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blessednereid · 3 years

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Love and Monopoly

Milton Greasley x Reader,

Fandom: TVDU/Legacies

Dialogue Prompts: “Try focusing more on your life and less on mine!” and "You make me feel like I'm not good enough."

Fun Take on Angsty Prompts

Warning: Cursing, Drinking, Kissing, Necking, Mentions of food, brief mentions of blood (bunny blood for vamps), Monopoly

A/N: Someone please open my messages and give me a crash course on how to write a makeout scene I can’t do it, OMFH ಥ‿ಥ

Word Count: 2760

You and Milton Greasley had been dating for 5 years.

You met during your shared time together at Salvatore Boarding School. You were a witch who helped MG calm down whenever he went into a ripper mode. You had used spells to lower his bloodlust. You even made the bunny blood that the school had fed vampires taste as close to human blood as you could without triggering a negative response.

After you all graduated, The Super Squad all rented a house in Mystic Falls, and you were all roommates. The house had 5 bedrooms, one for you and MG, one for Lizzie, one for Josie, one for Hope, and one for Kaleb. However, since Josie and Hope began dating, they had moved into the tribrid's room, so now the empty space was more of a game room. There were board games and consoles in the closet, a pool table, and a regular round glass table surrounded by armchairs where you all could sit and play games.

Tonight was your bi-weekly game night, and you all had decided to play monopoly. Though it was a unanimous decision, you knew it could take days to finish. You were all very competitive, and none of you would go down without a fight. This is why, to finish faster, you decided to have a team game of monopoly.

On the day of, everyone had started going shopping for the concessions for the event. Trays of assorted cookies, hors-doeuvres, sandwich platters, as well as multiple different fruit juices were bought and set on a foldable table in the game room.

As you were setting and arranging everything on the table, your wonderful boyfriend came around to help you.

"Don't worry, love, I got it," you chuckled. "I am much capable of setting a party table on my own."

"C'mon, you make me feel like I'm not good enough to do simple things, babe," he laughed with you, though his words triggered something in your brain.

"Oh yeah?" you quipped. "These are some pictures from the last time you set the table for dinner…"

In the photo, the table linen was frowned up, the forks were out of place, some placements didn't even have certain utensils. The plates were pushed to the center, chairs closer to the edge than the food was.

"Oh..." he giggled lifelessly.

"Now you see why you don't use super speed to set up something like that?"

"I mean, I don't think it's the super speed, darling. I was simply being blinded by your beauty that day."

Your laugh thundered in the room. "Go away MG, I'm not letting you win today!"

"Aw dammit! Alright, love, I'll let you get back to your project," he stated before he walked out of the room.

--Meanwhile--

"Jo?"

"Yeah, Hope?"

The Saltzman twin had been brushing her hair in the mirror, getting ready for the game night later.

"You look gorgeous, so stop taking out every strand of your hair with this damn brush," Hope stated before yanking the brush out of the younger girls' hand.

Josie embraced Hope in a warm hug. "Thanks, Hope."

~-~-~

"Alright, everyone. Welcome to 'The Super Squad Bi-Weekly Game Night.' I'm your host, Y/N L/N, and you're watching Disney Channel." All of the friends burst out laughing. "Tough crowd, I see I see. Well, let's move on with the game, shall we?"

"First up introducing, He's the founder, he's the mediator, He is… MILTON GREASLEY!!"

They all clapped and cheered for MG before you moved on.

"Next up, She's the brain, she's the brawn. She is the tribrid, and she's got it going on, Hope Mikaelson!!"

Whoops and cheers echoed throughout the room.

You continued through all of your friends.

"The realistic, the cynic, the man with raps for days… Kaleb Hawkins!!"

"The sweet, the kind, but she can fuck up your mind, Josie Salvatore!!"

"She's sarcastic, totally bombastic, Lizzie Saltzman everybody!!"

"And ME! Could you tell I was trying to sound like those game show hosts everybody? No? Well, I was. Anyways young ones-" You wore a giant grin to emphasize the corniness of what you were saying before continuing.

"Alright, I'm dropping the act. It's too hard, jeez!" They all laughed at your antics. "I hope you guys are laughing with me and not at me."

You explained the rules for the game of teams.

“Here’s the way it goes, each player has the same amount of money they would have in a regular game of monopoly. However, every team only has one token, teams must make agreements on all purchases, trades, and decisions. Teams must take turns rolling the dice, and one team member must always be present at the board.”

“Alright.”

“Sounds easy”

“Let’s play!”

You stared at them dumbfounded. “I memorized and recited all that without stumbling on my words, and all I get is ‘sounds easy’?”

MG stood to comfort you.

“It’s alright, love,” he said, rubbing your shoulders lightly before pulling away. You scoffed.

“Alright then, let’s play. In this hat, I have slips of paper with all of your names, but first, in this bucket are sticks with numbers that will determine the order of selection. Step forward.”

They all stepped forward and grasped the popsicle sticks prior to stepping away from the bucket.

"Who has number 1?"

"Oh, I do!" Lizzie stepped forward and drew a slip of paper from the hat.

"Kaleb"

She and Kaleb sat back down at the table.

"Number 2?"

Hope stepped forward.

"MG"

They also went to go sit down beside Lizzie and Kaleb.

"That leaves me and you, Jo," you stated happily. Jo and yourself had one of the best team duos. In school, you two would be partnered up for projects often. With that experience of communication, you were sure to win.

You joined the rest of your friends at the table. Lizzie and Kaleb named their team, Team Siphon Vamp. Hope and MG had been Team 3 in 2, and you and Josie were the 'Twitches from two different misuses.'

"Alright, before the token selection, I must announce the prize of the game.

"The winners of the game will receive a dish duty pass for the rest of the week." Cheers louder than before erupted in the room.

"Lettuce commence!" The silence in the room was lethally quiet, and you could quite literally hear crickets. "Get it? Because lettuce sounds like let us?"

"It's ok, babe, let's just play," MG said before pulling you down. You grumped before deciding with Josie on the Penguin. Hope and MG had picked the dog, and Lizzie and Kaleb had chosen the dinosaur.

You, acting as the banker, dished out the money to all the players, and you commenced the game.

Lizzie and Kaleb went first. Lizzie rolled the dice, rolled 7, and landed on a chance card, which told her to advance to the nearest railroad, and they bought it. Hope and MG went next.

MG rolled a 5 and landed directly on Team Siphon Vamp's freshly purchased railroad, M100 out of their pocket already.

"Ooooh… MG…. Honey, you're losing money faster than you did when that PS5 came out, babe."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, ok! I'm still gonna kick your ass!"

You were taunting him. "You sure about that, love?"

"Yep!"

"You didn't even try to "kick my ass" last night, darling," you smirked.

Oohs erupted from your friends, and it was evident you knocked his ego down a peg.

At last, it was your team's turn. You and Josie each took one die in your hands and rolled it. You had landed a 6 and a 4, which landed you a visit to jail.

"Look who's losing now! You're literally in jail, babe," Hope teased Josie.

"Oh, whatever. Focus more on your lives-"

"-And less on ours!" your duo quipped.

Lizzie protested to this. "Hey hey hey!! That is my twin! Only I get to finish her sentences!"

You all laughed at this but continued your game.

Almost 15 rounds later, and everyone had a fair standing in the game.

Team Siphon Vamp had had 2 monopolies, on the railroads and on the pink properties.

Hope and MG had 3 already, the dark blue properties, the brown, and utilities. They also had 2 greens cards, the other being in the hands of you and Josie, as well as 1 red card that was being aimed for by you and Josie, who had the other 2 properties.

You guys also had monopolies on the yellow and orange properties. If you got the red card of Kentucky Avenue, you would be unstoppable.

"Baby," you called out.

"Yes, love?"

"I'll give you the other green for the red," you and Josie smiled.

"That's not fair babe, you'll own the corner," he protested.

"But the green is worth more. Please?" you pleaded, giving him puppy dog eyes.

Before he could utter another word, Josie spoke.

"We'll give you M100, and your first landing on any one of our properties will be free of rent."

Hope spoke up. "Sounds good to me!"

"Hell no! You're gonna have to do something way better than that before you fool this genius."

You whined.

"Fine, I'll give you one of my signatures back walks," you leveraged, knowing full well he couldn't resist. "C'mon, baby, I know how much your back has been hurting."

He agreed reluctantly. "Fine, but it better be worth it!"

Team Twitches cheered.

"Wait, what about us! We'll be demolished, you selfish weirdos." This was true. Lizzie and Kaleb were low on cash, they had rushed too fast to place houses, and now they were paying the price.

"Tough luck!" Hope and Josie chorused.

Soon, it had been as you all thought. Kaleb and Lizzie were in debt to Hope and MG. They had landed on Boardwalk Avenue, and it had 3 hotels on it, so they owed them M6000, M6000 they did not have.

Soon, they ended up relinquishing all their properties back to the bank for auction to pay off Hope and MG, gave them the rest of their money, and had to leave the game.

With 2 full monopolies from Lizzie and Kaleb, along with the last green property they needed, they had successfully turned the game around. Now it was Josie and you who were losing.

You all decided at this point to split the teams. Each team dividing both the cash and the monopolies equally, and two more pieces were added to the board, on the same spots as their former teammates, and you resumed.

Josie was soon knocked out due to MG within 5 rounds, and Hope was quick to crumble under your might, two turn-loops after that. They joined Lizzie and Kaleb at the pool table. They were now drinking beers since they no longer needed to be sober.

Soon it was just you and MG left in the game.

MG leaned forward closer to you while you were deciding what to do with your turn.

"You know what you could do, darling?" He whispered provocatively in your ear. "Give in."

You pushed him away. You were not going to lose to MG and his self-righteous ego that night.

"Shut up."

"Give in, baby. I know you want to."

"Shut up, Milton."

"Hey, Hey, Hey!" He yelled. "No need to get hostile!"

You decided you hadn't wanted to place any more houses, well, you couldn't at the moment. You rolled the dice but were in for a bitter-sweet realization.

You had been ready to pay an M100 luxury tax fee before you realized you landed on Boardwalk, one of the monopolies Hope had let MG keep in the split. MG had only since put 2 more hotels on it, and the price was now M10,000

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!"

Soon, your friends rushed over to where you two sat and began cackling, all except Josie, who was still hoping her former teammate would avenge her.

"Babe.."

You began selling your hotels and houses back to the bank, but it still wasn't enough. You sold your properties and gave the rest of your money to MG, but you still owed a few hundred Monopoly dollars.

"Fuck!"

He kissed your cheek, much to your dismay, and happily accepted his victory.

~-~-~

It had been almost 2 weeks, and you were still giving MG the silent treatment. He had been gloating about his win for the entire night, and you were livid.

You knew he didn't deserve it, but you didn't think you deserved to lose either.

You were staring at the ceiling. You had just woken up, and MG wasn't beside you.

You had hated those moments. No matter how mad you were at MG, you hated when you woke up, and he wasn't beside you.

After all, you guys had been through so much, and you were always worried that he would die abruptly and leave you. Even after the threat was over, you still felt this way.

After a few minutes, MG had come into the room, Kaleb at his side. Kaleb looked bored, and his face said all you needed to know... he didn't want to be there.

He was carrying a pot of pink hydrangeas in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. He placed both on the nightstand beside you, disappearing for a short while, before coming back with a giant fruit bouquet in his hands. He set it on the nightstand as well before exiting the room and closing the door.

MG had carried a platter of all your favorite foods. Eggs, just the way you liked them, pancakes, hash browns, and your favorite flavor of yogurt. He had also gone ahead and made a smoothie bowl with your favorite fruits. Berries and banana chips littered the surface of it.

He placed the platter on the portable desk you had in your room for breakfast and bed and set it down, just above your lap. He then went to the mini-fridge in your room and got all the ingredients he needed to make your coffee just the way you liked it as well as a glass to pour it in.

"I'm sorry for bragging," he apologized. "I know how much you like to win, and it was very insensitive of me." He looked like he wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the reason he was apologizing for was. You turned your eyes away from him and the delicious breakfast he made.

"But baby, I miss you."

He walked over to you. "Please talk to me!"

He started trailing kisses on your forehead, down to your neck, resisting the urge to sink his teeth inside, something you had taught him. He knew exactly how to make you forgive him, and he was using every technique he had learned over the years.

"Please?" He whined, and you could see his pouty eyes without looking.

He sucked on your collarbone for a while and left a dark mark. Then he moved to the sensitive spot under your ear.

You moaned slightly, but he could hear it, even without his vampire hearing.

He pulled away, causing you to frown and whine.

"MG…" you complained. "That's not fair."

"So you're talking to me now?"

You looked away, you had slipped up, but you told yourself that would be the last time.

You simply ignored him and started to eat your breakfast.

He walked back towards you and began nibbling on your ear. You threw your head back in pleasure.

"Look at me, darling."

He reached his nimble fingers out to your face and trapped your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"I said I'm sorry, and I really, really miss my girlfriend. I made you a nice breakfast, and I've let you pick the movie every night since monopoly. What more do you want?"

You moved the tray of food to the side of you and stared at him indignantly.

"I wanted my boyfriend to not be an egotistical asshole. I thought I was dating MG the vampire, not Jed the werewolf."

"I'm sorry... What can I do to make it up to you, love?"

"Let me out of that back walk favor?"

He scrunched up his face in horror. "That was part of our deal."

"Technically, you're not even supposed to be able to make outside game deals in monopoly, so you could let me out if you wanted to."

"Fine."

"Yay! Those hurt. They're so energy draining."

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes, you can," you smiled.

#milton greasley #legacies #the vampire diaries #the originals #mg x reader #milton greasley x you #mg angst #mg fluff #mg smut #the vampire diaries imagines #the originals imagine

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homebody-nobody · 4 years

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you wanna play with fire (stick and poke tattoo)

Jax did you actually write a whole nother fic?? Why yes, dear reader, I did. This is porn, blame @hvitstark and @aarchiess and the rest of the jiara gc for filling up the Sin Bin with inspiration every day. PLEASE interact with this post I work really hard on these fics and seeing them get like ~30 notes and then dying drains my soul. ------------------------ ao3 -------------------------

‘Come home on time or don’t bother coming home at all!’

Her mother’s words echo in her ears as Kiara stomps away from the house in the late-summer heat. Tears well and sting in her eyes and she wipes them away, refusing to let them fall. She doesn’t understand why her parents don’t get it. Her dad grew up in the Cut. Her mom fell in love there, had Kie there, got married there. She belongs there, so much more than on Figure Eight or anywhere else in kooklandia. There’s an honesty to the Cut that evaporates the closer you get to the country clubs and McMansions on the other side of the island. Her heart feels open there, loved and loving. What happened, to make her parents forget all that? Is money really that important, that corrupting and all-consuming, that they would forget what loyalty feels like? What family is?

JJ’s sitting on the porch when she gets to the Chateau, a paperback folded in half in his left hand and a soda dangling from his right. He stands up when he sees her. “Hey,” he says. He’s wearing one of his absurd cutoffs, cargo shorts slung low and no shoes. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear and his hair is a ruffled mess, like he’s had his hands in it, thinking too hard. He looks like some ridiculous parody of a vagabond, every bad boy the after-school specials always warned her about.

Taking a deep breath, she nods to the book in his hand. “I didn’t know you could read,” she says. It’s easier to make fun then show the way her heart opens and bleeds at the sight of him.

He smiles, lopsided and quiet. “Good to see you, too.”

She mounts the stairs to the porch without asking, even though with every step she takes closer to him, she’s less sure of how to act. They haven’t talked since the night John B died, since the last time she was here. They had sex, the night the Phantom went down. It was fast and messy and a little awkward, because she was still Kie and he was still JJ, and fucking your best friend for the first time is never easy, now matter how long you’ve been waiting to do it.

It’s barely been a week, but it feels like longer, and since she got home that next morning, her parents have been tiptoeing around her, waiting for something to break. It was the simplest thing, really, Kie wondering aloud about JJ, about how he was doing and how she might help him pay off his restitution. (Now that Plan A has spiraled down to Plan L and that failed, besides.) It was her mother and her thinly-veiled scoff, the way it tugged at Kie like calloused skin on fresh sheets. It was Kie mentioning dipping into her college fund to help him, and her parents promptly flying off the handle.

And then, the threat of boarding school, of taking her away from everything she knows and everything she loves, shutting her up in the mountains like some hysterical family member in a victorian asylum, sending her to some institution claiming to be a high school but is basically a finishing school prepping spoiled debutantes for husband-hunting at the ivies. She won’t be one of those girls.

JJ greets her with the usual handshake, and when he goes to sit back down, she grabs at his fingers before she loses the courage, because she doesn’t want to think about any of it anymore, not John B or Sarah, not boarding school, not the tenuous future her parents are planning for her and how little she wants it. He stops, frozen, and every one of her senses is trained on the minimal brush of skin, the tension in his back. She wants her hands on him, her nails dragging down his arms, the taste of his sweat and the burn of his gaze. She wants to be lost in him, because touching JJ switches everything else off. He’s like a magnet for her attention, everything blurring until it’s just his mouth and his hands and his --

“Kie,” he says, a warning in his usually jovial voice. His gaze is locked on her hand, her slender fingers tangled in his, gentle things, held between strength and violence. “You said --”

“I know --” she says, pausing for half a second, surprised by her tone and the immediacy of her response. How quickly she wants to forget the lies she told herself about being able to stay away from him, after knowing what his tongue feels like on her clit and the way he fits perfectly inside her, like they were meant to come together. “What I said.” She’s looking at their linked hands as well, but she’s imagining his between her legs, wants to pull him forward and put it there, just to stop feeling so fucking human, because he makes her feel celestial, instead.

“So?” he asks, licking his lips, his breath picking up like he can read her mind, see her the way she wants to be, naked and underneath him.

“So maybe,” she says, her heartbeat rising in her own throat, taking half a step toward him, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes betray him, flicking up to her face and following the motion. She looks up at him, and the second her brown eyes land on his, he’s done resisting, done even considering it. He melts, when she looks at him like that, so grateful for it, after waiting so many years convinced it wouldn’t ever happen. “I changed my mind.”

The air hangs heavy and charged as JJ’s rational side, weak to begin with and driven deep with years of half-thought-out decisions and anticipated-yet-ignored consequences, scrambles to pull him out of her orbit, to get him to let go and stop her from burning up in the periphery of his constant firestorm. But her eyes are on his, and she’s touching him, and she’s asking, and the moon could fall without him noticing, right now.

She pulls, and he follows, and they’re crashing into each other, a kiss that starves before it is even born. Paint flakes and dust fill the air when she slams back against the side of the house, her arms looped around JJ’s neck, one of his tight around her waist, the other braced on the siding, fist clenched, forearm taught. The second he touches her, the world stops spinning, or maybe just they do, because she’s dizzy and soaring under his mouth, chest to chest and sharing breath between teeth and lips and tongues. Victory rises in her chest, pride and anticipation simmering just below the beautiful, vacant hunger that comes from JJ kissing her like this, and it’s that pride that bruises, just a little, when he pulls away.

“You can’t just jump me when you’re upset,” he says, but it’s into her neck, practically a growl as his hand flexes against the small of her back, gathering up her shirt, his fingernails just grazing her skin.

“Can’t I?” she answers, canting her hips up a fraction, pushing against him, demanding his return to ravishing her indecently.

“Fuck, Kie --” he says, and he’s nipping at her neck in bursts, like he knows they should be talking about this, but he can’t help but touch her, overwhelmed with the need to taste her skin and leave her wanting.

“Fine,” she says, sliding her forearm against his shoulder until her hand buries itself in his hair, pulling him back up and kissing him fiercely. “We’ll talk about it,” she sighs, before diving back in for another hard, demanding kiss. And then, “After.”

“Yeah, okay,” JJ relents, pushing off the side of the house and dragging her toward the front door. It’s not a choice but a capitulation, a giving in to the unstoppable force that is Kiara tugging at his soul. Because he’d do anything for her, anything to her that she asks, no matter what he tells himself. He slides his teeth over her bottom lip and pulls away, panting. “After.” They slam through the screen door, stumbling over a broken ankle tether and the trash JJ had been meaning to take out, not even bothering with the farce of trying to make it to the bedroom. Her calves slam into the pullout and she topples backwards, taking her with him.

Kissing JJ is a little like waiting out a hurricane and finally hitting the eye. Thrilling and terrifying, surrounded by power and strength, destruction and damage, but finding peace and respite, and a promise, a hint of the sun. Once he has her underneath him, he slows down, settling his weight between her legs, keeping himself propped on his elbows while he kisses her, solid and hard in his intent. It’s torture, him dancing above her, licking into her mouth only to back off and press kisses across her face, her jaw, and down her neck, sucking damning, claiming marks before scraping his teeth over her ear with the slightest pressure, teasing her, pulling obscene noises from her throat and driving her insane. She pushes her hips up again, and he responds with a deep, heavy roll of his, and she can feel his cock, hot and already half-hard, through the layers of fabric between them.

She wants to feel it, in her hand, her mouth, pressing torturously, deliciously inside her, and he’s still fully clothed and taking way too much damn time. Surging up against him, she flips the two of them over, dangerously close to the edge, and straddles his hips, dragging her hands down his chest. Tossing her hair out of her face and pulling it all to one side, she risks glancing down at him, afraid of the vulnerable drop of her stomach every time she meets his eyes. JJ’s an eclipse in totality, pupils blown wide, shining underneath her, beaming in her shadow. His lips are slightly parted, red and wet, hair disheveled, hands coming down to slide up her thighs, and the image is so hot, so perfect, her chest aches as her cunt throbs for him, a dangerous, terrifying combination. She takes off her shirt.

The sigh he lets out is entirely involuntary, reveling in the warmth and the weight of her, in awe of the smooth plains of exposed skin and the soft curves of her body. She leans down to kiss it out of his mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, the other sliding around the back of her arm as she holds face. It’s too gentle, too kind and slow, so she sinks her teeth into his lower lip until he groans and tightens her fist in his hair, pulling her with him as she straightens. His hands frame her hips as she grinds down on him, and he ducks his head to lay kisses across her collarbones, his hands sliding up her sides, electric on her bare skin. Letting her head fall back, she takes in the feeling of his lips on her chest, his thumbs tucking under the band of her bra. One stays to brush back and forth over the side of her breast while the other reaches around and pinches apart the clasp in an expert move. Her stomach drops at the thought of JJ doing this with other girls.

Taking her hands from his hair to cup his jaw, she redirects his attention back to her lips as her bra slides down her arms and her nipples pebble in the cool air. She holds on just a little too long, presses into him closed-mouth and soft, and he melts under her touch, his hands framing her ribs, her hair falling around them in a peach-scented curtain. When he initiates moments like this, she runs from them, too scared of what she might feel if she falls in like she’s falling now, heart pounding, her thumbs skating over his cheekbones. He leans up into her touch, one of his arms dropping to her waist and pulling her in closer to him, holding her tight. She pulls away from the kiss, keeping her forehead pressed to his.

“Kie,” he sighs. Her breath hitches at the sound of her name from his mouth, like it almost always does, except he’s never close enough to notice. The silence that follows holds too much for the small space it occupies, and while she has no idea what he’s scared of saying, it almost falls from his lips anyway. Before he can make too much of an idiot out of himself, she pulls her arms back out of the straps of her bra, reaching between them to toss it to the side. As she does, she keeps his eyes on his, the smallest pockets of relief opening as his gaze drops to her tits, and then the heat in her stomach picking up again as he licks his lips. He ducks his head again, taking one of her nipples into his mouth like a sacrament, like she’s holy, closing his eyes and moaning, deep and satisfied at the taste of her skin. It goes straight to her cunt, and she feels wetness gathering there, even more than before.

This, they’ve already done. There’s still fading bruises across her chest from the first night they spent together, when he ate her out til she screamed and then fucked her senseless, and while that seems to be the course of action he’s aiming for here, she has other ideas. She slides her hands back into JJ’s hair -- God, she could spend hours playing with JJ’s hair -- and tightens her grip, her blunt nails scraping gently over his scalp. In return, he teases his teeth over her nipple, and when she arches and gasps at the motion, tries to flip himself back on top.

But Kiara has a goal, and she tightens her thighs around his hips, flattening her hands on his chest and pushing back, shaking her head playfully. He raises his eyebrows and flashes her half a smile, as if to say ‘oh, really?’, but settles his hands on her hips and lets her take charge. Her first order of business is getting him just as naked as she is; he holds up his arms obediently as she tugs his shirt off of him, and this is different now, than when it started. They’re taking their time with each other, grateful to drop the guise of desperation and explore every secret spot and inch of forbidden skin. It should scare the shit out of her, and it sort of does, but it’s also… kinda fun. JJ makes this shy vulnerability so easy to sink into, knowing that any teasing has no real heat behind it, that he’ll be gentle and kind and listen to what she wants and what she likes. Yes, the bar is on the floor, but this boy is her best friend for a reason, this loving, crazy dumbass, that would set himself on fire to keep her warm. And that trust, those years of rapport and familiarity, make moments like these so much more comfortable, easier with a net underneath the thrill of flying high, trading touch for pleasure and knowing that he’ll be there to catch her on the comedown.

She leans down and kisses him, soft at first and then deeper, licking into his mouth and rolling her hips down onto him, stretching her arms above his head and dragging her tits up his bare torso, smiling against his lips at the sound he makes. Ducking her head against his neck, she leaves her own trail of marks and then shifts her weight off of him to the side so she can reach down and pop the fly of his shorts open with one hand. He hisses in a sharp inhale when she reaches her hand between the layers of clothing and palms him over his underwear, giving him a second of satisfying contact before backing off, teasing him with her fingertips. He rolls onto his side, angling himself over her, kissing her hungrily.

“Fucking hell, Kie,” he says, tucking his face into the side of her neck. “You got no fucking right to feel that good.” He’s warm and solid against her chest, hot and hard under her fingers, and something opens in her chest as he kisses her again, slow and sensual but not rushing, not pushing for things to go further or asking for anything she’s not willing to give. She pushes his underwear down as best she can, and he shudders as bare skin meets. The feeling of his cock in her hand sets her skin alight as he muffles moans in her neck, and she twists her hand over the head of it, spreading the wetness she finds there over the shaft.

JJ surrenders to her, relaxing against her side as she works her hand over him, leaning into her, muttering half-formed praise into her skin like a prayer. She bites down a smile at the words, trying to hide how much she enjoys having him so vulnerable under her touch, how hot she gets listening to him react, feeling the soft skin over hard muscle. Kissing him firmly, she pushes him onto his back, leaning over him as she strokes his cock, one of his arms coming up to hold her, the other hand pushing into her hair. She hadn’t had time to do this the first night they were together, too focused on her own desperate need to get lost in him, so she takes her time working her way down his bare torso, sinking her teeth into his chest, leaving red and purple marks in her wake.

He stutters on an inhale when he realizes what she’s doing, and when she curls her hands in the waistband of both shorts and boxers, concern fills his dear, blue eyes. “You don’t have to --” he breathes, caught between concern for her and the deep, furious want pulsing in his blood. “Just because I --”

Kiara licks her lips, and JJ watches the movement, powerless not to. “I want to,” she says, realizing the truth of it as she says it, and the resulting look on JJ’s face puts butterflies in her stomach. (Which, like, she really doesn’t have time to think about right now.) So, in answer, she pulls his pants and underwear down and off, tossing them to the side and settling herself between his legs. It’s a little intimidating, JJ spread out naked before her, his cock eagerly awaiting her attention. She knew it was big, of course. After last time, the rumors had been confirmed true; JJ Maybank was excellently skilled with both hands and mouth, in addition to being ridiculously well-hung. It isn’t fair, really. But it’s one thing when he’s fucking her, and another when she’s face to face with it.

He senses her hesitation and reaches down, brushing his fingers over her face in gentle reverence, and the touch shocks something inside her she’s not ready to confront. Instinctively, she pulls away, and, when concern colors his storm-sky eyes, she smiles, and ties up her hair. JJ’s breath catches in his chest as the sight, and it bolsters her confidence. She leans forward to kiss him one more time, twisting her hand over the head of his cock, solid and determined, and before he can recover, she ducks her head and takes him into her mouth.

He grasps at the sheets as she swirls her tongue curiously around the tip, letting spit and precum drip down the shaft, spreading it towards the base with her hand. “Fuck, yes,” he sighs, his eyes falling closed, his head dropping to the pillow. It’s satisfying, and triumphant, and hot, to see him so at her mercy, helpless and prone in the oldest kind of worship. After a while of torturous teasing, she takes as much of him as she can into her mouth, pressing her thumb into her palm to push down her gag reflex -- a trick Sarah told her about that she’s never needed til him. He keens, and the noise has her pushing her hips against the mattress, rocking into the seam of her shorts. Bobbing her head, experimenting with pace and angle, she flicks her tongue smartly against the underside of the tip of his cock, and the moan that follows that move is very interesting indeed. She tries it a few more times until he’s gasping out a warning, and she draws back until her lips just wrap around the head, swallowing neatly as he chokes out her name.

She comes up smiling, and he half sits up, reaching for her, sated and grasping. He kisses her soundly, pulling her back down next to him, one hand in her hair, one arm around her waist, his favorite way to hold her, it seems. Settling her on her back, his tongue meets hers and he groans at the taste of himself. “You,” he says, pulling back to press kisses down her neck. She can’t keep in the happy, smug giggle that works its way out of her chest. “Are so fucking hot.”

“Not too bad yourself,” she laughs as he tucks his face between her tits, the last word followed by a sharp gasp as he wraps his lips around a nipple, like he can’t help but have his mouth on her, can’t help but taste her skin and send her heart racing.

“I knew you were looking,” he says, propping his chin on her sternum and looking up at her with a shit-eating grin, mischief and post-orgasm glow sparkling in his stupid, stupid blue eyes. He’s been paying attention to her, thinking about this. The thought flips something over in her chest, and she shoves his head playfully.

“Shut up,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. She picks her hips up, trying to keep him focused on the event at hand. Yeah, JJ’s easily distracted, but she’s half-naked in front of him, She kinda hoped that would avoid unnecessary conversation. “And get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, half-kidding -- but his eyes darken just a shade too far to be all tease. (Which, she thinks to herself, is certainly something to be investigated.) He devotes his full attention back to her chest, licking and sucking and biting at her nipples, loving the soft, small noises she makes under his touch. Her tits aren’t usually so sensitive, but JJ knows what the fuck he’s doing, and it’s unfair how much he’s able to work her up with her pants still on. Blowing him was already incredibly hot, and, when his hand finally slides into her underwear, he curses at the wetness he finds between her legs. “Holy hell, Kie,” he sighs.

“Maybe a little more hell,” she says, gripping his arm as his finger drags slowly up her slit, “and a little less holy?” She bites her lip as he teases her, dipping in and out of her folds, tracing his fingers over the lips of her cunt, because he wants her to keep making those godforsaken sounds. Because he can.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a smart mouth?” he asks, raising his head to suck a mark directly under her ear, smiling against her skin at the resulting gasp.

“Maybe, ah --” she cries, when his careful fingers find her clit and his calloused fingertips explore the sensitive area, “once or twice.”

This is… way more talking than last time. Last time was desperate and grief-stricken and needy, a request for heedless escape in the wake of the unthinkable. Now -- it’s still a distraction, but there were other courses of action available when she showed up at the Chateau as the sun started to sit low in the afternoon sky. She didn’t have to jump him. He didn’t have to let her. JJ kisses her, deep and filthy, putting himself back in charge, angling his body over hers as she presses back into the thin mattress, arcing into his touch, one hand braced on his (very nice) bicep, the other tangled in his messy, golden hair.

He focuses on her clit, spreading the wetness up from her entrance and toying with different pressure and motions, paying attention to what she likes, and she directs him with the sounds she makes, every small moan a ‘yes, please, more of that.’ He’s the most responsive partner she’s ever had, focused on her and her only, his main purpose to make her feel good, not work her up just to fuck or speed past foreplay to move to something more. It makes it better, and when he finally slides a finger into her, he gasps, too, because it’s a privilege for him to feel her, hot and wet and waiting.

“Oh, god,” she whines, as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of her, his thumb on her clit.

“God’s a little formal,” he says, lifting his head to look at her, his expression teasing even as kindness and something else big and unwanted settles in his eyes. “You can stick with JJ.” She tries to smack his arm for that, but ends up sinking her nails into his skin as he slides another finger inside of her a little too easily. He goes slowly, curling his fingers up into her g-spot with every stroke, kissing her lazily and alternating to her neck when she can’t help but gasp at his touch.

It’s torture, the way he takes his time, and after a while she’s begging. “Fuck me, JJ,” she pleads. “God, fuck me, please,” and his spent cock twitches against her leg because fuck if that isn’t something he’s been waiting to hear. His hand speeds up as he decides his next move. When he takes his hands out of her pants she lets out a sound she’d rather he didn’t remember, but based on the way that he smiles against her skin, he won’t be doing that any time soon. He doesn’t even have time to pause at her waistband as he kisses down her body, because she’s very enthusiastically supporting what’s about to happen next, shoving both shorts and underwear down.

He chuckles and tugs them off, tossing them somewhere that’s future Kie’s problem, and heat rises in him again as she spreads her legs for him. Settling on his stomach, he hooks his arms under her thighs, miles of bare skin pressing together with a quiet whisper of faith. She runs her fingers through his hair as he kisses up her legs, taking his time, reveling in the sight and the smell of her. Foolish smiles meet in shy glances and chuckles that are half breath and half disbelief. JJ radiates warmth from his bare skin, broad and powerful below her, and she hooks a leg over his shoulder, sliding her foot up his back and biting her lip as he raises his eyebrows in response, drawing closer to her hot, aching center.

He starts lightly, dragging the tip of his tongue up her slit, just to taste the wetness there, to make her squirm and curse and ask for more. It’s hard to resist the way she begs for him, and he sets in with a purpose, flicking his tongue over her clit and fitting two fingers inside of her, mouth and hands working with a skilled harmony. She clutches at his hair, not afraid to drag her fingernails over his scalp, vocal and unapologetic in how much she’s enjoying this, how much she wants him. When he finds a combination of hooking his fingers against her g-spot and brushing the tip of his tongue over her clit, her legs clamp around his head as she begins to climb, a deep pull starting low in her stomach.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, “fucking hell, JJ -- God, just like that, don’t fucking stop. Please don’t fucking stop.” He doesn’t, and the sound that comes out of her as she crashes over the edge is loud and guttural and possibly the hottest thing that’s ever fucking happened to him. She cums against his mouth furiously, her stomach flexing and her legs shaking, and he’s a little proud of himself, honestly, as he brings her down gently, sliding his fingers out of her, soothing her with long strokes of his tongue. When her breathing finally slows, he presses kisses over her thighs and then her stomach as he rises back up to meet her.

She kisses him, awestruck and grateful, not minding her own taste as she pulls him down against her, wanting as much bare skin to be touching as possible. She tucks his hair behind his ears and strokes her thumb over his jaw before he falls on his side next to her, staring, tracing his hand up her side in veneration and wonder. It’s hard, the weight of his gaze, so she closes her eyes, drops her forehead against his. “Literally how,” she sighs, and laughs, one arm tucked under his neck and hooked around his shoulders, the other draped over his trim waist.

“It’s not hard,” he promises (falsely), cheshire grin in full force. “Just paying attention.” He kisses her before she has a chance to respond, mostly gentle but with a sense he’s holding back a little, inviting her to take the next step forward. She deliberates for a moment as she sucks on his lower lip, scraping her teeth gently, cataloguing every noise he makes and what move precedes it, learning him. She could go home, now. She’s been sufficiently distracted. She feels a little better, like maybe she can talk to her parents without screaming her head off or bursting into tears. But the pull of the boy next to her is strong and tempting, miles of tan skin with rippling muscle shifting underneath.

The secret is, she always wants to touch JJ. Something about him is magnetic, like a gravitational field she can’t resist. Whenever they’re in the van or on the Pogue or even just chilling on the couch, she finds herself shifting closer. She’s always stepping just behind his shoulder, would prop her chin there -- if she didn’t know that he would freeze up and question the physical contact. Sometimes, she feels jealousy ache in her stomach at his casual physicality with Pope and John B, always slinging his arm around their shoulders or play-fighting or latching onto them, just to be annoying. He’s still physical with her -- she doesn’t think he knows how not to be -- but it’s different, restrained, and sometimes she sees him half-move, reaching out instinctually, only to second guess himself and let his hands fall.

She shifts into him, pressing herself as close as she can, appreciating the gasp he lets out at the press of her bare chest against his, her leg sliding against his dick, already half-hard again. They kiss for a while, and it would be lazy and slow, if they could let themselves relax; but JJ’s still biting something down, and Kie starts to get frustrated trying to draw it out. Finally, tired of waiting, she licks into his mouth with a sudden push, and he’s not surprised, but annoyingly expectant, glad his baiting has finally worked. There’s a moment of tension and pushing as they silently argue who’s going to be on top, and Kie wins when she reaches down and wraps her hand around his cock.

He falls back, and she climbs on top of him, biting down a wide grin of her own. She sits back on her heels, sticking out her chest a little, stroking him slowly, reveling in the way he fights to control his expression. He starts at her tits, palming them with work-roughened hands, before sliding his palms down her body, lingering on the curve of her waist, brushing over her ass, running down her thighs and back up. She lets her head fall back, drinking in his touch, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to meet his. She can feel him staring, though, unrelenting and hungry, merciless in the way he worships her. She can’t look at him, can’t take the kind of want and lust seething in his eyes, so settles herself over his cock, sliding her cunt up and down his shaft, her hands braced on his chest, his hands gripping her hips, fingertips sinking into her skin.

Part of her wants him to leave bruises, even though she knows he’s not holding her roughly enough for that. He’s being so kind, so soft and respectful, everything she never thought he would be in a situation like this. She loves the tease, the slow build, but she wants him now, viscerally so, rocking her hips over him, hearing him shudder and moan, feeling him clutch at her. She wants him to beg for her, keen her name like she did his. Leaning down to kiss him, she pushes herself all the way up his cock, the tip just brushing her entrance, and he moans, long and filthy. “God,” he gasps, barely coherent. “Fuck, Kiara, please.”

She smiles at that, sitting up, standing on her knees and taking him in her hand. They’d talked about being clean, about her IUD, the first night, and while she’s grateful she doesn’t have to have the same conversation again, it sets an unnerving precedent. The first time was supposed to be the last time. And now there’s today, and she’s not certain she wants to give him up, yet. She doesn’t know what that means, doesn’t know what he’s feeling or what anything between them would look like in a world so tempest-tossed and half-destroyed. But this -- this part will always be easy.

Taking him inside her feels like a prayer. She goes slowly, sinking down, giving herself time to adjust to his size, his hands flexing on her hips. He fills her perfectly, and she’s never believed the bullshit about soulmates or needing someone else to be complete, but with JJ’s cock inside her, his hips, narrow and strong between her legs, she feels a hell of a lot closer to whole. She starts to move, slow and deep, squeezing him on the way up, bottoming out on the way down. He curses and clenches his teeth, wound so tight she can see it, and she wants him to snap, to flip them in a single move and fuck her into the mattress.

He watches her, lets her set the rhythm, thrusting up as she pushes down, but the movement is still tight and controlled. She knows this boy inside and out, knows that he’s holding back for her, afraid of hurting her, of losing her trust or making her feel objectified or powerless. She knows he wants to be careful, to not fuck this up -- because this is a this, now, neither of them have any say in that anymore -- but she also wants his raw power, his strength and abandon, and maybe that’s what drives the next words to fall from her mouth. “Come on, JJ,” she groans impatiently, raking her fingernails down his chest. “Aren’t you gonna take what’s yours?” He’s confused for exactly half a second before she shifts her weight pointedly to the empty space to their left, and before she even registers that he’s moving, she’s on her back, her hands pinned above her head, JJ’s hips slamming obscenely into her own. It’s intense and desperate and fast, and she tugs one of her hands free, bringing it down to her clit to rub hard circles there in pace with his wild hips, knowing he won’t last long like this and chasing that cherished high, just behind him.

He comes before she does on a sharp, animalistic cry, tensing above her and filling her with warmth. She doesn’t have time to be disappointed, because he swears, pulls out, and replaces his cock immediately with his fingers. His cum makes it easy to fit three fingers inside her at once, dextrous and skilled, focused on making her orgasm just as good as his. It doesn’t take long until she’s grabbing at his shoulder, panting and moaning and almost crying, he feels so good, and when he bats aside the hand on her clit in favor of ducking between her legs and replacing it with his mouth, she screams, riding his face and his hand as wave upon wave crashes over her, feet pushing her hips off the pullout, legs quivering and stomach tense. He stays with her, merciless, flicking his tongue across her clit over and over again, until she has to shove his head away with trembling hands, collapsing into the bed in holy, sated exhaustion.

It takes her a second to open her eyes, and when she does, he’s back up next to her, pushing the three fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. “You’re disgusting,” she says, but she’s still panting, out of breath while her chest heaves, and it carries little heat.

He brushes gentle fingers over her temple, tucking away a stray curl. “But we taste so good together,” he teases, his breath fanning across her face as he leans down to kiss her. Their mouths move in lazy harmony, finally at ease, and, of course, he’s right. “C’mon,” he says, tucking his face against her neck, his floppy blond hair falling into her eyes. “Shower?”

“Mmmm,” she hums, thinking she might be anchored to the bed at the base of her spine. “Maybe in a sec.” Honestly, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stand, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing that. He chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s done, and shoves himself up as she curses his never-ending, boundless energy. He brings her water and some paper towels to clean herself up, and, when he sees her sitting up, searching for her underwear, digs in the duffel on the armchair and tosses her a pair of boxers.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “What?” he protests, tugging underwear and a pair of basketball shorts up over his ass. (Which she’s a little disappointed to see disappear beneath layers of fabric once more). “They’re clean.” She puts them on without standing up before rolling over to her stomach and stretching her arms out, tucking them underneath her head. Sweat cools on heated skin as golden hour stretches across the Chateau’s living room, and she wants to live in this moment forever.

JJ lowers himself onto her back, scattering kisses across her shoulders, and she giggles and turns underneath him until they’re pressed chest-to-chest, his weight braced on his elbows on either side of her head. She looks at him, now, her hair a mess and eyes shining, skin still heated from his touch. He leans down to kiss her, and she lets him, even though this is dangerous territory, blurring hazy lines between friends and friends-with-benefits and lovers and ‘together’ and all the other things they could call themselves. The kiss is slow and sweet, and when he pulls back it’s to kiss her cheeks, her closed eyes, her nose. It’s silly and soft and so incorrect to the image of JJ she’s always had in her mind, that she laughs under his attention.

“What?” he asks, laughing with her, dive-bombing her with kisses to her face and neck, her arms coming up around his neck, her fingers in his hair.

“You’re so dumb,” she says, still laughing as she shoves him off. He doesn’t go far, just crashes down next to her, their legs still tangled, one arm tucked back under his head, the other resting on the curve of her waist. Her hands trace his arms, shoulders, chest, mapping them like territory she intends to settle.

“Yeah, but --” he says, and then stops, because the rest of that sentence carries a different weight now. The ‘you still love me’ hangs in the air anyway, and it means something else than it did the last time he tossed it out -- after leaving her stranded on the marsh with Sarah Cameron, a day that feels like years ago.

She curls her hands into fists on his chest before spreading them out again, breaking eye contact and biting her bottom lip. “Yeah,” she sighs. Because she does, even if she can’t define how anymore.

“So you gonna tell me why you came here?” he asks, when the moment stretches on into too many seconds and the weight of it threatens to crush them both.

Kie sighs, heavy and tired, as the memory of earlier that day comes crashing back down, chasing out the golden afternoon and pulling her back to all of the guilt and anger and frustration she’d asked JJ to distract her from. “Do I have to?” she asks, still avoiding his eyes, too tired to dodge it any more carefully than that.

“C’mon, Kie,” he urges, “you said you’d talk about it.” She hates him for a second, because isn’t this JJ’s whole thing? ‘Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies,’ right? ‘Deny, deny, deny’? There are a million things he’s said, just over this summer, that she could pull out on him right now. But also, she’s not him, and she likes to talk things out, has to, or else whatever it is that’s bothering her consumes every waking thought. Maybe he knows that. Maybe he’s just being a really good friend at a really bad time.

So she tells him, because she’s avoiding Pope and John B’s fucking dead or lost at sea or whatever the fuck he is, and so is Sarah. And even though Kiara would never have considered going to her before -- everything -- maybe she would now, if she had the chance. “My parents want to send me to boarding school,” she says, dropping it whole on his chest and hoping he can breathe under it.

“Oh,” he sighs, like this admission has shoved the word out of him. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else, so she keeps going. “So I freaked out, and I left.” She keeps flexing her hands on his chest, keeping her eyes there even as they threaten to fill with tears. “And my mom --” she chokes, and he pulls her close, putting his lips on her forehead. “My mom said that if I didn’t --” she swallows, trying to keep it together, “that if I didn’t come home on time, not to --” she takes a controlled breath, willing the tears away. “Not to bother coming home at all.” It sounds silly, saying it to him, when she knows, now, what he’s been through. What his dad does to him and why he’s here, instead of his own house. It sounds petty and inconsequential and she’s never felt more like an ignorant kook in her life, so she sniffs, and takes her hands off him.

JJ chews on the information she’s given him, tracing his fingers down her arm, over the curve of her elbow and back up to her shoulder. “You’re still gonna go home, right?” He asks, uncertainty and maybe longing in his voice. She realizes, then, that of course she is. Her parents love her, even if they don’t know how to show it, don't understand what the Cut and its inhabitants (and one in particular) mean to her. Of course, she’s going to go home. Because JJ doesn’t get to. Because she still can.

If she’d had this conversation with anyone else, there would be stomping and cursing and yelling, indignant demands as to why her parents can’t understand her, why they can’t see how they suffocate her, and hold her down. But this is JJ, who doesn’t get to have problems like this, who doesn’t get to have parents that love him or watch him too closely. At least if Luke Maybank threatened to send JJ to boarding school, it would mean that he cared about JJ’s future. It would mean that he’d looked at his son, spoken to him, seen the anger and hurt and desperation to be seen. It would mean, at least, that he was paying attention.

“Yeah,” she says. She’s still scared, of being powerless to control what they want her to do with her life, of being seventeen and helpless. But she’s not going to say that out loud, not when JJ knows what that feels like on a level she can’t even comprehend. He feels like he should say more, and part of her wants him to, but JJ’s always been shit at comforting. This, his presence, is enough. His light touches, his lips pressed to her hairline -- it’s all he has to do. When she starts to nod off, she asks him to hand her her phone, and stumbles out to the porch to dig in her bag for it. She curls on her side, sends a text to her mom about being sorry and that she’ll be home in a few hours, and then sets an alarm for thirty minutes before curfew.

She’ll go home, but she’s going to spend as much time with him as she can. She still doesn’t think he should be alone, and she doesn’t want to be either. He fits himself in behind her, his chest pressed to her back, one arm under her neck, the other tight around her waist. They don’t talk. She doesn’t want to and he doesn’t know what he’d say. She’s exhausted and warm and JJ’s arms around her feel a little bit like armor, like when he’s holding her, the rest of the world can’t get in. Just before she falls asleep, he squeezes her tight, tucking his face into her neck.

“You aren’t going to boarding school,” he whispers. “I promise.” She feels his lips press against her skin. She wants to turn in his arms, kiss him slow and sweet and kind, the way he deserves to be loved. But sleep tugs at her, unrelenting. Just before she slips under the waves, she hears him whisper one more thing.

“I won’t let them take you away from me.”

#jiara #outer banks #jj/kiara #kiara/jj #jj x kiara #kiara x jj #jj maybank #kiara carrera #jiara fic #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #smut #jiara smut #my stuff #my writing

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Text

Arthur Shelby Smut Alphabet

Warnings: smut- what it says on the tin

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Arthur is one to lay panting for a moment, wiping sweat from his brow and pushing his hair out of his face, composing himself before seeing to you. He’ll ask if you’re alright, if you need anything, stroking your hair as you nuzzle into his chest

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, you,”

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Much to your dismay, he doesn’t find any part of himself overly attractive. If he had to choose, he’s say his freckled hipbones are his favourite- they jut slightly, and you always end up kissing and marking them.

I mentioned on my smut headcanons post that Arthur is a boobs kinda guy. I reckon he’d also really like your shoulders, collar bone and neck- plenty of space for him to kiss and mark as his own, and plenty of places to bite to muffle his moaning

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

While he would rather come inside you always, that would likely result in lots of trips to see the midwife. His other favourite places are on your lower belly, your inner thighs...

He’d much rather come inside you, truly connected in the moment as you chase your climax- it’s a wonder you don’t have a million pregnancy scares

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Arthur loves letting go and having you dominate him. While he won’t admit it, being called a ‘good boy’ makes him feel unstoppable. Even if he doesn’t SAY it, you can gauge his reaction pretty easily

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Arthur has had many one night stands and flings, even a few girls he’s seen for several months, so he knows what he’s doing. He’s never really had someone treat him the way you do, kissing all over him, making love to him rather than just fucking and fumbling

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Arthur loves taking you with you flat on your back with your legs thrown over his shoulders. It allows for deeper penetration, plus he gets to admire your face and body

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

You and Arthur can have a laugh when you’re intimate, which is nice. It shows he feels really comfortable around you.

“Fuck me,”

“YN, that’s literally what I’m doing now love- ah!”

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

His hair down below is a little darker than the hair on his head. Coarse, curly and slightly wild, he makes sure to keep it in check for your comfort

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Arthur gets VERY into it. While he mightn’t be the best with words, he’s able to communicate how much he loves you while you fuck through his actions, making sure to caress and kiss whenever (and wherever) he can

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

One time, he thought you were at work, so didn’t bother to shut the door as he stroked himself, eyes screwed shut and arm thrown across his face. He nearly came on the spot when you creeped up on him and wrapped your mouth around his tip on the downstroke, shoving his hand away as you took your fill.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Arthur isn’t all that kinky. He prefers to enjoy YOU. That being said... he’s a big fan of office sex, having to clamp his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. He also has a thing for you looking all innocent in your pretty dresses and whatnot, yet knowing you moan as loud as any whore when you’re with him. He also likes you wearing pretty underwear under your clothes, flashing him a bra strap here, a lacy trim there... it just riles him up

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He LOVES fucking you in his office. The thrill of getting caught, the sight of you splayed out on his desk or riding him in his chair. He also loves doing it in the snug in the garrison, with the door and hatch locked so no one can burst in. He can hear everyone mulling around having a good drunken time while he’s tucked away in the snug having his wicked way with you. They’re all none the wiser to his activities (even though it becomes a pattern- you two sneak into the snug, the door clicks shut and Arthur emerges fifteen minutes later for a cigarette and some more whiskey looking dazed)

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

As mentioned before, knowing you have pretty lingerie on that no one but him can see... the way you lounge on the couch, your ankles crossed demurely as if butter wouldn’t melt... when you catch his eye across the room and give a cheeky wink...

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Arthur doesn’t share with ANYONE. He also won’t use anything but his hand if you ask him to spank you, not wanting to hurt you too much, even if you beg. He also will not have anything around his neck, unless it’s the rare occasion that it’s your hand

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

A sure-fire way to send Arthur over the edge is to such him off. He tries his best not to fuck your throat, as you look so damned pretty trying your hardest to take him all, but occasionally it’ll all get too much and he can’t help but rock his hips into your welcoming mouth.

If he was given his way, he would spend hours between your thighs, alternating between fast flicks of his tongue and torturously flow, languid sweeps up your entire heat... sometimes he’ll keep you on edge, pulling away right when your body needs him most, other times he’ll make you come by his mouth over and over, until you cannot form a coherent sentence as you beg him to just fuck you

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Arthur’s default is fast and rough. You don’t mind, as you can’t deny how good it feels. Sometimes though, he is slower, his thrusts still strong, but he takes his time. This normally occurs in the comfort of your home, when he doesn’t have to worry about brothers who don’t knock; he can enjoy you all to himself. His last few thrusts as he comes are always fast, no matter how he started off as he is eager to finish with you

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Absolutely LOVES an office quickie (have you read ‘Caught?’). Will often call you in, saying he needs help with the books or something, but literally the whole betting shop knows it’s code for ‘we’re fucking’. He always smacks your arse cheekily as you walk away too, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

So long as he KNOWS you won’t get hurt because of it, he doesn’t mind trying new things.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Arthur can last for one solid round. This is why he loves eating you out so much- he’s satisfied with one orgasm, but he would give you the workd if he could.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No. I don’t think they were commercially available when PB is set.

The closest he gets is using his neckties as blindfolds or gags.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Arthur can not tease for shit. He always ends up snapping before you can get properly riled up, unable to wait any longer. You however... are a different story. He doesn’t mind though. He loves the thrill of the chase (quite literally- sometimes he’ll chase you round the house)

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Arthur is LOUD. Grunts, groans, gasps and an awful lot of swearing. The best is when he growls, right in your ear, making your eyelids flutter.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He adores morning sex. Just the two of you under the covers, not a care in the world (at least not yet) enjoying one another’s bodies, still half asleep and clinging to each other, voices hoarse and gasping...

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Arthur is fairly average in length, but rather girthy, with a single prominent throbbing vein that runs up the underside.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Jesus CHRIST, this man would have you every day if time allowed it. He makes do with a minimum of twice weekly, though it often ends up as much more than that (especially with you teasing)

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If it’s not a quickie, he’s pretty quick to doze off. His mind settles as soon as he knows you’re alright, and he’ll grab you and pull you close, often rolling onto his side and taking you with him as you nod off too

Tag list: @the-makingsofgreatness @peakyswritings @haphazardhufflepuff @diksy1112 @zodiyack @theunderlier @soleil-dor @hiddensapphic @fckingpeakyblinders @snugleo @alittlebirds @satanxklaus @glamsaturn @thegirlwithoutaname87 @queenofmankind

#peaky blinders #smut #arthur shelby smut #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x you #smut alphabet #request

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mememanufactorum · 4 years

Text

Ace Combat Zero quotes

* Feel free to share as you please, no credit needed. Change pronouns or anything else as desired.

“Oh, him? Yeah, I know him.”

“Did you know there are three kinds of aces? Those who seek strength, those who live for pride, and those who can read the tide of battle.”

“It was a cold and snowy day…”

“It’s starting to come down.”

“You’d better have our pay ready and waiting.”

“Be ready to pay up. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“[name], I got a feeling you and I are gonna get along just fine. Buddy.”

“It all started on that snowy day.”

“My first impression was… He had potential.”

“I forgot about my job and read everything I had on hand.”

“We were all on an equal footing, fighting under the same conditions. No affiliations or ranks to hinder us.”

“The only rule of engagement was to survive.”

“We WILL survive, [name].”

“I figured you’d say that. This is gonna cost you extra.”

“Unlike you mercenaries, I fight for a real cause.”

“The ones who survive are those who fight for their convictions.”

“Dead men’s words hold no meaning.”

“Those mercenaries are crazy!”

“He hesitated. A vulnerability that can be exploited.”

“I was certain I would win.”

“We protect the meek and give our lives for honor. But that does not mean that we are generous… Since generosity will cost us our lives.”

“Well, then, let’s have some fun.”

“I figured it was just temporary chaos and it’d be over by the time I got there.”

“Every now and then, guys like that appear on a battlefield. Someone special, y’know?”

“War is something fought on the desk of politicians. As long as they win in the end, that’s all that matters.”

“But for us, it’s a matter of survival. In order to survive, you need to be able to analyze the situation in an instant.”

“Time to hunt some wild dogs.”

“Looks like we were just a couple of decoys.”

“Yo, Buddy, you still alive?”

“Back then, I was bursting with pride.”

“Staying where it was nice and warm wouldn’t accomplish anything.”

“Whatever it may be, the fact remains I was forced to walk a different path in life than the one I had envisioned.”

“They only fight for their own power and fame.”

“[name], let’s do this right. We got the pride it takes to win!”

“They’ve got a reason to fight. This battle’s over.”

“Let’s take care of them.”

“It takes time to admit you lost.”

“[name], you hear those people screaming for freedom? That’s where we come in!”

“It felt like he could see right through me. He was always one step ahead of me.”

“I didn’t feel like I was fighting with a human being.”

“I wanted to end that battle as quickly as possible.”

“It signals peace, but to me, they are the sounds of death.”

“Everyone is a hero and a villain. And no one knows who is the victim and who is the aggressor.”

“And what is ‘peace’?”

“Looks like we live to see another day, [name].”

“Mercenaries like us are disposable to the guys in charge.”

“But in the end, we survived.”

“When are you planning to buy those flowers?”

“Wait around too long and another guy’s gonna steal her away from you, you know.”

“This is no time to talk about my personal life!”

“Yo Buddy, you’ve got everyone fired up and believing in miracles.”

“Right on! Now that’s what I call teamwork!”

“[name], you hear that warm welcome? It’s the sweet sound of victory.”

“Not bad for a group of misfits, huh?”

“Dammit, there’s too many of them! We can’t handle them all!”

“Time to dive into the fireworks!”

“Looks like you’ve still got the touch.”

“It’s happening just as you thought.”

“It’s about time we got out of this dead-end job.”

“Not just yet.”

“They’re attacking without mercy. Do they plan on burning everything?”

“He can’t be human!”

“He’s like a demon…”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I fight for peace. That’s what I’m up here for.”

“While you’re up here ‘fighting for peace,’ tons of blood is being shed on the ground. Some ‘peace,’ kid.”

“And I’m here to put an end to that.”

“You think you can stop the bloodshed by shedding more blood?”

“Flying with all those ideas floating around in your head is gonna get you killed.”

“Anyway, I’d really gone out with a bang this time.”

“It’s a scary thought, but it also makes you feel alive.”

“But it gets pretty lonely up there all by myself.”

“Guess they’ve come to pick on the dead again.”

“This is the worst kind of support we could hope for.”

“Those mercenaries smell of money and death. They’re nothing but vultures… Scavenging for profit through the blood of others.”

“Sorry about the accommodations. It goes with the business. I’m not active during the day.”

“Something unexpected happened.”

“I figured the least I could do was take them down in return.”

“Of course, that was where my luck ran out.”

“Though I guess it’s hard for bad guys like us to die.”

“The real heroes always manage to die first.”

“We live the rest of our lives in hell.”

“But, then again, being alive is proof that we were good.”

“This will be your final lesson.”

“I’ll show him he’s only digging his own grave.”

“What’s important on the battlefield is to let go of hate, to survive, and to adhere to the rules you’ve set for yourself.”

“There was no more need for an old soldier like me.”

“Hatred cannot be the only motivation for war. It only brings about more pointless deaths.”

“I will never overcome that grief.”

“I’ll just look on from here.”

“He was unstoppable.”

“It didn’t matter where the battlefield was, the man had complete trust in his own powers.”

“He was born for battle, a Demon Lord who struck down all opposition.”

“He was born for combat. It was no wonder they called him a Demon Lord.”

“That said, it was hell trying to keep up with him.”

“He was cool-headed and proud. A combat professional.”

“Maybe the man was blessed by the goddess of war.”

“Before long, everyone had taken notice of him.”

“People wanted to burn his image in their memories.”

“Hell, they weren’t the only ones.”

“Learn to accept it, kid. This is war.”

“There’s no mercy in war. It’s a collision of powers.”

“Even war has a set of rules to follow!”

“Damn them all…”

“Nobody knew why they were fighting anymore.”

“All I felt at that point was sadness for the world.”

“You gonna get remarried to your girl?”

“We’re both getting married for the first time!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch up.”

“Nah… I’m just sad.”

“There’s no impossible jobs for us mercenaries!”

“Your fairy godmother’s here, Cinderella.”

“How can you say that after what just happened?”

“Today is your lucky day, [name]. Like your birthday.”

“And you’re here to pull me off in a magical carriage, huh? To hell I suppose…”

“Buddy… I’ve found a reason to fight.”

“This is where we go our separate ways.”

“And I like to play polo. You know, the game with the horses?”

“…Maybe we should get going now.”

“I should be able to do that too.”

“This war should be over already.”

“Why would they do this after all that’s happened?”

“I’m going to put an end to this war.”

“We’ll decide when this war ends… And now is not the time.”

“Today is a day of hope.”

“We have to go into battle.”

“Are they being stupid or is it just part of a plan?”

“The rest is up to you.”

“Our lives might’ve been different.”

“I will never forget his overwhelming power.”

“I returned alive from that battlefield.”

“There’s no meaning there now that he’s gone.”

“He soon passed away, leaving me behind.”

“We were only able to spend a short time together in peace and quiet.”

“But those who hearts are in the sky will always return to the sky.”

“And he died there, never to return to me.”

“It’s an awful place, but the fastest shortcut.”

“Don’t even think about heading back.”

“What are you fighting for?”

“I will eliminate the false hero.”

“You will make a worthy opponent.”

“What are you doing?! The war’s ended long ago!”

“It’s time for a perfect world without restrictions or wars.”

“He’s going to destroy everything!”

“I’ll follow [name] to the end!”

“I thought I was watching magic.”

“I’d never felt fear toward an opponent.”

“The same went for my ideals. I wasn’t afraid to take on even an entire country.”

“But when I was fighting him, something felt different.”

“There’s always a war somewhere and I’m sure he’s on some battlefield somewhere fighting even now.”

“He’ll always have a place to live.”

“Let the victor be justice.”

“I was hoping to meet you under different circumstances.”

“The table is surrounded by politicians who have never placed a foot on the battlefield.”

“It’s a necessary discussion to build a peaceful world.”

“It’s a disgusting squabble on who gets the largest share of the pie and that’s why it needs to end.”

“It is for that duty that we raised the King.”

“Let’s begin.”

“This place is no longer a battlefield.”

“Clashing greed is the cause of all conflict.”

“Style and skill does not matter in battle.”

“We will carry out the new creation of destruction through the power of righteousness.”

“Territories, peoples, authorities… All will be liberated.”

“Neither nations nor nationalities have meaning.”

“We will erase these unnecessary borders.”

“The world will change.”

“He’s not destroying anything unnecessarily.”

“This darkness and that little window are my entire world now.”

“I’m actually rather fond of it.”

“The darkness envelops me in a borderless world, a world with no boundaries.”

“No matter what the desired outcome is, the world can still change as long as people expand their knowledge and desire change.”

“If I’m with you, I know I can do it.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

“We’re gonna stop it, no matter what.”

“I never want to see that barren land again.”

“We’re gonna be rich!”

“We’re gonna be heroes!”

“I’m gonna propose to her when I get back. I even bought flowers!”

“So, have you found a reason to fight yet?”

“Here comes the snow…”

“Those who survive a long time on the battlefield start to think they’re invincible.”

“I bet you do too, Buddy.”

“Can you see any borders from here? What has borders given us?”

“We’re going to start over from scratch.”

“It’s pretty ironic, Buddy. A couple of dogs like us fighting the last battle.”

“There’s no mercy in war. People live and people die. That’s all there is to it.”

“You fired up? Come shoot me down.”

“It’s time.”

“Too bad, Buddy.”

“This twisted game needs to be reset.”

“You’re the only one who can stop him.”

“I pray for your success.”

“You and I are opposite sides of the same coin.”

“When we face each other, we can finally see our true selves.”

“There may be a resemblance, but we never face the same direction.”

“Fire away, coward!”

“Come on!”

“Come on, let’s go back home.”

“We wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting for you.”

“Maybe this was one path to achieve peace.”

“I should have died that day. But I didn’t.”

“I felt an unbearable sadness when I witnessed that landscape.”

“It may be true that the world has no need of borders. But would getting rid of them really change anything?”

“The world won’t change for the better unless we trust people.”

“Trust is vital in a peaceful world.”

“But that’ll never happen.”

“I want to see for myself what borders really mean and what their volition really is…”

“I may not find what I’m looking for but I still wanna try.”

“Anyway, that’s what I’ve come to believe and I think that’s enough.”

“Yo Buddy. Still alive?”

“And thanks friend. See you again.”

“I was never able to find out what kind of a person he really was.”

“But whenever they talked about him, they always had a slight smile on their faces.”

“That, perhaps, might be my answer.”

#Ace Combat Zero #Ace Combat #roleplay meme #roleplay prompt #rp meme #rp prompt

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arofili · 4 years

Text

The Second Kinslaying

for @feanorianweek, day 5: Curufin. this fic is my headcanons for how the Second Kinslaying went down. this is a dream/flashback from chapter 4 of a longer fic about the Feanorians’ rebirth, but it stands on its own and i’m quite proud of it so i wanted to share it again!!

CW: canonical character death, graphic depictions of violence

Maedhros tells them to hold back as long as they can. Curufin tries to listen, but he is so full of anger; the Oath pushes him forward...

They are met by a line of guards—marchwardens summoned home to protect Menegroth from attack. They are not enough, not without Melian's protection. Maedhros orders not to kill them unless they must. Curufin tries to obey, he truly does, but the first marchwarden cuts down one of his warriors and he sees red. Before he knows it, he has killed again.

It's never easy. Looking into the glassy eyes of another elf, their blood on your hands, their fae drained away... Your own fae is tattered at the edges, bleeding out its light. Curufin isn't just tattered, he's shredded into pieces.

Caranthir charges forward, wreaking a path of destruction. He screams Dior's name, taunting him, goading him to come out and fight. "Or are you content to let your people die for you?" he cries. Curufin is too caught up in the battle to feel anything other than a brief pang of fear for his brother. Caranthir fights alone: it is his way, has always been his way.

Maedhros and Maglor are together, bellowing commands to their warriors, trying to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. Maglor weaves between Maedhros' swordstrokes, dancing in a rhythm only he can hear. He is preparing for something, Curufin knows. Something powerful. Maedhros stands tall, defending. He cuts down only those who come for him, never seeking out an opponent. He doesn't have to: he is the leader, the eldest, the fiery beacon burning through the gaping wounds in his fae. He is the target.

The twins are hidden in the trees. They and their archers rain arrows upon the warriors; the strategy is not as effective as it would have been in their own lands. The marchwardens know their home too well, and clamber up the branches to fight them closer.

He and Celegorm are back to back, working together as they always have. They are better as a unit, fiercer and sharper and faster. United with his brother, Curufin is unstoppable. Celegorm is wildness, he is cleverness. Together they are a force to be reckoned with.

The carnage outside the throne room is sickening, even to Curufin. He wades in blood, widening his stance so he does not slip; he watches less experienced fighters trip over the bodies of their fallen kin. When one marchwarden falters in such a blunder, Curufin lunges, splitting him open from groin to gullet.

At last they see Dior. He is radiant, glowing like a Calaquendi, but all seven Fëanorians can see at once that he has hidden the Silmaril. It may still be on his person, or it may be elsewhere—where is it? where is it? where is it?

Caranthir screams and rushes forward into the throne room. He babbles some nonsense about a Maia's bastard, coming completely unhinged. Curufin exchanges one look with Celegorm, and they hurry to their brother's aid.

They can't get close enough. Behind him, Curufin can hear Maglor's voice raised in a song of power, and the earth trembles—the walls outside the throne room collapse. They are trapped inside. The fighting intensifies; Curufin and Celegorm protect Caranthir's back, holding back anyone who tries to assault him in his march to Dior, but they cannot reach him.

"What is he doing?" Celegorm bellows. "This is madness! He'll be killed!"

Caranthir has cast down his shield. He holds a blade in either hand, and he leaps toward Dior, who catches those twin blades with his own curved sword.

Madness. Yes, that was the right word. Caranthir had gone mad, heedless of his many wounds, completely berserk. Celegorm cried out to him, but Curufin knew it wouldn't work. Caranthir was too far gone inside his own mind.

"NO!" Celegorm shouts, and Curufin can't find words, can't find air, can't find meaning—

Dior's blade has sliced through Caranthir's armor, through his skin, through his belly, straight through to the other side of his body.

Caranthir goes still, staring into Dior's gleaming eyes. "Kinslayer," he says through a mouthful of blood, before he falls limp, Dior's blade sliding out of him.

Fool. A damn fool, that's what he was. Curufin's hot tears blind him as he rushes forward, heedless of who he's killing as he fights his way to his brother's body. Celegorm roars, and he's no singer like Maglor, but the sound sends a wave of force throughout the throne room. Every elf tumbles to the ground—only Curufin, standing in his shadow, keeps his footing. He darts forward, slicing throats, slitting wrists, stealing life from all those around him. He isn't sure if all his own warriors had already fallen, or if he had killed them all too, but by the time he regains control of himself, only he, Celegorm, and Dior are standing.

"You know," Celegorm growls as he advances on the murderous king, "if you had surrendered and given us the Silmaril, we would have spared you. Even if we'd already started fighting. But now?" He lunges forward, nicking Dior on the arm before his blow is deflected. "Now, I don't care what you do. I'm going to fucking disembowl you."

"Oh, yes," Curufin hisses, mirroring his brother as the duel begins in earnest. "You killed our brother. I am going to enjoy your suffering, Dior Eluchíl."

(The worst thing, Curufin thinks later, after it is all over, is that it is absolutely true. He never took pleasure in murder, despite what the stories may have said. He accepted it as part of the Oath they had sworn and didn't waste time obsessing over the guilt—not the way Nelyo did—but he never liked it. But this time...)

This time, he relishes every second of Dior's pain and fear. He draws it out, longer than he needs to, balancing Celegorm's impatient fury. Dior knows he's losing, but he holds his own against the two most fearsome warriors left living in Beleriand. He must have known this day would come, must have been raised in fear of the Fëanorians.

Well, good, Curufin thinks as he cuts one of Dior's sleeves off, then the other, grinning as Dior gasps from the pain of the shallow grazes on his arms. He deserves every second of terror, for what he had done to Caranthir.

"Shall we finish him, brother?" he asks Celegorm.

"I think we shall," Celegorm growls. He raises his sword for one final, heaving blow—

And Dior, faster than Curufin thought anyone could be, twists away from Curufin and drives his blade right into Celegorm's chest.

Celegorm finishes his movement, thrown off balance by the deadly wound but still managing to slice open Dior's stomach. His guts spill across his body with an acidic stench that rises to Curufin's nostrils, but he barely notices as Celegorm heaves his last breath and falls, glassy-eyed, to the blood-drenched floor.

Dior tumbles to the ground, groaning horribly, his sword clattering out of his hand. Curufin turns away from him, kneeling beside Celegorm's body, howling his grief. He feels as if half his soul has been torn from him. Celegorm is dead.

Curufin rises, trembling. He casts aside his own blade and picks up Dior's sword, advancing on his fallen foe.

"Where is it?" he hisses. "The Silmaril! Where is it?"

Dior laughs, an awful, guttural sound. "You'll never get it," he rasps. "Never. Not even—" he coughs, choking on his own blood— "not even if you slaughter everyone in Doriath. You'll never find it."

Curufin's rage is controlled, precise. He has honed it over his entire life like he would any other weapon, and even now he does not lose that control.

"My brother was always true to his word," he says softly, almost conversationally. "He promised to disembowl you." Curufin prods the mass of putrid guts spilling out of Dior's stomach, chuckling. "And he did it. I, however, am a known liar. I said I would enjoy your death. Now I am not so sure. Perhaps I will let you lie here until the rats come to feast upon you. I should let you bleed out, long and slow. You are going to die, you know."

Fear flickers in Dior's eyes. Curufin smiles.

"Yes, I think I'll do that," he says. "Let you go at your own pace. That will delay the inevitable."

"You..." Dior rasps, but Curufin cuts him off.

"Ah ah ah," he tuts. "Talking only makes it worse."

He shifts as if to turn around, letting Dior think he's gotten off the hook, that perhaps there may some way his Ainur blood could stitch him back together. He sees Dior relax slightly out of the corner of his eye.

Then he spins back around, shoving Dior's own blade down his throat until he chokes on it, bursting through his esophagus and pinning him to the floor. Dior screams, as much as a dying man with a sword through his throat can scream, and the awful noise causes a thrill of sadistic joy in the pit of Curufin's stomach.

The scream trails off into a hideous gurgle, and Curufin's shoulders slump. Grief at last overtakes him, and he shakes as sobs rack his body. Caranthir is dead. Celegorm is dead. Dior is dead, also, but the Silmaril is not on his body. Unless the others have discovered it, this horror is all in vain...

The others. Maedhros, Maglor, Amrod, Amras. He must tell them what had happened. He must be the one to deliver the heartbreaking news that two of them had fallen. He must—

"Oh," he says softly as he feels cold steel run through his back and watches as a sword slides through his belly. He is dizzy all of a sudden, though his rhaw has gone numb and all sense of pain is dulled.

Curufin topples backward, falling on the hilt of the sword, the weight of his body pushing the blade deeper into his torso. He looks up, mouth hanging open in surprise, to see a slight and silvery figure hovering above him, her bloodstained hands clasped over her mouth in horror. Nimloth has taken vengeance for her husband.

He locks eyes with her. He is barely aware of what he whispers in his dying breath, but she hears it, the echo of Caranthir's last accusation:

"Kinslayer."

[read more about Curvo’s thoughts “after it is all over” in ATATYA, the fic i pulled this snippet from! and please, please leave a comment if you enjoy!]

#feanorianweek #curufin #caranthir #celegorm #silmarillion #dior #nimloth #silm #my writing #tefain nin #atatya #the second kinslaying #second kinslaying

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

and then there was light {Roger Taylor} 5 (finale)

A/N: 4455 words. The end. Presented without commentary.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

You wake up and immediately feel like you’re about to hurl. A shower helps, despite the fact that you spend half an hour in there, curled on the ground beneath the water, cursing your own hubris. The world is a haze of nausea, of light too bright from beneath curtains, and the silence, the isolation is so fucking loud.

You’re in your hotel room wearing only your underwear, trying to fall back to sleep, hoping a nap would ease the throbbing of your head and the disgusting feeling in your stomach that has your skin crawling at the mere thought of food, when the phone rings. On instinct, you want to throw the phone across the room as the sound jackhammers through your skull, but you push down the reaction in favour of a loud groan before you pick up the phone.

“Y/N?” It’s Roger. You just grunt in response; at this point, you couldn’t care less what he thought of you, whether or not you were ladylike. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, mum,” you answered, voice icy, and you think he’s just going to be exasperated or dismissive, but he actually laughs, just a quiet chuckle.

“Well I’ll grab you something from the store, I’m getting some smokes,” he tells you, leaves little room for argument. You just huff, trying to recall all the details from the previous night.

“Piss off, dude, I don’t want your charity,” is what you tell him when you can’t seem to come up with much.

“Sorry, love, it’s not charity, it’s bullying; you’re going to rest and recover one way or the other,” his voice has a hard edge to it that has you frowning, mouth set in an angry line, “even if I have to call in Fred and Deaks.” The threat was clear; you couldn’t let them see how badly run down you’d gotten. Your defeated silence was answer enough. “I’ll be over in twenty, do you have a favourite fruit?”

It feels like a sick joke, that Roger Taylor is the one taking care of you on your day off, but in a twisted way, he’s the only one who could. He’s the only one who knows how much strain you’re really under, the only one who you didn’t care if they knew, and now... now here you were. Damn.

He knocks on the door claiming to have food, and calls bullshit when you claim to be too sick to open the door. He then loudly threatens to push the food beneath the crack in the door, and at that stage you’re horrified and mortified at how loud he’s being that you bundle yourself up in a robe and open the door anyways.

“You’re a menace.” You inform him.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” He nods without a trace of irony. “You look awful.” He informs, stepping past you into the room, tossing a sandwich, bottle of water, and an apple at the bed and draping himself on the sofa as you climb back into your fluffy sanctuary.

“I feel awful,” not even a little put out by his blunt assessment, you toe the food through the duvet, wrinkling your nose, “I’m not up for food.”

“Well I’m gonna be here until you eat that sandwich-”

“Don’t you have to go be irritating somewhere else?” You snapped, pulling the blankets up to your nose and turning away from him. There’s a long pause, then the rustling of a sandwich wrapper, and peering over the top of the bed sheets you see Roger eating his own sandwich, pointedly ignoring your question.

“Listen, love-”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Fine, listen, Y/N, you were well nasty to me last night when all I offered was help, so I get it, okay? I get that you don’t want to be friends, that you don’t want to see me, I know, alright?” He huffed, jaw clenched, holding his sandwich tighter than was probably necessary, “but until you tell someone else that you’re working yourself half to death, I’m gonna make damn sure you eat and sleep at a normal rate.” He gave a little ‘cheers’ motion with his sandwich, smile thin as it didn’t reach his eyes, and then he eats in silence.

Out of spite, you go back to sleep.

But... he’s there when you wake up, his shoes off, laying back on the sofa, a newspaper on his face where he’d apparently fallen asleep reading. Something about it, much to your own chagrin, is endearing. He could be anywhere else, doing anything or anyone, but he was here, true to his word. After a brief glance at the clock telling you it’s nearing midday, you have to concede that the apple at the very least is looking enticing.

The thing is, he’s not obvious about it, but he keeps to his word. The interactions you and Roger share are almost painfully clinical; sanitised and professional, but every day he’ll bring you lunch, keeping to himself behind his drums, not bothering you while you work. Sometimes you think you catch him watching you, and in those moments you look to him- and he is. He doesn’t look away, just gives a thoughtful smile, tells you you’re doing a good job, but nothing more.

He’s not subdued by any stretch of the imagination, not with the band, nor with the rest of the tour group; he’s still loud and boisterous with anyone else, given half a chance, it only seems to be around you that he’s restrained. He’s polite, but cold, and something about it hurts, but you can’t quite articulate what or why.

“You know I can get my own lunch,” there’s actually amusement in your voice as you accept your store bought lunch today, a couple of weeks since you’d woken up with that hangover and your relationship with Roger having been turned on it’s head.

“But will you?” He asks, tone clipped, not looking at you. An emotion you couldn’t quite identify flicked over his face, perhaps a wince- something you weren’t meant to see, but either way his words hurt almost like a physical ache. But he waves away whatever answer you were going to give before you even give it. “Doesn’t matter, I promised I’d help, so I’m helping. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks.” Though your voice is quiet, a little forlorn, you can’t help but reach out and touch his arm in silent, gentle thanks, before taking the food. He looks at the point where your fingers had brushed his arm, blinking a few times before his jaw clenched and he went back to his drumkit.

Weird.

It’s not that you’ve forgiven him for what he’s done, but slowly, achingly slowly, you start to believe that he’s grown, that he’s changed. Maybe he can sense that; it’s gradual, but the interactions the two of you share become warmer, less clinical. They’re still professional, of course, but when you crack a joke at the top of a ladder, more often than not, he’ll actually laugh, rather than trying to repress a smile.

“You have this strange effect on him,” Freddie tells you over breakfast one morning, cradling a cup of tea with Brian nodding emphatically beside him, mouth full of eggs.

“When he sets his mind to something, he’s rather unstoppable,” after swallowing his mouthful, Brian agrees, “and he seems determined to try and mend things with you.”

“But if you wanted me to, perhaps -” Freddie mused for a moment, but you’re already cutting him off with a wave of your hand.

“No, please no, I’m just trying to enjoy whatever the hell is happening.” But you can’t help but laugh at the situation you’d found yourself in.

Four years ago you were doing an unpaid internship that would later get you a job with EMI, today you were a sought-after designer and technical officer, favoured personally by one of the biggest bands in the entire world, eating breakfast with them, and discussing your tumultuous relationship with the band themselves. Stranger things have happened, but not by a lot.

You’re side of stage with your clipboard and headset every night, and you can’t help but beam, watching them all, so vivacious, feeding off the energy of the crowd before them. Sometimes Roger’s gaze will meet yours, and for the barest moment your grin widens, as if you’re sent back in time to that very first tour -

Which is terrible, because then you remember it’s now, and Roger looks away, still smiling, and you tell yourself that your heart is beating to the rhythm of the drums for purely unrelated reasons.

You just want to be able to look at his smile without feeling conflicted.

“Light!” You can hear the smile in Roger’s voice, and the nickname doesn’t grate like it once did, instead, you find yourself smiling where you’re hovering by a milk crate filled with extension cords. “Heads up, love.” He calls, but you don’t turn quick enough, and are just thankful that the sandwich that goes careening past your head is securely plastic wrap. He calls an apology while you go fetch it from where it dropped, but when you turn back, he’s hovering with an amused smile, offering an apple.

“What, you’re not gonna lob that at me too?” You half laughed, obligingly taking the fruit and heading to sit at the edge of the stage.

“It’s not like you would have caught it either way,” he heads to sit by the drums. Like always, once he was seated, he didn’t tend to move, and as had become commonplace over the past few weeks, you tended to stay away unless you were working. The empty stage between you feels enormous.

So maybe you sit by the proscenium arch this time.

It’s getting to be the end of American leg of the tour; you’re not worried like you’d been the first time around, all those years ago. This time they’d made it clear you would be accompanying them for the remainder of the tour. It was strange to say, but you felt somehow freer now than you did back then, you weren’t worried you were going to be kicked out at any moment, and you didn’t have to pretend like you didn’t exist to keep management happy. You’re free to be yourself. Which, unfortunately, includes having your anxiety ramp up as you board the flight to Japan.

In the past three years, you’d spent your life on a tour bus, never needing to leave the ground, and you liked it that way. Now, however, in the Queen’s private jet, surrounded by the few other crew members who would be making the international journey, you could feel your heart beating hard enough that it was likely to escape from your ribs.

“Not a fan of flying?” Deaky’s voice is barely reassuring at this moment, especially since he’s standing beside you rather than securing himself to a seat. He crouches beside you, gently taking your hand from it’s tight grip on the armrest.

“They’re- dude, they’re taxi-ing the plane, please sit down.” You implore him as you feel the plane rumbling against the tarmac. Deaky smiles patiently, giving your hand a squeeze, and taking the empty seat in front of you. Once you hear the click of his seatbelt, you frown. “Why are you here? Aren’t the others at the front?”

“I was asked to come check on you, and I see why,” he chuckles softly, and you purse your lips.

“Let me crash and burn in peace,” your nervousness seems to speak for you, but he doesn’t seem perturbed by it. Instead, his voice is calm and gentle as the plane begins to take off, asking you what you requested from the Japanese venues, if knew how the rig would change yet, and giving a quiet thanks for joining the tour in the first place. You give yourself a moment to think, to really consider his words, trying not to let your mind drift to your surrounding, before you answer, the tightness in your chest easing as your focus shifts.

Deaky happily listens, asks you questions here and there, and in turn, when you ask him about the trip, and about his family, he seems delighted to regale you with stories of Veronica and his son Robert, who’s almost one. It’s a long flight, around twelve hours, but once the plane’s at altitude, your anxiety drops, and you stand, stretching your legs, searching for some food. You officially regret not getting food at the departure gate.

“Hey,” John stands too, and you finally ask the question that had been sitting at the back of your mind since he’d sat down, “who asked you to check on me?” John gives you a strange little half-smile.

“Roger;” it’s not the answer you’re expecting, nor is his follow-up of, “he remembered you didn’t do so well last time, thought you should have company.”

It’s... endearing, not to mention easy to read on your face that you’re genuinely touched by the sentiment, but John at least has the decency to keep his thoughts to himself, heading back to the band.

You want to feel like you still have some sense of integrity, that you don’t feel like you’re throwing your past self under the bus because you want him to keep smiling at you because you miss it, miss him. But he won’t; he’s put himself on the end of a very short, proverbial leash, learning from his past mistakes. If he’s friends with you, just friends with you, he won’t hurt you.

And that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

But it’s difficult.

Japan is in many ways, at least in the ways that mattered to you, incredibly familiar; not much differs in terms of arena setups in various parts of the world. But in other ways, almost every other way, you felt like a fish out of water. You were touring with Queen for goodness sakes; when you were with them, it was like you were a celebrity by association, though fans would more often than not just shunt you to the side, but when you’re alone... well it’s always a bit of a shock to be far from home.

So you gravitate to what you know, to the people and places you know, and the drum risers feel ironically like somewhere safe.

There’s people moving, buzzing about and setting up gymnasium they’re playing at in Nagoya, their second gig in as many days, and you’ve found yourself five minutes to actually take a break before you need to start a lamp check. It feels like it used to, in some sort of strange, not really at all, way, but you’re leaning back on the drum risers, and Roger’s tapping at his cymbal absentmindedly, and Deaky’s doing a sound check a few feet away.

“Spotlight,” it’s Roger, and the tapping has stopped. Looking back, you can’t help but smile up at him through the hardware of the drumkit to hand you a cigarette. You accept it, patting down your pockets for a lighter, before he clears his throat, and holds out his.

He congratulates you on a quick set-up, to which you laughed, a mostly proud of your team, and you, in turn, make mention of how you’re in awe of his resilience; matinees and night shows every other day, and he still manages to get out almost every night. You’d seen him do it before, but here you’d expected him to slow down, just a little. And on top of that, he was still managing to keep you having at least one meal per day, two if you had the day off, but you don’t feel like you should mention that, no matter how much you appreciated it. You haven’t been tired in weeks; everything’s still getting set up on time, the world has kept spinning. You can concede, albeit silently, that he was right. But right now, he’s smiling back at you, and this did not go unnoticed.

“Well fuck,” Freddie huffed, expression thoughtful as he leaned himself onto Brian’s amp as the guitarist was running a sound check, “they’re pinning over one another again.”

“Freddie, wasn’t that your plan?” Brian, only half listening, asked.

“My plan was to work with Spotlight again, and to get Roger to perhaps admit that he had been wrong once in his life, but that was before I knew what he’d done.” Freddie explains, watching you and Roger actually laughing together, caught up in your own little world.

“And so now... she seems happy again - they both do - and you’re... what? Annoyed? Come on, mate.” Brian pauses, his fingers silencing his strings as he turns to his bandmate.

“Darling, you know I want only the best for them, but pining is just painful for everyone.” He sighed, completely ignoring Brian, who was quietly begging him not to play Cupid, “sometimes we must lock the ones we love in a dressing room until they discuss their situation and stop acting like children.”

“Acting like- Freddie, do you even hear yourself?” Brian’s claims that that might just exacerbate the problem also fall on deaf ears.

He doesn’t, for the record, lock you and Roger in a dressing room, though it takes both Brian and Deaky to convince him not to. Honestly, it seems like he doesn’t even need to.The tension that was there at the start of the tour has all but evaporated, and things between you and Roger are easy comparatively. You try to reason that you’re just searching for familiarity in such an unfamiliar setting, but it’s beginning to feel like old times.

You try and get the attention of your team by clapping out a rhythm, and he’ll often repeat the rhythm on the drums, which serves to make you grin. Some days they’ll have a matinee show; it’s a pain to set up, means you’re getting up before the sun, but during the show, you give yourself time to slip out, putting one of your subordinates in charge while you steal away to the nearest convenience store to pick up lunch for yourself and Roger. Part of you doesn’t want to break the ritual, even for a day.

You’ll spend lunchtimes sitting side by side on the drum risers, smoking and looking through tabloids, though neither of you care much for the information itself. You don’t even seem to notice how close you are, his shoulder brushing yours, knee leaning against your knee where you’ve got the magazine propped up. Sometimes, when Roger seems to realise, he’ll move like contact burns him, careful to keep his distance, but today, before their third show in Tokyo, he looks over at where you’re intently reading some mis-translated headline, he actually smiles.

Japan comes to an end, and you’re dreading the plane trip to Australia.

You don’t beat around the bush this time, and sit yourself in the seat beside Roger as soon as you board the plane. He seems bemused, but welcomes you.

“So you don’t have to have Deaky come distract me,” you explained with a wry, if tight smile. Roger snorts, but can’t hide his reddening cheeks.

“No idea what you’re on about.”

It’s just getting into April now, Autumn in Australia that still manages to feel like Summer in certain states in America. The beaches are pristine and the people are beautiful, if rough around the edges. It’s a shock coming from Japan to Australia; curse words are tossed around like they mean nothing, and well, they’re just words, they don’t actually mean anything, but it’s still jarring to hear.

The tour bus gets cut off in traffic in Perth by a painfully shiny, silver car, and you hear an assistant stage manager mutter under their breath.

“Shit-cunt, of course he’d drive a Holden.” And maybe sixty percent of what he’s said makes any sense to you. At times, it feels a little like an alien planet. The band seems to feel more at home here, however, and that’s all that matters.

You find you come to like it, the people relaxed yet efficient, the sunset over the ocean like liquid gold when you get to watch it. Most people here are more forgiving of your smoke breaks - smoko, someone had once called it, with a surprising confidence - and brash and loud, with an air of affection. Interns and assistants lean all over each other, pass cigarettes like sharing ‘a dart’ as they would call it, was second nature, that being when they weren’t calling it a ‘ciggie’, both of which were terms you refused to use. Roger told you to relax a little, gently teasing, but wraps a loose arm around you, accepting when one of the dressers offers him a drag on her cigarette. You’re a little stunned at first; it’s as if you can feel every point where he makes contact with you.

Maybe you should slap him, tell him to get his hands off of you, but instead, you... relax a little. Pulling a box of cigarettes from your pocket, you ask for a light, and several of the techies offer you theirs.

And you lean into him.

It’s a slippery slope. The land down under, of seafood and wine, has you under some sort of spell, you tell yourself. But you know you felt this way back in Japan, back at the tail end of the American leg.

“Hey Rog,” your heart hammering in your throat, you call him away before he steps into the dressing room, and when he turns to you, he’s grinning, bright and easy, “I- after the show, could I have a word?”

“‘course!” He nods, and is gone in a flurry, not seeming to pick up on your nervous energy.

Your heart’s not in the show tonight. It’s all you can do to focus on the technical elements, noting down anything that may need to be looked at before tomorrow’s show. You’re so focused on making sure everything’s ready for the next day, and not on the way your stomach’s twisting itself into knots, that when Roger comes to find you, it comes as something as a shock.

“A word?” He asked, still smiling, still shining with sweat and endorphins, a towel around his neck. Absolutely gorgeous.

“A word.” You agreed. He takes you to the dressing room, which has since been vacated by the others, looking to head back to their hotel rooms, or perhaps a club. All their costumes sat haphazardly around, and you have no idea what you actually want to say.

“I have to-” the words get caught in your throat. You’re leaning against one of the makeup tables, it’s lights still on by your back, making you sweat, making you more nervous somehow. Roger’s sitting on his hands, on a bench opposite you, waiting expectantly, smiling just a little.

“How do I say I’m tired of being professional, but still have integrity?” The words spill from your lips, staining the space between the two of you. “Because I like you now, just as much as I ever liked you before, but I can’t -” Roger’s smile is fading, darkening. You can’t meet his gaze because - oh fuck, this isn’t what you wanted, not what you wanted at all, “- am I misreading this? Tell me if I am, because I’ll fuck off and leave you alone, we can be friends and I can be happy, because I’ve missed being friends, being -”

“What are you asking?” He asks quietly, and you finally look up, see his confusion, and you feel it again; the space between you, the few feet, it feels enormous.

“Am I misreading us?”

Silence.

“What do you want from me, Spotlight?” But he’s smiling now when he breaks the silence, and there’s a relief that comes with it. He looks a little bit amused, taking the towel from around his neck, and scrubbing it over his face as he watches you compose your thoughts.

“You’re not the same person you were then.”

“Do you want him?”

“Absolutely not.” You swallow hard, and Roger gently puts the towel to the side, getting to his feet, actually smirking. “Can we stop holding each other at arm’s length?” You asked, voice gentle, hopeful. Roger beckons you to him, and meets you in the middle.

“You know,” he mused, taking your face in his hands. His gaze roams your face, as if fixing this moment, your soft expression, in his memory, “I actually missed you, believe it or not.” And it’s as if your heart explodes.

After everything had happened, after only spending a few months with him, he missed you. You’d crammed every day, every moment with activities, just so you’d never had the opportunity to think about, to miss him, though you had, despite your best efforts. Words don’t suffice at this moment, so you kiss him, in the middle of the dressing room, the feeling of his lips against yours both familiar and new all at once.

Things don’t change much for the tour, though find yourself sharing Roger’s room more often than not, and he’s got his arm around you whenever the opportunity arose. Freddie always seemed rather smug whenever he noticed, but he had the good grace not to say anything smug to you.

You still work hard, still dedicated to a fault, but when the band comes off stage, Roger wraps you up in a hug, and gives you a small, amused salute before you run on stage to help bump out once the crowd is gone. You don’t care if the rest of the crew stare, you just congratulate him on his show, before ushering one of your assistants to help you move a ladder into position.

“What happens after the tour?” You ask at one of the last after parties, sitting in a loveseat with his arm around you.

“I think I’ll need a holiday,” Roger admits, half laughing, though it’s not really a joke, and you hear the unspoken, ‘and I think you need one too’. Well, he’s not wrong. It’s been years since you’d taken time for yourself. There’s something to be said for enjoying your job, but you’d been burning out hard before Roger had stepped in to help you get yourself back in order.

“Where would you go?” You ask, shooting for nonchalance. Roger hums for a beat, before turning to you, smiling.

“Feels like I’ve been everywhere by now; where do you wanna go?”

And you hear it loud and clear; because I’d go to the ends of the Earth for you.

tagging those who showed interest. @tensecondvacation @bohemiansweede @fadingpsychiccopbiscuit @rogahs-drowse @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @fanficsupporter @siriuslymooned @legendsaresooftenwarnings @joemazzellhoe @happycamper72

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #john deacon #freddie mercury #brian may #queen #queen imagine #queen fanfiction #borhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #the angry lizard writes #AND THEN THERE WAS LIGHT

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youngerdrgrey · 4 years

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easy there, oedipus (or, how to get away with impregnating your law professor) [DRAFTS 1]

about: alternatively titled, how to get away with impregnating your law professor and secretly parenting your child; or moments from a fic unwritten, updated and revamped for a season that only feeds into my need for Annalise and Wes to fall into the abyss together. — takes place in season 3

a/n: Drafts from before the show hurt me w/ season three’s finale; shared in case anyone wanted more of the story -- this was a deleted sequence about the night Wes and Annalise hooked up, featuring the rest of the crew.

i. step one: forget the wine (or the night of)

Laurel C. (8:10pm) // Connor’s gonna kill you if you forget the wine again.

Wes G. (8:11pm) // I have the wine.

Or, at least, he will if everyone could just stop texting him long enough for him to open the front door. Wes tries pocketing his phone again when it buzzes with another message.

Connor W. (8:12pm) // Don’t let me down, man. Michaela’s already started her Aiden’s got mommy issues rant.

Wes rolls his eyes. Replies.

Wes G. (8:13pm) // I’m on my way.

Which technically isn’t a lie, he’s on the way, just with a slight pitstop before he bikes all the way to Laurel’s apartment.

In Wes’s defense, this Thursday has to be one of the most chaotic Thursdays he’s had since they wrapped the Lila Stangard case. Normally, he goes to class, reports to Annalise’s, and then heads back to his place for a few hours of peace, but one of his loans fell through so he had to spend every minute of free time hovering in the Student Services building and trying to get his point across without having someone accuse him of being the intense, black guy pissed off in the corner.

Tough day, so the last thing he really needs is the constant barrage of texts and phone calls from Laurel and Connor and Michaela about the wine that they apparently cannot have dinner without.

His phone rings, and he answers with a huff.

“Calm down. I’m almost there,” he tells them while turning the key in the lock. The groans on the other side of the line tell him they believe him about as much as he believes himself.

Michaela groans. “Is that a key? Wes! You’re supposed to be here by now!”

He sighs. “Michaela, please don’t yell into the phone.” He shifts so he can use his weight to pry the door open. He pulls his bike into the entry way and props it on the wall. “Or, better yet, give the phone to Laurel.”

“So she can tell you this is okay? You promised you’d bring the wine tonight and—“

“And I’m getting it right now. I will talk to you when I see you, okay?”

“It’s definitely not okay.”

“I promise I will hear all about it later, but for now, I’m hanging up. Don’t call back. Or text me.”

“Wes—“

He hangs up before she gets the chance to say anything more. Then grimaces at the thought of her when he will arrive later. She’ll probably pop the cork in his direction. Hopefully, she gets some of her anger out at Connor before he gets there.

Wes pockets his phone and turns around to push the door closed behind him. There’s a nice finality and peace in hearing the click of the door in the frame, like he’s home and no one can take that away from him.

Of course, he’s not technically home, but Annalise’s house has pretty much become all of theirs ever since they started working for her. They have spare keys, which they’re basically never to use unless they think she’s dead, and they have extra toothbrushes in the downstairs guest bathroom, and — ding, ding, ding — they have a bottle of wine that they stashed in the bottom of her fridge last week that will go perfectly with the lasagna Laurel’s making for dinner tonight.

Plus, this bottle’s free so long as he grabs it and gets back out before Annalise ever even knows he came over. Brilliant plan, with the slight exception of the fact that, well, the light switches on after he’s gotten a few steps into the house, and he’s not the one who flipped it.

“Stop right there.”

He glances up from the threshold, and Annalise is on the steps, seated practically right where Michaela pushed her husband over the bannister. Wes grimaces. He’s got to start seeing something else when he looks in the entryway.

“Uh, hi, Annalise.” Another grimace. He probably should’ve called her Mrs. Keating instead. “What a great night tonight, right?”

Her hand doesn’t move from the light switch she holds it on.

“Oh, of course. What great night doesn’t involve one of my students breaking into my house?”

He winces. “Technically, I used the key.”

“And what exactly was the emergency?”

He almost doesn’t even want to answer. She’s looking down at him from the top of the world, and he’s a speck with a muddy bike that he should’ve never brought into her home and a shitty excuse.

“We, uh, left a bottle of wine in your fridge, and I wanted to get it before you noticed.”

“On a Thursday night?”

His voice gets more sheepish. “There’s a dinner tonight. I thought, free wine.”

Annalise chuckles. The stairs are quiet, but he hears her walking down them in the padding of her feet. His breath slows so his chest kind of vibrates between exhales as she gets closer with each step.

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

His eyes roll to the side. She’s nearly on the bottom step, and for a second, her eyes linger on his button-up shirt and court pants, and he honestly is a bit more put together than he should be for a night with his friends. (Although, in his defense, laundry day normally means he looks like shit or like he’s going to walk a runway; there’s not really an in-between.)

He shakes his head. “Laurel.” He watches Annalise’s eyes widen before cocking his head to the side. “And Michaela. Connor too. It’s study group dinner night.”

Thursdays are kind of the only nights they get off for sure since she’s normally out with clients, or other official lawyers, so they turned into study nights, which turned into dinner and drinking, which is kind of mostly just drinking at this point.

Maybe he should invite her. Or he could tell everyone else to come over here. She has a dining room, unlike any of them, and their dinner would probably feel a lot more like home if it were, well, in their home.

(Not that any of them would ever tell Annalise how much they loved her place. And hated it. And could never seem to stay away.)

“Would you like to come?” His voice almost sounds hopeful, though he tries to ignore that fact.

She’s already dressed from earlier in the day so it wouldn’t take much for her to come with him. Or, come over at the same time as him — not come with him because they’re not — the two of them couldn’t — she’s ready, is all he really means.

She waves him off while turning to walk further into the house.

“It’s bad enough I spend my days with you all. I won’t be giving my nights to cheat sheets and exam prep.”

Wes follows behind her. Is that really what she thinks of them? They would never use her like that.

(Well, maybe Michaela, but Michaela can’t really help it at this point.)

“We don’t just see you as a professor, you know?”

She hums while rounding the corner into the kitchen. “I’m your boss too.”

Yes, but “You’re also an amazing person. Dedicated, driven, damn near unstoppable.” He should probably stop talking, but she’s opening the fridge and going directly to the bottom tray, which means she knew they had hid it there. “Does anything ever get past you?”

She plucks out the bottle. Stands so she can turn and hold it out to him.

“Only opportunities.”

He takes the wine but doesn’t look at it. Takes the bait, more accurately.

“Like what?”

She wipes off her hands. “Like… life. A whole lot of it.”

There’s an island near him, so he plunks the bottle onto it and leans his back against the edge to face her.

“I’m all ears,” he says.

She grins, and, for a moment, he can almost hear the old kids from Willowick calling him Dumbo. Can imagine the words spilling from her lips too. Then her lips part, and he can’t stop staring at them.

Her lipstick’s almost gone, aftermath of what must’ve been a long day on her end as well. Most of her make-up’s gone, now that he’s noticing. Her skin a little more disparate and dissonant, like an unearthed galaxy or file beneath a folder.

“I thought you were leaving.”

He shrugs. “Wine emergency. It takes a while. They’ll understand.”

She pushes the fridge closed. Her hands linger on the cool metal. She admits, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

He keeps his voice casual. “How about why you were on the steps when I got here? Alone. In the dark.”

“Who else would’ve been here?”

She focuses on the alone part of his sentence; he can too.

“I’m here,” he says.

“For a drink,” she returns.

“Still here, aren’t I?”

She peers at him like he’s a client on the stand who won’t say the exact words she needs him to. Annalise Keating always has a motive, a plan of action that tops everyone else’s. What’s she searching for?

He motions to the bottle. Nearly deflects. “Need me to open this? I hear it loosens people right up.”

A dent in her armor, a quirk of her lips and an almost self-deprecating chuckle that doesn’t quite reach the outside world.

“You don’t want to see me drunk, Mr. Gibbins.”

He hears it as a challenge, an invitation. His fingers wrap around the bottle. “Um, quite the opposite, actually. Seems like a pretty good night to me.”

She gives him another look, like she’s searching for something. He’s not sure if she finds it, but she does motion to the island.

“Third drawer on your left. Get the corkscrew, and meet me in my office.”

She walks away while he goes for it. He fetches it out, then gets his phone from his pocket.

Wes G. (8:19pm) // Not sure if I can make it tonight after all. You understand right?

Laurel C (8:20pm) // Connor’s gonna flip. (8:21pm) // Michaela too.

The light turns on in the office, illuminating a path through the house. Wes pushes the door closed.

Wes G. (8:23pm) // I’ll bring two bottles next week. Totally worth your while.

He grabs glasses and rinses them out.

Laurel C. (8:25pm) // Whatever. You better not be watching TV right now.

Annalise left the sliding doors open, so he can see her as she settles on the edge of her desk with her ankles crossed and her palms on either side of her hips. He can make eye contact when she glances up without lifting her head, so she’s all hooded eyes and shadow-kissed lips.

He probably should reply to Laurel, but honestly, she can think whatever she wants of him at this point. He’s the one with the wine, the nearly empty house, and nowhere he’d rather be.

Maybe his Thursday was turning around after all.

More drafts and headcanons to come.

#easy there oedipus #htgawm #htgawm fic #annalise x wes #annawes #annalise keating #mine #wes gibbins

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akamaiden · 6 years

Text

Turning Tables

A/N: My first Hela fic!!! 😍 I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did. 💕

Another note: Here I did something that I truly believe that Odin should've done. Hela could be an amazing ruler if he did have given more attention and affection towards her. She was his damn daughter!

Last note: Shout out to the amazing @thisishowdynastiesareborn who helped me with this fic! And she's amazing, go follow her!

Pairing: Hela Odinsdottir x Valkyrie!Reader.

Requested by anonymous: Can u write Hela x F!Reader - From enemies to lovers plz?

Warnings: Angst, fluff, sexual tension... I think that's all.

Words: 1,595.

Sakaar was a chaotic place. Every little detail could be summarized in one word: mess. And it was exactly because of this that it was the perfect place for hiding.

When Odin sent the Valkyries to defeat Hela, Goddess of Death, his own daughter, you weren't imagining that this would change your life forever.

Saying that Hela was extremely powerful was an understatement. But you and your sisters were Valkyries. You were part of a group of elite warriors.

But even so it wasn't enough to overthrow the goddess of death. You fought, of course you did. Still, it was pointless. You watched your sisters dying one after another.

You just survived because Brunnhilde knocked you out so Hela could think you two were dead as well.

That's exactly how you two ended in Sakaar. You two were the last Valkyries alive and no one knew that you survived that comfront with Hela.

You woke up and found Brunnhilde drinking her usual mead dose. She seemed distant and you knew her too well to know that she was hiding something.

“If you continue thinking that hard your head will explode,” you said and reach for the bottle that was in her hand.

“Hey, that's mine!” she huffed.

“Tell me what's going on in your head first,” you said.

“There's nothing going on, Y/N,” she tried.

“Nice try, if I didn't know you since I can remember, I'd believe you,”

“For Freya! Okay, but give me my damn mead first,”

You took a sip from it before handing her the bottle back.

“I met Thor,” she started.

Your eyes widened. She couldn't be talking about Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder and heir of Asgard's thorne, could she?

“Yes, I'm talking about the son of Odin,” she answered your mute question.

“And?”

“He needs help to overthrow Hela,”

“What did you say to him?” you asked.

“Nothing, yet. But I was thinking and we barely survived the last time we fought her–”

“We're Valkyries. If we die, we die fighting and not running away from possible threats or getting our asses drunk,” you said.

You knew you were being rude. Brunnhilde was the closest to a family that you ever had. Even when the other Valkyries were alive, you didn't have a strong bond, like you had to her. She was your friend, she was the sister that life gave to you.

You watched Brunnhilde take a deep breath before saying, “You're right.”

And that's why you were watching Thor and Brunnhilde discussing like two children.

“Can you two stop for a moment?” you tried talking.

No response. The only one that was paying attention to you was Banner who just shrugged.

“They won't stop before killing one another,” he said.

“I know, that's exactly why I'm trying to interrupt this,” you sighed. “Tell me about her,” he said.

You didn't need to ask him to know that he was talking about Hela.

“She is unstoppable, fierce and lethal,” you said.

“There's must be a weakness,”

“Trust me, I wish there was something,”

“It's unbelievable that–”

“Brunnhilde!” you screamed when she pointed a dagger to Thor's neck.

You approached them and you made her drop her weapon.

“Have you lost your damn mind? He's our king,” you tried to reason with her.

“It's okay, Y/N,” Thor said.

“No it's not. Can you please stop acting like a child?” you said to him. “Same goes to you,” you said looking at Brunnhilde.

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

“I'm tired from all this. This is about Asgard, can you two please stop fighting when there are people under Hela's control?” you said.

Before they could say something you continued, “If we're here alone, doing nothing but getting drunk and trying to survive day after fucking day it's because of her,” you said directly to Brunnhilde.

“And you, my king, it's better you act like the almighty God of Thunder you are and save your kingdom from her. But if you want to rule over dead bodies, all you have to do is continuing acting like that” you said.

Blue and brown eyes looked at you in total desbelief and you just shrugged.

“I'm so done from all this,” you said and left them behind.

You made your way to the place you shared with Brunnhilde and packed your things. With or without them you decided to go to Asgard.

The travel to Asgard passed faster than you wished and before you noticed you were making your way to the throne room.

The big room was empty, you took some time admiring the golden details of it. You were hiding with your spear in hand, you were thinking about how everything suddenly changed after Odin's death.

You were so focused in your thoughts that you just noticed you weren't alone anymore when you heard her voice.

“See father? You banished me and even so I ended up here, in your throne, ruling your people... I'm the rightful heiress of Asgard's thorne and there's nothing you can do to stop me to take what's mine,” Hela said.

A shiver ran down your spine. You didn't heard her voice back when Odin sent the Valkyries to stop her. You gulped noticing that her voice was embedded with power and strength. She was a powerful woman and she knew that.

“I wish you could answer me, father,” she scoffed. “Fortunately you're dead. But I must confess I'd love to see your face when I sat in your throne for the very first time. You did everything to stop me from getting here and it was pointless,” she laughed.

Your hands held the spear tighter. How dared she speak about Odin that way? He was her father after all.

“You were afraid of me, father. Why? I'm your heiress, your first born child. And what did you do? You banished me because you couldn't control me like you did to my brother. Thor was just a puppet in your strings, right? He's idiot. I've heard that he's going to Midgard, defending midgardians. That's ridiculous!” she said.

That woman is fucking crazy. She's talking alone for the last minutes, you thought.

“I wish you could see when I kill him, because trust me, I'll kill him. He's a living threat to my kingdom, and obviously I'll eliminate him. Same goes to Loki, son of Frigga. Tell me father, how could you care and love such a monster like him?” she continued. “I just wanted you to love me. I wanted you to be proud of me. I just wish you could be the father I wanted the most and what did I get? You banished me, and I won't forgive you for trying to steal what's mine and that's exactly why that I'll make your people suffer, I'm their queen and I'll do as I please,” she said and sobbed.

You tried to move in your place to watch her better and your spear slid from your hands.

“Shit!” you cursed lowly.

“Who's there?” Hela said standing up and running her eyes through the room.

You sighed and left your hidden place to face her. You watched her eyes widening when she recognized you.

“I thought you were all dead,” she said smiling.

“I wish I was,” you said.

“You came to kill me I suppose,”

“No,”

“Excuse me?”

“I heard your conversation and I'm sorry,”

“You what?”

“I'm sorry, Hela. I didn't know about your relationship with Odin,” you said.

“Whatever game you’re playing, it won’t work. You can’t defeat me,” she said.

“I know. At first I came to fight you or die trying but I heard you,” you said and took your sword out and putted in her feet. “My loyalty is yours, Queen Hela,” you continued and knelt in front of her.

“Unexpected,” she said but offered you her hand to help you get on your feet. “I want you for my Queens guard,” she continued.

“As you please,” you said.

After this you got more and more close to her, it was a surprise discover that Hela could be as sweet as Thor.

She usually made you a lot of questions about the Valkyries. And here and there you two spent a lot of time together in Frigga's garden.

You watched with a smiley face Hela laughing at something you said. You two were laying side by side and for the first time you noticed that her smile was so, so beautiful.

You came closer to her and touched her right arm lightly.

“You should smile more, you're so beautiful,” you said.

She stopped laughing and you felt your heart racing with fear, you were scared that you made her angry, or even that you were disrespectful to her.

“I-i am sor–”

And then she interrupted you with a kiss. Her lips felt so soft and warm against your own. You guided a trembling hand to the back of her neck and she hummed happily on the kiss.

You broke the kiss once you two were out of breath. Hela was still smiling and she caressed your cheeks with her fingers.

“I must confess that I've been waiting for this,” she said.

“What else are you waiting for?” you sassed.

“I can guarantee you that I'm better showing you than talking,” she said.

“You know that your brother is coming, right? We can't lose time,” you said.

“The only one losing time here is you, darling. But don't worry I'll keep your mouth occupied,” and then she kissed you again.

Tags: @ivarsshieldmadien @nothingeverdies @mal-functioning-writer @amour-quinn @deepdarkred

#hela odinsdottir #hela odinsdottir x reader #hela odinsdottir fanfiction #hela odinsdottir fanfic #hela odinsdottir imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel insert reader #mari writes

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bluerene · 6 years

Text

RobStar Week #7 - Heartbeat

Deadline??? What deadline??

It’s nearly four AM and I’m finally finishing up my final submission for RobStar Week 2018. It’s been a wonderful experience and I’m so grateful for all the amazing content and contributors in this fandom. Y’all are so inspirational and talented, I feel humbled by calling myself a writer amongst a group like you.

Shout-out to @lightdusk96 for talking with me every. damn. day. and always being my #1 stan. I LOVE YOU!!!!

If you’re behind, links to each day’s drabble will be at the bottom of the page.

Enough talking, I hope you all enjoy heartbeat.

For the first few months of life as a Titan, Starfire wasn’t entirely sure where she fit. She was friendly enough with the other members of the team, but as an alien on a completely unfamiliar planet, she couldn’t help but feel out of place. It didn’t help that she wasn’t able to bond immediately with her roommates. Beast Boy confused her most of the time. He was cheerful and mischievous, in a way that reminded her of Ryand’r, but she rarely understood his jokes, and he lacked the patience to properly explain what he meant when she asked. Worse, it actually seemed to hurt him when his humor went unnoticed. Eventually she learned that laughing, even if she wasn’t sure why, was the best way to make him happy. And happiness, as she had found, seemed to be the smartest path to friendship. Cyborg was quiet in the beginning. She could feel his pain, and though she didn’t tell him at the time, she understood what he was going through to an extent. Cyborg, who had only ever wanted to be normal, was changed by unstoppable forces into something that didn’t feel like himself. He spent a lot of time brooding, though Beast Boy connected with him early on, establishing a close comradery in the tower. Starfire tried to show interest in the little things - she offered to assist him with the various projects he had running around their new home. She helped him cook (when he allowed it) and teasingly tested his limits in the gym. She made the mistake of offering him comfort over his situation once. He had lashed out, angrily yelling about her inability to understand what he was going through, and stormed off to his room. Though he apologized afterward, Starfire avoided the subject until he felt comfortable enough to bring it up on his own. Years later, he would seek her out when he needed to discuss his past, knowing that she shared some of his demons in hers. As for Raven, Starfire found that giving the empath space was the best way to earn her friendship. The less Starfire talked, the better. The less she tried to engage, the calmer Raven was. Their balance was difficult to find, but after the Puppet King forced them to switch bodies, a bond was formed. Raven told Starfire about her life on Azarath and her relationship with her mother. Her father was a demon, though she claimed not to know his name. She talked about her powers and admitted to the difficulties she faced while controlling them. “I’m sorry I come off cold,” she had said, staring at her lap, “but every day is a learning experience. I still don’t know how deep my magic runs or how far it goes. I don’t know if my powers leak at night, or whether or not using them changes who I am. I can’t afford to get you or anyone else hurt. You’re my...friends. I care about you.” That was most anyone had gotten out of her in the six months they had been working together. Starfire touched her shoulder and smiled. “You do not owe me any explanation, Raven. I am still getting to know you, but I believe I have been with you long enough to know you lead yourself with purpose. You do not choose to do things without serious thought. It is a very admirable trait.” She didn’t tell Raven too much about her own childhood. She talked about life on Tamaran and training on Okaara, but not her status as a royal or her place in the Citadel. Some things, she decided, ran too dark and deep to revisit on a whim. Still, their friendship grew. Starfire would often seek Raven out for meditation and tea and advice. Raven allowed Starfire to drag her around the city, to slumber parties with other members of the quickly expanding Titan Network, and (though it was rare) to concerts and clubs that ran late into the evening. She would never admit it, but Raven knew it was good for her. And she also knew that it was all Starfire’s doing. Robin was the biggest anomaly of them all. He was always kind and helpful and embarrassingly patient with her when she seemed to mess everything up. But Starfire felt something strange around him, and she couldn’t understand what it was. The feeling bubbled up inside her stomach when she watched him fight and train, or when he talked to her about Earthen culture, or shared a sunset on the roof beside her just because he could. It was like admiration, but it ran deeper, right through the pit of her stomach, then back up into her heart. She felt foolish every time she opened her mouth, even when she didn’t say anything of significance. And the worst part was, when she thought they were at their best, he couldn’t help but pull away. Did he resent her? Was she repulsive? Every insecurity she’d ever experienced came flooding in at once. It was a terrible, horrible, awful feeling. And yet, Starfire liked it. “You like him.” “Of course I like him, he is my friend and our leader.” “No, Starfire, I mean you have a crush on him.” “I would never crush Robin!” Starfire replied indignantly, flopping down on her bed. Raven sighed, shutting her book. “Having a crush on someone means you have romantic feelings for them. Like love, but significantly less intense.” The Tamaranian girl’s eyes widened, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. “How do you know?” “It’s pretty obvious. I mean, you two spend a lot of time together, and you both look at each other with the same dumb smile. You never shut up about him. You always sit together and walk together. Need I go on?” Starfire was silent for a moment. “Raven? Do you believe Robin feels the same way about me?” The empath snorted. “I don’t need to look into his mind to see that you two are definitely on the same page.” “But how are you able to tell?” Starfire prodded. “It’s just the way you two are. I don’t know. You would know the signs best.” “Signs…?” “Look, Starfire, I’m probably not the best source of information for this kind of stuff,” Raven said hesitantly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Please, Raven, you know you are the only one I can speak with regarding this.” “I guess I would say...pay attention to prolonged touching. Body language, tone. Whether or not he seeks out conversation with you, if he likes to find reasons for you to be alone together. Most of the physical signs aren’t ones you’d be able to see. Eyes are expressive, but he wears a mask. Heartbeats are a great indicator of emotion, but it’s probably not something you’d be able to take note of easily. I don’t know why you’re worried though, because anyone could tell you he feels the same.” “I see,” Starfire said thoughtfully, tilting her head, “I disagree with you regarding Robin, as I have no proof as to what he feels for me, but I appreciate your candor, Raven. There is so much I have yet to learn of Earth. I feel as though I will never stop being without a clue.” “You’ll get there, Star. You’ve only been here half a year, it’s going to take a little more time for you to get to where you want to be,” Raven’s lips quirked up into a half-smile, “and I have a secret. I’ll share it with you if you promise not to ask me too much about boy-stuff.” “Oooh, what is it?” “A stack of magazines in a box under my bed. All the boy advice you’d ever need.” Raven allowed Starfire to borrow her stack of Sixteens, Girls’ Guide, and Cosmo Magazines for a week, certain that if her alien friend had them for any longer, the secret of their possession would become public. Starfire devoured them as quickly as she could, hopeful that they would help her understand her own feelings a bit better. The next time she was with Robin, she paid close attention to his actions, and to her own. He only touched her arm twice, but their proximity was such that they were always brushing up against one another. The time after that, it was three times on the arm and once on the waist. They stood beside each other and watched the sunset. Two weeks later, during a sparring session, he discovered she was ticklish on her sides. They landed on the mat, him on top of her, wiggling madly as she tried to disengage from his attack. “Please, Robin!” She pleaded, giggling as he poked her in the side, “Cease!” Starfire flipped them, straddling his thighs as she grabbed his hands. “You are trapped,” she said playfully. Robin grinned, “are you sure about that?” She nodded resolutely and shifted her seat on his lap, “I am the positive.” He blushed, realizing the position they were in, “ahhhh...you’re right. Definitely right. Wanna wrap up this session?” There he was, pulling away again. Starfire frowned and slid off his legs, “as you wish.” He stood up and brushed off the front of his pants, offering her his hand, “come on.” She took it and allowed him to help her up. They stood together for a moment, stuck in an awkward silence. Robin ran his hands through his hair, “well...next week, then? This was fun. Good. You’re getting pretty good with the staff.” Starfire made a little noise and shook her head, “I am out of practice. I know I can do better than this.” “Just don’t push yourself too hard,” he said, “you’ll get there.” “Robin,” Starfire blurted out, placing her hand on his chest, “I thank you. For everything.” He flushed, backing away from her touch, “anytime, Star.” She should have taken offense to his hasty exit. She should have been heartbroken or offended or angry that he would leave her there, confused by his desperation to get away from her. But she wasn’t. Because for a few moments, she felt the change. While her fingers were splayed on his chest, his palm directly over his heart, she could the feel the pace of beating shift. It beat faster when she touched him. And that, for the time being, was enough proof for her.

#its robstar week bitches #robstar #robin #starfire #I DID IT #DONE

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eridanwannabe · 6 years

Text

Never Mind the Should Haves

Chapter 3

After your second visit to see Genji, you began to plan weekly meditation sessions with him. You even made sure to sometimes treat the cyborg to tea as a thank you and a break from just meditating. Some days, though, you struggled with relaxing and stopping the thoughts in your brain even with his patient guidance.

The sun was bright and warm on your back, and it made you almost too warm in your favorite sweater and scarf to fight off the lingering winter chill. Still, that thought was a minor distraction. Mostly, you couldn’t keep the song that was stuck in your head from interrupting you every time you tried to empty your mind. You had often had this issue, but usually Genii’s calming voice would take precedence in your mind. Now that he was trying to let you guide yourself, though, nothing could stop the music that dogged you through your days. You had become accustomed to always having some sort of music in your brain that no one else could hear. Today, though, the catchy upbeat tune you had listened to while getting ready for your day was unstoppable, and, for the first time, you couldn’t suppress yourself. You ended up humming, still trying to relax but unable to stop the music in your mind. You hoped it wouldn’t distract Genji too much, as centering yourself to the beat of the music in you almost seemed to make it easier to guide yourself to a state of peaceful awareness of your body and mind.

You drifted in this peaceful state, until your name surprised you. “Y/N… Not that I mind you singing to yourself, but, I must admit, it is a little distracting.”

Your eyes shot open, and you looked at Genji as red spread across your cheeks. “I was singing… out loud?” At his nod you buried your face in your scarf in embarrassment. Thankfully the park was mostly empty, so no one else had been witness to your little show. “I’m sorry. This song is just so catchy, and there is always some form of music in my mind that I can’t turn off. I didn’t realize I’d started singing instead of humming.”

“It is fine. You have a nice voice. It was like having a songbird with me. Especially since I have no clue what you are singing, just like I don’t understand bird songs. What is that song? It sounded nice.” “O-oh… It’s one by one of my favorite artists right now. I can play it for us, if you want.” You dug out your phone and soon an upbeat song filled the air around you both.

‘I know you know

That I know that you know

What we're both thinking

I know you know

That I know that you know

What our bodies are reading

And at this point it's kinda undeniable

And at this point it's kinda untryable

I can read your mind, it's incredible

Where it goes, where it goes, where it goes…’

You couldn’t stop yourself from humming along, soon singing under your breath by the time the chorus started. When you realized, you blushed brightly, embarrassed.

“It is quite catchy. But I think I like hearing from a sweet songbird more than your phone. What do you think, little Songbird?” He was teasing you now, even making fun of the fact that you managed to be several inches shorter than him.

“I’m not little. You’re just all- taller... than me.” You pouted at him, now thoroughly distracted from any thoughts of continuing to meditate.

“Oh, but I am not tall. It is why master Zenyatta thinks you are ‘ideal for me,’ Songbird. ” He was trying to make it a joke that Zenyatta had fondly teased that he had finally seen someone that seemed an ideal height dance partner for Genji, who had used that lack of a parter excuse to keep out of having to make small talk at some of the fancy parties Zenyatta was often invited to. And the omnic monk accepted because he ususally found it was a good way to try and spread positive human omnic relations. Yet, he doubted having someone who had been dubbed “Zenyatta’s Bodyguard” follow the man everywhere would help that goal. Therefore, Zenyatta was determined to try and find a kind human to dance with Genji in hopes that it would distract from his serious air. “For dancing, I mean! If- if we ever had to, you’re the ideal height.” The usually collected Japanese man was just a little flustered.

Seeing Genji sound flustered but not being able to see his face was frustrating. You finally had to ask. “Genji… I would be honored to ever dance with you. I have a question, before I ever do, though. Forgive me if it’s too personal or just- not something you want to share but- Why do you always wear that mask?”

“Oh.” He seemed to deflate a little before nodding at you. “I had known that one day you would ask. That is something best discussed in private but, I would not mind sharing with you if you are still willing to listen.”

“Of course. I could- um… dinner? I could make dinner tomorrow for us both?”

“That sounds wonderful, Y/N.” The offer wasn’t enough to fully reflate the excitement his shoulders had lost, but he did seem a little happier again during your long walk back to the shelter after you admitted you would rather talk than meditate any more today.

When Genji arrived to your small apartment, you were dressed in your cutest casual outfit with your hair styled as nicely as you could fix it. You opened the door for his short knocks, smiling widely. “Genji! I’m so glad you came!”

“Did you think I lied when I said I would?” His voice revealed no emotion, but you felt awful all the same. You should not have said that.

“No! I just- I mean- People don’t usually come when I invite them? I don’t- I didn’t mean anything bad by it! …You’re the best friend I’ve ever made.” It was a shy admission, and you were bright red as you confessed. Still your mortification turned to awe when Genji replied.

“You are a treasured friend to me as well, Y/N. That is why I am willing to discuss this with you at all.” Genji finally entered your apartment, and you closed the door behind him before leading him to the small table where you ate all your meals. You had cooked your favorite dinner, a modest but decent meal to share.

“I hope this is okay. It was my favorite meal that my mother always cooked before she passed. It’s the thing I can prepare the best.”

“It looks wonderful. Thank you for sharing this with me.” And then, to your amazement, off came the metal visor that had become ingrained in your mind as synonymous with Genji’s face. You couldn’t help yourself. As soon as it was off, you were greedily soaking in the long-awaited sight of the sweet man’s visage. Now that it was visible, though, you could see the small red flush that warmed his cheeks as he spoke again. “You’re sharing the timeless meal, the least I could do is tell you what you asked for earlier. If you still want to know, Songbird.”

“Of course I do, Genji.”

“Well, I grew up in Japan with an older brother, named Hanzo. Our families were highly ranked into the Yakuza, a criminal organization. Hanzo, as eldest, was raised to one day take over the empire. They tried to train me to be a good little second in command but then I just… rebelled. I dyed my hair green; I started partying; I began to do anything I could to upset my parents, as any teen does.” He sighed, reached up to push a bit of the still green locks farther up. “Until the Yakuza elders were unhappy with me bringing shame on them and the Shimada name. So I had to be killed. But to prove he was worthy of taking my father’s place as elder, Hanzo had to do it. …He didn’t succeed, but it is a miracle that I am still alive today. I took my life and tried to make sure he would never know I still had it. That is why I never reveal my face.” He sighed a little, but left the mask off.

“Thank you for telling me.” You reached out and grabbed one of his hands. “You don’t need to feel self-conscious here so if you want to keep the mask off, I highly doubt there’s any way your brother can see into my apartment with every blind closed.” You could see the blush that lit his face as you looked at him intensely, and he tried to distract from it.

“Is there something on my face?” It was a weak joke, and a polite way to remind you that you were staring.

You immediately dropped your eyes to your plate, your own face bright red. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. You’re just-” You debate on how to play it before giving in. You wanted to admit how you felt just because he had been so openly honest with you. “You’re just handsome.” Genji had striking green eyes similar to the green hair that looked so soft you wanted to touch it. Despite all the scars, you could tell he had been exceedingly handsome in his youth, and, to you, his current appearance was still incredibly appealing. “You didn’t tell me you were attractive while you told me your life story, damn it. I wasn’t prepared…” When you finally went to meet Genji’s eyes, the cyborg was staring at you intently.

“Perhaps I did not tell you because no one has ever felt that way after seeing my face without the visor after my attempted-murder.” He paused before continuing. “Besides, there is only one lady whose opinion of how I look matters, and I had not been able to tell you how she felt until recently.” He looks smugly at you, but you’re confused.

“W-Who?” Your eyes widened, and before you could stutter your way through anything else, Genji had leaned across the small table to press a brief kiss to your lips. He no longer looks smug as he smiles at you.

“You, my little Songbird. Now, I would love to discuss more with you, but I fear we should eat before this wonderful dinner gets cold. You went to all try trouble of making it after all.”

#genji #genji shimada #genji x reader #overwatch imagines #never mind the should haves #chapter 3 #genji shimada x reader #kiss #the song used is called words #its by jasmine thompson

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headstrongblake · 6 years

Note

5) things you didn’t say at all (this one A LOT though in like every verse because he's too damn curious)

ASHLEY ATTEMPTS TO CLEAR HER INBOX | @trikrulinkon

THE BAND VERSE

1. there’s not a specific moment in octavia’s mind that she can look back on and realize that that was the moment that despite whatever messy feelings were involved strictly between the two, lincoln had grown from bodyguard to family. and not just to her. there had been a time when she resented the idea of him and his job but now? could she even imagine a time when he’s no longer around? it didn’t seem possible.

emerald hues took in the scene below her as a towel wrapped around her shoulders at the top of the cliff the others and her had jumped from earlier. jasper, monty and harper swimming and dunking each other in the water. raven, lincoln and bellamy sat around the fire they’d built talking and laughing at the others in the water who were beginning to feel just how cold the water really was as it neared autumn. she couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her lips, growing until it almost touched her eyes at her best friend and lincoln’s banter back and forth. it felt right– like he’d been a missing piece from their lives all along.

octavia’s staring and a moment too long when her eye catches lincoln’s. there’s that softness in his features— the one that seems to be reserved for when he looks her way and it’s like a calm washes over her body. no, there might not be a specific moment in mind, but one day she looked at lincoln, much like today and noticed that having him around felt a little like home.

her smile shifted to a more devious smile as she dropped the towel from around her shoulders and took a few large steps back. without hesitation octavia got a bit of a running start before she leapt down from the cliff into the water beneath.

MILITARY VERSE

2. they’d been preparing for this day ever since lincoln returned the first time and explained his plans of attending school to become a medic rather than returning for deployment after deployment like bellamy. his graduation had come and gone, and octavia could honestly say that the two blakes and fox had never cheered louder than when lincoln walked across that stage. the day was filled with excitement and fun but the pinning ceremony was what lincoln had been talking about for years. octavia never anticipated being apart of it however and her nerves woke her up as soon as the sun began to creep into their room.

it’s a quiet moment as octavia turned on her side and propped herself up with her elbow to watch the way his chest rose and fell with his breaths. it still baffles her sometimes. how they all ended up here. once upon a time it had just been the two blakes against the entire world. they were always unstoppable together. although if octavia was being honest it was confusing for her at first as their world started to expand. as she found fox and bellamy found lincoln suddenly her small world with bellamy wasn’t just for the two of them. but maybe it’s why she never imagined this. this moment of lying peacefully in bed with someone she loved ( could she ever admit that out loud? ). her life and plans had solely included bellamy and now it’s like she’s living in a dream land with someone filling her heart with a love she’d never felt before. did he know she loved him? could he feel that when they were together? did he know how proud she was of him for chasing after and obtaining his dream? god, she hoped so. maybe she’d tell him today.

lincoln’s eyelids fluttered open and that sleepy smile formed on his lips as he met her gaze. what? she heard him say, but all she could do was smile, expelling a breath through her nose as she laid back down beside him to rest her head in her favourite spot, the crook of his neck. “nothing babe.” she sighed contently suddenly not ready to get up to face the day. octavia wanted this moment just a little longer.

FIND YOUR WAY OUT

3. the worst of the physical symptoms have subsided but it’s one of those days her mind torments her with the hopeless feelings. the intense emotions like waves trying to drown her completely. though she’s been through this enough times to knows all she needs to do is refocus herself. move on to something else that could slay her demons and so when lincoln goes to leave for the tattoo shop, she practically pleads with him to let her go. besides, she needed out of his apartment or she was going to go stir crazy. it’s quiet in the shop and it doesn’t seem like there’s many appointments on the books for today which works in her favour.

“will you draw something for me?” she asked after standing in front of the desk he was already drawing on for more than a few moments watching his fingers move as he sketched. his furrowed eyebrows and confused expression was all she needed before her shoulders lifted into a shrug. “just… anything, you don’t look very busy,” she stopped a moment, hesitating to let him disagree with her but when he didn’t object she continued, “i’m giving you free range, anything you want to create and you can put it anywhere but my back.” not like lincoln needed reminding, he already knew her back was reserved for her father’s memorial tattoo she’d already gotten him to outline. “not too big, so i can actually pay for it.” she added with a smirk before turning to his chair.

octavia sat quietly in the chair, emerald eyes fixated on lincoln as he worked. there’s something about going under the needle, that anticipation of new ink that was so therapeutic to her that in her state of mind, she had to work hard to keep her mouth shut or else her demons might spill out. often she’s chattered to lincoln about mundane things. bikes. the gym. life in alexandria and the way it used to be when the clubs were all one but today she had to bite her lip or else mundane wouldn’t come forth.

her eyes closed as lincoln came over to prepare the different colors of ink he wanted for the spontaneous piece. she tried to bask in the peacefulness she continuously felt in a tattoo chair, but that same feeling wasn’t there. just the anxiousness and sadness. the constant thoughts that octavia had used drugs to hide from. slowly her eyes opened and her lips parted to speak. i used to tell bellamy i wanted to die. i’d be sick in bed and beg the withdrawals to kill me because i didn’t want to do detoxing and recovery again but i also couldn’t live without the highs and then i did die…. i was really dead and the emptiness i feel inside… that gaping hole my parents left in me was still there. she blinked owlishly as lincoln finally turned to her with the drawing in hand. a small smile appeared as she nodded at the artwork. “it’s perfect— let’s do this.” octavia said instead of what rolled around in her head.

PARENTS VERSE

4. no one said it would be this hard. okay… maybe bellamy had. but none of the books she’d read could have prepared her for the exhaustion, the way her heart suddenly felt like it lived outside of her body as soon as isabella came early. after they decided to keep her, they were supposed to have another five months to completely prepare for her. except she’d come a little over three months later. even though she didn’t have many complications and besides being premature was a fairly healthy little girl… it terrified octavia to see her in the incubation chamber to help with her slight jaundice.

the sight of lincoln at their daughter’s side, in awe of her and prepared to take on any pain for her though—… it wasn’t a feeling octavia could describe. when the test had come back positive she spent weeks preparing for the idea that lincoln would bolt the second she brought it up but to her surprise, he’d handled it better than she had. but trust is a difficult thing for her and even though he promised in the back of her mind she was always waiting for him to leave. she’d never known what it was like to have a real father but with each passing moment, she was more and more convinced isabella wouldn’t suffer that same fate. she’d never wonder why she wasn’t enough.

octavia might not have said it but despite their circumstances of how they got here, she was glad to have lincoln to go through this with. glad that her child had lincoln for their father. isabella might not have been born traditionally to two people ready to be parents but she was born to two people who believed she was their whole world. and maybe that was enough. sure, the two of them were ultimately linked forever by the bond of sharing isabella but the friendship that had formed over the course of time wasn’t something that could be forced. parenting would be complicated but having lincoln in her life was easy like breathing.

their casual relationship had needed something stronger to be parents and they seemed like they might do just fine.

#trikrulinkon #v. the band au || wє σwnєd єvєrч sєcσnd thαt thís wσrld cσuld gívє #the rest had to go under a read more cause w o w long #v. mílítαrч || lєttєrs frσm hσmє #v. parent au || tríkrulínkσn || í'll nєvєr stσp trчíng αnd í'll αlwαчs stαnd вч чσur sídє #group verse || fínd чσur wαч σut #i was going to do more but these ones took it out of me

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forestwater87 · 7 years

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Rate all the cc ships u can think of from favorite to least favorite

OH BOY okay so there’s … a lot. I might not hit them all so gimme any I seem to have missed if you care about my blatherings. :)

But okay, in order of fave to least (and I went with literally every one I can think of. There are a lot, so many we gotta put this shit under a cut):

Gwen/David: Okay, yeah. Obviously. These are my babies.

(They are incapable of being the grown-up at the same time and I am LIVING.)

I’m a huge sucker for any time a big tough girl and a sweet femme boy date because GAH cute, but I also feel like there’s so much fun to be had with these losers. Her obvious anxiety issues match so well with David’s own, and they have such different ways of handling it that there’s a lot of opportunities to bounce off each other and grow together. Besides, she’s levelheaded and seems to keep him more or less on-target, and while she hates this job she cares about him and wants him to be okay, and it just makes my heart melt when an apathetic character has an exception especially when that exception is a sunshine boy and ahhhhh the cute

It’s basically opposites attract, but with some weird connective tissue in the form of their few similarities.

Jasper/David/Gwen: This isn’t … this isn’t a thing, guys. It’s just some bullshit @hopefullypessimistic84 and I made up because I ship her Jaspid and she ships my Gwenvid and so we smushed them together like Barbie dolls and made them kiss.

Doesn’t mean I love it any less, though. These three are cuties and I am a fan.

Jasper/David: They’re fucking soulmates.

Besides, any relationship in which David is the bad boy is automatically too hilarious and sweet not to love. We don’t know a ton about Jasper — and therefore about their relationship — but I could not be more here for it.

Obviously this is either as kids before he died, or as adults in a world where Jasper lives and grew up to be a sweet 90s dood a la HopefullyPessimistic and @sinisterspooks‘ AU; I’m not about that ghost-child-fucking.

Max/Neil/Nikki: I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why it happened.

I just know I would die for this ship.

(Also I’ve named it Makkiel and this is badass.)

Nerris/Preston/Harrison: I’m pretty sure this one is entirely the fault of @sakisketches? I’m not actually confident these three share any screentime on the actual show, but I love everything Saki’s made for them and now I couldn’t be more here for it.

(Genuinely couldn’t find anything with just them, sorry!)

It’s the kinda ship that makes more sense the more you think about it. They’re the ones with the weird, esoteric, “useless” interests, the kind of things that’ve made them no stranger to bullying. They’re all very competitive, passionate, dramatic … I’d imagine their relationship would be one filled with a lot of clashing, but it’d also be big and bright and beautiful.

Nurf/Petrol: This is another ship that isn’t actually a thing, but @directium made me believe. Damn you for making me love Perf. They’re such big strong boys and they deserve better than their shitty camps.

Besides, tell me Nurf wouldn’t be able to understand whatever reason Petrol has for not talking and would be sensitive and able to communicate perfectly regardless. Just try and tell me that wouldn’t happen.

Nerris/Harrison: Honestly, this dropped a little lower on this list while I was writing it, because … Nerris is kinda a bitch.

Don’t get me wrong — Harrison’s a prick too, especially to poor Max. But this kid gets bullied and insulted by basically everyone at camp, and you’d kinda expect these two to stick together because … well, they’re the biggest losers by far (excepting Preston).

That being said, I could see them growing out of their rivalry into a sort of grudging admiration and continuing on from there. Plus tell me these two wouldn’t just be gorgeous when they grow up, in terms of fashion. They’d be the power couple of the century.

(Okay but I cannot let this slide: in what universe is Nerris the true magic kid? Harrison can do literal magic! How did he not win this argument the second he actually set something on fire with the power of his mind?!)

Nikki/Sasha: Another couple where one of them needs to become so much less of a bitch for this to work. But … I mean:

(legit the only picture I could find that they were both in, pfft)

The only thing I’m almost as much of a sucker for than the tough girl/femme boy pairing is the tomboy/girly girl pairing. And if Nikki could corrupt Sasha to the fun of being wild and … like, not just the goddamn worst, it could be adorable.

Gwen/Bonquisha: Okay but. How fucking cute would this be?

Look at that face! Look how starstruck she is! She’d be like a Chihuahua dating a Mastiff; Gwen would go around starting fights and Bonquisha would have to pull her out of them and/or escalate things. They’d be the instigators of so much drama and would watch trash TV and giggle and it’d be sweet as fuck.

And they’d make David’s life miserable in the best possible way.

David/Bonquisha: So that tough girl/soft boy thing I was talking about earlier?

Multiply that by like 200.

The major reason this one isn’t up there with Gwenvid is that there’s not that much to Bonquisha, and while she’s absolutely the queen of my heart, she isn’t as well-developed a character. Also I think David would spend most of their relationship being terrified of her, because she’s scary and he’s very squishy and delicate.

Nikki/Neil: This one’s the fault of @ciphernetics, who dedicated about 2 seconds to it in one of her fics and now I’m in love with it forever.

I could totally see Neil being captivated by Nikki’s energy and vibrancy, and she’d have so much fun dragging him along on her adventures. And of course there’s the fact that Neil’s so cautious and levelheaded that he’d keep her from going off the deep end and getting herself killed; they’re kinda like Gwenvid in that way, I guess? Boundless enthusiasm meets snarky cynicism and makes Forestwater cry.

Max/Neil: Despite the fact that there’s an author on Ao3 that basically ruined this ship for me forever, it’s hard to deny these two are either bromates or soulmates.

They get each other. They’re both highly intelligent, oddly protective of their friends, so married to their ideals that it leads to them being massive douchebags to said friends, and just so very sarcastic.

Harrison/Nikki: He’s got a massive crush, right?

And Nikki loves how he can basically (accidentally) summon adventure. Together they’d be unstoppable! Seriously, I’m not sure there’s two people here with such mutual admiration for each other and that’s really sweet.

Good kids, equally morally questionable, and Nikki could protect him while he summons fireballs to entertain her. It’d be precious.

Max/Nerris: Blame HopefullyPessimistic for this one again. She believes in it hard and where she goes, I must follow.

The fact that these two are kinda abrasive and harsh makes them interesting. It’d be fun to watch them trade barbs — as opposed to the kicking-a-bunny thing Nerris does with Harrison and Max does with Space Kid and David (and Gwen, kinda). They’re well-matched in terms of intelligence and ability to throw shade.

Ered/Nikki: Okay, yes, Ered is manipulative and mean and Nikki’s blind adoration of her is very unhealthy. BUT:

They’d be the most badass couple ever. They’d go on insane adventures all the time, and since Nikki seems incapable of being hurt and Ered’s injured all the time, we’d get adorable things like Nikki carrying Ered’s wheelchair up a mountain and doting over her every time she gets hurt.

They’d be the beautiful butches we need, and I could see Nikki’s bravery and loyalty really breaking through Ered’s seemingly cold (cool? Ahahaha I think I’m clever) heart until she’d actually stand up for Nikki instead of just using her.

Max/Nikki: Not really my ship (not without Neil to balance them out), but these two are adventurous in a way that Neil isn’t. They have an energy and creativity that means they’d keep up with each other long after anyone else would’ve passed out from exhaustion and pure “guys just fucking stop.” I can see why people like it, even if it’s not my thing.

(But seriously, why not add a Neil? Both of these kids would benefit from a nice, rational Neil.)

Quartermaster/Quartersister: I recognize that this should be at the very bottom of the list, and possibly not even on it for pure oh dear god no. But …

I’m sorry, they’re just too fucking funny. It’s sick and gross and wrong and terrible and god help me I love it so much. You get down with your nasty self, QM. And you murder-bang as many grizzled nasty sisters as you want. I won’t judge (much).

Neil/Nerris: I don’t … really see this?

I do think they could get along; they’re definitely the most aligned in terms of interests, and Neil’s so spindly that even Nerris seems badass in comparison. Besides, Nerris doesn’t seem like the type to have patience for a guy unless he’s falling down appreciating her awesomeness, so in a weird way they’re kinda suited for each other. (And she’d totally get him into nerd culture and they’d rock DnD together.)

Plus, he called her “the Cute.” More than once. That’s might sweet.

Max/Preston: Nope, I don’t get this one.

I have nothing against it, they just seem to … hate each other? And yes, I realize “they hate each other” was the basis for more than one of the ships much higher up on this list, but … okay, I never said this was going to be a rational and well-thought-out ranking. I’m just vomiting thoughts on a page here, and for some reason these two don’t really work for me.

I think part of it is that Preston seems very anxious and high-strung, and Max is laid-back, but in the kind of way where he’d get a total kick out of fucking with Preston at every opportunity. Which is funny, but it doesn’t strike me as sustainable. Max needs to learn how to chill or Preston needs to learn how to chill. At this point in the show neither of them have any chill and I feel like it’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Neil/Tabii: Let me just start by saying that I love Tabii to pieces. She is adorable and precious and everything I need.

Unfortunately, if Neil’s into girls Tabii is very much not his type, and I don’t see a way for this to work out unless Tabii … completely gets an overhaul of her personality? I love this for being sweet and funny and relatable (I can’t have been the only one who had a devastating crush on a boy in his “girls have cooties” phase, am I?), but I don’t see it ever actually happening, you know?

Ered/Dolph: This is a thing? Really?

I don’t have anything against it, I just don’t see what’s there. Dolph having some sort of hero-worship for her is plausible (and admittedly quite adorable), but I’m not sure what they have in common. This could be a case of tough girl/sweet boy, I guess, considering how soft and artistic Dolph seems to be, but I’d need to see them interact more to really have an opinion on it.

Campbell/David: Well, aside from the fact that Ciphernetics with her amazing talent makes me want to believe, I have to file this one under “holy fuck is that unhealthy.”

Because he’s just … the relationship would be absurdly one-sided, the weird age difference notwithstanding, and David’s feelings, assuming they aren’t pure “daddy issues” and extend to … ahem, “daddy issues,” are super confused and fucked-up and vaguely incestuous? (Yes, okay, I realize that this is super hypocritical considering the QM/QS thing, but … what can I say, Quartermaster is an exception to literally every rule.)

Besides, I can’t help but feel that any relationship they’d have would be manipulative and neglectful on Campbell’s part, and Davey doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone who looks out for him, and Campbell … is not that.

Also though, the age difference. Ew. And the fact that Campbell tried to kill him. Double ew.

Daniel/David: I can’t believe I’m saying this for the second time, but I do not support David being with anyone who has murdered children, or has considered murdering children. Just sort of a dealbreaker for me.

On top of that (in case we needed an “on top of that”), he breaks David down into his greatest insecurities and uses them against him, and causes David to make the saddest face I think I’ve ever seen and I actually wanted to cry a little bit, and I cannot tolerate this. Daniel has lost all of my affection and I must hate him forever for emotionally devastating my sonsband in this way.

So nope, really don’t like this ship; totally get why people like it, but it makes me squirmy in all the wrong ways. This has been very difficult for a couple reasons:

Daniel looks just like David. There is something exceedingly attractive about 2 Davids. Yes, I am garbage. Don’t judge me.

The fan art for this ship is so fucking good you guys! SO GOOD

Campbell/Gwen: Gwen deserves someone who knows her fucking name.

And who doesn’t hit her in the face.

And who isn’t wanted by the government.

Gwen deserves better, is what I’m saying.

Pikeman/Gwen: This could be cute in a Neil/Tabii sort of way, if it wasn’t for the fact that Pikeman seems really …

Really creepy. I’m not saying he strikes me as the weird cross-breed of “Nice Guy” and “date-rapey,” but he did kidnap and beat a child.

A lot of the people at the bottom of this list are not very kind to children. And have egos the size of Mount Rushmore. And have weird hair poofs.

Counselor/Camper: So this is a fairly obvious one, for fairly obvious reasons. It’s illegal and predatory and gross, and I feel like David in particular would kill himself before he’d ever hurt a child like that, so it strikes me as out of character. (This doesn’t mean I’m not a fan of any of the campers having crushes on any of the adults; that’s cute as fuck. It’s the adults returning the attraction that’s a big fat nope.)

I feel like I should devote a little extra attention to the Max/David ship, just because it’s by far the most popular and in a weird way … I get it? Don’t get me wrong, it’s at the rock-bottom of this list for a reason, but like I said, there’s something sweet about a grumpy cynic and pure sunshine getting together; if they were the same age I’d totally see these two as a plausible ship.

That being said … they’re not the same age. More than the ick factor, I just don’t think there’s much there? I’ve heard people compare Mavid to Gwenvid, and with good reason (Max and Gwen are similar in a lot of ways), but the difference is that David and Gwen can relate to each other as equals, as coworkers and people going through the same general period of life, with the same level of physical and emotional development, and an ability to support one another.

Max … cannot do that.

There’s a reason the “David adopts Max AU” is hands-down the most popular in the fandom, and it’s because Max needs someone like David. At least while he’s at camp, he needs a father, to be showered in unconditional love and affirmation. The thing is, though, Max can’t return that affection, not the way a partner needs to; he’s not emotionally capable of it. Because he’s a child.

It feels really weird to spill this much ink to say “I don’t like this ship because one of them is 10 years old and one of them’s a freaking adult,” but Max acts so mature that I think it’s easy to forget how young he really is. He’s a kid, and he needs a dad. David’s an adult, and he needs a grown-up. Even shoving the whole “hey guys it’s pedophilia” thing aside — and I realize that’s a hell of an ask, since … yeah, that’s not easy to shove aside — it’s unhealthy and one-sided. Plus it requires David to be a lot more predatory than I’m comfortable with.

Okay, I don’t wanna end this on a downer note, so let me throw a shout out to some really awesome authors who’ve made shipfics that I melt over. In literally no order:

HopefullyPessimistic, “Finding a Family” – Jaspid

Ciphernetics, “You Have Someone That Loves You” – Gwenvid, minor Camvid, minor David/OC

@microsuedemouse, “Second Degree Sunburns” – Gwenvid

funhousefreak, “Bound” – Makkiel

mrsilikemyself, “un año más” – Max/Neil, unrequited Mavid

adrianthealien, “Take the Stupid Flower” – Praxton (tbh, haven’t actually read this one yet, but it looks adorable)

phobiaDeficient (TheTriggeredHappy), “The One Where David Is In Over His Head” – Danvid, not actually Gwenvid but I squinted and saw some

HopefullyPessimistic, “Soulmates” – Marris

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unchoixalafois · 7 years

Text

Play by play

The first time he saw my tattoo. Sometime in 2013. We were 21 I think--

I park my car in the CVS parking lot. Anxiously waiting for someone I used to know. That one. Or the one, or that guy that I thought was the one. Needless to say, I’m still very much in love with him and I’m practicing my smug -I- don’t give- a-shit- facial expressions in my rearview mirror, my resting bitch face, also my normal face. I’m practicing on being normal? I’m a mess as usual. A bigger mess now that he’s making his annual comeback. I look back to see if he’s coming. I replay the last time we met in my head over and over again and hope that I don’t make the same mistakes. I keep score. Who did what last, who misses who, did I text back? Did he? Why are we meeting again? When will this actually, really, for sure end. Do I ever want it to end? Then the pep talk..

“Talk to him. Ask him about school. Be fucking normal.” I tell myself. I close my eyes. My eyeballs sting behind my eyelids. I’ve been up all night wondering what this night would be like. And here we are. A call.

“Aye. I’m off. Where you at?”

“Cvs lot.”

“Fasho, on my way”

I hang up quick. Too excited and ridiculously nervous. I open my car door, carefully close it and make sure I have my fucking keys. That’s just what I need is to lock us both out. A flashback. That night I did just that. One of the first nights I realized I wanted to keep this man in my life forever. The night he showed me the 80-20 rule, or 70-30. Whatever. I have a habit of locking myself out of my car. Always too eager, moving too fast, not thinking. He makes me this way. Reckless. I shake it off. I look around. There he is. Deep breaths. Deep fucking breaths. You got this. You’re hot.

“Hi” we hug. He grips tighter and longer than I expected. I let go first. First point goes to me. A mental tally on the imaginary scoreboard in the stars. Thank you Universe. I got him where I want him. He tells me he’s home for a few weeks, he’s working at his old job trying to save up before the next semester or quarter. I don’t remember I’m staring at his hands. His lips, his mouth, his teeth. He still has braces. I imagine what he would look like without them. I wonder if he’ll still want me when he doesn’t have them. We get in the car. He looks around.

“Old faithful” He taps the dashboard. We share a look. I smile.

“So what’s the plan?” I drive. I drive around the block and pass his old house. We catch up as much as we can. He tells me about school, about how he feels like he’s doing the best he can, about how he can’t wait to start making a living doing what he loves. I admire him. I admire everything he did to get out of this town. I wonder when I’ll get out of here. I take us to Berkeley. We walk into one of those cool hip college bars. Earlier this year I came here with a guy I met at the club. It was trivia night. Tonight the atmosphere is different. It’s a weeknight and no one is here except for a few people at the bar. Regulars. We walk in like we’re regulars. We sit at on the stools in front of the windows at the front of the place. Take off our jackets. I place myself on the stool and swivel the seat, trying to loosen myself up. He places his hands on my shoulders, recognizing the tension in my forehead.

“Hey, I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too.” He starts to massage my shoulders and stops himself when I give him a look. It’s simple but that’s all it takes. One point for him.

“So what are you having?”

“Guinness”

“Really? Yuck. First one’s on me” He comes back with 2 pints. One for him and one for me. He’s drinking something lighter. A Stella or something. Another flashback. I first saw him in “A Streetcar Named Desire” he played Stanley. I come back to Earth. He sits on his chair. He swivels my seat. He bumps me with his shoulder.

“So what’s new.” We talk. I tell him. Nothing really. I tell him my plans. What I’m thinking of doing with my life. I want to change the world. He knows this. He reassures me he supports my plans.

“So how’s your love life?” He doesn’t really tell me. He does that thing he always does where he talks about something to avoid the answer. He reminds me he’s just focusing on school. There’s nothing serious happening. A point for the both of us. I offer another drink. He agrees. We split a pitcher of a Mexican beer.

He pours. I pick up my glass. I’m such a lightweight. He’s such a lightweight. I can’t believe we’re actually drinking together. He admits that he doesn’t really like it. Our first drink together. My thoughts become repetitive. I’m not really making sense anymore. We joke around about how I used to get drunk at parties and he would have to take care of me. How he always enjoyed watching me evolve after a beer. He stares at me. I’m avoiding eye contact. All this beer gave me courage to look him in the eyes. We stare. We share a smile.

“This took too long to happen.”

“Cheers”

“To us?”

“Something like that.” More catching up. More loosening up. More shoulder bumping and laughing at each other. I joke about how he hasn’t changed even though he has. He says the same about me. And I know that I haven’t. We take a shot of tequila. Now we’re really feeling it. Feeling ourselves the way Bay Area kids do. We stumble out together and decide to share a donut. He force feeds me. I’m so full from the beer. He compliments my appetite. I love that he still wants donuts even if he’s trying to change that. There’s something about being back home that no matter what stage you are in life, no matter how much you’ve changed, you go to the same spots. You relive those nights you wish you still had. Those nights that were worth reliving, the simplicity of those times. We walk around the campus. Looking for geocaches. Another thing we used to do together. The few people out and about are in big coats, bundled. I took off my jacket and draped it on my purse. He’s holding his sweater in his hand by now. We’re warm. We’re buzzed. I walk ahead of him. He sees my tattoo. Paz.

“Oh shit. Is that it?”

“No that’s not it.” I joke. He stands behind me. I can feel his breath in this cold air. My legs disappear. My fingertips go numb and the hairs on my back stand up. He traces my tattoo. I feel the touch of his fingers. Tracing. Pressing. Gently.

“It looks really good Kay.”

“Thanks.” Fuck. I’m gonna lose it. The rest of the night was perfect in our way. The way it always is. We’re comfortable. This tension is familiar. This humor, these conversations, they’re different but the same. It’s late. We find a bench. We get real with each other. I’m relieved La didn’t make him an asshole. At least not yet. We wonder why it’s still so fresh. After all these years. How are we able to return to something we thought was lost. I don’t want the night to end. Neither does he. I take him home. I ask how to get there. I know damn well how to get there. We sit in my car. He asks me how many other people I’ve been with since him. I tell him. Honestly.

“3”

“Wow really? Me too” We stare at each other. We climb in the backseat. Same old story. He sits on one end, I on the other. He gestures to me,

“Come here”

“I’m right here” What the fuck is that shit? That deep meaningful bullshit we say when we’re really trying to say something else. We’re both here. We’re living in the moment together. We’re making up for all the nights we pretended to be with each other but were with people we settled on. People who were convenient. We’re getting revenge, for making the same mistakes.The same moment we have every time we meet. The same routine. But we love it and that’s why it never stops. I sit closer. I place my head on his chest. I try not to be a mess. I try not to unravel right then and there. I hold back all the things I’ve been rehearsing in my car. He reaches for my cheek, and grabs me by the jaw, the same way he always did. He kisses me. We look at each other. We understand just with our eyes.

“Hi”

“Hey”

I’m running my fingers through his hair. I bury my face in his shoulder. I unravel. And he puts me back together. I breathe him in. We wonder why.

“I don’t know when we’ll see each other again” Don’t fucking cry.

“Well, I’m glad we did this.” And he agrees.

We say goodbye. I leave and form lyrical verses. Replay the night in my head and wonder why the fuck we’re so caught up in this moment. This same moment. Over and over again. I spit out the poetry he leaves me with. I feel free. Why does he have so much power over me? I refer to the scoreboard . We’re tied. Here we are again. Tangled up in the old us trying to learn how to grow up. I tell him I think he’s my soulmate. The clock in my car reads 1:43 a.m. Thanks again Universe. He tells me he had no idea what to say to that. He doesn’t know what a soulmate even means. I don’t really either.

But that combination of words perfectly describes how I feel when I’m with him. I feel my soul awaken, I feel I’ve met my match. I can feel him in my bones. I can feel a thread of life between us. A kind of thread that doesn’t regard time, that doesn’t know pain, carefree, confident and reckless. Unstoppable. We go back to our normal lives. I get home and try not to breakdown. I sleep in the next day. Hungover. Not from the beer but from being emotionally drained. I see his sweater in my backseat. And suddenly I realize, it’s only a matter of time before he realizes. Maybe he already has and maybe it was his plan all along. Maybe he knows exactly what I mean when I say he’s my soulmate. And maybe despite all the leaps he’s made, I’m the brave one. The one who was willing to admit it. Admit this feeling that I’ve always had and never had the courage admit. Who knows. Only time will tell. And when it does I can only hope we’re finally on the same page.

#short story #writing #writer #love #lost #past #actor

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