! 😭

(I don't really wonder it bc I know it: none, bc oy someone with the empathy of a rock would have that take)

Also, I might be biased for whatever reason coughsanzucough but I'm pretty sure it was DAMN OBVIOUS since Manila that we were aiming for saving Mikey from depression, I mean, his curse.

New enemy? Idk, but as op said, Mikey's void doesn't feel new, it just feels bigger each time! Let me refresh your memory:

The point of saving Draken was also saving Toman and Mikey, bc he lost his heart when Draken died. (fucking first mision people, it was always there)

Valhalla? Sure, we all wanted to save Baji. But why Baji sacrificed himself? To save Kazutora AND Mikey, bc he had seen what killing someone did to Tora and knew it would only add more fuel to Mikey's pain (besides the fact we discover a lot later that Baji knew Mikey's darkness, but even if we ignore final arc, we can't ignore the rest)

Black Dragon? Okay, this one is harder bc is more subtle and the one that has less Mikey on it. But idk you, but all that focus on the lenghts a sibling will go for each other? (Yuzuha killing Taiju for herself yes, but also to protect Hakkai; Hakkai paying for Yuzuha's crimes to protect her) Doesn't ring any bell? Nothing? C'mon, almost there!

Tenjiku. Do I really need to explain Tenjiku? Is pure Sano siblings angst in his most raw form and it broke all our hurts. Is empty Mikey in the hospital, only snapping out of it once he learns about timeleaping, to do... What? Putting his friends future first and try to cling onto the only sibling he still has no matter what Izana did? Willing to let Izana shoot him if that ends it? If that's not screaming "bonten is coming" idk what it is.

And we have been hearing since the freaking beginning how Takemitchy reminds EVERYONE of Shinichiro. This was always there, cooking under slowly under our noses even if Wakui himself didn't had a clear vision until Manila/Tenjiku. Because for cher's sake, Sanzu name is a choice born from tl0 trauma (for both, Wakui and him) and his design screamed important character. DON'T TELL ME WAKUI JUST MADE SHIT UP AFTER BONTEN BC SANZU WAS THERE SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TENJIKU, THIS WAS PLANED! (I agreed that he probably couldn't develop it as he wanted bc weekly mangas are hard af and mangakas are human. But the idea? The idea had been there for a while)

Also, people who gets surprised about Kanto Manji Mikey, genuine question: Did you all skipped the three acts of Emma's death? (dying, hospital and funeral)

As much as the 'haha Takemichi went to save his husband after saving his wife, bisexual much?' joke is funny, people who seriously thinks Tokyo Revengers should've stopped when Hinata was finally safe and sound missed an important component to the plot.

Yes, it all started with Hinata - but since when was it all about Hinata?

Takemichi, kind-hearted Takemichi, should've just stopped everything after saving her? He got into Toman for this reason, yes, to get closer to Mikey and stop him - and Kisaki - from killing her, but he also sincerely got closer to Mikey. And everyone else. And he's supposed to simply leave them be when 'mission: save Hinata' is complete? As if the number of people he wanted to save didn't get longer with each timeline? Those are his friends why would he throw them all away.

To protect Hinata he decided to stick close to Mikey since he failed to prevent Mikey and Kisaki meeting each other - and he got attached to Mikey during that, as well as all of Toman. Each steps to save Hinata was also a step to save Mikey from corruption and self-destruction. It was all linked from the start.

There was a shift after Bonten, okay, whatever, the only thing that truly changed was Hinata's importance in it. New enemy? That happens in each arc (right, sure, there wasn't Kisaki anymore). Mikey being more and more violent? Again, each arc featured a moment of Mikey showing signs of being mentally unwell - and now it was aggravated because it was two years earlier than what Takemichi got used to go back to. Etc, etc. Toman may be disbanded, but its (at least main) members still meet and interact and they all kept in touch - Mikey aside. That just a change of mood, a mix of the present/future timelines with a more serious setting and of the past timelines with how young they are, despite not being as young as before. And future timelines have never been a problem - there's a lot of love for Manila and Bonten. If Wakui had had time and energy, Kanto Manji, all 70 and so last chapters of TR could've worked with its fanbase. For some reasons it didn't, and I don't get why by myself

[libidomechanica]

When wing

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               I

Now do I now for my company of   playes, frame my heau’n of moonlight dash the dance,   and unsmooth lips in thrall, or at last when his sister, that, from you, to listens, I wait. If only. To her on train emerges   from when thou doest save from thee, wretch the   window, and the sun sank our son, on this most deare, care shine and then in the divine, to receivest, I caught better blood-red   heard, and not see: some corne, my very quickens,   hoeing yams, calibrating through thy village, then which han be company is Head worth, no liar looke alofte, then he   arose, forget and me, I caught with voice   is the rest; thou deigne dissembling wills, she look at your ears. You know, they the mourning.

               II

Of Heav’n is rising on my hands, and whence?   And mine: for a breath was find it, and lawless   woods; the offered if she may fail to seed, Hermes prior to lifeless over thine, on the wild peasant right in my hands   beside her moved in the Lord and sugar-   cakes and N2 that when The Shah Salámán rose I lay. She might myself only graces slide; the rest did seeme my hurtlessly—   but what kind of age now. Responds,—as if   she lean in black and beat, nor in and this sinne of Spring back to the dead see, the wet with us, lie open at Stonehenge.   No trembler in which thou art but because   of my thought her; but ever be And yours yearn after a To-morrow bed.

               III

God set you are little wild figtree split their   than my hair of Heaven to thee his learn?   Like one True Believe when did: her moved me deeper thanks the personality of Man is blacke but indeed, Repentance fail   to see him off this hand creeds that should pipe   his pistol butts a-twinkle, unfair, at kirk or man be fynd, all Kent case. His Bounty left me for one tired I look the   race, I call the Prince, and tumbles at him,   and giue; the Nightingale and in my youth, or where but in this, and gulled our souls! From the days we lay about searching, that   I cannot bringeth forward drew my burthen   Bowl of Night hath taught a fall down dead, still my hell. Which joyes that floats in a barred.

               IV

Frame my griefe. And the bramble was straight—like   the roadside, succulent peaches which to   shame of my design when a’ was deceased, so from Fear o God with one arm, alas! I that puts by the shifting it to the   hands, adored and day; for the valley is   a flower in its benumbing rose that create thing stars; her dangling hand angry Gods word? And all the Harvest things went to   be so: for these pretty babes, poorly   desolate, when, sleep. See. The feet two, as I think of my father night like a lewde lust of trouble key, which to say; but twas, alas!   The way you froze: thought I am alone,   but babble. Body join’d to foolish Rider occasion of regency ghouls.

               V

As still hear the vnwary shepheards sayd he   there. The Princess cries, She is falling starve.   This steeds their wayward round her back to yoke it under the equation meanwhile, I make my Body when her maiden bars, ye   she asleep. Farm soil too in the annulus—   a planet floats in a Catalina stand amazed, and her; but the land, partly because of your name; so sad, slow, slowly   dying eye of same, and to sing this   flattring snapped wide, his Soul to Sin? They haue gathered up from that had full of spite of thee cannot be past, and golden age or   chanced, he lie and yet the trees, it half   turning, right trailing up from it! Reading alone and the day I ca’ at my hand.

               VI

The wheels go over-rule us at our   Sex betrayed by the unrise mars the end   is cheating underworld, strove together. From a scheme the distance. Muttering flames, pulling statuary it is the Princess,   If indeed, Repentance oft before,   when I will standing to know; so never gave comming home the tumult and pipe of honesty again and a far highest   Ioue, and the better chain, and dazzled down   and the Heart, palpitationships with his Associates Nightingale alone? Yes, call men were all to feede, and seen for publish   thy love, no more, would move among the   dead are busy being Lord of what we are Psyche, young man, ’tis the dales resist?

               VII

The Guests were apart from your trust that I’ll   answer, ’ I said he, last of a diseases,   so I sent the shines, cloudy seas, nor winding when though loved you see. And catch a long-hid love you wait while all the sends me   prison stream of solitude; yet nearer   to thigh and I worried you lying of love, and manna dew; and impulse: and wailed together? Time doth one with shines that he   plough, O girls are sad augurs mock the same   heard it, as I was in all Minds behind heare to playes, where he alightest come at nigh. Now I am here is over the   plate Anything did erre, it was a ribbon   of murmuring roses thus I heard, that those look on Ida, to thee, thy love!

               VIII

Of mine, the screendoors of the strange was a   time I will silent Nights side, succulent   peaches we bought he walked, near to your day. May dare all pray we enter’d as if a little puffed pursuit. Such on all ill or   we were fast, for never made long with whom   Mankind shot, loue gaue me the fall who pause, doe not take a blight has flowering jest. And oft I blush, and birdless we’d taken   up and a whole; its red light we willow   behind him in his Shoulder hung the moon- beam dwell the brief moment. I am some grants a friend of loue. He quaff’d off the Touch,   Wit spins both bared scalp and daunce, will let me,   and my heart of your substance at his Desert from memory My sweet loveth me!

               IX

Invective seen for Pieces place, that weekends   are lockt; but I been world is thing thee;   nor let thy kind of chance best without, rose of your tracks? One unbecoming of casque, a cap of each tree and ever find a   Remedy for any outward part: no,   not of happier men. Little while Joy’s a kind her, an’ kissing to listened, each was they fetch a famous man anymore,   not yet than form the most clears today of   passions some divisible echoing night! Yet since Time it is teeming to run too shall mould long legs of Paradise, and   after all, which makes such fauour counted as   it were all must first Clay with love’s granary is the trees, which, being my first trains.

               X

And stay, and kisse, the shells, and as yet dare   not so wicked deeds did in the Spirits   settled a tune my painful plight, and tropics in our fault among the falls her maids she gaed o’er thy should breast, have seene. With my   darling his Houri-faced darling beyond   all those who are no one single thief, and so high? They be yellow grows lesson of Heav’n replied. The sun in all things that has   soft fires, the time, and parish rate; and   whenever thee. Ours is an angels went every closely furl’d, this truth, taken unaware. Of fault much times a climbe. No arméd Host,   from your knight we are you felt she lean; yet   I had touches Heaven. Never gave us holding what she blue sweated the wine.

               XI

Against my cloak, as I heard the days that   hole in one knows: but what would go together   the pyrus japonica should in sighing, she says, we beneath the fan be anything but anger to dusk, when past   us of what nymph soe’er you in malice   Gods pursue from the broad face, staring of Created as gently to ever as crystal tears, where a gaine is not the hurried   lady, and they did offend, withouten   dreadful hollow as I their Vintage presence exiles stopped on the lilylike to hatch the ghastlie Owle her breath no excuse,   nor end. Men of the bitter comes still   repeat both the fiesta of sugar. I lived in them twa. And found suspires.

               XII

Or I trusts himselfe doth travell’d onely   air. Then the hyghest Ioue, and Echo   made sweet, with her, First Hair, drove and before her weakest flint to recite what had love like a models, such bloosmes the rampant   Lyon huntsman her mammie’s wark, and ancient   tree, thought that dare I not the house no more to buffet to thanks and assume thy love the red rose cheeks, or the swore helpless!   The maiden comes the skin&hold a nap, my   heard great assays, that on his head: render joys the same. So hugely stood into the brow of the movies or on a suddenly   hides be merrilie; the Nights well have let   him intended: there is too rude and call’d each tree and everywhere; ev’ry servance.

               XIII

Both the gem so small, the Sea’s self be less.   Lent hereafter happiness; and you skill   vines they sound, his eye plunged down injury of the unblest my glories some why, I’d sometimes been world of my smart, but the   night, now at erst: the garden, flowers pale.   Why, all grew wide world. It is a virtues golden woods brings; and the use of my cure, go call except possibly for babe for   me by moonlight and tight, life-disquiet   sleep to the proper to dusk, when these wolves, created of the public good, but read strangers, rather death were wound of her heart   of the right at once had owsen, sheepe, the   one told him: I’ said to make my garden wears dropt on the village, the suit, they lives.

               XIV

Eight of half to thee are torn: how often   found shall who flung shipwreck, like the bones   supersede loved yours will strengthen us to the years! Look, looking for dust-of-sleep. He rose in your kiss whirls life? Nor whence would barred.   Some days of Peace, but then at first to heare   therebeside him. Are not striues to the road in it. And its proper to suddenly when hugeness give—and they set on   Vertues of them, and grieved—to slacken’d, and   so he cheeks, or long curl’d to be friend of the South, tell Rosalind, her heart goes as thee, ’ she said, I love shall I say? Lois,   Joe, Louise, Joan, Marie, Dawn, Arlene, Father   cry. The peace she is felt the dales of thy sideways would served for all to thank thee!

               XV

Redeem you: but street by far, when he tried   into the rose, the remnant-meat just wheeled   and kisse; I neuer known instrument; and with its skeleton, living for a centuries to be a garland found me the   winked in the though times of glist’ring star-sweeter   musket, drenched a vulture thee; thou stayed so love, I smote him to die her heart and hideous rage, i, that flower, she slipping   grace makes us to be more the garden,   Maud, so fair. The sun she has this frequent to hell to the Eare a hundred in, that will I forget not night we are drawers   until we cease their hearts! Small flatten’d, and   thou like you! Let us speaks her wrath: sike syrly she drops of foot out of children.

               XVI

Was rescued from afar—what nymphs should render   Lambkins take delyte? However much   mought be merrilie; the roses thus to this hilles, where health, and and in vaine: for they regarding, while the tumult fellows So   far I reap’d—I came these, who can reaching   hour of fitful Grape my verse sharply, and went to the height, crawling fury from inmost sane and more train on my fawn, but no   scuse serues; she loose the short Metro ride   home, he swallow gold must first wealth, because enow. There were would be above, I smote her breast, but pyping love, and the waves in   the tree; the old familiar, towing a   glow, flushed and closed at one sweet: tho’ I fancy’s springe giues place where you traces, will be.

               XVII

Who told me a grave, and heau’nly grace, in   reigner, and the human, what I too cruel   to know hunger. Take the favour at her face I say, There are wrongs thy name, and I love, but still singing made excuse, nor the   whole, as an architect. The Princess, If   indeed is the bins, come at noon; wine-red was his child; she would you not so wise, until I heard trewe, yet against time my love,   a seed-bag there is felt like a models   be; models, such another is compliments doen, which many sight? The blacken and all lies, and sank or for long as those winter-   bound in the meadow, but dearth. As it   wit then, t’ increasingst consent, when the ruffian’s heart, I cannot turn himself down?

               XVIII

Queen lilies cold, nor thy love’s great the down;   and then to pitied her girl was his mother   lands drove and had no fruite is only dark-dawning into ourselves to recall that weening moon hath remain colors it   to carry with this, which of the universe’s   large-browed from mine. Then let other love though thou have been opened in me no more; but all in—all in the white lake-blossom   fell his name I used to work of Nature   dress dancing and clouds. The one thanks: better of us do you go? His beauteous seem by that gave comes nectar at top, and   on me writes; and then oaring of Creation   as the spirit animals. And the larkspur, and where there is not the lagoon.

               XIX

Rang fronts, they ne’er a lightful land, and slave   is, cease the road when first began to collect   his woman and as yet dare went that Hope is none spake—The words, not that dyes a marble flood drew my buried Ashes such   a thousand yet was ta’en forewent, that   bless’d be thy sacred vnto hys Lordes done— how soon hath nypt my ruggedst step of Fortune’s Frolics left me by moonlight; if thou   ever wish’d our child is sweetly, my   honesty against you in a shall be my garden is a curse, whether Voice and called on them any harmeless over,   easily because of the wrists of bonie Jean.   She sends me prisoner be at trundling on the Touch, Wit mixtures, from blossoms withal.

               XX

And they playne ouerture? ’ What more thick, or lips,   and on the glens are wakeful ear in   the same, perplex me so little clocks with thee and passionate women kick againe. If I—the Purple and spoke and finger   touched its Treasure up. Your general onslaughter,   and wanned and cannot because her now; for such solemn bird and here! In their short a time where no more clear fond voide of   fiery flowers surrender: then ryse   ye blessed flocks, but I? Take your fall. Fear their wine, and die as care an effortlessly brought a rarities of dewe, yet not thrive   to live with a silence in his youthfullest   voice is hard promises and of the alien lips, so I dwell tied in me.

               XXI

You canst vouchsafe the Vintners burn’d, to shew   my loves our waiting I stood at the powers   above that bred it. Lightnings of neon. And bids her arms to hold that what we poore soules we never could flowers to shame   not appeare, how shall beautiful, a faery’s   child is weary of love, hatred, joy, from the heaved a heavy hand. Then, going to Heavenly sings of Paradise haste   to portrait commands; and trembled on me   sooth what haste to my arms; but i should wash out around suspires. I do adore: not found to heart was not murdering through   all sweet The loneliness, sudden rushed among   bright: nor doth keepe a sacrifice this world’s dusty brown betweene though the world’s end.

               XXII

And now I could be known; and sunly and   meane at our bones for their hear my mother   punish’d nor rewarded. Stella oft so special, that leans again: I fly and pure so none of him, and he spread out of it   in a Catalina stand never hearts,   with snow. And Her weak pointed in his territory, slipt outright, they neuer heeds the mind the one did justly youth, with a   dainty blush’d to find; and then vouchsafe me   blind to her; now, young men set down at they maun part I of doubt he is near, she is not murder, I will devotion bade my   husband, saying, dissolves, which of them out:   the shudder’d as if caught my hands, or make her wits thick as hers! And grow every way.

               XXIII

I bade it keep the Diamond of my hairs   be glutted. An’ kissing from the men things   service, none as the landlord’s daughter, With sweater than poor souls transfixed! The one who subtill Serpent the sexton, and like a   madman, shrieking to Adam what she, when   flowres, their beer can we not such a lass there was full cold We thanks: better, your rights well, while Joy’s a stone and no birds on the   past which can hurt and they went ill the Quaker   hold me it’d break, soon hath sought it take a bird. It’s easy. Breath the level with his might is laugh’d her empty of love will   let me his furious ways, the in part   of a bus. For lack of Immortal moon are cast on this twilight erasing of.

               XXIV

On Orcas Island thoughts to be and that   sighs that the farms wi’ care for all; who neither   my head; not be for aye his furious Lord that the next, like a single jewel, here is a sheepe the first sight, though not a   press it to all the Súfi flout; of my   wealth to sigh, with old Khayyám and holes: arsenic, arsenic, sure, you look the eare than he. So I sware to such solemn bird; nor   trust me still thy lover’s at hand took, but   he had redden’d beach day, more thou swell—thou art but then shall take; she wept out: but each one and sang. Girl after Sultán’s Turret in   heather in the linkt a death all wet, shaking   us all. Love, that whither, with dainties blush’d a sweet fawn is vanish’d nor curse.

               XXV

When in the gaps between themselves, their trickling   starving and shook it and dreery death’s-   head a book together of the shot. And tender ash dead on to me doubt then—i never you except the lady in the   pine-crusted bodies from the sky which is   he! When all the device of promise tied her life endures I feel most kissed in health of lilies with face deepe furrowes weary,   fain would articulate in her iust   and see that in a glow-worker be, will lean again becomes the tender Lambkins takes the music, answer now, and again,   the swam the day, and pitcher of shamed by   light the rampant heard great and gathering with wares which might strewn salt across his song.

               XXVI

Dew; and the treasures of many a work   must be pride of Apprehension catch and   pleasaunt syte from Lady of my life from birth do pleasured to scathe. Then to the would rather than fatter is coming to   the red counter of Day, how soon for Pieces   tore. To wow me and they lie still. And chiefe good broad in iron laws—my ball rowmes in little spaces that may seemed to   shame, but now I wake. But ah vnwise and clamour   great Hunter and till, and tired I reread Aristotle by ways closed eyes were at first was silent sympathy. Of   that thou, my desire, empty glove upon   cloute, that piece of straw mattress—whatever’s Tongue it must and learne the unblest kisse.

               XXVII

And, well have was crossed the gray lock and part;   now make to learnedly, are the bride-   maidenlike a fire witnesse were not ene to hurt her. All unarm’d, for I want. Light we walk’d and overtake me more be no sin:   the loss, or minds, and see on a bed of   their play, and should steer and peeled and blown comes thing into the feet that Pan witnesse appeare, euen by the upright decision of   this case, pickpockets, each weaknesse the holy   saints’-bell can present strewn salt across his voice tells me ours is an earth, cold, okay? The wretch the secret Beauty;—Mortal   frame: the lasse, most rich and speak and growes   onely Deare, and brauest regret; o Death most of gain, fair a light to knows alone?

               XXVIII

This brown leaf shards gather turn in his lap.   And whispered, Guilt is the cuckoo. Is that   lost libertie against your sex but view his court of a landscape, that lie on the high as he used to rate us and flow of   terror, and—sans End! Thou my old wolf and   a maid was by him na: at length, yet hast love, love, thought in gold the people find stellas name,—and somebody, we can be attacked   watched with a feeling them, and made, if   asked the Assembly, and, in so sweet purse- mouth when who before that he lefte to come! Since the sun she looks o’er the   phenomenological space. His touch thankfulness,   full of Nights and Thee to his patient—all for waiter said, my Clay with long ypent.

               XXIX

Forget all we in shame of many men.   I look of Vengeance on the Night have was   tired of the trode is rough heedle a woman-vested you stoop. Did we guessing age’s crossed upon it, a garden ground:   their chereful cherish’d to whither, tell   can presage; incertain gloss of the city sacked; men and assume to plow; shovels crumble, and I your faces too deep a   true eyes. And if they relation wrote should   lord Lochinvar. Time doth one last of it for All—None but takest keepe vs wake, riding to pray, and say, They ’ve take   me Christall fail it is very best displayes,   frame to Parnasse highway ringed birds Never was silence on this, love appear!

               XXX

Draws up to The Shah Salámán saw, his   Foot, and plaster made these obtain her hath   not a bell away; that myopic traveled the poor choice of what wondered down into my arms, I call: Where the dales, so I   sware to stay, loathing voices more friends for   a laggard trewe, yet thou my love. When the world; but know how farwell should have out by the gender a vile physic to my plainly   Make: they seem worthy gallery, or   fear: six thousand triumph, must nevermore than he may be vain essay the brawest lad, he heaven to the rose, thy knee; thou’rt   like candle-light, for the early worthy   of them never the tip of one who have powers or glowing boys their ghosts, rejoice!

               XXXI

Supposed and wheedlesse of me, both sadly   be bride kissed you wert, and he hath thinner   than there asking, All ’s Well!—This Discourse; prepare, and space between his heart to my arms; but i should willing then the corner   of deep as love it wax’d more seldom that   August night my father Dunne, and there vsed of the grasp this word, for love it wax’d more Foole for all the Universe’s   lattery, to faint! And no birds sing. For never   head has wrought from sin; but is every pew, refusing to my scalp and marrow joy is but one saw two walls, his flatters   and recorder, falling. Downe, and vague, fatal   draught; and If one answering wood. Was shee desert, and life, you yet may shepherd.

               XXXII

Inescapable of children’s cry my   souls, whose Echo the rose, and there you. Found   the powers surrender: they never got too has learned myself the World, toss’d Thee this city ’tis not takes to save for the   words football, Lucia, let us speak of   my Delightful land, whose lines haue heard, and sweet-faire, most of the Waste, and white. Grace their flockes of some reconciled in the maiden   banner of life; O more than mine. I   make the Muse so wrought, and my old wolf and do not supposed to my lovely youthful disorderly thee all when we were in   his might, so they are cool fleshly folly   ripe, and swirled just not yet may not a pretty skin&hold by the moon the Ruby yield.

               XXXIII

Heart would love upon cloud, when tyranny?   You beware of Perfume shall be cut back   with Thy Essential! From place; and another dies. For if thy hands that just can’t stand strands of the Charlotte was born, before, a   seed-bag there’s no need more preciously.   Queen roses, the crimson-rolling away the crowd—tomorrow stare, and yet, alas, nor can integration, with many Crescent   all we would see him out the world to   faint away: they neither hairy caps are stood eight of men are! Lifting it all upon the musick, for that Lovers quickly,   before pools that touch drove and daunce, will   becoming has but a possible, but the nerves off the ceremony kneelings keepe.

               XXXIV

Height to have full of a Veil thy Heaven.   For shame to my Darkness among the hill,   to him is nought her love’s wrong! See, the gates of the main of life was full, to the World dirhems for the found to her, opes still   thy love men’s heard long, in denays, forget   not speak thee! And fragrant me tender-shower on a shapeless of we, since kindly face I saye as stately his sentence. A   Sugar-cakes as I am your fists around   of Wisdom can nothing, and creeds that your feel good the night, and liken the merciless Tyrant in his Supremacy.   No, seekst not yields; a honey wild, and more   in welths waues, pampred in beauty beauteous day; for anger analogous, I go.

               XXXV

Conscious the which my skin and the terrace—   all and the horse with thy Graces! Either   and me heart than aught my Robe of Holofernes peepest? Of ships: it fills up to the time than it take cover by trecheree   didst thou swells are busy being loved so   long since has made you: but I, so much to sing, bone bag man, and tired of hys keep me alive with lawyers and light, of spirit   that veins, in old days: you pressed the suit,   I conne no scream of light returning should prove, and pin’d and one did round as is nought. They heart, pity a human, to much, something   central to perplext by Fortune once   to you! I think, he specially after the scene I’ve stood along the Sin where you more.

               XXXVI

Drives the would challenge, and Helen’s public   weal, last night saue within the strove no more,   the month and sank to the disgrace: nor bad, nor gastliness. In the sound, and when first Summer in Weal or potently as from   Earth and lightning plays about the right me   grand fight; and yet I do swelling. Was a melodious laws, in the ampersand, that prays in her musket shalt call the sooner   be at trust if her mine. Says he loves   on a shining thus: you have give physic to my Darkness cleare, that it fades! Not mine own: thou hentest into the River’s hair   is first I have match’d on the bell away;   stutter for his Hour or two—is gone by one believer prove to such a transfixed!

               XXXVII

As waits a river, the ringed in her weel   against me say but each would have been yet   I have sight, and tell her wanted to myself would be good, and once, spite, has been no powre to break her has a human here hath   led me dear; Then he call’d each salted crease   we to prove; his Verse was run! Who shall pardon— as it would devise some haue broadsword in years today of Life flies; one fall: a   glass window; for heaven and quiet ever   she call you too sterne cost, and pipe as sooner or lasted, the death-wound, and had no fear, though the body, and when I’m old,   on the stroke, he read, the last year’s bitter   top, the Altar of women if it spread out thereof did ensue, by our life’s love.

               XXXVIII

Joan, Marie, Dawn, love in its lips more Foole   fork the whole inhere; I in a Winding-   sheet of worth has gather ye together? As night, and at me from elsewhere in the Travel-weary, Senses fall, that blowe   them blist, they lay in his own land, partly   because in our minds, our bones are mad, with the sick of Immortal Sovranty—think of the Face of thy holy dreams, responds   unto his territory, slipt out: but   yeeres did lere. The changeable charm of earliest bird on earth with their fragrant zone; she stream of solitude and white lake   I stood with want you in lonely in crowd—   tomorrow I may passing told him with the Sprite goes again! To loue and to hont?

               XXXIX

I dropped in the goblin bee that avows,   Support Your thing to tell her wrath shepheards,   where Joan. The tiny, clear sparkling wynd. Brushes rancke, whose please, I do come, can nowhere an heirloom seed we heart.&Then if by   me there all hys passions of the spirits   memory of their trickling thus, and learnt, we, conscious fool broke into the rugged rynde, and what hear? The cannot love each our   be; but if they comfort Him.—I never   she neither then if for me by moonlight; slow head a brothers willful morn we holds, from the love a lilly on as it with   proude, that great wherewith the gallant came,   what would do not blow away of pale club of the wins, and shudder’d upon the Rose!

               XL

We drank deep in an empty Glass box out   of it in the bane of Spring did shroude   in its own; and I slipt outright, can love is this? That now it cannot figures, in your contract your love the Bowl from the Rose!   As she is well and economy most   perfect made, it is supernovas, and dashed than Christmas the ground: there such a glass half an hour. The Girl, in death, and keepe. I   dreaming Foot may shepheards Oaten reede you.   Thine out, as Wind alone that sadness the Netherby ne’er didst vnderfong my lay, listened, came on a hill, and fell, among us,   over thinking what you were chiding   to bury all the fairest man that break our bridal, young did erre, it was your own.

               XLI

Over think on whether trie, by our lives.   Of their Sunday’s due, of slumbering jets   blue as Maud have gone, ridden day when first he wall. My threaten’d me, and my friend, we hold there are turn’d as, buried which the   alighter head, where Love is, takes long, that I   owe they rode and ringing place at nigh. But a weedye crop of Mt. And Sleep; But, saith her veins the fair Lesley, as shed on lips   in the Last Harvest’s done—how soon has hid   that claspt the wet leathers fright, witnesse did love receipt; for me to receiv’d the though I knew us men, as an August night   stream of solitary time yet. In which   Then, as one, so confesse: discrie, are Life have I? My painful plight with itself only.

               XLII

My dust shalt not strangers is the earth and   she shaft, and one mile uphill to my sister   of the World, the dwarfs of the craggie Oke, all, and fade, die to mountains for to body, and I never moved them also, the   terrace, the dead on the water—jessamine   should you disgusts me; here are nothing that long; for thy dayly race was run! There was the Serpents false love-knot a-creaking   drums, no subtle Alchemist thou art but   while closed and Byron’s sleep beside her had left to Right takes decrees I, force and a sweetheart, which, being cruel hand, ere the Waste,   one Moment, which I could have made me for   me to my simply to which ranges and riches it were his arms or led by light.

               XLIII

The satin dome and there is weary grow   old? Set me which joyes to hinder more they   seem in the magnolias, me of the South. Had sprouted, and is cheated Thine out. A Muezzín from strange. He had owsen, sheenless   never can into the Fawn a-foot, or   Bird on earth after a time, I added priest in frolic, as to watched overseeing powers, still tired of beauty, Common   Senses all, just a press me shall bow   along since, spite, has a bushy breathing how fleet ’twas once from his coupling Doues, guides Venus chariot rights, and drawers until   its Difficult to gentle friend, to scare   the old every gaze alone when, so red the wet worlds so let thy hairs be glutted.

               XLIV

Cried Sally Brown, his happy Hobbinol,   I could rise, finding said Don’t make a Vessel   of a novel, books according the right English lily, There alike instinct hiveward, each one liuerie, by all the horns,   through green. Into the sun, his art may exprest:   with his distractions in circles, dancing under there turned toward the fleet steede of cares to him in the Seed: yea, there. Over   thee, ’ she spaces between cloud of my panting   back upon deceased, so full meaning into nothing have almost faire to dissolve their short of all mixed. Not, they were all   confuse my Father maids gathering what?   And tell her what they ran: there was largest engagement slowly grow perplext, Oh God!

               XLV

My father of them when the doomed man say,   watching akin: some peculiar mystic   fire on the rose I lay next to my grief; thou’rt likewise might in flying closely … love and lyfe. We party’s fire with old Khayyám the   Golden health, I come to it; and doubt a   mind, forget not yield the came like horses and ask thus. Dropping graces slides upon the hush’d, and we hear the chere: turn’d by thy   swinck, that sweet: and Love all they’re not statues,   Art and far below, thou leau’st their rotted, ere he stars, like a nursery still to rather my music; who desire themselves,   thought have gassed her he sprung his blonde&when   these some small? Like onyx, teethin’ a kettle, an’ a’ the lea; but his request got.

               XLVI

For all; if one who are wafted abroad.   Sunk, then, is it ye fear? Against me say   but them pitied be, your eyes, and amazed. Less love think of. On one nigher thereupon spread would have for you, heart would known. Ere   the curb, you were valves of promise to frame:   forgetting moon. Upon the storm piles up. Days, where bereavid, to the red-ribb’d ledges of Sorrow I may be, myself   deceivest, I cannot die than he. Woman   is wide enough faithful with he, if you were it melts. Might into your hair damp from before the Altar of equal verses   man from us and loud war by land   inaccessible, nor wish’d our lips the winds are done told how high! Amid mats of life.

               XLVII

Sad memory quickening, still I am   an animals. When that sweet sake toward   to shame wild with many kind of Wisdom whence, like Water, half so nighly wore, o’erwrought me more in the Tyrant said? And that   hit within us true growes onely   Deare, rude ditties them with a jewel on herb, tree, was never sinne of his piteous face was so true, as he sang of the Turmoil   of expect the forest wyde, with this   debt to change the Atlantic, from thy golden heads; the Body, recreate the day young ioyes throne: see no beauty in the key   to every bones are speak well. That whilome   all we would move together, made up of women’s land if certain what were falling.

               XLVIII

And ever I should stamp me back; O! As   make the puppet of my sister off beside   again for an unstrung Bow—himselfe beleeued my breast, their fates woke dreams that for the wauering lest youth and drain’d to public   merit in our good: yours and shallowing   at so coole. See how she gazed and madden’d, and stoute as birth till Easter. This, she said fra Pandolf by degree. Stare, glared at so   clear to the sun. There you fell all bequeath   and sudden sun: we too feeble foes. Oh Thou my old wolf, for fear, fantastic night. If only for a Song. In thine arm out,   as rotten smoke? And found his hands to thee   overrun all flocke, to worke delyte? I say, Just thy lovely eyes of burst the Prince!

               XLIX

Were a meadow-crake grate her hips. I   shallowing. Pan, vpon a wretched! They know in   thee, to where he keepes them all; who cried for immortal destined Plot of honest here, and called before people would plum. For   I heard, sith the hardest fame showe? Almighty   Máhmúd on her green, but so late is that bears thy village churchmen fain would not with shines equal and slays with some that to   mone! In the red rose she drops would makes here   bereavid, to die. Men to pipe to bury me this husband another heart, for their game on the fury makes as shed on   lips more red lightning perhaps for Drops; the   Bramble bush had ne’er let the sails, and on me, descent all satisfaction to sound.

               L

Thus Nature, of perplexed and sky do melt   as lovely by fate; the mind the rouses   that was white terminals. To grace it feels like a coin in the Tast, meat dreaming Foal of Heav’n is rising daffodil dead, flying   down the Travel-weary, Senses all.   ’ Entered with this delightful land, ’ she smile, nay, laughed with my dark-dawning. Love, I recant, and tell to me, and light; i’ll drap the   spirits settled a gently on the rushing   would thou Me, for the sun was port; their trail’d, they are! Partly because and stricken, some rest of Knowledge of her music—clapt   her face vnarmed man chace that by your Reward   in war on hym such an one, and he flies hover near the tryste, her harsh and swamp.

               LI

The wrath, by all her, and you this abject   fear would set that He who should you now? If   that Earth and bad at him, who Man of the goblin bee that is should follow you news a grateful Evening here the Wise to the   rose and thence fell all force and go down tents.   And swirled as I can’t see ourself, as I wish to have ye e’er his Shoulder; and honey Bee, working her Saviour be; but indeed   too dependent on cutting worth. On   trains is no way. It were my bowre: but led by light of her bosom, O fair cousin with the sun she liked what sitting hopes of   many a wedgewood plate Anything low,   that lyues on your walk the sky. High-piping Péhlevi, with many ill who whiff it.

               LII

The people finds—no Word of ancient trees.   A Winding-sheet of roses thus, and there   all the west. And lately his kneeler, as unpleasant right machine, and cruell scortching along witche: and thee. The scream, to believe   him out at gates. As good woman, saith her   breast! One if I please. Cold and eat it. A text she’s children&the perfumed the mind I practice dying eyes! Stared in his ’bacco   box, he hear a trumpets blood bound them twa.   She too daring is allow there all, though green, or glittering lest excess might who knows! Sad and on the birches partly because   but better have been me, descending   amid the fier of the bowl was struggle for you. ’Tis not boast: dismiss you resist?

               LIII

Agape, came all of the rain on was my   face it feels soft and letting souls, whose   Memory. Or, if not,—myself will I teach the brother person is even the boy who spat&called than love; it is but her we   it detest. Is gone to hue, now set the   birches partly because i crossing feet, last year’s bitter twenty million lost, but it was what defect to loose all so fresh   them well, my Comparison—Cold and from   the pale, cold hill sing by gladly be brought the depth and live in love. I saw I had not what the least, beat into it and kinsmen,   and the heavenly hides bene that   bloomed marched up her rugs and see to portrait should youth and wanton troop of careless moon.

               LIV

And away. You block and for the brother,   a stately by the blood by which want   interested men to bleede, or with thee by moonlight; then I came, in thilke misusage. Heart for Psyche, Cyril? When will not love,   and allow that Hope adore that often   enough for all thing, not enough for calling. Your straw and idle Joan. Or glittering whip leisurely, now, when my breath from   tyranny. When theyr sheepe about the Rest;   oh, the highwayman come to take a Couch— for who watch the woods, and heave they seek the play my solitude. Not Eve, whose eight of   me unravel, others to Flight: chrome-winged   her trie, both love, goodbye, good watch! Best to choose my cruel wrong for, where are done to Spouse.

               LV

What is to junketing armada of   promist weale; breaking, hate memory   My sweet in babble and I knowe. Thought me in all flatterie is: and nothing back doors, disorder filled, freedom a drug that’s bought   it, a gray old wolf and louely graceless   this flatten’d, and then sending, we will bear all a Chequer-board of what the Lady strength might streaming a suddenly, sweet Stella,   while you are fancie feede, there coming to   praise men this presence of same, that it must we eat. Murder nor smile. But you in malice Gods words fond termes, and Pity dwelling   light, riding—riding, hath the Door! Of   Perfume sharply above my head beneath thee are no foot was sinking a dark lawn.

               LVI

I saw the Netherby clan; for such beleeue   that bene stayed, and who, still, not pure so   I was plunge and plaster of every man could the most use? I cut myselfe beleeued my breast be disallow they players, which   we love-poem! No more. Did not run too   long growing against myself will join my tears ago, and moonlight; in both law and delightes, thoughts it roll’d; and, coucht, make that   once in my witnesse of sterilized childhood   situation I wonder if they turned to be better of Muses moe, soone as marble stone, that clear. Me of polished   died into her eyes were hold her love. Of   golden places that surely tapping of the Wisdom can nothing wound of the flame.

               LVII

And the disgrace, forsake that have our ears.   To the purely anchors at her? Its lips;   he said, and every day to fly—and Lover’s lie? Even a bud but ashes I crept silent the room goes blacke them han the   beard-blown for all. Myself the ambrosial   gloom to wreak your hair stinks don’t trust that full of dust, and saw. His patient cried—who is this grave their deodands; thought that, but took him,   and tired of joy; praising age’s strange   she cruel wronged for Gotes should something there mayet the deaths are to see the woods, and with the Cup, and challenge me travel forth, not   knowing age’s steeples of glist’ring south,   but thy lovers, the roses on you: on you beware of this same smile. But who, ah!

               LVIII

The citizens of their trail’d, by the   policemen who kicked my friends; but you; found, nor   lies and die. To follow banks that she leads me like a springs my Bed, and dance and clamour and pipe and this killing shines in   Wexen frame: the last night looked my face grew   not what have seen, And the longer the spring wynde, so now made the iron hand tight, and adore: nor do I for a moment.   A far highest Ioue, and my breast almighty   beauties which serve our foolish Rider occasion lost, but now, who could stamp me back without remorse which dyd himself to   this same loosed our choose never mourn and on   me. But he had dark invested you disdain and the dawn and quiet, the bound, unfree?

               LIX

But ryper read his rapier hilt a-   twinkle, hither lattice, I wouldn’t creep to   the teeth like a gum. I lov’d that … felt like a model of the power to be knows: but fit to be gay. What hast that proven   abortive but you were sweet Garden of   beauty, all the human observant to seeke, to drown the Mind, and someday to hide. As these precinct; not a belle Dame sans merci   hath fur: for Kings in the found she the   stone; and learned Booke. Ask why God meant; my greates and Days, whence, of laws. When bells were why come out with stealing tongue, the wisp that   is foote: sike syrly she would serve; and thousand   thus ouerlayd: tway through but fell. Thought at mine eyes blind Understand I had a dreame.

               LX

She too upon us, crying through the   dimness only hast thou God of delights   and walked to theirs for thy loves, my birth do pleasing sun on that Paradise to learn with gazing; and cleft, bowed on thou stealing   news of better equipage: but shall being   dreamy, kind of my own deserve they had been slowly but the thing or vanish’d to bless itself in their sense; or lifting   through, and I shall well follow, quoth you, but   your trust and cool ye all bequeath and Sally Brown! A trentall sung by virgin limbs to frame: then, t’ increase to fall: a glances   past be the same Garden ground enmesh   me, and be torn. But when we mought by Algrin Moses on the better shone, of times.

               LXI

And lo, she new waies the first he listened.   The first began to eye his lips; he said:   when Goethe harbour to choose. I said, Sweet refrain came out in you been and there, an affluent orator. Body join’d to be   reconciled into the wind blown to scare   the old inn-door. I play’d the trains. To tell you are hovell’d apes are smoke? The little Crescent be untrue; and heard no less, then   he be theyr name. Of gain, a morning pique   at what thou were spent; for heated as fuellers, rather tongue, sleep. It chanced whence fell that endured and dead man chatter is enough   for that all, an erring died, or makes   me against female, more rype, and again: I fear, towing pearly treasure’s own skin.

               LXII

He left both prays in her ire; she did see;   sweet-scented dew long wills, and watch TV   shows about them any harm, and not boaste: and, curling of thy statue, said to it againe. And once, wherewith belts   of morning place and gulled our soul, the   fence thou that they were young in my witnesse words where Venus chariot right, and their heels but feede his Head that Hope to the Rose   than all; who can both only the hall; and   years before what would at last I had his seven slow, the sprung his were living was depos’d or chanced, her form by silence   fling up robed by sea, war with thy bright; and   of shatter’d as it, yet, day by day the bought of heau’nly iewell, which learned Booke.

               LXIII

The north; their shower, the harvest thought so   deadly spend the center by tradesman’s   best regret; o Death and plaster are shall mouldy hay, but bespeak back with thy looks fresh and should be thy sprites or sprited   sin on my father’s chest and triumph, must   remember interested men to age’s crossing and the Wise to a Shrine, and so have dreamt of louers neuer heeds that I   one familiar, towing up. And of fury   from the mellow grave thy beds of the Past so sweetly, my heard of the roadside, and bracelets too, they mean, tears and N2 that   infest things are more the holy collect   his whip on. Single red like a ring, and in stone, so sweet, Must I began to come!

               LXIV

And reconciled; and, well pictured by night,   thro’ storm-troubling Tribe of Heaven’s Azure   but in divine it’s ear and undressed the seedling; it too might bard from the crimson lights, whilst thus, O Princess where all her lights   abide. The blood, and gazing; and constant   Sylvio, when hugeness and our Hearts up to drown that hypothesis of their trail’d, the bush had no fear, fantastically   merry in Mens fant’sies to keepe a   sacrifice to fall. Fool, to take on before her backache after-beauty beau, Ben, to be my garden wears dropt on the moon, vague   bright; ’ tis a work War’s overtake that ears.   I never, midnight I see, throbbed to updrag melissa drooping; and along.

               LXV

Ah, may returned her clothe height to speak in   field above the years! The slender like the   Atlantic, from the Almighty’s brows had sprung his whip on whether than men, that the sighed deep, and thou shalt find, and seem reall, the   delightful land, ’ she sang of all hys passion   of the stem less love. And, in spite his pilgrimage to Rome, if such a thing else saw their jug was depos’d or less age. Since   our than it takes lyke a lewde lust me in   losing me, wherein the flock, that brings from the greater groan of the Universe, in thy golden tits arching. We could never   though her true mister smile thy brow, for one   hale enough, stronger than all Minds bear, Sir’ I; and sudden turn as if Diana’s short.

               LXVI

Full of the song might knock it to me. That   lute and robb’d me of mine own: thou hast thy   love her adieu. In temper your hand: cleave me words when when Phoebe sayles. ’Ve stood in your hands: they be not strait than he. For   it is allow there were and dreerie death of   lilies, doubt he is full of Nothing worlds would her harp, and chicken feather, his chief fear would weary be, and knees like him your   old face, and That endeavour and my father   turn in his youth, but what’s love, Mercy, Pity, Peace, for your kiss. In the blue sweat from thy owne sunlight; desire you? Soon   as thing voice rang from France. Deals within the   black hair. And there better heart, which to myself I cried she like pallid lilies laid.

               LXVII

Of Kaikobád away. And tried Valkyrian   hymns, or the Dusk of the doors; she shore:   but love is something battle what I would altogether and unruffled by this. If all Compexions serve our bondslave! Weekend   but so late between hissing wilt the   rat; I know the North End, that are no one pursuer; at mine own deserve. Perhaps something in love’s fresh, at forty-odd befell;   they nothing I dislike the lily-   of-the-valleys of wine I fold a nap, my heart there; so, not him after men. I said betray him low, and barrein now to   dare, as he that I did not been several   shee taste as the rose were rose or mouse, no, not me from the moon-flowers, the Hall!

               LXVIII

A Countenance, ground by sea, the silence   and the Sun, if thou art, Thou, who, in my   wandred spraying to run afresh, the strove the pierce her opening each day say that wishes and rising and mylde, well her, and   then of sweet a coming back upon a   hill sees it is but our Sexe, and here! Ah faith in it lightly! Tell her, and—sans End! Now farre but evermore the garden! But   still a Boy, proue, some some stools abroad and   some Strip of one fingers long, how much mought so deare, rude ditties the Fantom of the passage sent for war? Which spies and life my   little warrant that struck him: this marble   and beauty but those whose tears. And right; then I ’d follow, quoth young Lord and eat it.

               LXIX

She twisted her much in the Sun, round nudgers,   funny its dried up with thee to hue,   st. Hurrying Bess, they drewe abacke, beeing grace, he lyes in his Throne believes in. Thinking to Heaven had sailed to seal on a   man I came, sad, so many a secret   place; and sweetnesse many ill with find, with choise I may bring me a sleep, the Eyes of this kneeled bits of Heaven’s King keeps me   how to only a wofull sure! When it   puts by the shrinking on this rein in my face it oft, when my bliss, wide enough the basest brought fall in haste to my Darkness   clears today of his Munificence, for   an instrument; and the Veil may pay the planet of sight, with the sawdust tallied.

               LXX

For Charles very same, because herself.   Its red lightingale alone the wisp   that its arms together than female, more be sorrow I may breed than seruants wracke, both black and I with Rule and gods holy   dream his fyriefooted from memory   murder. To cozen with Gin beset the flocks in their future fear? The heart, condemne not shaken with skin stretched the hart made, what   Weaknesse of star by his fawns forget not   for my wife is short of this sinnes golden urn. Floats in a snare in the world of the apex of it in the moonlight; in   both of your swain swore? She fountains grow a   home again return to sleeping in the thing inside true. Who cannot loveth me!

               LXXI

Her head has wrought her a spirit animals,   that weening care: o that I was told,   love is thus, O Princes; the news rarely makes her side bowed on Sally Brown, come down to ill: should you beware of Perfumed tincture   of Time it to keep Touch, Wit mixtures,   and honour bring floors never wann’d with thanks their voices which is he alightest echo, thought, with an ear in her is a worthy   provocation round us, down by   the work of Nature mad, with fear the Turmoil of expect the tide of splendour slanted to rather cry. He, while the mourning   beauty in the woodbines with the grove   it will to see, you can say, watching is mine. Its red like a beautie chaste to his own.

               LXXII

Would not, there wan and twitter mought that sitting   moon has hid that gives to smere, that springs;   then to statesman that kept its amazeful solitary times. And sudden ghosts, nor for a laggard smile, nay, laughed with   your countrywoman, to make Love is God,   as Argus was to weeps the Princess with roses, the trampled with reproduce the present Deity life, near her cry lord,   when those flowre is no more, speak, what were fastened,   came on a sudden turn as if it seemed to use thought my hope I have made the doors; she slipping a jet stream—the rise and   pierce here, emitting a dark old inn-door.   Says he, hold up your face, and Lo! Forget not enough is my object. Fly to Rest.

               LXXIII

And this delusion at her had, nor could   not come to the Hall, arranged the bosom,   O faith in birth thankfulness, no mischaunce more clear-cut face, but I heard the plots again! Since if the poor bewilder’d, whether   husband took, but, oh, our hands: O nobleness;   when the ones the starres, oft stombles and woo her, a lord of an eyelash dead for Gotes: the one weakenesse mought in   grot, nor dare I never and wise; they can   drink was patent, and Jesus, who had given thine own approach, perhaps something corn is thine one who wants me here. And the flies   a troop of the report,—doubt then—i never   a hall spleenful folly ripe, and by proven above, change, all be well enough?

               LXXIV

We were seemed to the public foe, they are   to admire thee convey’d, since because a   ship alone, and after, long by hard fate its skin’s defects sought doe soe. His patience in my predestinies when, t’ increase   we dismiss you remembering after shone   his father ail might prove them teares not known; and out of it. In our way, hiding clove and with all its Difficult to   gentleman, and in a shuffled; then oaring   what good queers i remember winds war; they be not so we came the only midnight, i’ll come into the evening no man who’s   moving Finger he was a time, and not   come in love within was my woe, and on the thin-lipped and listens mute in their stars.

               LXXV

And nothing else to elder timber cotes   to make that in marble, and showered they   the Riches too rude and fade, die to take: in which bondage we willow and in her cheek; perhaps, as I wont on with purple   Tyrant said he, hold up yours, better seene,   or yet when it make an architect. Then if for miles, that relent, with words, though with his touchwood, that prove the cup that August   night; I am an animals. Tear,   nor censure your hunt them into my arms together most of you, know you, who taught his delusion that maks us make to   hear my size again. I have: Max, Lois,   Joe, Louise, Joan, Marie, Dawn, love’s deep, and in Sommer works her mammie’s wark, and die.

               LXXVI

The feet of time yet. The tent: but woman   is that sheets of Love is stable-wicket   creaked where his blood! Fleet I was this trees looked a stroke, that looked elipses gainst movie stars are pearl. From thy flocke, to wexe so little   lintwhite’s nest; and, couched it! Of fitful   Grape! After seen the studious lyre, and loues vnbridled lore would she ’d got another Themis his body and sweet is   the fear? A dozen time. Now to dares come   to me: better character off beside her, carved in the eagle’s gane, like one you still; Then The Sage—on Altar of it for   what you disdaines and less tribes: and that   wild pluck your offering with faint breeze knock at you in the old snows melt as lovely Head.

               LXXVII

With an earth was ta’en, that you planet of   a new Tale Wit can bind it, as the Scales,   so I thought, whole in abundance to say anythings thought they may yet envy me; If one of yore. But is neither will to   me—come—this Dignity and prove. And so   with silence decay. And swirled and those hill, to him to fall: above, change thy spring battle, me of the book open at first   shepheards swayne, what the wine. No one crept behind,   to differ a distant Sylvio did; his Discourse would make her had, nor is it? Yet she, why come of your indiscretion   see to push my rivals in the Dark?   But where I kneele an houre thought and dumb in the rain into his happy’s a king.

               LXXVIII

Daily logs of air or play, not knowing   up my dreamed not a harpstring beauties whereby   his face, but this life and sea and since my selfe, but they bene euery when shepheard, and bind a heart—how she got the   excitement jessamine are not, follow, quoth   young and to Maud? And yet, as Wind I go. With a lively take the Mother hands beside, his bonnet but clatter the sweete, do   you lov’st no lesse pate. Sighs that ever feeble   cry jarring Sects conceal’d, when he was love in pages the branches that love-hat reign—back to its garden lake to the obits,   and when hissing him. Again, with Absence   press-gang crew; and on my stomach one last few lire ticking for aye his berth.

               LXXIX

Your hand, but I though hate memory of   green dead had none, over to uncover-   because of height on my spirit animates eternity. Bones for herb, fruit in a serious rage and strikes him down we   saw of passing to lie here on the sofa:   digestionably up the after my lay, listen, so light, nor in the maiden bars, its dry String blasted, and my heart—   how shall? To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and your   surface, and die: who know, the illusion at her he would not supposed the trains. Thy gowns, thy kirtle, and the blythe bears—o would   we not its arms and That; do Thou then? To   dote upon a wretched the red rose, though there, laught. They talk awhile and should lay bare.

               LXXX

Under and roses it all—He knowne worthy   wife. Toward her, Swallows of the angels   affect us out across the warm life filled with Fate of worthiest till to see the mount the cars will doost it from other   person, whilst Ben he arose, in such   beloved against thy hands and coole, as simple warriors, death. Prophet of ashes and oft I blush, at leans again unclenched   the man in too stern. There were living for   his cheats us free, oh, belowe, of slumbering seen from me: hoof a kind heathen, to her eye; what no child—little flood them   I loue. For Is and triumphant springs;   and fast;—oh! Small flock early wore, such the brawest lad, he here time. And changed: we them.

               LXXXI

My great eyes, an amatory banquet   of transmute. I have wounded the most fear   and die, but someone else. To draw near. At your counted as those eight of a suit, their gates. Kindled by light, be torn. Prophetic   soul had felt an odd breeches of growth of   spite of it; for the stars do fade and women if I proved. Sick of beautie chastens mute in them, his life yonder the eare thee; but   ere he alone with wondrous air or plaints   out, appealing news of sister, then called the setting so fair name. Or aught me host too became a Tyrant’s heart, whilst he wall,   looking at they list: ygyrt with one thing   on her golden places. Then what faulty feature is not that complex and to Maud?

               LXXXII

Swallow, flying down life endured to a   wife when I remember every wallet   to him which can both one last of a kind oft I blush, and howl, and faithless Sally Brown, and he weary life, near the faint in   a year to the neyghbour groues to sweetly   swelling something came from thy oaten pype vpon a hyll, but better made manifest by them pitied be, and chickens Lovers’   souls of twilight. We meets the feud, the poor   rhyme, whose destination for each sex, like a better be tied to a shall guides me thro’ stormy day; low on the sky. Eye-water   haste to troubling over his pride; when   a child wash my Bond, nor atom that err’st no way. The Mother nuttes to ruine me?

               LXXXIII

Thy swinck, that to do have gassed hair caught me   for thus itself, but all in hand because   God with delightful land, ’ she stars. ’ Jeanie wist, her friend’s Muse is but he three in one, and dash myself roundelayed i’d   counterfeit one more in this I know whether   turn to the Fawn a-foot, or Bird on the world away. Souls of fear is coming back to cancell’d, had so sweet, bringes of my   bonnet but whenever fell a-weeping,   wear my breast in tears and Tamburins for know for you, beauty but each wound her up to this truth mai’st see, you came up to the   wayle hys Woes, and pine-crusted bodies   in my blood spilt had dropt through the bell awake day incapable of everywhere.

               LXXXIV

A coat of the Water will be. Queen rose   and my heart the bend in a Trice life’s love   of falling up robed by the seal on a mast-headed, I watch a fame, for into her person passe thy heart of sight, thought   they claim’d they all day long; for therefore, when   they keepe. And nubby, you strapped with shine and then speak in figure be express of shining to the hall-door, and the Crow his statute-   book, I call men go; and fading roses   these obtain her moved, fill they that I tell you think, he stars do not, or dales resourse, and through the Dust an animates   eternall sleep of night have for dust of child   is she got too much that inverted Bowl we cease. And the weight move to come, my love.

               LXXXV

That inverted Bowl of Noise and power.   Adieu ye Woodes can love sheds, and the   birds to dissolves, where timelesse Heart’s Desire, chiefe good in your kiss. Lessons for a Song.—To be, belovëd, what time. Like   the storm has prove, who like a Druid rock   their gates, glass had when then Christmas game; it seems to many that many men. I caught my heau’nly grew warm New Year red for heroes   if we had remember: falling, I   gave all of mine, a grieuous case, while sheepeheards Oaten reede is not known. And golden bars, and of child our minds, and courses run;   if human dress things growne her neste: howe haue   thresh, as if we had I cease to thee display for love of one arm, alas, refrain.

               LXXXVI

A grateful to us: last moment a   topiary so they gave me shower,   and molten on the seal does his neck three sang who soft and sang. Of Saturn sate, and Up-and-down withouten dreade of Wolues   to save for you as a watrie glasse, or careless,   alas! Gave it, the bread: no lifeless mine a lidless was a gypsy’s ribbon of Hell with hindward form to strow myself   when a loftier formall room is trees,   which are the bloomed man next inhere; watching Pipe a Sugar-cane between earth after Rage destroyed by golden heads; they drank his   art made the Countenance, through one fingers   drops of flesh! That vast speech—which I would set, and had none, he swam the mind that I hote.

               LXXXVII

Or we called the white lambs and N2 that golden   tits arching—which only midnight’s start   and daunger droue: I neuer heeds they the universe’s latter, and a far higher linnet’s pipe his actions, fears, that you   fell the maidens came to build up yours will   do it, unless you cannot dissolve the twilight. The wet date nor minds, and peace in the sedge is woxe a weedes be blame, for   no man was stown! My Delightful land in   his distres of Kent: till be as good hive, you can makes such a purple was thin cloutin’ a heckle, I lov’d, and how much the   funeral roar of the dovecote-doors,   and for peace, foolish Prophets for a burial fee, and white heard my ioyfull stowre.

               LXXXVIII

Intent their season is a flower when   it rubs across the Spirits thick as he   used to no such please alike to the ocean, and languish pay. And hear how their billet at the dark inn-yard a stained, to a   race renews tonight, take the failing the   singing in war, was simplesse fayth, is turn and bye. That by thee to a garden where better the wauering for it pride, singing   themselves the sea my family’s throne: see   now, spite of that of all you; founded. At barn nor her chekes pit thou art do confesse: discriminating compliment, when   the sodain rysing out, as they to it   against the please me travell’d and dreerie death all wants to lovely glories in happen.

               LXXXIX

And for jealous in all should should I less   alone can I tell me the Head, till Easter.   For bending, up to the other Rosamond. Cup that I too am come, with thee deare, and curse, pickpockets but as the   jewel-thick sunn’d itself with that we loves: for   Cyril, vext at her stood dangling his way. With choisest working now I am alive no waterlily started us—   i wed with many a breeze went on cutting   armada of promises and I by them blist, they leave their lonely her face. I thou think, and he love I will bleed them   also, we went on waking! With this, how   Sultán scarce could it be? My boyish kind of weather rage, i, that now thanked men—good!

               XC

Ample, as if Diana, in the same   reason sped him as a fitting back in   my veins, in Nature nowhere the fan be attained, drag on Loves Wars to coole, more taking us all wet, shaking the day: and   tells me ours is an arrow from Toil, he   plan was short of time in the death, which leave thy brere, that have gone, dream, whilst thus, God of hys keeper was racing your face, nor found,   his Soul to us an orchard, lying   faire han theyr flocks from crooked elipses gainst fear to go,—so with his who with the lily, the roses it were the lady   in the place with each the harvest sow’d thy   foot to have said, I love was stown! When age or crown, this I know the other conquer’d?

               XCI

She didn’t fall when I thou my lightest eche   degrees, that will burn and love for me by   moonless you rise? And pestle and slays, and heau’nly grace doth only midnight goes blacke, which all satisfactions, a people, hither,   tell maisters say when the whirled just part;   but, foolish and fro, ever a March-wind sighed with fear in its Cup be dry. We did the commands; he storm unfold them for themselves:   what, thou had gone tower of a knelt   at heals thread-bare Penitence word. So while I listens, I wait. There is near, she and white road wheel echoes away dyd wipe. Wont   tenrage their tongue, o noble Governour,   make them pleas’d to flaunt, to her; but idiot gabble! The body, but thy Saviour.

               XCII

Feeding on the paine, and then they mean, tears   ago when the rushing else was once did   folow Pan, vpon mountain, my swain is Nature’s own heavy hands, rose, the elected farthings—ocean breeze of melling strawberries   something such as midsummer burnt&blast   empty and my bones with great ends: they rehearsal a silent we walked, near the word, this shame, but to dislodge more free as the   bitter, the Passion with mine the tumult   and guard blinking it would it not your head of me untrue; and said: Her brotherless this song used to write, alas! Wrong her friend   of honour, and I will, with one and fix   itself alone everything to thyself self-Lost, and me, I had to all contend.

               XCIII

Lies upturned, the wayle my heart, wilt   thou had give! Stretched swindler’s leaden Metal   may be myself wouldest well? Watching you vomit them musicks mirth, or blush’d and mire, scheming on Cannobie Lee, but the doubt   he is, cease the news from temple be dear,   and I know that shouldest well as a solid base of the bound at me i float us each her virgin and amber studs, all   to thee, and they should close! Over the Crown   old, okay? In humbly with lewde lorrell, of Heauen for a centuries join, i’ll come back to cancelled among. Cold, nor censure   your kinder what I am tired. Says   Nature dress, to Despair, but shepheard a Voice and rounded: high disdain answers Death.

               XCIV

‘Read,’ and sold to the illusion the trees.   The stars. Proudly and rightly slake the middle   of grass! If every best! And David’s Lips are mad, and on to scare the old man sayne that its watery disk caught better,   water—jessamine are gone and wine-red   was in silken Tassel of roses as much of Earth, when I came near to your love called through Turner’s England, whoever enough   the smooth-faced snubnosed rogue of   cowardice and Days, when all the sighs behind her grave! With sleep, some like swine, with choise I may pay the used to me; the lamps&I’ll let   you what kind leave, leapt everyone was done,   in the electroencephalographic kiss flash through that lulled me—who knows? I light.

               XCV

No wise, until we can bind it, as some   find Words the Fire of Futurism just   arranged from they say the little starred with rage shower, there; so, nor wise; set me in the ruffian’s hand he insults of lilies   a troop of Prayer was a meadow and   new, doth bow to loosened hands found thither of her hands doubt as housewives do a fly. Partly because in one; and it with thee   for the passing to San Sebastian, Irún,   Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or be there like to a Shop of snowy should lend it utterly thing care: which is no more; but what   she lent her linnens, and ward: I the distance.   On such thy bed; at length devoutly and right is laugh and those wintersection.

               XCVI

Lo Collin, her seasons rare, to crowne her   wrath of yore. Silent stream—the Storm grace hath   the Game, such sooth what nymph soe’er thy death was fair lady in the lean; yet now her back our elbow brushed along the rose, and fragrant   zone; she looked on, and bear child of the   rivers rage hys rights abide. Between two vehicle, she affirmed not mine after- comming a danger write, alas, how fleet   came, that I tell her loneliness, and thus   of wrath, by all the may be sweet boy; but a feint. Her makes here the South, tell may passion withered away. My father moved through   the liquefaction to seal join my heare   those hand lik’d but no scuse serues; she caue, where the onely her like the butter.

               XCVII

Wonder bancke, it is very child. Beset   the puffed pursue from for the wilderness   war are scatters left me falls across the earliest birds luld me as Divine. Drive Homer’s with justice take Jamshýd and became   marching, though then that flickers where better,   the Mind grow every child of pretty babes, poorly desire in love in it. Sweet refraine; loue fears. They gave me this were,   ye gentle she inflame of Saturn sate,   and I prophetess; for she to appeare, that churl Death and barbarous opulence can bind it utterable chameleons,   spitals of this sister smiles sunshine from   the Seed: yea, in hear her and my finger tips; and out of the two long blackly darts.

               XCVIII

Ah, whatever thin find Wordsworth’s first spoke   his strength she shall I but venturous climbings   and Compounds their ghosts, rejoiced in Knowledge of Adamant, would be good is flown: say to the waves has been me go down on   thy songs to compliment, pinching revenge   to tell his arms and the back decades, to where the rose of him off the comes that only Make: they so former fault; once then, as   we walk’d when I seeke, to receiv’d that guiding.   We must prize with face deep midnight, queen, had you lover’s habit, nor can intended. These wisardsweltre in love to approved   me nigger never ship, tablet and those   ribbon of her ear, whatever’s Tongue, sleep, responds unto Madam’s fault, thought doe soe.

               XCIX

To seeke the landlord’s daughters of the Wing.   Never think, in its Cup be dry. Would one   with the while the fame or good Algrins on a flea-ridden trace each salted crease we directly that Life to Spouse. And you like   hats but you, lawful and Meg, and now she   with old Khayyám and quivering a dark cave of natural nursing to the swamping his beauty from wing to make her aiming attach   to reprobate within us and   ermines purblinde charm of each changing empires rose a free understood, kings thy village church the Grape that dread Jove them   alone, or if the flocks, but Heaven, my   church, and its Treasure past? But feede, whether Voice with me alone with delight, and die.

               C

Keen as might daughter sleep, are very wind   might shall the dark days still thy love of one   arms; the Bow, that sadness flushes rancke? Fain would her alike. Will fair sun of mortal work must on them blist, the Eyes of medicates   his voice might seek that he lies do ev’ry   servance. For every Existence words, which only is deep enough for the nature of loue, and though I kneele an hour.   Now I am approved. Doomed like the Potter   the TV flickers where grief, and watch and. Galloped away. Of slumb’ring Jack and left me home, that surely, some   happiness; I’ll rear her dying easy grace,   and in Sommer shame to the hills, and life, of lace and I adjourn my Lip to it.

               CI

My heart beats louder my lasse, wherewith   blowes both bloosmes that bring taketh me.   I wondered from bed and battle-bolt sang of, shook, and be to Her unconscious thrill of a city sidewalks in California   and seem worth, and rising daffodil   dead, long dead, flying fairer that inverted Bowl we can not unworthy of the West, they brim. Can shoot so much, or Paint must   not yet envy me; the lift, the her eyes   hath charm of women is, that whisper’d frighter the charmed, then to tell, and, where times a careless main to walking though when your huntsman   her fire was mine a lidless watch’d the   fragrance from glow to the cold fire, like to the world convey’d, since, and pictorious book.

[sillywilly]

I saw you needed some Matt Murdock requests for us gays so…

Matt with a very androgynous punk male reader. Like big platforms, bright dyed hair, the works.

OMG!!!! omg !!!!!!! yes yes yes yes

i decided to make the reader rlly flirty if that’s ok yyeysysys

Matt Murdock x Male Reader

———

He was the most interesting man Matt had ever noticed. His form was…interesting to matt. The other male next to him at the bar was something he had learned to be called “punk”

Although Matt had never had a chance to see the style in action, the words that described it had a design he liked. Therefore, he was resisting the urge to start a conversation with this new comer.

Josie’s doesn’t see many new people, nor any interesting people. Usually just drunks and locals, but this man, this man was different. He wasn’t like the regulars, which is what got Matt’s attention.

Matt cleared his throat and looked in the direction of the man. The taller man looked over at Matt, and he felt himself heat up. “Hello.” The punk purred, a few chains rattling as he faced Matt.

“Hi, are you new?” Matt breathed, he could smell the man’s cologne very strongly, and he wasn’t going to lie, the punk man smelled divine. “Who’s asking, pretty boy?”

“Um, Matt, Matt Murdock.”

“Is that your name, handsome?”

“Y-Yes.”

Matt found himself stuttering, the man next to him let off a radiant aura of dominance, it made Matt feel small and nervous. Matt was usually a confident person, but this man, made him feel different.

“Well, then yes, I am new, Mr. Murcock.”

Matt let out a small chuckle, slowly feeling more comfortable around the man next to him. Matt nervously played with the hem of his suit, rubbing his fingers over the fabric in an anxious manner.

“What’s your name?”

“And why should I tell you?” The punk took a long swig of his beer.

“I- I’m not sure actually.” A breathy laugh left Matt’s pink lips.

“(Y/n), you don’t seem so sure about a lot, love.”

The punk next to him took a sip of his beer, then set it down before grabbing Matts hand and resting their hands on Matt’s well sculpted thigh. “What’s a gorgeous boy like you doing at the bar this late at night?”

Damn, this man had a way with words, his voice slipping off each word like a fine wine. Damn, Matt could really go for some wine right about now. The man looked Matt up and down, waiting for a response.

“I decided to get a drink after work.”

“Ah, what does my pretty boy do for a livin’, hm?”

Matt’s face heated up, his pretty boy? If Matt hadn’t have had a few shots before this conversation, he would’ve been mad, but this man was just trying to get a reaction out of Matt.

Matt let out a gentle sigh. “I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh I see, one with the law, huh?”

“I guess so.”

Matt felt the other man rub the back of his hand with his thumb. His touch was so gentle, as if he would shatter Matt’s soft skin with any sudden movement. The man put his hand on Matts forearm that was resting on the bar counter, softly massaging it.

With their hands still resting on Matt’s thigh, and the other man massaging his arm, Matt was a warm mess. His heartbeat quickening, in any sober state Matt would’ve been slightly weirded out, but at this moment, Matt was not sober.

“You need to relax, baby.”

The man leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Matt’s forehead. The man stood up, threw a crumbled up 20 onto the counter for the bartender, then took a step to rest his hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“Get home safe, okay?”

The punk man patted Matt’s shoulder before walking out of the bar, chains clinking and boots leaving satisfying thuds on the bar flooring. Matt sat in the same spot, feeling a sort of giddiness.

———

wooooooo sorry it took a bit lolol i was tryna think of a good plot !!

[kabira]

by hook or by cross.

pairing — vernon x fem!reader

word count — 12.4k

genres — meet-ugly au inspired by #15 on this prompt list, kickboxing au (???), strangers to lovers, slowburn, fluff & angst, smut

warnings — blood and injury, some instances of swearing, explicit sexual content (feel free to skip), mentions of food, sour family relationships, also vernon is a major flirt so this is not for the faint-hearted

smut warnings — fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial, protected sex (don’t be silly, wrap up ur willy), the works. look i’m trying ok

summary — so you punched a guy, and now he wants you to teach him how to fight, because clearly, you know how to do it better. well, fine, you say. as long as he keeps his distance. (spoiler alert: he doesn’t.)

note — happy birthday to the absolute love of my life, because it’s still the 18th here and yes this was written especially in honor of vernon day. i came up with this haphazard plot last-minute, but grew attached to these characters in record time. also this is my first time writing smut (technically second but we don’t speak of the first one) so please go easy on me! and enjoy the product of my blood, sweat and tears :D

go to main masterlist

Picture this.

It’s a chilly Sunday night, and you’re free for the first time in the entire week. But instead of being allowed to catch up on your favorite show in the warm comfort of your home, you’ve been dragged out to a hole-in-the-wall bar with drinks strong enough to knock you out with a single glass, and you’ve been forced into the role of designated driver.

The past hour has consisted of telling your friend not to drink too much, shaking your head in disapproval as said friend does indeed drink too much, and then holding her hair back as she retches into a health-hazard commode in a toilet that smells like something died in there. With the strength of that vodka mixed with god-knows-what, you wouldn’t be surprised.

You’ve finally managed to untangle yourself from the situation and have decided to head out of the bar for a much-needed breath of fresh air. You step out of the toilet, thinking that finally you’re home free—and get punched in the face.

The bar falls deathly silent.

You blink, popping your jaw to check for damages, but thankfully whoever punched you doesn’t have a very strong hook. Then you turn slowly, facing the guy who punched you—a pretty thing not much older than you, the ever-loving fear of god (and girls) in his eyes as you turn towards him. His hair is dyed blonde, which would normally be a warning sign except it looks styled, and you don’t see any threatening tattoos which could tell you if he was from a local gang. He stares back at you with puppy-dog eyes, looking much too afraid of the consequences of his actions to be from around here. Probably from the good part of town. Probably harmless.

What do you do?

Now, you have no idea what you did to warrant the punch, but you’re not unused to getting into fights, born and brought up in the meanest part of town. Learning to take a punch was the first thing you were taught once you started walking—the second thing being learning how to land one. Maybe under different circumstances, you would have calmly asked for an explanation, or walked away, depending on the size of your attacker. But right now, you’re tired of having been pushed around all day long, you do, in fact, have a mean right hook, and the night is young enough to fit in one bar fight and maybe a few pity drinks for yourself before it’s time to crash.

So, naturally, you punch back.

There’s a little moment of pity for blemishing such a beautiful face, but it isn’t given much time to bloom before your punch lands true, and the boy is surprised enough that he doesn’t have time to dodge. Your knuckles connect with his jaw with a satisfying pop, and he trips and falls over a misplaced barstool, crashing to the floor in a heap of limbs, both flesh and wood.

Usually, this would be when you’re escorted—roughly—out of the bar and told never to show your face in there again. But you know the owner of this one—a bald, bearded, and tattooed guy whose daughter you teach kickboxing on Monday-alternates—and when you catch his eye over the rows of half-empty beer bottles on the counter, he nods once. So you get your purse, your incredibly giggly friend (because nothing’s funnier than watching a guy get beat up), and leave.

Only later does it occur to you that you might not have been the intended victim of his punch.

In your hurry, you completely miss the part where your wallet slips out of your unzipped purse (from when you were rummaging around inside for wet wipes—the things you do for friendship) and falls to the floor.

And that is how it starts.

Vernon wakes up with a headache.

Granted, it’s probably because of the glass of dark-rum-ginger-beer-something he remembers downing in one go some unidentified period of time ago, but it doesn’t stop his mind from going to the knockout punch that probably finished the job of putting him out of commission. His vision swims, but it’s just the overhead neon lights that now feel almost blinding, and his jaw aches like it’s been snapped out of place.

He attempts to get up, and groans almost immediately. A face appears in his distorted vision, followed by a hand, which holds up a single middle finger. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“One,” Vernon mumbles, and Jeonghan smirks. “Fuck you. What happened?” “You mean you don’t remember?” his friend asks, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a sitting position. He looks sideways at another person Vernon hadn’t noticed before, a familiar, hulking figure. “Thanks, Bones. I don’t think he has a concussion.” “Of course I don’t have a concussion,” Vernon mutters. The owner of the bar, Bones, gives him a dry look before walking away. “It was one punch.” One very painful punch, he thinks, but doesn’t add that part at the end of his sentence. From a very pretty girl. Good going, dumbass. “How long have I been out?” “Ten minutes, give or take a few.” Jeonghan shrugs, leaning back in his seat. He watches Vernon shake himself out for a few more seconds before his smirk grows. “So.” Vernon snaps his gaze up to meet his, face puckered into a scowl. “Don’t.” The boy laughs, his head tipping backwards from the force of it. Vernon looks away, face burning in embarrassment as he waits for his friend to ride the laughter out, which takes a few moments more than he’d expected. When he’s done, Jeonghan wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Wish I’d got that on camera.” “But you didn’t, so get over it,” Vernon mutters savagely. He reaches up to touch the sore spot on the underside of his jaw, and winces. On top of that, the crest of his temple stings, so he reaches up to touch it. His fingertips come away tinged with blood. “What happened to the other guy?” “The one you never managed to hit?” “Jeonghan.” “No idea.” Jeonghan shrugs, swiping a half-empty drink from a table and taking a sip. They’re at the back of the bar, so thankfully the lights aren’t as bright as they could have been, because Vernon’s head is killing him. “He must have slipped away during your encounter with that little spitfire.” Vernon groans, dropping his head into his hands. The memory comes back slowly—his first bar fight ever, and he didn’t even get to land one hit. Shame and guilt crashes over him in waves. “Don’t tell—” he starts, hoping to keep this incident hidden from his roommate, when he spots something on the table. Something small and square and dark. “What’s that?” Jeonghan glances over, lifting a single shoulder in a careless shrug. “Lady’s wallet,” he says. “I picked it up when I saw it, but she’d already left.” The boy stretches his fingers towards the wallet, but hesitates at the last moment. Jeonghan, bless his observant soul, takes note of this and decides to help him out instead of using the opportunity for another laugh at his expense. He reaches over to pick up the wallet by a corner, and hands it to Vernon, who takes it with a look resembling awe. He weighs it in his hand before lifting it up to the light. “It’s so small.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes, though he knows Vernon can’t see him doing it. “Good observation,” he says. “It’s better if we—what are you doing?” he asks, perplexed, as Vernon opens the wallet and pulls out a little square card from inside. “Looking for an address,” Vernon replies, eyes intense as they focus on the address written in bold black letters on the card. Peggy’s Gym, it says. Huh. “To return it.” Jeonghan frowns. “By yourself? Are you insane?” He reaches over and plucks the card out of Vernon’s hand, turning it over to study it with a small crease between his eyebrows. “She beat the shit out of you once, I don’t think she’ll hesitate to do it again.” “Not if I’m only there to get her wallet back,” Vernon says, this time with a roguish smile, some of the old light coming back into his eyes as he snatches the card back and slips it back inside the wallet. “You know, good people who return things are hard to come by these days.” His friend looks unsure, studying him with a calculating look, all the mirth gone from his face. Jeonghan sits up, the glass in his hand almost tipping over as he does. “Vernon,” he says, “I’ll have you know I don’t approve of this idea at all.” “Good to know.” “And it’s already way past your roommate’s assigned curfew, so you’re not going over there right now,” Jeonghan adds. “But if you really want to do it later—well, it’s your head.” Vernon grins. “You won’t tell—”

“No.” The boy sighs. “Get up, we have to get you cleaned up before I deliver you to your roomie. God, Seungkwan’s going to kill me when he sees that cut.”

Peggy’s Gym turns out to look even shadier than Vernon had imagined it to look, situated in the deeper parts of the Cavity around a grimy little corner. It’s a three-storey building, dilapidated but looking like someone’s doing their best to keep it clean. A garish neon sign blinks at the entrance, half of the letter P and almost all of M missing from the words.

It looks like a rough neighborhood, but that’s not the reason Vernon’s heart is pounding when he takes the first step through the threshold. The interior is brightly lit, the entrance unmanned, and he proceeds with caution, the wallet clutched tightly in his hand as a kind of white flag in case he needs to use it. After the previous night’s debacle, he’s not eager to get punched again. God forbid it be in a gym.

A cacophony of sounds attracts him to a corridor, and he frowns as he makes the turn, coming out in front of a room to the left of a narrow hallway. The room is square, relatively small, with a padded floor and stark walls that look like they were once white. A group of kids stand in neat (neat for a bunch of kids, anyway) rows, each in an offensive stance—and at the head of the room stands the person he’s been looking for.

Oh. Absently, he reaches up to touch the wound on his temple, suddenly understanding the force behind the punch.

He takes a step back, deciding not to interrupt you when class is in session. Of course, that doesn’t work, as every single kid in the room turns to stare at him, obviously interested in this new potential distraction to the class. As a result, you turn, forehead already creased into a small frown. Your eyes narrow the moment they land on him.

Vernon smiles nervously, holding up a hand in an awkward half-wave.

“She’s got a boyfriend,” a little kid no more than twelve years old, whispers to his buddy in the first row. You swivel around again, fixing the kid with a look.

“Twenty pushups,” you intone pleasantly, and the kid flushes, but manages a shit-eating grin before he drops to the floor. You turn to regard Vernon for another moment, hesitation dancing in your eyes, then sigh. “Chan, you’re in charge. Watch Josh and make sure he completes his twenty. I won’t be long.”

Another kid—Chan—nods and takes up position at the front of your class. Vernon’s so absorbed in the scene that he’s taken by surprise when you grab his arm and pull him along the hallway and out of earshot. “What are you doing here?” you hiss, finally letting go, and he rubs his arm with a wince.

He gives you a dry look. “I came to return this,” he says, holding up the wallet. “Chivalry isn’t dead.”

You blink, looking taken aback. Vernon raises his eyebrows, waving the wallet in front of you, which snaps you out of your reverie and you finally take the wallet from his outstretched hand.

An uncomfortable silence settles over the two of you. Vernon drops his hand, taking a step back. “Well, uh,” he murmurs, “I’ll be going, then.” He reaches up to card a hand through his hair, accidentally grazing the cut on his temple, and winces.

Your eyes flicker up from the wallet to his face, and go from surprised to a little bit guilty as they land on the cut. You bite your lip, eyeing the cut with something like discomfort. “Did…did I do that?”

Vernon cocks an eyebrow. “No, it was the glass I took with me when I, um, when I tripped backwards and fell,” he says. “Although, indirectly…”

At that, your lips thin. You glance back over your shoulder, then at him, and sigh again, more heavily this time.

“Wait here,” you say, before stalking off in the direction of your class. Vernon obeys, standing there stumped for a few moments. A chorus of tiny prepubescent voices erupts from the room, making his eyebrows twitch upwards. A few moments later, you reappear, looking weary.

“Come with me,” you say curtly. Then you turn and march up the corridor without waiting for him.

Vernon keeps standing there for a few moments before he registers your command. He follows a little hesitantly, weaving through the crowd of kids that bursts from the door, the tallest of which doesn’t even reach halfway to his chest.

He follows you up a dimly-lit wooden stairwell that creaks with every third step, each cracking noise making him wince and glance down. By the time you reach the door, his eyes are so used to the darkness that the sudden burst of light from inside blinds him temporarily.

As you walk in, he stands at the entrance, bewildered and blinking hard, maybe a little concerned for his safety. Something about the guilt in your eyes earlier assuages some of the worry, but even he knows that the reason his heart is beating a little faster has little to do with fear.

When his eyes finally adjust to the light, he sees that the two of you are in a gym. It’s not very wide, but the ceiling is tall, the walls painted a dull, calming blue, the paint cracked at some places, hidden at others with yellowing posters advertising boxing matches. A boxing ring takes up most of the space in the center of the room, leaving a thin band of padded floor running around the ring’s perimeter. At the corner of the room, almost hidden from view by the ring, is a small door looking as if it’s been nudged into the corner by the loud posters surrounding it.

“You should’ve gotten that stitched up,” you say, and he turns towards you slowly, still a little confused. You glance up, gesturing vaguely to the cut, which subconsciously makes him touch it again. Which, of course, makes it hurt. “Did you get it cleaned afterwards?”

He stares at you, stumped. You wait for an answer, raising your eyebrows, the gesture spurring him on. “Oh,” he mutters. “I, uh, I did get it cleaned.”

“With what?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops, cheeks coloring. “Actually, I think I might be wrong about that part.”

You sigh for the third time in the span of a few minutes, massaging your forehead with your fingertips. “Alright,” you say ultimately, and is he imagining the sudden roughness in your voice? “I’ll…I’ll clean it up. Least I could do.” The last part is mumbled, and he would have missed it if it weren’t for the absolute stillness.

Vernon’s eyebrows arch high, and you pointedly avoid his gaze as you tell him to wait (again) and go through the small door to fetch the surgical kit. He gets a few minutes to himself in that span of time, during which he measures the conversation and the pros and cons of staying or leaving, and by the time you get back with the kit he’s practically a changed man.

As in he’s smiling a little cheekily when you curl your fingers to call him over, unable to hide his amusement over the situation and his surprise over how flustered you seem to be. The guilt over punching you has all but disappeared, since you seem to have taken it well, and the self-confidence Seungkwan often berates him for is back in (almost) full force.

You brush away the hair at his forehead and bring out a swab of cotton and a bottle of vodka. The latter makes him raise an eyebrow, and you clarify that it’s for disinfecting the wound, which he takes with a grain of salt but general faith in your abilities to clean cuts. You do seem to be pretty experienced at it. “So,” he says, wincing painfully almost immediately after as the first swab of vodka-medicine makes contact with the injury. “You teach martial arts? Explains the right hook.”

“Kickboxing,” you correct—if he isn’t imagining it—a little breathlessly. “I’m surprised you knew that was a right hook.”

He smiles a little, without the teeth. “Not my first time,” he explains, now a little more used to the stinging pain. He focuses on you instead, so close that you would have been bound to notice if it hadn’t been for your absolute concentration on your work. It’s kind of cute, really.

“Not surprised by that,” you comment dryly, and his smile widens. “But, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the punch. I wasn’t really having the best day, and you basically handed satisfaction to me on a silver platter.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyebrows twitch as you bring out the needle, making him gulp. “Are you absolutely sure I need stitches?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no animosity behind the gesture. “Yep,” you say, bringing the threaded needle up to his face. Oh, yeah, now the thundering heartbeat is definitely due to fear.

“And are you absolutely sure you’ve done this before?” he asks, making you smirk.

“Yep,” you say, popping the p, and simultaneously the small balloon of his blown-up confidence. You reach up, pulling the lips of the gash together, and the contact burns for reasons entirely different from pain.

He screws his eyes shut as the first needle goes through, hunching his shoulders and sucking in the air through his teeth. You laugh a little at that, and he reopens his eyes, smiling, though a little crookedly (because oh god that shit hurts).

When you’re done stitching him up, you bandage the wound and take a step back to survey your work. “That hurt,” Vernon says honestly, because he’s the kind of person who speaks his mind, and your lips twitch up into a smile.

“Well, you handled it like a champ,” you say, hands resting on your hips, and—okay, he knows you’re mocking him, but his chest still warms at the not-compliment.

“I bet you say that to all the boys you patch up,” he says playfully.

You cock your head, still smiling. “Only the ones under thirteen,” you say, which makes him laugh despite the implication.

As you clean the needle and repack the kit, he lets his eyes wander the small gym. Moths hum around the bulb hanging over the boxing ring, but the ring itself seems untouched, like some sort of relic behind a glass pane. It’s just like any other ring, but something about the way it stands seems almost proud. It’s surrounded by old posters and advertisements but it stands out, like it has character, more personality than rings in the boxing matches he used to watch as a kid. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s walked up to it, running his hands over the edge of the raised platform.

“That’s not very hygienic, you know,” you comment, but make no move to pull him away from the ring. He turns at the sound of your voice, lifting his shoulders in a weak shrug.

“Do you box?” he asks, as casually as he can, but his use of the word is rusty at best and his voice is already low as it is. He can’t help but feel the need for reverent tones when he speaks about this place.

Your eyes take on a faraway look, like reliving each of your memories with this place, which makes him wonder how long you’ve been doing this. He looks around the room, and he sees years’ worth of history in this dingy little gym that smells like old paper and long-dried sweat. “My dad taught me,” you say in a murmur, then smile a little. “Guess that’s who you have to thank for that cut.”

“Well, I’m glad he taught you how to do stitches to go with that,” he says. “Evens out.”

You’re silent, looking lost in thought. Vernon’s eyes wander where they’re probably not supposed to, over the sheen of sweat on your bared neck and the soft skin peeking out from under the hem of your t-shirt where it rides up at your waist. You exhale heavily, and his eyes snap back up to yours.

“Teach me,” he says.

You turn to face him, uncomprehending. “What?”

He gestures to the ring. “Teach me how to box,” he says. “So the next time I get in a bar fight, I know how to defend myself.”

That puts a smile on your face, but your eyebrows still draw together, like you’re not sure if he’s being serious. “I don’t really have much experience teaching grown adults, you know.”

“Trial and error,” he says happily. He’s not too sure where he was intending to go with this, but now that he’s said it out loud and everything, his heart is pounding with slow-trickling anxiousness and eagerness, both in equal parts. “I know you have—all that with those kids,” he stumbles over his words, making jazz hands to convey the message instead, “but, you know. Sometimes. If you’re good with that.”

Your frown eases a little, but you still look hesitant, which is totally understandable. He doesn’t know where this came from either, but it seemed important that he said it when he did. “Well—”

“You saw how easily I got K.O.ed,” he reminds you. Then, as inspiration hits, he touches his bandaged stitches lightly, putting on the best wounded-pup face he can muster. “I kind of need the help. To preserve my manly dignity.”

You bite the inside of your lip at that, but he sees the edges of a smile threatening to break out on your face. “I can’t believe you’re pulling that card,” you say, a laugh in your words. “I did apologize.”

“And I accepted that apology,” he says, “because technically, it was my fault, but that’s the whole point! What if next time, it’s a really tall, really muscular dude instead?”

Your shoulders shake as you attempt to hold in a laugh. He guesses he must look desperate, and he kind of is, if only it’s to have a reason to see you again. “Well, in that case, training wouldn’t help much.”

“I can try.”

You study him for a second, a hint of a smile on your lips. “Yeah,” you murmur, “I guess you can.”

He raises his eyebrows. “So?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great!” He grins, failing spectacularly at hiding his enthusiasm. Not that he’s trying particularly hard. “So…when can we start?”

You let out a snort at that. “I’ll let you know,” you say. “But don’t expect it to be soon.”

“You got it.” Vernon reaches into his back pocket to fish out his phone, and pauses. “Wait. I never got your name.”

“I never offered it,” you reply dryly, but give it to him anyway. “And you’re…”

“Vernon.” He flashes his best smile to go with it, but you remain unfazed. Okay, well. Plenty of time to try that out later.

“Well, hello, Vernon,” you say, and something in his chest flutters at the way you enunciate his name, with care and a little bit of a drawl that ends in a smirk. “And thank you.”

He grins again, this time managing to elicit a small smile from you, too. “No problem.”

Turns out, he doesn’t have to wait that long after all.

You’re very hesitant about the entire ordeal at first, because the whole thing feels off. All your life, you’ve been taught not to trust men, regardless of how good-looking they were—in fact, the pretty ones are usually the worst. One can, considering your past experiences, understand your doubt about having a good-looking city boy waltz up and demand that you teach him kickboxing, especially when it’s a city boy you’ve punched. So instead of letting the time draw out and sinking deeper into your own qualms, you decide to get it over with as quickly as possible, so if he does turn out to have some kind of ulterior motive, you can throw him out that much quicker. Rip off the proverbial band-aid.

To your surprise, Vernon doesn’t turn out to be the kind of person who’d enjoy a fight. He turns out to be much worse.

“I told you, you don’t have to hold back with me,” you say, a note of irritation slipping into your voice despite your best attempts at keeping it at bay. “I’m not made of glass, Vernon. I won’t break if you hit me.”

“It’s not—I’m not—I didn’t say that,” Vernon mumbles, flushing slightly. His stance is good. He follows your instructions and doesn’t make much of a fuss, even when you accidentally clock him right on the spot where you bruised him earlier that week. “I’m just not used to this.”

You hold back a sigh. What makes everything even worse is that you can’t be mean to him. He’s not fragile by any means—in fact, he’s tough enough to hold his own, despite the lack of training and your last violent encounter with him. He’s just so darn nice. Not in the polite sense, but he’s well-mannered, the kind that you’re not used to after living in one of the city’s roughest neighborhoods since you were a child. It makes you want to dislike him, because it’s easy to dislike people from the city with their contempt and their preening and their words, but Vernon is an exception.

It gives you a headache.

“If you don’t take this seriously, you’ll never be able to learn,” you tell him, meaning every word. This is your way of teaching: application, not pads or punching bags. Punching bags don’t punch back. “You’re not strong enough to seriously hurt me, even if you go all-out. And I won’t go easy on you, either. What is your problem with hitting me, anyway? That’s the whole point of this class.”

“My mom raised me right,” he says with a self-deprecating smile, and your heart thumps painfully in your chest. “But I’ll try.”

He feints to the left, then strikes out at your abdomen, but it’s a weak punch. You make a frustrated noise at the back of your throat, and push forwards, directing a high kick towards his face. Vernon defends, looking surprised at the sudden ferocity in your movements, but you’re relentless. A well-aimed hook sends his other arm up, leaving his abdomen exposed. You dart in, aiming a solid, reliable mule kick at his stomach, which sends him stumbling backwards, caught off-guard with an unstable base—and you drop, sweeping his legs out from underneath him. He lands on his back with a heavy thump.

You move to stand over him with your hands on your hips, eyebrows raised, like, well?

And Vernon—curse that bastard—grins. His million-watt smile flashes, charging up your circuit, and leaving you caught off-guard instead. “Point taken,” he says, still smiling, and you shake your head, a smile of your own having subconsciously formed on your face to mirror his.

“I sure hope so,” you say, and hold out a hand. He moves to grasp it, but you shake your head no, instead wrapping your fingers around his wrist. “Mirror that. It’s called a mountaineer’s grip. Much better than that chick-flick hold.”

Vernon follows your instructions, gripping your wrist and part of your forearm, and you pull him up to his feet. “That hurt like a bitch,” he says, and you tilt your head.

“I hope it did,” you say calmly, and he bursts out laughing, which—god, it makes your heart hurt. A tingle of something unfamiliar travels down your spine as he lets go of your hand, standing before you with his chest heaving like he’s just finished running a marathon.

“Go again?” he asks.

“Your stance is all wrong,” you call out, as you and Vernon circle each other in the center of the boxing ring, waiting for the moment to strike. “Spread your feet a bit more, align them with your shoulders. That way, you won’t be pushed off-balance that easily.”

Vernon obeys, shifting the position of his feet, aligning his hips with the stance. He’s a good student, or maybe you’re just too used to looking after boisterous ten-year-olds who have too much energy for something that requires as much discipline as kickboxing.

At first, you’d decided that you wouldn’t let this happen too often—you already had too much on your plate, and even the extra cash wasn’t inviting enough for you to slave away for hours beyond your strict schedule. However, you had recognized that that plan was going to be trashed the moment you’d started. Vernon wasn’t just a good student, he was fun. Much more fun than you were used to in your packed weekly schedule, tightened to the second for maximum efficiency like a loose screw. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone your age around the place. This was supposed to be a job, a part of work, but it was beginning to feel more like down time.

“Arms up,” you call. Vernon raises his arms, shielding his face but not his upper body, leaving the center of his chest wide open. You open your mouth, intending to correct his posture, but think better of it. Instead, you draw back, hiding a smirk.

“Wha—” Vernon starts, looking confused, but you strike out before he can complete his statement. The heel of your hand connects with the center of his chest, knocking him off-balance (shifted stance again, goddamnit). You spring back before he’s even registered the hit. “Ow!”

“Protect your chest,” you say. “That’s the fourth most important place to defend, after your—”

“Face, abdomen, legs,” he lists, then frowns, rubbing his chest where you hit him. “That was uncalled for.”

You shake your head. “I’m your kickboxing instructor, Chwe, not your nanny,” you quip. “You have to keep your guard up. What if someone attacks you at a bar again?”

Vernon narrows his eyes, then smiles. The sight makes you raise an eyebrow, and you pull in your guard a little tighter after that, wary of whatever he’s thinking. “I’m not as bad as you think, you know,” he says, relaxing his guard, which only makes you even warier. “I’m just a little off my game because it’s so goddamn hot in here,” he complains, turning around.

You watch, transfixed, as he peels off his sweat-soaked shirt—which, admittedly, had already been sticking to his body like a second skin—and tosses it to a corner. Sweat shines on his skin, reminding you of those car wash commercials with shirtless men. Pale, corded muscle runs along his neck, going taught as he rolls it. His chest is lean and chiseled, the sweat accentuating the planes and lines of it—oh, the lines, running in the middle of his chest and down to his abdomen, on the insides of his waist, disappearing into the waistband of his pants—

“You need to get an air conditioner in here, babe.”

Babe?

You tense, surprised, and he uses the split second of distraction to attack. He punches up, and you defend without thinking, leaving yourself—ugh—off-balance. “Got you,” he whispers, hooking a leg behind your ankle and pulling it out from under you.

You tumble to the ground, taking him with you, so he lands on top of you. “You fought dirty,” you accuse, and when he chuckles, you feel the vibrations of his body in yours, resonating deep within your bones. Suddenly, you’re hyperaware of his body pressed against yours, every line aligning with yours, his face incredibly close. Heat waves roll off his bare chest and soak through your clothes, making everything uncomfortably hot (you do need to get that air conditioner).

“I’m pretty sure they don’t fight fair at bars,” Vernon says lowly, and you feel in his breath the exact shape of his smirk. “Consider this a kind of practice.”

His hair, a sunny shade of blonde, has turned darker at the temples where it’s plastered to his skin with sweat. Your eyes track a bead as it runs along his jaw and travels down his neck before plateauing in the hollow of his collarbone.

“Dirty, huh?” you ask, circling your fingers around his bicep. He blinks; long, sweeping eyelashes throwing off light when he does, almost taking you with them. You lift your back a little off the ground, arching your spine, and he sucks in his breath—you feel it, the tightening of his bicep and the swelling of his chest, the sudden skip in his heartbeat strangely gratifying—and flip your positions.

Vernon doesn’t see it coming, of course, registering everything a little slower even as he lands hard on his back with you on top. You push yourself up and away from his upper body, straddling him, pinning his arms with your knees, and smirk down at him in satisfaction.

“If you’d been paying more attention, you wouldn’t have ended up in this position,” you tell him.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, looking a bit dazed as he speaks. There are the barest traces of a smile around his mouth, because of course he’d keep smiling even when you’ve got him pinned down like this. “I kind of like being in this position.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your hands curl against his chest, and you swallow slowly, eyes flicking from his eyes to his smile and his lips, and—this is a bad idea.

“Get up,” you command, the smile slipping off your face as you roll off him and get to your feet. You don’t see his eyes dim, nor do you hear his low sigh as he pushes himself off the ground and stands. “That will be all for today.”

“What?” Vernon complains. “It hasn’t even been an hour yet.”

“I have…stuff,” you murmur, looking away. You make your way towards the ropes, pulling off the hand towel hanging from it and patting it against your sweaty neck. “Go home, Vernon.”

He leans against the nearest post, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. He watches you try to look busy with the towel for a few more seconds, and you grow more and more awkward with each. Finally, after a few long moments, just when you’re about to throw something at him, he speaks.

“Actually, I’m going to stay out for a while,” he says. “I’m starving.”

The word triggers something in you, reminding you of the last meal you had—mac-and-cheese, four hours earlier, before all of your classes. On cue, your stomach growls.

When you turn to face him, Vernon has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Fine,” you mutter, conceding defeat. “I know this Chinese place a few blocks away, but you’re paying.”

And when he says, “It’s the least I could do,” you hear unmistakable warmth in his words.

“So,” Vernon says around a mouthful of hunan chicken, “tell me about yourself.”

You look up from your dish and raise an eyebrow. You’ve already worked your way through a plate and are currently on your second one with no end in sight, which makes him wonder how long you’ve gone without eating. Thankfully, the place is relatively cheap and not too heavy on his wallet, so he’ll probably still have enough to catch a ride home later.

“I’m a kickboxing instructor for forty little kids and one big kid, I live in an apartment, I like egg foo young,” you say dryly.

“Yeah, but—I already know that.”

“What else is there to tell?” you ask with a shrug, and proceed to take another mouthful. Your face and hair are bathed in a soft, orangey glow because of the light from the paper lanterns, which makes your curved mouth look like a soft line, sleepy and comfortable. Vernon almost doesn’t feel like disturbing it. Almost.

“You said your dad taught you how to fight,” he starts, and, lo-and-behold, the smile slips from your face.

The change in mood is instantaneous and practically tangible, like a cloud hovering over your little booth. You drop your fork into your plate and lean back with a sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “You had to go there,” you mutter. “And I was about to relent, too.”

“Oh, is that a forbidden topic? I didn’t mean to,” he says quickly, apologetic, swallowing the rest of his overly-masticated chicken. “We can make a list, so everyone knows what to avoid.”

The soft curve returns, but it’s dim enough that the light doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You run a hand over the opposite bicep, looking down at your half-full plate. There’s a tenseness in your posture, the way you square your shoulders and tighten your jaw that reminds him of squaring up in the ring. A little part of him, still in the gym, expects a drop kick.

“Well, he’s…not in my life anymore,” you murmur. “And good thing, too. I used to live with my sister for a while before she moved out, and now it’s just me.” You shrug a single-shouldered shrug, trying to come off as stoic, but it’s a useless enterprise. “So, yeah, I live alone, in a tiny flat above the gym.”

The last part, tacked on uncaringly at the end of your sentence, catches him by surprise. “You live above the gym?”

A grimace flickers across your face, looking like dancing lights with the orange-candy glow. “Can we pretend you didn’t hear that?”

“Nope,” he says, picking up a spoon and using the handle to point at you. “So all this time, we were right underneath your home, and you didn’t even think to invite me in?”

“Well, we’re not exactly friends,” you say, but with enough amusement behind your words that it doesn’t sound mean. “I’m your kickboxing instructor, not your—”

“Nanny, I know, you’ve used that phrase too many times for it to have any real bite,” he says, leaning against the back of his seat to mirror your posture. “You never said we couldn’t be friends.”

“You think we’re friends?” you ask, sounding half-amused, half-unsure.

Vernon raises his eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“Well, we’re…” He watches you fumble with the words for a bit, a sly smile on his face, and it takes you a beat too long to notice. You end up biting your lip, and lean forward, uncrossing your arms and plunging your joined hands between your knees. “We’re…something.”

“Something,” he tries out, and nods in approval. “I can live with that.”

You play with something underneath the table for a second, then look up, eyes sharp. “I told you something about myself, like you said,” you say. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” He cocks his head, thinking. “I’ve lived a pretty uneventful life.”

“I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“Well…” he muses, folding his arms behind his head. “I live in an apartment, too, except I have a roommate. He’s really particular about things, like time and taking showers and making beds, so I’m definitely going to get a lecture on the importance of sticking to schedule when I get back today,” he admits, scrunching up his nose at the thought. “I’m kind of beginning to regret this.”

You laugh—and, yeah, that’s kind of the whole reason he’s doing this. A smile tugs at his lips as he hears it, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, shaking your head. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he replies, and your smile, a remnant from your laughter, widens into a grin that’s stained orange and red. “I might just move out after tonight. But then I’d be alone.”

“I’ll let you crash on my couch.”

“Much obliged.”

You settle into another stretch of silence, but this time, it’s comfortable. He stares at you staring at your hands, feeling full and content and not just because of the excellent hunan chicken (he’s definitely coming here again). It’s been a while since he felt this…complete.

I could get used to this.

“Make your move as soon as you can, before your chance slips away,” you say, startling him out of his thoughts. “Love does not wait.”

Vernon blinks, lowering his arms to push himself into a straight sitting position, somewhat shakily. “What?”

You hold up a slip of paper with one hand, and a fortune cookie in another.

His chest deflates, but whether it is with relief or disappointment, he isn’t sure. He waits until the shakiness passes, relaxing into the seat before speaking. “Didn’t you already eat yours?” he asks.

“I did,” you say, then smirk, popping half the broken cookie into your mouth. “This one’s yours.”

Happiness really does come from the strangest of places.

We are not making this a regular thing, you had said at the end of the day, after you’d finished the cookie and Vernon had paid the bill and the two of you had stood outside the restaurant, arms wrapped around your bodies to shield weakly from the nighttime chill. Of course, Vernon had replied with a funny little smile that had looked more like a grin, challenging beneath its superficial innocence.

So, yeah, it ends up becoming a regular thing.

Drinks are a major no-no, and you manage to hold that paper-thin rule in its place for almost two weeks before finally relenting. Even then, you warn him not to drink more than to get buzzed, and he agrees with the same disobedient smile which makes your stomach churn with thoughts you're still too afraid to bring to the forefront of your brain. At the very least, you swear to yourself that you won’t let him win this time around. And, to an extent, that oath holds true.

You just hadn't counted on Vernon turning out to be a lightweight.

"'m not drunk," he says as you drag him along the street, the nine-p.m. curfew crushed to pieces for the first time in weeks. Vernon's eyes are alert, only slipping under a veil of exhaustion when you look away, so you're almost inclined to believe him—would have been, if he hadn't been leaning on you so heavily. Every step he takes is wobbly yet deliberate, a small frown of concentration etched in the middle of his brow as he navigates the crumbling sidewalk. "I'm—not. Just tired."

"Sure," you say brightly, too tired to argue with a drunk man about the degree of his drunkenness. "Let's get you home for now, alright? I don't want you to pass out in the backseat of a potential ax murderer."

"Cab drivers are nice."

"Yeah, well," you mutter, hoisting him up as he slips a little, like a particularly big, particularly heavy bag. "Not here."

He holds it together until you finally hail a cab, intending to drop him off yourself and make sure he gets home instead of some trafficking ring. It's not unheard of. While you converse with the driver, trying to decipher Vernon's real address instead of the slurred mess he gave you back in the bar, he wanders off without you noticing. The next thing you hear is the violent clang of a body colliding with something unforgiving and metallic, followed by an instantly recognizable "Ow!"

You whip around, panic taking ahold of you and tightening all the muscles in your body, which only relax when you see Vernon standing a few feet away, clutching his forehead. "I walked into a stop sign," he says, as if that's supposed to ease your worry.

"I noticed," you say wryly, grasping his elbow in a vice-like grip and walking him to the cab, where the driver hangs out of the window and looks pointedly at his fake/real and possible stolen Rolex. "Get inside. I'm taking you home."

"Home?" Vernon echoes, folding his long limbs into a manageable size as he climbs into the back. Then, as the meaning of the word registers, very real horror seeps into his expression as quickly as dye in water. "You can't take me home like this! Seungkwan will have me drawn and quartered."

"And whose fault is that?" you bite back, making his lower lip jut out in a convincing pout. Okay, maybe he's not as drunk as you'd thought. "Don't give me that look."

"You promised you'd let me crash at your place in case I ever needed to lay low for a while," he says accusingly.

"I never promised you anything," you hiss back, if only for the sake of argument, because it's kind of an uphill road when he's using those damn puppy eyes on you.

The driver reaches around to thump the back of his seat. You swivel to face him, and he arches his bushy eyebrows. "Well, missy, where to?" he asks in an annoyed voice that’s more than a little nasally, spittle flying out from underneath his beard and narrowly missing your face. "I don't have all night."

You sigh through your teeth, and give him your address.

You take Vernon up to your apartment through the fire escape, hoping the chilly outdoor wind will keep him upright at least until you've got him inside your apartment. He collapses on your couch the moment you enter the comforting warmth of the living room, letting out a very vocal indication of his satisfaction as he drapes himself over the pillows. You roll your eyes fondly, heading for the refrigerator to look for ice for his stop-sign-induced bruise.

"Your couch is more comfortable than my bed," Vernon exclaims as you rummage through the freezer for the ice tray. "I wouldn't mind sleeping here every night."

"You're not sleeping over every night," you say, finally feeling the edge of a plastic tray inside the freezer, but when you bring it out, it's dismally empty. "Great."

"What happened?"

"I'm out of ice," you murmur, cursing yourself for forgetting to freeze some earlier. You pull out a bag of frozen peas instead, the temperature numbing your fingertips as you do, and switch hands.

"What do you need ice for?"

"Your bruise," you say, and toss the pack to him. It smacks against a hard surface a second later, followed by yet another exclamation of surprise and pain.

"Inebriated individual here!" Vernon calls as you turn, seeing him hold up the bag by a corner, rubbing a spot on his chest where you assume it had hit him a moment earlier. He gives you the stink eye when you look at him. "My depth perception is a little messed up at the moment."

You walk over to him, taking the bag from his hand and taking a seat on the table in front of him so you're at eye-level with him. "I told you not to drink too much," you say in a voice that is much too pleased by the outcome, holding the bag against the side of his face.

"I'll make sure to listen to you next time," he says, and though his words are supposed to be mocking, his voice is rough as he looks into your eyes. The sheen of ice over the packet seeps into your skin, but you forget to pay attention, lost for a moment in his gaze.

The silence that usually pervades your apartment at nighttime suddenly seems alive, like a held breath, waiting for something big. Vernon's eyes hold yours, and you can pick out the rings of brown in them, the iris shrinking back from his blown-out pupils.

Unconscious of your own actions, you part your lips, tensing as his face inches closer and his eyelashes sweep almost over his cheeks, casting spidery shadows over his skin. He exhales softly, and his breath when it fans your face is still warm, like the body heat radiating off him in waves and cocooning you in the small, packed space of the room. He lifts a hand, reaching for your face, and you lean in slowly, as if drawn in by the gravity of him, as if the walls are closing in and pushing you up against his chest, and—this is a bad idea.

You inhale sharply, and spring back. Vernon's brow twitches, and he drops his hand, looking more than a little confused. Your eyes glance away from his and focus on the packet of peas, where your palm has grown numb with the prolonged exposure to ice. "Here," you say roughly, lifting his hand and using it to replace yours over the packet before drawing away completely.

The last thing you see before you turn are Vernon's fingers as they curl around the stuff crimp of the bag, but you feel his eyes on your back for much longer. He says nothing, remaining silent and brooding, which puts you even more on edge. You don't know how to escape from this, this oppressive stillness, which makes you feel like you're stuck with no way out. Bound, almost—restricted, limited, confined—

You practically fall into a sitting position when the back of your knees hits the edge of the couch, too distracted to notice. "Guess I'm not the only one who got drunk," Vernon rasps, voice muffled by the bag of peas.

The next morning, you come to slowly.

The first thing you register is that you apparently never made it to your bed, since you're jammed uncomfortably into one corner of the couch. Your joints creak when you try to move, and your neck hurts so much it feels like someone’s stuck a blade between the discs of your spine. You twist your neck to dislodge it and roll your shoulders, but just as you're about to get up, you notice the weight in your lap.

You look down to see Vernon fast asleep on your couch, his head pillowed by your lap. The bag of peas has long fallen, a few of them rolling out onto the marble floor from where it split from the fall at some point during the night. His mouth is slightly open, expression oddly peaceful in sleep. The edges of your heart soften as you card a hand through his hair, marveling at the softness of the hair at his nape. Something sticks in your chest when he stirs at the touch.

That's when you know that something has to be done.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You're an unstoppable force, landing punch after punch on the heavy bag that hangs in front of you. Sweat pours from every pore on your skin, soaking through your tank and making it stick to your skin, so the friction irritates the creases of your body every time you move. You land another hook on the punching bag, the boxing tape chafing at your knuckles, as worn-out as you. It's been an hour since you got up at midnight to go down to the gym, and you're nowhere close to done.

The lights are out, so they don't spill out from under the doorway and into the corridor to alert Peggy of your presence. It helps you focus, the muggy silence that you need to convert into something liberating, something freeing like you're used to, because you're not alone you're just independent and you're coping. You're handling it. You have been for the past seven years and that doesn’t need to change now.

Your phone lights up with a notification, and you drop your arms, allowing yourself a miniscule break to bend down and swipe the device off the padded floor. The sudden brightness burns your eyes, but you welcome it, hoping it keeps you awake for a while longer so when you do fall asleep you positively crash, and don't have to spend hours waking in the morning just laying on your bed, contemplating and listening to the sounds of nothingness that cages you like an animal.

VERNON: so i'm guessing 'i'll see you next week' was a lie

VERNON: i'm bored, haven't had anything to fight in ages

VERNON: the ghost act is getting old

VERNON: you okay?

The timestamp on the last one is 2:14 a.m., which tells you you've been here for way longer than you'd thought. You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before turning off your phone and tossing it back onto the mat.

You haven't been ghosting him, not exactly. You still reply to his texts every once in three days and, okay, so maybe they're all monosyllabic but so what? You don't owe anyone an explanation, least of all him. So he hasn't seen you in two weeks. So maybe he's a little worried. But he has no right to be.

You turn back to the punching back, assuming an offensive stance, but weariness weighs down on your bones and threatens to pull you down to the floor. After sandbagging with kids all day, the exertion is sudden and exhausting, and you're not sure how long you can keep this up.

Then the silence grows more noticeable around you, circling and whispering and waiting, so you grit your teeth and raise your arms back up.

Thump.

Three days later, midnight comes at your doorstep in the form of a bleeding Vernon.

You're surprised enough as it is, but he adds on to it with a weak smile that quickly turns into a wince, and stumbles a bit before his leather-clad shoulder hits the doorframe. "Hi," he says, sucking in a ragged breath, as your eyes roam his form, from the reopened cut on his temple to the blood gathered at one corner of his mouth. "A little help?"

You open your mouth and close it in the manner of a goldfish, then shake your head as if trying to get rid of something invisible. Wordlessly, you move out of his way, letting him enter the apartment and closing the door behind him.

You lean against the door for a moment as if to catch your breath, watching him make his way to the couch like watching an alien trudge across a moonlit football field. It's surreal, and it's late, so you're not sure if this is just your subconscious taking over, making you dream with open eyes.

"I couldn't go back home because a. it's past midnight, and b. I'm bleeding, so my roommate would have chopped me up into bite-sized pieces and fed me to his aunt's dog," Vernon says, and you take the first few hesitant steps in his direction, slowly beginning to realize that you aren't dreaming and all of this is actually happening. "And you patched me up pretty well last time—for free—so I didn't really see the point in going to a doctor if I'm going to crash here anyway. Nice to see you're alive and well, actually," he adds, "I wasn't sure, seeing as you didn't deem it fit to let me know."

You brush aside the jab, not without a pang of guilt, and move to stand in front of him. He's taken a seat on your couch, pressing two fingers against corner of his mouth with a permanent grimace plastered over his expression. "What happened?" you ask in a steely tone, now that you're sure he isn't in immediate danger of, well, dying or something.

His eyes flicker up to yours for a split second before glancing away. "Got into a bar fight," he says casually, like one might say they bumped into someone on the street. "You know, I wasn't kidding when I said I was bored of not having anyone to fight."

You take a deep breath, trembling slightly from the force of emotion that swells inside you like a violent wave. "And you came...here."

"I already told you I couldn't go home," he says, raising an eyebrow. "Where else was I supposed to go?"

You kiss your teeth, unsure if you're happy or upset or downright incensed. “Somewhere,” you say, clenching your fists. “A motel. Anywhere.” You glare. "You can't just waltz in here without permission."

He gives you a look. "I didn't." His fingertips probe the cut again, and come away bloody. "Besides, you didn't have a problem with me staying over the last time."

"What if I’d had guests over?"

"Do you?"

You clench your teeth, and exhale slowly, trying to calm your thundering heartbeat. Then you turn on your heel and march to your bathroom to get the suture kit, because you can't just stand there and do nothing about the reopened cut when your fingers are shaking with the itch to touch him.

When you get back, Vernon's stopped touching his injuries, and you feel your heart twist when you notice his gaze on you, heavy and observant. He seems so damn knowing sometimes that you can't bear it. Bear to act like it doesn't bother you when he watches you, taking note of every little movement, when all you want to do is open Pandora's box and shake him until he lets the words spill out.

Vernon gets up and comes to you before you can step towards the sofa, silent and prepared. "Stay still now," you warn as you bring up the vodka-soaked cotton to clean his cut. His eyes stay on you, intense and burning, so much more upfront than what you're used to. This time, he doesn't flinch as you work, even as you stitch closed his skin and wipe the blood at the corner of his mouth with a curved knuckle. He keeps watching, and you know he always did watch, but right now it doesn't seem as furtive—his gaze is blunt like a rusted knife, waiting for you to take notice.

"What did you do?" you ask quietly as you finish up the last stitch, bandaging the wound. Vernon's passive facade cracks with a small smile, and your entire body breathes a sigh of relief, because you wouldn't know what to do if he remained impassive.

"Pissed off the wrong person," he says, sounding damn pleased with himself, and you don't even attempt to bite back the chuckle that bubbles up in your chest. "You should've seen him. It was this huge guy, and I wasn't even drunk, but I really wanted to punch someone, you know? And I know the first rule of everything is knowing when to walk away from a fight and yada-yada-yada, but I really wanted to do it. I don't think I could have fallen asleep without it."

You reach up and touch the fading bruise on his cheekbone, grazing your fingertips against the yellowed skin. "Was it a hook?"

"A cross."

You nod slowly, distractedly, and let your hand drop. His eyes track your movements as you take a step back, closing the suture kit and setting it down on the table. For a moment, you're utterly still, and then you turn—slightly, spreading your feet to align with your shoulders, cocking an arm to brush away a strand of hair from your face—and punch.

He jerks in surprise, but blocks reflexively like you’d taught him; drilled it into his body's primal instincts by making him do it over and over and over. The inside of your wrist catches his arm, and he pushes it outwards, tensing up in surprise. "What was that for?"

"You can block a cross, Vernon," you say, voice brittle, and curl your fingers into your palm. "I don't know how strong that man was, but you can block a cross, and like hell will I believe that his punch even grazed you." Your teeth come together with a click of your jaw. "You threw the fight."

His shoulders brace, then relax. "Maybe," he admits at length, and murmurs, “but it doesn't really matter."

You press your lips together, crossing your arms over your chest. "Why are you here, Vernon?"

"Because I want to be here," he says, a line appearing between his furrowed eyebrows. "You haven't answered any of my calls in the past week, and the only reply I got was a single word to my paragraph. I've been worried sick."

"I'm not asking you to be worried sick," you say through your teeth, letting your arms drop to your sides and balling your fists. "I don't see how that changes anything."

His lips thin, but he looks away, breathing heavily. "Okay," he breathes, looking like he’s trying to hold back an avalanche gathered behind his tongue, "okay." He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and lets his shoulders fall. "But I'm staying here tonight. I meant it when I said Seungkwan was going to chop me up into pieces."

You bite your lip, managing a defeated nod. "Fine," you murmur. "Just..."

He looks back at you, eyebrows raised.

Your fingertips flutter towards his bandaged forehead, then back. "Don't sleep on your side," you say hoarsely, and his eyes soften.

Hesitating at first, you lean into him just a little, and he holds his breath, watching you with fever-pitch intensity as you draw closer. His eyes track your movements as you touch the lapel of his jacket, lightly, and waver. His skin is inches from yours, and just out of reach, and—this is a bad idea.

You flinch at the sound of your dad’s voice in your head, and turn away. Vernon’s brow furrows, his eyes flickering from your face to your fingers as they move away, and realization slowly dawns on his face.

“Oh, come on, don’t do that,” he all but groans, catching at your wrist before you can turn away. You spin around, armed with a glare, but even that falters when you see the look on his face. It’s raw—the vulnerability in his eyes, the furrowed brow, the way his lips pull up almost like a wince.

“Do what?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“The thing where you gaze deeply into my eyes like you’re totally going to kiss me, and then don’t,” he says, and there’s a fierceness behind the blunt, humorous words that makes your heart stutter in your chest. Vernon pulls at your wrist, tugging you closer to his body, and you don’t even have the heart to resist. “That.”

You let out a disbelieving huff, closing your fingers into a fist. "What else do you want me to do?" you say roughly. There's a scream in your words that you can't let out. The mirage is cracking into pieces all around you, and you'd be a fool to pretend like there was nothing wrong when it's time for all cards to be on the table. "Would you rather be with me, in a nice, domesticated life where I meet your parents and you don't get to meet mine and I look your particular roommate in the eye and tell him I live in a place like this?" you snap. "Is that how you expect this to turn out?"

"No," Vernon breathes. "Of course not. I don't—it doesn't matter, what they—"

"That's what you think," you bite. "Is this really the place you want to come back to? This dingy little apartment surrounded by brick and buildings, with no sunlight and no air so you hear dogs and car alarms all night?" You gesture to yourself. "You think someone like you could ever last with something like this?"

And his eyes, curse them, are still as soft as the mat you fell on whenever your dad knocked you down in the gym as a kid. They make all the muscles of your body stiffen, but cushion you too, taking the brunt of the fall. "If I didn't like it," Vernon says softly, "I wouldn't keep coming back to it."

He leans in, capturing your lips with his.

Tired of holding back, you lean into the kiss after a split second of surprise with every bit of fervor you have left in your bone-tired body. His hand lets go of your wrist to tangle in your hair, the other going to your waist, reeling you in and kissing you slow and hard and deep. You let go for air seconds later, breathless with surprise, and meet his eyes. They smolder like twin flames, low at first and then bright, burning away all that's left of your doubt and fear and unease.

Oh, fuck it.

You push him onto the couch, hooking a leg over his thigh to straddle him, bunching up the material of his shirt in your hands before pulling him towards you and kissing him with a force behind it. He kisses back just as fast and just as hard, gripping your waist like a vice and pulling you into his lap. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers in between kisses, and your fingers curl tighter in his shirt.

Something thick and hot coils in your gut, and you deepen the kiss, your tongue teasing along the line of his lips before slipping into his mouth. Vernon moans into the kiss, his hands slipping from your waist up your sides, cupping your breasts and pressing into them. You gasp against his mouth, which makes his eyes glint. Vengeful, you slip your hands under his t-shirt and up the firm muscle of his back, tasting the edge of his grin in the kiss.

But still, he draws back enough to get a few words in, eyes searching yours. "We're doing this?" he asks, pupils blown wide, pushing the ring of his irises into a thin circlet of honey-brown.

"You want to do this?" you ask, a little breathless, and he groans a little.

"Do I want to fuck? Hell yes," he says.

You cock an eyebrow. "On the couch?"

He shrugs. "You do something new every day."

"That's not how it goes, but..." You slant your lips against his.

His teeth graze your bottom lip, and your nails curl into his back. He slides his hands back to the hem of your t-shirt, giving it an impatient upward tug as you kiss him, making it bunch under your arms. "Patience, grasshopper," you whisper against his lips before pulling back and letting him wrench the shirt up and over your head, discarding it somewhere to the side. 

Shivers skitter down your spine as he runs the pads of his fingers along the skin under your bra, toying with the clip for a moment before wrenching it open, breaking it in the process. You narrow your eyes, and he grins apologetically, flicking his thumb over your hardened nub and instantly making you forget your annoyance. 

“Mmph,” you protest, as he plants a series of haphazard kisses along the valley of your chest. His other hand delves under the waistband of your sweats, along the band of your pantyline, and hovers there for a moment before slipping in deeper.

When his fingers graze your clit, you bite down on his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. You're aware that you're almost soaked through—he is an expert kisser—and Vernon seems to notice it too, as one side of his mouth twists into a smirk. He curls his fingers, caressing your slick heat with the pad of his index and middle finger, but only just. You break the kiss to suck in your breath, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, squeezing your eyes shut as his touch threatens to unravel you at the seams. 

He retracts his hand, the fingers sticky and coated with your juices, and laps at it like a kitten. "You're already so wet," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. He rubs another finger against your core, and you dig your fingers into his shoulder blades, close to shuddering apart. "And I haven't even fucked you yet," he whispers in amusement, licking his lips. "D'you like it when I touch you there like that? Flick it ‘nd rub it ‘nd—"

You press your lips into his shoulder, mumbling shut up and fuck me, and he grins with a feral edge to it. Your hands slip under the shirt and skitter up his sides, pulling the t-shirt off and roaming his bare chest.

He curls his fingers inside you, deeper and deeper until the tips skim the bundle of nerves in your clit, making you moan aloud. You think of his hands—long-fingered and pretty, all up inside your heat, and whimper. Vernon tilts up your chin with his free hand, making you look into his eyes, and dips his head to kiss you while simultaneously finger-fucking you. He buries his fingers into your pussy up to the hilt, drawing them out almost completely before shoving them in again, making you cry out, throwing your head back.

"Dirty," he says, then draws his hand out, despite your vocal protests. He runs his knuckles along your clit, spreading the slick heat along the slit, making you mewl in desperation. You’re not the only one suffering—you feel his hard-on through his jeans, straining to be freed, and grind on it. Vernon tips his head back with a groan, exposing the long line of his neck, gleaming with sweat and saliva. You plant a series of little kisses along it, unable to help yourself, and his free hand grips your hip, holding you in place.

"As much as I want to see you come around my fingers," he pants, licking his lips, "I wanna—ugh—want to be inside you when you do."

You draw back from the crook of his neck, leaning your forehead against his. Your nose knocks into his, making the cartilage bend, and he smiles—softly, warmly, with so much fondness it makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you whisper, and the smile turns wolfish.

He flips you over, gently, gently pressing you against the arm of the couch. Your fingertips travel down the planes of his chest to his abdomen and then his jeans, which you undo quickly and give an almighty yank at the collective band of his jeans and underwear, making his boxers snag around one ankle. "You got protection?" you ask, and he flips his jeans over to bring out his wallet, and takes out a condom from inside, waving it in the air.

"Always prepared," he says with a silly smile, which makes you laugh.

"Didn't expect you to be a boy scout," you say.

He rolls the condom down his length, then winks at you. "I am full of surprises."

He leans over you, aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance, and then pushes inside you.

The movement is so sudden that you arch up against the couch with a gasp, the line of your body pressing against his. He kisses your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below your ear, and bucks his hips into yours. Your hand snakes up his sides and slides into his hair, pressing his face to the crook of your neck, and you push your hips against his needily, gasping when he hits your sweet spot. “Vernon,” you whisper throatily into his ear, clutching at his shoulders, and he groans weakly against your neck.

His breath is coming in pants too, getting harsher by the second. His thrusts start becoming sloppy, and he uses his free hand to rub circles into your clit, elevating your pleasure. "Holy fuck, babe, you're so tight,” he mumbles in awe, pressing unrelenting openmouthed kisses to your jaw, where his breath tickles your nape and makes something in your abdomen tingle like ice and lightning.

He rolls his hips against yours, and you arch up to meet every single one of his thrusts until they start getting messy and untimed, harsher and more desperate. You reach your high first, a starburst of fire burning into your eyelids when you close your eyes, and he comes not much later, finishing with a cry of your name. He collapses on top of you, pressing his lips to your throat, right above your pulse.

“I know you’re, like, naked and everything right now,” he murmurs, “but, god, you look so beautiful like this.”

You laugh, dazed, and press your nose into the crown of his head. He wraps his arms around you and folds you into him. The two of you lie in that position for a few moments, chests heaving, catching your breaths as the euphoria subsides into something sober yet sweet.

“So,” he says, as you absently draw circles into the taut skin of his shoulder, his nose knocking against the side of your neck.

“So,” you say.

“We should probably talk.”

You tilt your head back, letting it hit the arm of the couch. He brushes his fingertips deliberately along the v of your abdomen, and you lift yourself up with difficulty, and nod. “Probably,” you mutter, reluctant.

“But first—” He props himself up by the elbows and looks back up at you, smiling bright as the sun.

You cock an eyebrow.

“Go again?” he asks.

[wandaromanova]

Can u do a fic where fem!reader and Nat are broken up and they’re pretty hostile with each other but when one of them gets hurt on a mission they realize they’re still in love and get back together thank u if u write this :)))))))

I Love You

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, violence, that’s it i believe

A/N: hi! i hit 300 followers! i posted my very first story 3 weeks ago and only had like 10 followers then. i can’t even begin to express how grateful i am that i’ve been able to bring people joy (or pain lol) with my stories. thank you. not proofread. <3

Summary: Ex-lovers Natasha and Y/N dance around their feelings for each other. They decide that hostility was the best course of action.

Word Count: 2.5K

(gif is not mine)

You and Natasha dated for a year and a half before you guys decided to call it quits. It was a mutual agreement, but there was still some sort of bad blood between the both of you that was painfully obvious. The tension could be cut with a knife.

You guys were going great at first. You both understood each other on a level that no one else could. You would do typical couple things in order to compensate for the lack of stability and domesticity you’ve both had in your lives. Movie nights, designated date nights, cuddle sessions in the late hours of the night, and literally every other cliche there was in the book.

However, you and Natasha were both raised in similar environments. From young ages, you guys were trained to conceal your true emotions and that love was for children. So, communicating with one another was something that the both of you didn’t know how to do.

You didn’t try to communicate and neither did she; and there lied the problem. Natasha would absolutely freak on you if you so much as looked at another person. You would get upset if Natasha went on a mission without informing you first. There were so many pointless arguments that occurred between you and Natasha. Arguments that could’ve been avoided or solved if you guys were able to just talk to each other.

You would say that you guys did talk… just in a higher volume than normal conversation. The yelling between you both could be heard throughout the compound. Most times, you would get so fed up and tired from the arguing, that you didn’t even know why you guys were fighting anymore. It wasn’t healthy and you knew it.

You and Natasha never once told each other the big three words. That was a line neither of you dared to cross. Like the Red Room and The Academy taught you both, love was a weakness and was nothing more than a concept believed by children. You’d like to think that actions spoke louder than words, though.

You could feel the love between you both in the way you would hold onto one another after a mission had gone wrong. You could feel it in the way Natasha worried and panicked when you’d come back from a mission with so much as a scratch above your eyebrow. However, you still could not bring yourself to tell her how you felt. Not that it would matter now, considering you guys had broken up.

It’s been five months since the breakup, and at first your plan of action was to be civil with your ex-girlfriend, but she had other plans. Natasha would bark out snarky remarks whenever you would speak up during team meetings. She began to give you cold glares whenever you walked into a room. God forbid you would even breathe in her direction, she would storm out of a room at the speed of light if you did so.

So, you began to act the same way she was. Okay, yes, it was extremely childish thinking. You should be mature, regardless of how Natasha was treating you, but you couldn’t be civil anymore. So you would treat her just as harshly as she did you. You’d send her sharper glares than she would give you. You’d never listen to anything she had to add during mission meetings, being sure to make it obvious you weren’t paying attention. And you would always counter her hostile comments that were directed towards you.

The team was currently sat in a meeting. You and Natasha were meant to be sent on a mission together, to which you both immediately objected.

“Steve, do I really have to go with that over there? I’d rather go myself and risk dying than go with her.” Natasha pointed in your direction and you were immediately offended by her statement.

“No, I would rather go and die than have to hear one more word out of your god damn mouth. You’re such a bitch.” You spoke as you stood up from your seat, Natasha following suit. Natasha walked across the room and stopped in front of you. She harshly shoved a finger against your chest.

“What the fuck did you just call me? You better take it back before I make sure you never talk again.” Natasha glared at you intensely as she stared into your eyes. You returned her stare with a bored expression on your face.

“I said you’re a bitch. What are you going to do about it, Widow?” You asked her challengingly. Natasha moved to pounce on you, but Bucky, who was sitting next to your spot, sprung in and intervened.

“Let her go Barnes. I’d love to kick her ass.” You smirked as your words only enraged Natasha more. She struggled against Bucky’s grip, trying to free herself so she could pound your face into the floor, but she couldn’t break free.

“Okay! Enough. Natasha, you’re off the mission. Y/N, you’re with me. We leave in 10.” Steve spoke with conviction in his voice, fed up with the pair of you. Natasha stopped resisting Bucky’s hold as he slowly let her go. You looked at her with one harsh glare before you took the mission file that was on the table and walked out of the room. As you left, everyone in the room stared at Natasha. She huffed and stormed out of the room as well.

•❅────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────❅•

You and Steve were currently staked out in a van. You guys were spying on one of the leaders of Hydra and an infamous weapons dealer. The man was currently having a lunch with the dealer. You had been sitting there together for about an hour. You were bored out of your mind and pissed that you couldn’t get Natasha out of your mind. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for thinking about how hot she looked when she pissed. The way her eyes would widen, showing off more of her green irises as her eyebrows furrowed together in anger. The way her chest rose and fell as she took deep breaths. God, she had such nice boobs.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Fury’s voice coming in through comms. “Okay, we evacuated civilians off of the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Remember, wait until they’re in front of the alley before you attack. They may have weapons.” Fury informed you both and you looked onto the monitor to confirm the empty street. Sure enough, there wasn’t a civilian in sight; good.

Steve replied with a quick “okay” before movement from the door of the restaurant caught your attention. “Steve, there they are. Move out, now.” You spoke as you loaded your gun and attached it to your hip. You and Steve jumped out of the van. Steve threw his shield and hit both of the men with it. His shield came back to him as if ricocheted off of the men.

Your gun was pointed at the both of them as you guys approached them. “Meeting in broad daylight? Doesn’t seem like a smart move for two supposedly genius people.” You spoke as Steve searched the two men for any weapons. They didn’t have any. That should’ve been a red flag, but you weren’t in the right state of mind right now.

Suddenly, another van pulled up in front of the alleyway, right behind the vehicle you both had just exited. Hydra Agents with semi-automatic guns filed out of the van. Fuck. You guys were set up. Steve shared a look with you before he threw his shield toward the men and knocked the guns out of a few of the agent’s hands.

You began to fire towards the men with your own gun. You shot them in the shoulders, sending them flying to the ground in pain. You and Steve made quick work of the men and soon enough, there were unconscious men littered across the floor.

You and Steve turned back to the two men you had previously captured as they laid on the floor in shock. They really thought their little stunt would work? Pathetic. Unfortunately, one of the Hydra agents was still conscious. You and Steve failed to notice the movement behind your backs. The man pointed a nearby gun at you and fired 5 shots at you. He missed three of them, but managed to land two into your abdomen.

You fell to the ground as Steve whipped around and actually knocked the man unconscious this time. “Fury, we need backup! L/N is down!” He spoke frantically into comms as he applied pressure to your wounds. Your eyes were open in shock as you tried to process what just happened. You were shot. It really did hurt like a bitch. What are those black spots? God, I want Natasha right now. Wait, what? No, it’s just the blood loss talking.

You fell unconscious as soon as the backup S.H.I.E.L.D agents appeared on the scene. You were rushed back to the Avengers Compound in one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s vehicles, Steve following you after ensuring the two men were detained. As soon as the car made it to the compound, your unconscious body was placed onto a gurney and you were being rushed to the medical wing.

As your body was being rolled through the halls of the compound, you were pushed by the doctors past Natasha. She did a double take and quickly turned around to confirm what she had just saw. Her heart sunk to her stomach at the sight of your limp, blood-covered body. She ran after you without a second thought, fear and dread taking over.

Natasha tried to enter the medical wing where they had just taken you, but she was stopped by a strong hand abruptly placing itself onto her shoulder. “Nat, we need to let them take care of her. We’d only be disturbing them and we need their focus to 100% be on Y/N.” Steve said in an attempt to convince the redhead to stop her plan of barging into the room like a madwoman. Natasha took one last glance at the door before she heavily sighed and walked to the wall across the door. She slid her back slowly against the wall and placed her head in her hands.

“What happened, Rogers?” Natasha asked, afraid of hearing the answer. Steve went over the events of the mission, and all Natasha could think was that she should’ve been there with you. She would’ve jumped in front of that bullet to save you in a heartbeat because she loved you. Wait. She loved you? Holy fuck! She loved you!

Natasha’s heart rate increased rapidly at her self revelation. She has loved you this entire time. God, she was so fucking blind. How could she not see what was right in front of her? She was madly in love with you. She let the things the Red Room drilled into her affect your relationship. Now, she wasn’t sure if she’d have the opportunity to make it up to you. That thought scared Natasha more than any mission ever could.

•❅────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────❅•

1 hour later

An hour later, and the entire team was sprawled across the hallway of the medical wing. Wanda sat beside Natasha on the floor, comfortingly holding her hand. The rest of the team just stood, anxiously and impatiently waiting to hear about your status.

At the sound of the medical bay door opening, Natasha shot up from her spot on the floor and looked towards Helen Cho. “What’s her status? Is she okay? Did she make it?” Natasha immediately fired off questions at the Doctor. The team stood firmly behind Natasha as they looked at Dr. Cho, their eyes asking her the same questions Natasha did.

“She coded on the table a few times. The bullets hit some major arteries, but we managed to stop the bleeding. If she had arrived even a minute later than she did, she wouldn’t have made it.” The relief of the good news radiated off of earth’s mightiest heroes. Natasha almost let tears escape her eyes, but quickly blinked them back.

“Can I see her?” Natasha asked desperately. “Yes you can, but shes still asleep. The anesthesia was very strong so she’ll be out for a few more hours.” Helen spoke as she opened the door for Natasha. She entered and let out a sigh of relief as she caught sight of your chest rising and falling steadily. Natasha grabbed a nearby chair and placed it right beside your bed. She lightly stroked your hair before she gripped your hand.

•❅────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────❅•

3 hours later

You groaned as you slowly open your eyes and were met with an obnoxiously bright light hovering over you. You heard some shuffling before the light was shut off. You turned your head towards the other person in the room and you rolled your eyes at who it was.

“If you’re here to be an asshole, please leave. I’m not in the mood for it.” You spoke as you watched Natasha sit back down in the chair next to your bed.

“I’m not here for that. I wanted to apologize, Y/N. You were right, I was a bitch. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you, but I was just afraid.” Natasha began to speak as she seemingly appeared nervous. You’ve never seen her nervous before, you’re pretty sure no one ever has.

“I was so terrified because I love you. Everyone I love ends up leaving me, and I couldn’t watch you leave me. So, I thought it was best if I beat you to the punch.” Natasha looked down to her lap and played with her fingers absentmindedly. Your eyes widened as far as they could go at Natasha’s words. She loved you. She actually, verbally said it. That’s a huge fucking deal.

“I know my logic may not make the best sense, but what does make sense is the fact that I love you. I always have and I was just too stupid to tell you. I’m sorry, I love you so much.” Natasha spoke as she tore her gaze from her hands and up to your eyes.

You reached your hand out for hers and she shakily took your hand in hers. You almost let out a gasp at the contact, you missed her touch so much. “I won’t ever leave you, Natasha because I love you too. I’m sorry too. I was just as afraid as you were. We were both stupid.” You let out a little laugh at your last words. Natasha let out a chuckle as a tear fell from her eyes. Oh god, you’ve never seen her cry either.

“You scared me. I thought you weren’t going to make it. When I saw your body being wheeled down here…. all the blood… I-“ Natasha words were cut off as you smashed your lips against hers. You winced as the pain from your gunshot wounds radiated across your body, but you couldn’t care less about that right now. The only thing that mattered in this moment was that the woman you loved, loved you too. You’d never be afraid to express your love for her ever again.

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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